Chapter 160 — Spring Water Wrinkled by the Wind

" Ling Yuxiu was shaken to the heart. Ever since the Imperial Preceptor of Jingping had summoned the masters of the combat-technique school to discourse on the Way, those masters had died or fled or slipped away into hiding; yet at that disputation no topmost master of the combat school had appeared.

The combat school is strong in the body, and the greatest of its masters share one trait: some part of their flesh has already become divine.

They need not deliberately exercise any power; every gesture and every motion is itself a divine power. Plainly, this old man with only an upper half was such a being.

The Butcher filled his lungs — the clouds about them were all but emptied — and then blew out one breath.

With a crash, the Weak Water Lake before them was flung up, wave upon wave rising higher, like a sea stood on end.

That upright sea raced backward, and in almost the blink of an eye was blown into the snow mountains, filling every valley, great and small.

Before them the lakebed lay dry; even the white bones in the lake were blown away.

The bottom was still somewhat damp, but there was no mud — the mud too had been scoured clean.

Shen Mu opened his Celestial Eye and saw that the gauze-veil shrouding the lake's surface had likewise been blown away by that one breath of the Butcher's, gone to none knew where.

The mightiest masters of the combat-technique school possess no arts to reshape geography; yet such beings have bodies of matchless power, and to reshape geography and weather, what need have they of arts? "If one could have the body of the combat school, the swordsmanship of the Sword-Riding school, and the divine powers of the Spell school, would one not be invincible?

" Shen Mu blinked and followed after the Butcher. What he cultivated was the Mystic Body Three Elixirs Art; that art was good in every way save that it had no divine powers, no method for forging the body, and no swordplay.

And it was precisely because Shen Mu cultivated the Mystic Body Three Elixirs Art that the Butcher had not passed on to him his own body-forging methods, lest it hinder his progress in cultivation.

In truth, every soul in the village had his own peculiar arts, yet none had ever taught them to him. In Loulan's Golden Palace there was a great outcry.

One breath had blown away the Weak Water Lake before the palace gates — a power that pierced heaven and earth, beyond all comprehension; how could the witch-men and great witches of the Golden Palace fail to be shaken to the soul?

Before the Sacred Hall the Witch Venerable stood leaning on his scepter, two beams of golden light shining from his eyes and falling upon the three who walked across the lakebed, and the corners of his eyes twitched. He was the head of the Golden Palace.

Envying the Butcher's mighty flesh, when he learned that the Butcher had swung his blade at Heaven and been struck down by the gods, he had straightway slipped into Jingping, wiped out the small sect that had taken the Butcher's lower half, and seized it for himself. He knew well that the Butcher's body surpassed his own, and so he had resolutely cut away his own lower half and exchanged it for the Butcher's.

And now the nightmare had become real.

The Heavenly Khagan had not died; he had lived, and now he had come to demand his lower half back. The Witch Venerable's eye-corners twitched violently.

He turned and went into the Sacred Hall. Upon the shrines within sat golden bones, some in human form and some in the shapes of beasts — eighteen shrines in all; seventeen held golden bones, and in the eighteenth sat a slovenly old man with unkempt hair, shriveled to skin and bone, sitting withered as though dead.

"Great Venerable, the Heavenly Khagan has come," the Witch Venerable said, leaning on his scepter, kneeling on one knee, head bowed low. The gaunt, unkempt old man in the shrine opened his eyes. His gaze was piercing sharp, his voice like an owl's: "Where is the reincarnated holy child I told you to find for me?

" Fine beads of golden sweat stood out on the Witch Venerable's golden brow, and his voice came hoarse: "They have not yet been found. .

.

" The unkempt old man's voice went shrill: "Without the reincarnated holy child, are my seventeen incarnations all wasted?

I am but half a step from godhood — half a step! " The Witch Venerable bowed his head deep and dared not speak. The unkempt old man said harshly, "With me here, the Heavenly Blade dares not make trouble for you; but neither will I lightly spend my life to aid you.

Give him back his lower half, and find me the reincarnated holy child at once!

" The Witch Venerable's heart lurched with alarm; suddenly a light flashed and cut across his waist, too swift for him to block. The Witch Venerable was silent.

After a moment he spoke: "Junior Brother Gyatso, come in.

" A Witch King, hearing it, hurried into the Sacred Hall and bowed. "What does the Witch Venerable command?

" The Witch Venerable raised his scepter and ran it through the man's head, then cut off his lower half and joined it to his own body; his face was as still as an ancient well.

He bowed. "Master, your disciple takes his leave.

"