Chapter 94 — Kunlun's Fall from Grace (Part 1)

Zhou Xuan paid the Daoist Qianji's withering glare not the slightest heed, nor did he answer him. Turning instead to Yunxiuzi, he raised his hands in salute and said, "Daoist Yunxia, there is a favor I would ask of you. Will you grant it?" Yunxiuzi was just then recovering from the awkwardness of the moment; her fair face, flushed crimson, still bore a trace of color, and utterly lacking her customary icy composure, she was indescribably lovely. Now that Zhou Xuan had addressed her so suddenly, her heart fluttered like a startled fawn, her cheeks burned redder still, and her lips moved soundlessly—she could not manage a single word.

The Seven-Color Fairy, watching from one side, shook her head and hurried forward to answer for her. "What is the Perfected One saying? When you came to our aid against the Five Scattered Ones of the Western Regions, the Great Ease Palace was endlessly grateful. Whatever you require, only say the word." "These disciples of mine have only lately entered the gate—keep an eye on them for me. Your treasures excel at defense, so I shall rest easy." At these words, both Seven-Color and Yunxia were greatly startled and hastened to speak, but Zhou Xuan waved a hand and declared loudly, "I have long heard that Kunlun is a great and orthodox sect, proclaimed foremost in the Central Plains. I never thought they would shield their own so blatantly."

The Daoist Qianji saw that Zhou Xuan gave him no answer for a long while, but instead went chatting idly with others. Fine as his temper was, he could not endure it. Zhou Xuan's cultivation was profound, and he naturally had no wish to come to blows—yet should it come to that, he was confident that with the God-Striking Whip, that ancient and peerless treasure, he could strike Zhou Xuan dead beneath it. His disciple gravely wounded, his demand for redress ignored, and himself left standing to one side—even a lump of mud would have taken fire; how much more the Daoist Qianji of the Qincen Sect, a grand master of the cultivation world, a man whose stamp of the foot could overturn heaven and earth. Every last trace of goodwill Qianji had felt for Zhou Yan vanished. Had he not been so deeply cultivated and reining himself in with all his strength, he would long since have leapt forth to kill.

Just as he was about to explode, he heard Zhou Xuan accuse him of shielding his own, and he laughed coldly again and again. "Fellow Daoist Zhou, your cultivation is profound, yet you strike a junior with such force—I fear you must be of the devil-path, come to bring ruin upon the Daoist sects of our Central Land. As a man of the Qincen Sect, even if it were not my Kunlun being bullied, I could not stand by and watch." With that, the Daoist Qianji clapped a monstrous black pot of blame onto Zhou Xuan's head.

"Ha! Ha!" At last Zhou Xuan could not restrain his laughter. Darting forth from the dragon-boat, he pointed at the Daoist Qianji. "Devil-path—what a fine hat to pin on a man! Spare me the idle talk; I have no wish to bandy words with you. You think Kunlun is still the Chan Sect of old, free to strut and browbeat before every cultivator under heaven? Let me tell you plainly: that disciple of yours is willful and unruly and knows not the height of the heavens or the depth of the earth. I am teaching her a lesson now, to give her something to remember, lest one day she be beaten until both spirit and form are annihilated. Kunlun! Hmph! Is it so very grand? A pity it has never once been worth this sect master's notice." From the moment Qianji slapped that black pot on him, Zhou Xuan knew the old Daoist was a man who would shield his own through thick and thin. He had meant to fight in earnest anyway; now he had not the least scruple left, and tore the mask away on the spot.

"Insolent!" Yiyunzi was just then using his true essence to soothe the qi and blood within Ling Yan's body. Hearing Zhou Xuan's words, he flew at once into a fury. He had lived in Kunlun since childhood and prized his sect above all things. To hear Zhou Xuan now hold Kunlun in contempt—already enraged that Zhou Xuan had wounded Ling Yan, he was angered beyond measure. Had he not been needed to tend the unconscious Ling Yan, he would long since have rushed up to fight Zhou Xuan to the death.

The Daoist Qianji suddenly grew calm and spoke, word by word: "Fellow Daoist Zhou, do not be too arrogant. Your cultivation may be high, but this old Daoist can still master you. How is this: agree to two conditions of mine, and I shall make no trouble for you, nor pursue the matter of your wounding my disciple. What say you?" To speak such words at a moment when blades were drawn and bows bent took even Zhou Xuan by surprise—was this not a voluntary softening? "Oh? What conditions? Let us hear them," said Zhou Xuan, floating in the air, quietly forming a hand-seal.

"First, return the Yin-Yang Mirror to my disciple!" said the Daoist Qianji coldly. Zhou Jin heard him out; this condition was not unreasonable. "And the second?" he asked.

"Second: as for your wounding my disciple, she was in the wrong first, and I care nothing for whatever grievances lie between you—let this matter be struck from the record. But in your words just now you showed Kunlun much disrespect. As a man of the Qincen Sect, I cannot sit by and let my sect's honor be harmed. Only come with me to Kunlun and beg forgiveness before our patriarch, the Primordial Lord of Heaven, and the matter is settled between us." The Daoist Qianji's tone remained cold throughout. Zhou Jin's expression changed at once. The old Daoist was venomous indeed—this move set him plainly in the right and in the ascendancy, and spoken aloud it sounded altogether reasonable. Yet if Zhou Jin went, the Shuyiao Sect could never again lift its head in the cultivation world.

"And if I refuse?" Zhou Que had long since made up his mind, and had no intention of wasting more words. If it came to a fight, so be it. He spoke a single sentence, flat and light, to the Daoist Qianji.

"If you refuse, then blame not this old Daoist for hauling you off to Kunlun!" The Daoist Qianji made plain that he would reason first and fight after, every sentence occupying the high ground and driving Zhou Xuan into a corner—worthy indeed of an old fox long famous in the world.

But before the Daoist Qianji's words had died away, he saw Zhou Xuan suddenly point a finger at the sky, and a thunderbolt descended from the heavens vaster than the Purple Mansion Immortal Thunder Yiyunzi had loosed before. This thunder was not purple but the same as any common bolt, only its girth was fearsome to behold—at least twice the size of the Purple Mansion Immortal Thunder, and beside a thunder-column fully three hundred zhang long there whirled countless fireballs, each the size of a bushel.

The spectacle was as though heaven and earth were being split asunder. The thunder-column, plunging down at furious speed, whipped up a gale; countless white clouds tumbled and rolled. By comparison, the thunder Yiyunzi had loosed before was as a brook beside a great river.

Seven-Color and Yunxia had known Zhou Xuan meant to fight, but they had never imagined such a display. They hastily summoned their treasures and opened the Seven-Color Dragon-Boat, flying off ten li in an instant to watch the two do battle from afar. Liao Yanqiao muttered, "Now look at this—the two of them go at it the moment they say the word, and the old man is in for trouble!" Zhou Chen and the little fox both knew Zhou Yan's nature and nodded along, deeply agreeing with Liao Yanqiao. Yunxiuzi, however, seemed anxious and restless; the Seven-Color Fairy saw it but could say nothing.