Chapter 171 — Eleven

Unlike the earth-shaking great contest and slaughter before the mountain, the battle between Ming Li and Lin Jinghong—two childhood friends—was far smaller in scale, yet its ferocity seemed if anything to surpass it.

Who could ever have imagined that men once close as brothers would come to this? Their figures now scattered apart, now crashed together, sweeping like a violent storm over the land around the Phantom Moon Cave, felling every tree—some uprooted, some split in two—and even the hard, thick earth was completely transformed by the fearsome power of their sorcery, pocked and pitted, strewn everywhere with deep craters and shattered stone.

If one spoke only of cultivation and magical power, Ming Li possessed several true arts and had also mastered the three volumes of the demonic sect's classic celestial tomes; his cultivation was in truth beyond any ordinary cultivator's, pressing close upon the first rank of figures in the world today—and even a prodigy like Lin Jinghong fell somewhat short of him.

Yet now, as the two fought, somehow they were evenly matched. The reasons came down to two. First, Lin Jinghong was by nature fierce and impetuous; for ten years he had followed the mysterious old man in the Ancestral Hall in his cultivation, and what he had learned was precisely a violent, unorthodox art that drew out one's own latent potential—joined to his nature and the unstoppable, never-returning momentum of the Dragon Slaying Sword, its battle-fury and spirit actually raised him a notch above his true cultivation. And now, his breast full of rage, every strike of his sword sought life, almost like the legendary Solitary Sword of Ten Thousand Blades of a century before—irresistible.

Ming Li's own cultivation was high, his foundation solid, yet he had one weakness that ever constrained him. In those years he had cultivated both the Canglan Sect's Daoist true art "Taiji Mystic Purity Way" and the Brahma Sound Temple's Buddhist "Great Brahma Prajna"; the two clashed, and his progress had slowed to a crawl. Later, though he had been fortunate enough to learn the general outline of the celestial tome and could thread the two wondrous true arts together, advancing greatly in cultivation, yet at his very core his foundation had already been replaced by the demonic sect's classic celestial unorthodox art.

Only this unorthodox celestial art was abstruse and arduous, and had a further flaw: though the general outline was all present, the arts within the three volumes were incomplete, and whenever he cultivated to a crucial point there came a break—like a man walking a broad road only to find a sheer cliff suddenly barring his way, unable to proceed, and seeking another path, finding no other way at all. Such cases were by no means few; indeed, in recent years the Blood-devouring Pearl's malevolent qi had turned back upon him, and Ming Li had been powerless to withstand it—mostly for this very reason. Thus his whole cultivation could never be brought fully into play.

Even so, Ming Li's several true arts were no common thing; incomplete though the unorthodox celestial art was, it was after all a wondrous art of heaven-and-earth creation, its marvels beyond ordinary imagination.

The two fought fiercely for a long while, and at last Ming Li gradually gained the upper hand; the Blood-devouring Pearl's red glow and blood-qi, like a venomous serpent's flicking tongue, slowly pressed down the Dragon Slaying Sword's azure light.

Lin Jinghong was both startled and furious. Though for ten years Ming Li had turned his back on Qingyun, thrown in with the demonic sect, and stood against the righteous path, he had never openly clashed with Qingyun, and Lin Jinghong had likewise cultivated all along in the Ancestral Hall; so though the two had met once in the Death Marsh of the southwest, one could say they had never truly crossed swords. In Lin Jinghong's heart, Ming Li was still mostly the dull, wooden Zhang Qingyue of old.

From childhood on, from Willow Temple Village to Canglan Mountain, in what way had Lin Jinghong ever been inferior to Zhang Qingyue? Though in his heart he had always treated the former Zhang Qingyue as a brother, yet imperceptibly, with the proud nature he had since boyhood, in many things he looked down on Zhang Qingyue. And for many years things had indeed gone as he thought: Zhang Qingyue was not as clever as he, not as handsome; upon Canglan Mountain, many of the masters had vied to take him as a disciple, while none paid Zhang Qingyue any mind. Later the two went their separate ways—he to Dragon Ridge Peak, Zhang Qingyue to Great Bamboo Peak—and their cultivation was further apart than ever.

All these things showed plainly that Zhang Qingyue was truly no match for him. Only later, at the Canglan Mountain Seven Branches Martial Contest, Zhang Qingyue somehow had a stroke of luck and charged into the final four, while he himself met senior brother Qi Hao at the time and was defeated. Though he felt some gloom over it, he supposed everyone knew the reason, and Lin Jinghong's thinking did not change. All along he had looked on Zhang Qingyue as a brother; when Zhang Qingyue was bullied, he would step forward with righteous indignation, as though watching over a younger brother who could never amount to much.

Until today's rupture, this fight to the death—when Lin Jinghong discovered to his astonishment that this man who had always stood beneath him had, imperceptibly, come to look as though he might surpass him.

A nameless fire of rage flared up in his heart, and Lin Jinghong's handsome face suddenly turned somewhat savage. The one flaw in such a proud nature was that it loved extremes too well; for a moment he could not accept this truth.

Azure light flared up, like a proud dragon's wild howl, turning in fury to strike back.

In the fierce battle, one saw that the swirling purple pillar of light around the two, because the Heaven's Mechanism Seal had been broken, was now several times thicker than before, its billowing purple already shrouding them both. Lin Jinghong, pressed to disadvantage, suddenly counterattacked, his sword momentum surging like mountains toppling and seas overturning; Ming Li was startled, and watching Lin Jinghong move with his sword, sword after sword flying swift, saw that though the power was immense, he had already cast his own safety to the winds—a fighting style of pure desperation.

Ming Li's brows knitted tight. Some time had passed since the two began their battle; perhaps because this place was sacred ground of Canglan Mountain, and further because of the purple qi pillar summoned by the ancient Immortal-Slaying Sword, the malevolent qi that had first been roused in Ming Li's heart did not, as it usually did, seize control of his mind—instead, by his own pure cultivation, it slowly subsided, and Ming Li's heart gradually returned to clarity.

Only overhead was the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation, and for ten years he had thought of that thing day and night, carved into his very bones; Biluo's figure swayed ceaselessly before his eyes, wounding both spirit and heart. And the man before him—now that his mind was clear, Ming Li remembered their many years of friendship, and saw that this rage of his was mostly his own doing; thinking of the old man in the Ancestral Hall just now, Ming Li felt somewhat ashamed. Thus he gradually lost the will to fight.

With a long sigh, his heart in turmoil, Ming Li had no more heart for the struggle; he felt only that here and now was unbearably painful, and wished to leave—and in his heart was a further ache of longing, wishing he could in the blink of an eye return to Fox Ridge Mountain, see Biluo's face, and pour out his heart to her.