Even as the two were on the very point of closing, Han Li gave a faint turn to the blade in his hand, slanting its angle a little—a very little, no more than the merest degree. Yet to Doctor Mo's eye it worked a change as vast as if heaven and earth had overturned.
A white light suddenly burst before Doctor Mo's sight. A dozen or more blazes of dazzling brilliance sprang up, so fierce and unshielded that they bore straight into his eyes.
His heart cried "Alas!" and he made haste to spring backward and shut his eyelids tight; but it was too late. In the space of a moment the white light was already within his vision, leaving not a breath of time to counter it.
At once a heat came into Doctor Mo's eyes, and then a bitter ache seized the eyeballs, while tears gushed out in an endless stream. He had no care to wipe them away. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, he strove to force his eyes open and look out—but saw only a great blank of white. Not a thing could he make out clearly; even the very shapes of objects had become a dizzying blur, doubled and indistinct.
In that moment a mingled fury and dread filled his heart, and he repented sorely that he had let himself, through a single lapse of care, be caught out again by the boy's snare.
But Doctor Mo had walked many a year in the jianghu, and his store of prowess in dealing with dangers of every sort was rich. On the one hand, he kept retreating step after step, putting distance between himself and the other, seeking to gain time; on the other, he drew his two palms back and flung them about before his body, and by means of those Demon Silver Hands, proof against blade and arrow alike, he shielded the vital points of his upper half.
In his heart he had resolved that until his eyes were restored, he would by no means be the first to strike again; every onset must wait until he could see clearly, lest he fall once more into the crafty boy's snare.
By now Doctor Mo had cast from his mind every last trace of the contempt he had once felt. In point of peril, this battle with Han Li fell not a whit short of the deadly struggles he had waged in his youth against formidable foes.
Though he could not make out the other's movements, Doctor Mo pricked up both ears and listened with all his attention, wishing to judge from sound alone what the boy would do next.
Dimly he seemed to see a form flicker before him, and then came a sharp tearing noise, ridden upon a blast of cold wind, flying straight at him from the front.
At Han Li's thrust Doctor Mo felt, not alarm, but a stir of gladness.
The boy's means were still a little green, after all. Had he kept himself hidden and struck by stealth, Doctor Mo might indeed have had to rack his brains; but to attack so boldly and openly from the front—what was there to fear in that? For the art of tracing a foe by ear, of telling sound and wind apart, he had long ago brought to the height of perfection. Let it be not merely a straight thrust of the short sword, but a slender embroidery needle flying at him, and he would hear it clearly enough.
Doctor Mo heard with true clarity, but in his hand he deliberately loosed his guard a little, leaving a small opening before his body. As he had looked for, the sound of the coming thrust immediately shifted, slipping in through that very gap, and then made straight for his throat.
A cruel grin spread over Doctor Mo's face. His right hand, which had long been waiting, shot out at the same moment, and in a flash seized the blade, gripping it fast and firm, without the least fear of its sharp edge.
His opponent plainly knew the game was up, and pulled hard at the sword several times to tear it free; but under the grip of the Demon Silver Hands, not a jot could it stir. The effort was but wasted strength.
A shade of triumph stirred in Doctor Mo. Yet he dared not grow careless in his hand, and to make sure the other should not wake to his peril, loosen his hold, and slip away, he paid no heed that his eyes had not yet recovered. With a single hand he suddenly put forth the full ten of his strength, and drew the sword toward himself, meaning to haul Han Li bodily across and take him in hand; but lo, his grip felt light and airy, as though it held no more than a feather.
He was startled to the core. He held the very blade still in his hand; how could it have turned so light all at once? Even were Han Li to loose his hold, it should not weigh so little as this.
Before Doctor Mo could fathom the matter, there burst, but a few inches before his throat, a sharp keen sound that rent the air, as though some slender pointed thing was darting at him at a speed past all telling. Ere the thing itself arrived, the broken rush of air had already set a faint sting upon his larynx.
He had no time to think. His body, by a sheer nervous reflex, made all at once to dodge; his head fell to one side, strained hard over in that direction, his neck wrenched into an angle past believing, as he struggled to escape that deathly stroke.
The deep and practiced skill of many a year at last came into play at that moment. Doctor Mo felt a chill run along his neck, as the slender thing slid by, grazing close against his flesh, merely scraping some skin and doing him no greater hurt.
Having escaped that blow, and fearing lest the other still held a further stroke in reserve, Doctor Mo would not stop to think. With no other notion, he flung himself upon the ground after the very trick with which Han Li had first saved his life, and rolled like a lazy donkey, far away from Han Li, before he dared rise again to his feet.
Once he stood upright, Doctor Mo felt a scorching pain at his neck, and could not help but touch the wound; his hand came away wet, showing that no little blood had flowed.
With all haste he pressed two fingers upon the veins hard by, and so stemmed the bleeding.
Only then did the fright of it come upon him. That blow, he felt, should by rights have been past all escaping; that his body, by a surpassing instinct, had so oddly and miraculously slipped away from death.
As this thought crossed his mind, Doctor Mo raised his eyes and looked at Han Li, and only now marked that the things before him had become clear again—his sight had returned at some point without his knowledge.
There stood Han Li, glaring at Doctor Mo with a face full of chagrin, plainly galled to the quick that the other had once more slipped free of death.
In his hand he held a pointed weapon of but an inch or so in length; in shape it was a spike shorter than any, yet its hilt was still the hilt of the sword, so that the whole had a grotesque look, and on it were smears of blood—it was that very strange weapon which had wounded Doctor Mo.
Doctor Mo's face grew cold and grim, his eyes full of blazing wrath. That he had so near lost his life again and again was more than he could stomach, and he was about to let it all burst forth, when of a sudden he felt that his right hand still clasped something.
He looked down. It was a bladeshaft, light and airy in the hand; picking it up and examining it closely, he saw at last, with a sudden light of understanding. The blade was hollow, and from the size and shape of the cavity, what had been hid within it was none other than that spike. That blade was naught but a shell, a thing to deceive the eye, fitted over the spike.
In that instant all the fury that filled his breast was quenched to nothing by this discovery that he had not looked for.