Chapter 90 — The Sword Across His Knees Slays the Specters

At the village entrance, the old man who smoked a pipe of human bone was moved. He turned and faced him.

Shen Mu, fierce in his momentum, rode a surging wave that came howling in, bearing down as though to blot out sky and earth.

Water—if swift enough—can smash all things, cleave all things, destroy all things. Such was the wondrous use of the Dark Warrior's primal qi: the Dark Warrior's qi commands the water, and so long as the water's speed reaches forty-six zhang in a single instant, it can cleave steel; let it fall upon a man's body, and it will cut him clean in two—nothing it cannot break.

Shen Mu trod the crest of the wave, rolling straight over the old man, his momentum flooding the heavens.

With the Deaf Elder's diagram roused in him, and the dragon's blood besides, and that great furnace the Silent Artisan had hidden within his body, he had confidence to face anyone.

At the village entrance, the old man with the human-bone pipe raised a hand and collided with a crash against the long river bearing down with heaven-flooding force; the whole river, advancing like a giant python, collapsed and scattered into a flood that spread in all directions. At the same moment, the old man's two fingers pinched lightly, and the Chubao Sword, which had thrust out of the water, halted its momentum.

"Have you found the Land of No Sorrow?

" the old man asked with a chuckle.

In the very instant the old man pinched the Chubao Sword, Shen Mu's palm had already closed on the hilt; all the power in his body erupted, and he thrust forward.

This old man was stronger than he had reckoned, but his eyes had opened the Nine Heavens of the Sacred Pupil, and he could see the shifting currents of power within the old man's body.

When the old man raised a hand to hold back the long river and pinched the sword's tip, his strength had already reached its limit; add Shen Mu's own bodily power now, and it would exceed what he could withstand. The dragon's blood and the Deaf Elder's diagram had raised Shen Mu's fleshly strength to its utmost, and the power his body could explode with was in no way inferior to his present raging mana.

At this thrust the old man's expression changed at once; his two fingers could not hold the sword's tip, the Chubao Sword pierced his palm, and with a hiss the tip nailed itself into his chest. "Old sir, I will send you now to the Land of No Sorrow!

" Shen Mu drove down with his feet, and the Chubao Sword shoved the old man forward.

The old man, who had sat motionless before, now lowered his legs, but even so he could hardly withstand Shen Mu's terrifying strength; his two legs plowed two deep furrows in the ground.

Clang! The old man's other hand swung up the human-bone pipe and struck the Chubao Sword hard.

Shen Mu's arm shuddered and went numb; he let go, and his qi swept the Chubao Sword up to trace a level circle in the air, slicing toward the old man's neck.

The Cloud Sword Style! His swordsmanship had been guided by the Village Head; though it was made of the simplest moves—thrust, cloud, lift, and the like—its power was frighteningly great.

The old man hurriedly dodged back, but the Chubao Sword kept spinning in its circle, clinging to his neck, so that he could only retreat and retreat.

One more step back and he would come to the boundary stone of the Dead's Living Realm.

Meanwhile, the scattered waters rose again, howling in from all sides, coiling around the old man like great pythons.

Suddenly the human-bone pipe in the old man's hand flew up to block the Chubao Sword; from the pipe gushed a thick fog that spread across the sky, and within the fog the smoke gathered into skull after skull, shrieking and chittering, pouncing at Shen Mu, boring into his body to tear at his soul.

Shen Mu had sealed his own soul with the Heavenly Demon Art of Creation; he let the smoke-made skulls gnaw and tear, yet they could never drag his soul out of his body.

Shen Mu drew in a breath and suddenly spat out a gale. Whoosh— The fog, skulls and all, was blown apart by that single breath.

He had never learned any spell or divine power for commanding wind, but his cultivation had been forced by the Deaf Elder and the Silent Artisan up to heights he had once never imagined; a breath was now spell and divine power.

The pipe clashed with the Chubao Sword, and countless sparks were struck from it; the sparks at once turned to fiery lava that came hurtling at his face.

Shen Mu shifted his steps, dodging the lava's blows, and pressed his attack still more fiercely.

The giant pythons the waters had become coiled around the old man, and at once countless water-swords stabbed at him from every side. Suddenly the bowl of the old man's pipe swelled huge, like a great black cauldron turned upside down, and a fearsome suction came from it and drank the waters all away—though the fire in the pipe was quenched as well.

Shen Mu closed in with ghostlike movement, arms wheeling, now fists, now palms, like a thousand-armed Vajra, attacking the old man madly. Suddenly his boxing changed; saber-light mingled with the fists, and his footwork shifted beyond all prediction, making his attacks harder still to guard against.

The old man kept retreating.

His strength still exceeded Shen Mu's, but Shen Mu's movement, footwork, boxing and saber-play were all weird and unfathomable; above all, that Chubao Sword was matchlessly sharp—even his pipe could not withstand it. The moves the sword performed were surpassingly simple, yet exceedingly effective: swift, powerful, and again and again breaking through the pipe's defense to strike straight at his flaws.

Shen Mu seemed a master of the sword; though the moves were simple and even crude, they gave him the sense of great skill that looks artless, and were most troublesome, forcing him to retreat whether he would or no. The Village Head's simplest sword moves, joined with the Deaf Elder's Nine Heavens of the Sacred Pupil—nothing could stand before them.

The old man took one more step back, and suddenly his heart lurched: from the corner of his eye he saw a boundary stone. The boundary stone of the Dead's Living Realm. Shen Mu raised his saber and closed in short, pressing into his guard; the Butcher's Knife was about to rise, and the old man had no choice but to retreat; with that one step back, all the flesh and blood on his body vanished at once, and he became a skeleton. And Shen Mu stepped forward, crossing out of the Dead's Living Realm, and at once flesh and blood grew over the bones of his body.

The old man said not a word, turned, and went; he leaped into the vast sea of fog. Shen Mu had grown flesh and blood, and his fleshly strength would rise still higher, while the old man had shed his own flesh, and his power would wane; as one grew and the other failed, retreat was his only road.

Shen Mu breathed out in relief.

This old man was formidable indeed; had the fight gone on, it might well have dragged out until the moment the dragon's blood failed—and then it would likely have been he who died.

He walked to the dock.

The sea of fog stretched vast and boundless, no end in sight, and through it the glow of a lantern faintly shone. "Will the Village Head make it in time?

" Shen Mu looked back.

In the Dead's Living Realm, demon clouds hung bleak and dim, surging steadily this way; plainly the strong ones of the city had set out to come and see. It would not be long before the rolling demon clouds arrived here.

Shen Mu waited a while. The boat with the lantern came drifting up, but still the Village Head did not appear.

The demon clouds were very close now; to delay any longer and it would surely be too late.

Shen Mu took out a Fengdu coin and slapped the gold coin into a wooden post of the dock, then stepped aboard the little skiff.