Yu Zitong had great faith in his own words. He could not believe there lived a man who could resist the lure of attaining immortality, of living forever and never dying.
Once, long ago, Doctor Mo had hated him to the very bone; and yet, under exactly such words as these, had he not fallen to and cooperated with perfect obedience? He was well persuaded that, with a touch more sweetening offered to the lad, the boy would come to heel readily enough.
But Yu Zitong was disappointed. Having heard his seductive offer, Han Li showed no spark of excitement; his face was utterly calm, as though the words had raised not the faintest ripple in the depths of the other's breast.
"Of the matter of our alliance, I shall think hereafter," said Han Li, fixing his clear gaze steadily upon the ball of light. "But there is still one doubt in my mind, and I would have you answer it if you can."
"If I answer this question of yours, you will consent to the alliance?"
"That will depend on whether your answer satisfies me."
"Very well, ask then!" Yu Zitong agreed with great readiness. Plainly he understood full well the old truth that "beneath another man's eaves, one must bow one's head."
Han Li did not speak at once; he raised his head and studied the rafters for a while, deep in thought, as though weighing how best to frame his words.
Yu Zitong, daunted by the other's grave manner, muttered uneasily to himself, wondering what sore-headed question Han Li meant to put to him.
"I would know what ill effects follow upon my having swallowed up part of the primordial spirit of Doctor Mo and of yourself," Han Li at last asked out the thing that had weighed upon him since he woke. "My head throbs with a strange fulness, and I seem to have gained a great many things that I cannot yet lay open to view. There is nothing amiss in that, is there?"
Hearing that this was the little question that troubled the lad, Yu Zitong's heart at once was put at ease, and his voice grew light and quick.
"Ha! So it was this. Little brother, you take too much upon you — you need not give it a thought at all. All those things that have been thrust into your head will, of themselves, slowly scatter and dissolve within a year or two. You have not a care in the world."
"Then you mean that all this swallowing up has been work with no result, and nothing at all can be kept?" Han Li cast a doubtful look at the other, a faint flicker of mistrust in his eye. "I can hardly believe that."
"To say nothing at all could be kept would not be quite true. But what can be kept is, indeed, little enough." Yu Zitong was quick to explain, fearing the other should misunderstand him.
"Of what is contained in it — memories, experience, feelings, these things — not one jot may be touched. Were you to take them up, at the least you would be turned a witless fool, or split in two with a divided temper; at the worst, your very spirit would swell past all endurance, and burst, and you would die."
"For you must know, a primordial spirit is the most delicate of things; it cannot be fused with other things at will. To swallow up another's spirit and set it down a while within your head — that may be done. But to make it your own — that is a vain imagining. Otherwise, at the mere doing of a soul-possession, one might gain the other's experience, memories, and arts at a stroke, and then would all the world be thrown into confusion; who would then sit in patient cultivation of his own, and ponder the realms and the heart-methods, when one possession would give him all at once?"
"Of all that is swallowed up, the one thing that may be put to use is the faint measure of original essence it holds within. Such a thing may serve to swell one's own spirit a little; but even that is but a jot, for of all things it is the swiftest to leak away. Within a few days it is drained utterly from the swallowed spirit, and no more use can be made of it."
Han Li, as he listened to Yu Zitong's account, felt the last shred of misgiving in his heart laid down at last.
He could tell that the man was not lying. At such a moment, Yu Zitong must be turning over in his mind an alliance with Han Li very like the one he had once shared with Doctor Mo; and so, upon a matter that a little time would soon test and lay bare, he would not by any means deceive him.
When Yu Zitong had made an end of his explanation, and saw Han Li nod, as one who had taken him at his word, joy stole into his heart, and the ball of light into which his spirit had shaped itself seemed to shine the brighter. Eagerly he asked:
"Little brother Han, it seems my explanation has satisfied you. Then should we not now go on to discuss the alliance between us?"
"Why, of course! To be allied with a cultivator is the very good fortune I should have prayed for!" All at once Han Li's face broke into a smile, and his white teeth flashed in a most earnest good humour.
"Truly?" Yu Zitong grew excited; he had not thought the lad would consent before ever he had spoken a word of persuasion, and hastened to make sure of it.
"Of course." Han Li's answer came swift and crisp.
Then, smiling, he drew something from within his breast, and said to Yu Zitong in the most cordial of tones:
"Since we are now partners in this matter, then, before we come to the heart of it, you will not refuse to help me in a little trial, will you?"
"A trial?" Yu Zitong was taken aback. As he stared at the round tube in the other's hand, it struck him that the thing was strangely familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere before, and a faint foreboding crept into his breast.
"Indeed, a trial of poison."
The words were not yet out of Han Li's mouth when his thumb, which rested upon the tube, gave a little stir; and at once a jet of black, viscous liquid sprayed forth, bearing with it a foul reek of rot, and flew straight at the thing he had aimed at.
"Ah!"
A sharp cry of anguish burst from the ball of light, for Yu Zitong's primordial spirit had been caught full upon by that black fluid. The green glow upon it dimmed sharply all at once, and it was plain to see that he had been hurt not a little.
"You... you have treacherously laid hands upon me — struck me with poison?" Yu Zitong shrieked, his voice cracking, as though he could not yet believe all that had just befallen.
Han Li paid no heed to the other's rage. Reaching down, he seized the buckle of the belt above his own belly, and, with a "shii" of drawn steel, whipped out a gleaming sword from the hidden lining of the belt.
This blade was a finger's breadth wide, and about a foot and a half in length, bent and pliant through all its body — a rare "Jade-Belt Short Sword."
This was the last, and the dearest, of the short swords Han Li had paid a great price to have a smith forge for him; and since he had never been skilled in the wielding of such weapons, he had never yet drawn it out to use. Little had he thought that its hour should come now.
Grasping this blade that had lain hidden on his person all along, yet had almost never had the chance to show itself, Han Li's face grew dark and grim; of his earlier smiling humour not a trace remained.
He cast one look of loathing at the trembling spirit, and, without another word, sprang forward in a single bound, and swung down upon the ball of light with all his might — using the soft sword as though it were no more than a woodman's axe.