Han Li's countenance began to turn green, as with his own eyes he watched Doctor Mo holding high the strange blade.
Beneath the shining of the sun, the edge flashed with light, more starkly telling how wondrously keen it was.
Within his heart there could not but rise a measure of panic; yet his reason told him that the other, having spent such pains to take him alive, would never slay him out of hand without so much as a word exchanged. The man was only seeking to frighten him.
And so, as the keen blade came slowly falling from the height, straight down toward his body, he spoke not a single word, but held himself in a forced composure.
It was not until the edge of the strange blade was scarce half an inch from his skull, until even the very tips of his hair had felt the creeping cold, that he at last closed his eyes, and a faint thread of regret went flitting across his heart.
"Does he truly mean to do me a cruel murder, then? Had I known it would come to this, I had done better to open my mouth and beg for mercy; perhaps a thread of life might then have been spared me. I am still so young; truly I do not wish to die thus. When my father and mother at home learn of my death, will they not grieve? Will they not repent of having sent me to the Seven Mysteries Sect at all…?"
Held so at the very brink of life and death, a host of wayward fancies rose up in Han Li's heart, all manner of thoughts thronging upon him, so that in that selfsame instant it seemed he passed through all the partings and the meetings of a lifetime, and won a great enlightenment upon the matter of death and life.
"Thunk!" The sound of the keen blade burying itself in flesh came to his ears.
Han Li's body gave a faint tremor; yet the next moment astonishment seized him, for he felt no pain whatsoever.
"What is this?" he asked-in-wonder, opening his eyes.
The moment he opened them, Han Li was struck speechless.
To his utter surprise, he saw the strange blade planted in Doctor Mo's own shoulder, sunken deep into the flesh, so that only the haft stood bare without, quivering faintly. Perhaps because it was so keen, not a single drop of blood had flowed out at all — a thing most eerie to behold.
While Han Li stared at it in dazed consternation, Doctor Mo, contrary to his wont, opened his mouth and fell to praising him.
"Ah, little wretch, you truly have some stomach for it! To have the very blade laid against your throat and not once beg for mercy — that is indeed something!"
"In the days when I roamed the jianghu, I saw many a hero and fine fellow who made bold in front of others to cry that they feared no death. But once such men fell into my hands, a little threat and they were one and all turned into craven curs, kneeling and pleading for their lives, in a posture of snivelling, clinging cowardice."
Han Li heard this out in a daze, his mouth agape, unable to answer what to say.
In truth he had come within a hair of making a sorry spectacle of himself but a moment ago; it was only that he had held out through everything earlier, and at the very last a thread of lucky hope yet lingered in his heart, that the man could not truly move against him — and so he had slipped through by a fluke. Moreover his face was far too thin-skinned to bring himself to put on a new countenance and sue for mercy with slavish humility.
Now, facing Doctor Mo's successive praises, Han Li of course made no particular haste to explain himself; but a hundred mixed feelings rose within him, and he knew not whether to be glad or downcast.
Even as Han Li's thoughts went drifting, Doctor Mo had swiftly taken up the remaining strange blades and planted one upon another all over his body, leaving only the ghost-headed hafts standing bare without.
When Han Li came back to himself, he beheld with horror that there were seven keen blades in all, planted severally in Doctor Mo's shoulders, his legs, his belly, his chest — so that, seen from afar, he looked like a man cut limb from limb by a raging gust of blades.
At the sight, Han Li found it both absurd and startling; he knew that the other, maiming himself thus, must be working some most potent art, and wondered whether it was meant to be turned against himself.
Having set the strange blades, Doctor Mo spoke no more; instead he bent his body down and settled cross-legged opposite Han Li, and then shut his eyes, entering into a certain state, paying no more heed to the world about him.
A thought stirred in Han Li's heart, that here was a rare chance to make his escape; he would bestir hand and foot — but no sooner had his body moved a little than he felt a sudden weight press down upon his shoulder, and immediately he could stir no more.
Han Li gave a wry smile. How had he come to forget that great hulking brute again? With him standing guard by his side without a step's spacing, how could there ever be an opportunity for him?
Plainly Doctor Mo had pondered long and deep before settling into his trance, for he feared not at all that his prisoner should play him any trick. This great giant called "Iron Slave" — no man could say what monster he was; like Doctor Mo's own Demon Silver Hands, his body was proof against both blade and spear, from head to foot, and even the most fatal tender spot of a man was likewise iron-hard. Today, Han Li could count himself wholly undone at this man's hands.
While Han Li was muttering his spite against the giant within his heart, the other man before him began to work a strange and eerie change.
Doctor Mo's countenance began to twitch and jerk, twitch by twitch, and his whole body went to trembling without cease; his very face became distorted by the writhing of his flesh, as though he endured a monstrous agony; and with the keens of several blades still set in his body, the sight of him was enough to chill the marrow, as though a breath of yin-cold air rose slowly up within the room.
Of a sudden Doctor Mo's twitching and trembling ceased, but from the very depths of his throat came a low, hoarse roar, a roar brimful of primal bestiality; and in that instant Doctor Mo no longer seemed an old man, but a fierce beast just burst forth from the deep mountain woods.
And then a thing yet more terrible came to pass: the ghost-mist that had once appeared on Doctor Mo's face a year agone now welled up again.
This ghost-mist was utterly unlike that of former days — far denser than before, and far blacker; shrouding Doctor Mo's face, it hung there like a pitch-black mask, hiding his true features from sight.
The phantom tentacles that from time to time took shape upon the mist had likewise undergone a change beyond measure; the black haze that faintly coursed along the tentacles was glossy and gleaming, full of substance, as though it possessed a body of its own — now stretching, now withdrawing over Doctor Mo's face, dancing madly without cease.
Doctor Mo's fingers, held in the shape of a lotus, wove a strange gesture, and his lips moved faintly, as though he muttered incantations; only the voice was too low, and Han Li could not make out the words.
With Doctor Mo's inexplicable motion, the mist upon his face seemed to be enraged, like cold water poured into a seething cauldron of oil — it began to boil and surge, and from within it stretched forth yet more slender tentacles, brandishing claws and bared fangs in menace, as though they sought to stay Doctor Mo from going further.
At the very height of the black mist's denseness, Doctor Mo unclosed his eyes, and through the thick haze Han Li could still see the abundant spirit-light gleaming in them.
"The Seven-Ghost Soul-Stealing Art!"
Doctor Mo gave a great shout, proclaiming the name of the secret art he worked.