Chapter 160 — Spring Water Wrinkled by the Wind

Shen Mu knew well the power of the Blind Old Man's Sacred-Heart Pupil, and had long since grown used to it: though the old man's eyes could see nothing, what he saw was more than any other man's. He rose to his feet and looked out into the distance; all around that peak there were still bands of golden light, circling the mountain.

The Green Ox ran with all his strength, drawing nearer and nearer, and before long those rays grew thicker and thicker, threading back and forth about the mountain like so many streaming ribbons, wrapping it entire.

When they had come closer still, many things could be seen within that golden light — the divine powers of the Witch Kings. In one shaft of gold hid curved sabers; in another stood images of gold; in a third golden dragons tumbled and rolled.

The Witch Kings' strength was frightful; only one who had cultivated to the Heaven-Man realm could be named a Witch King, but Loulan's Golden Palace was, after all, the holy ground beyond the frontier, and most of the Witch Kings who had come to hunt down Libationer Bashan were of the Life-and-Death realm — indeed, one among them was a patriarch-class being of the Spirit Bridge realm, of vast and awful presence. On ran the Green Ox, until they were but ten li from the peak, and Shen Mu looked again: at the eight points of east, south, west, north, southeast, southwest, northeast, and northwest, a Witch King stood in the air. The Witch King to the east had a bird's head and a man's body, holding a round mirror; the mirror was uncanny, with twelve snow-white bones growing out of it, and he cradled it in his hands, and from the glass a beam of golden light shot forth.

The Witch King to the west had a leopard's head and a man's body, gripping a tally-staff, from whose head trailed something like a tail, drifting, as long as the staff itself, while at its tip was a golden skull whose eyes shot golden light. The Witch King to the south was a golden man with three heads — three wolf heads. The Witch King to the north had a man's head and a bird's body, wings springing from his back, and from those two wings golden swords kept spawning, and the swords became a stream of blades that hurled themselves at the peak at the center.

And the Witch Kings of the southeast, southwest, northeast, and northwest were stranger still: one had a beast's head and eight arms, one had six legs, one had many wings, one had many eyes upon his face and eyes in the palms of his hands. Though Shen Mu had already witnessed the Louluo Scripture of the Witch Venerable, at such a sight he could not but marvel at how monstrous and mighty this art was.

On the peak at the center, saber-light wove and clashed, opening and shutting, holding off the divine powers that came killing in from eight directions. From that mountain boulders fell without cease, each stone as large as a courtyard house — a thing one could not see clearly from afar, where one made out only something like dust drifting down; only up close did one learn how gigantic that dust truly was.

The mountain had been pared by Libationer Bashan and the eight Witch Kings' powers into a bald pillar, and only the summit where Libationer Bashan stood still showed the green of grass and trees. The Butcher glanced at it, breathed out in relief, and laughed: "Big Mouth isn't dead.

Let us go back.

" Shen Mu did not know whether to laugh or to cry, and the Green Ox put on yet more speed. Before they reached the foot of the mountain, the Butcher suddenly soared into the air, and a blade of light split the sky, dazzling bright; Shen Mu looked up and felt that after that brilliance passed, the sky seemed to have gone a little black — as though the light had burned a saber-scar into his pupil, or as though its edge had been so keen it had cut the heavens open.

He could not tell which it was. "Heavenly Khagan!

" A scream rang out.

In the sky a man's head came tumbling down, and a headless, bird-winged Witch King flapped and fluttered, gold spilled everywhere through the air — it was that Witch King of the north, the man-headed, bird-bodied one.

Of all the Witch Kings present, he alone was a patriarch-class being of the Spirit Bridge realm, and he had been taken by surprise by the Butcher, cut down by a single blade at close range. The Butcher belonged to the combat-technique school; for him to close in — the outcome was easy to imagine. The Butcher came down, landing steady as ever upon the Green Ox's back, and called the ox to a halt.

"Your master is out of danger now; a few more wounds and he can cut his way free. Green Ox, take us to Loulan's Golden Palace.

" The Green Ox hesitated.

"Will you not save the master, old sir?

The master is filial, and ever speaks of your goodness. " "Save him for what? To pester me?

" The Butcher shook his head.

"These years in the village I have had such quiet, and the mere thought of that fellow's nagging makes my head ache.

Go where I tell you, and one more word and we eat beef. Do you know what I did in the village?

" The Green Ox shuddered and dared not speak.

The ox was shrewd, and had long since seen that this man was a butcher of pigs and oxen.

"Master! " From the peak came Libationer Bashan's voice — plainly wounded, his breath short — and jubilant with it: "Master, it is you after all!

I knew you were not dead!

All these years you left me in Jingping and went off to live free and easy — how will you make it up to me?

I have so much to tell you. .

.

" "Run," said the Butcher.

The Green Ox bolted in panic toward Loulan's Golden Palace. Libationer Bashan was about to charge off the summit when the other seven Witch Kings joined strength and pressed him down, and he had no choice but to fall back onto the peak. Those seven Witch Kings too were riding a tiger.

The eight of them had joined forces to suppress Libationer Bashan, meaning to refine him to death, never expecting that the Heavenly Khagan, rumored dead these many years, would appear again and slay their strongest with a single stroke.

They had thought the Heavenly Khagan would turn on them next, and Libationer Bashan, his spirits soaring, had instead loosed his fiercest attacks upon them all at once, pinning them where they stood so that they could not flee — and their souls had all but left them for terror. And now the Heavenly Khagan had simply abandoned Libationer Bashan there and ridden off on his ox.

Libationer Bashan was utterly bewildered; then the truth broke upon him, and he cursed and railed, stabbing his finger at the old man's backbone behind his back. Half a day more, and the Green Ox bore them back to the shore of the Weak Water Lake and halted. The Butcher looked at the Blind Old Man.

"Blind Old Man, you and Shen'er come up the mountain with me. I have no lower half now, and I cannot beat that old devil. " "Good.

" The Blind Old Man leapt down from the ox's back.

Shen Mu told Ling Yuxiu, the little snow fox, and the Green Ox to stay, saying, "We will be back before long.

" Ling Yuxiu nodded.

"Take care, all of you. " The Butcher came to the shore of the Weak Water Lake and shook his head.

"Bashan, that boy — all these years and no progress; he could not even shift this lake.

" He drew a long breath.

Behind him, Ling Yuxiu, the little fox, and the Green Ox could not help but be aghast: wind churned and clouds surged on every side, and the clouds in the sky were swept in by the gale and poured into the mouth of the old man before them, who had only an upper half.

The grassland lay high and the clouds hung rather low, yet they were still a thousand zhang distant; the old man took one breath and drew even the white clouds of heaven into his belly — strong to a degree that bordered on the outrageous. "This is — this is.

. . a legend, the very greatest master of the combat-technique school!