Yu Zitong's primordial spirit, trapped in a narrow corner, dashed this way and that like a fly with its wings broken. Each time it sought to fly out from that place, a wash of black fluid drove it back mid-course, and then a deadly glint of steel came hard upon its heels, falling again and again upon the ball of light and wearing down its green glow at every stroke.
Doubt took hold of him, and despair. The relentless pursuit of the sword, for all that it had leached much of his spirit's strength, he did not much mind. What left him without means or remedy was the ceaseless gnawing of that black liquor.
Ever since the fluid had been sprayed upon him, he could feel his spirit growing numb and itching, weak and boneless, its last reserves of power worn away bit by bit; and what was more fatal still, it clogged his working of the arts, so that of late every art he sought to cast had failed him, as though he had been bound hand and foot.
"Why do you kill me? Why?..."
Against Han Li's cold and pitiless hand, there came from out of the ball of light, now and again, the hoarse cries of Yu Zitong, full of a boundless unwillingness; yet Han Li answered nothing, replying only with his blade, that swung ever the faster in his grip.
Before long Yu Zitong's voice sank lower and lower, and grew ever weaker, until at last there was naught left but a faint breath of a groan; and then not even that.
Han Li did not straightway stay his hand, but laid a dozen more cuts upon the spirit, that had fallen to the floor and was now grown no brighter than a candle-flame. Only when he saw that the last faint wisp of green light could not be quenched did he at length sheathe his soft sword, and wind it back about his belt.
It was then that Han Li spoke, coldly:
"I never ally myself with one who swears his oaths upon the lives of his own parents. Still less would I tread in Doctor Mo's footsteps, and put my trust in the pledge of a petty knave like you."
Casting one cold look at the last ember of Yu Zitong's spirit, Han Li turned about without a moment's hesitation, came to the stone door, and thrust it open with a single heave of his shoulder.
As the door swung wide, the dazzling sunlight poured in from without and fell upon the remnant of that spirit; and, with a soft "phut," the faint green glow guttered and died, dissolving into a few drifts of pale smoke and vanishing upon the air.
In this manner, the one last trace Yu Zitong had left upon the world was wiped away by Han Li's own hand, clean and entire, so that no man could ever again find his spoor.
That primordial spirits feared the light, Han Li knew only too well, for it was Doctor Mo's own habit, the instant he entered a chamber, of quenching sundry lights that had first put the thought into his head; had it been otherwise, this very last loose end, which neither sword nor fire could destroy, would have given him no end of sleepless worry.
Still, that Han Li was able to finish off the other's spirit with such ease was owed in no small part to the other tube of Seven-Poison Water he had prepared beforehand.
This venom, which had been Doctor Mo's old Five-Poison Water, was recompounded by Han Li with a new ingredient, a "Soil Mushroom Flower"; and this poisonous herb was not only an ill thing for common men, but greatly hindering to the primordial spirits of cultivators as well. It was for this very reason that Yu Zitong could never once bring his arts to ready use, and so his spirit was readily destroyed.
And as for why Han Li had first drenched the other's spirit in the Seven-Poison Water — he had been moved by the common lore of a hundred tales, in which every demon and fiend was near to terrified of chicken's blood, black dog's blood, and suchlike liquids. On a sudden inspiration, Han Li had treated Yu Zitong's spirit no better than a demon borne of such stories.
Had Yu Zitong known, in the underworld, that his ruin had come about through a blunder such as this — a happy mischance — who can say but he might have spat blood and died a second time, in sheer fury?
Han Li, for his part, was ignorant of all these coincidences. He knew only that, even if the venom had availed nothing, once he flung wide the door the other's spirit must perforce be doomed; and it was upon this full caution that he had struck at Yu Zitong with such merciless force.
Now, at last, he was free — never again would he live out his days under a knife held to his throat, ready at any instant to flee for his life.
Slowly Han Li walked back to the middle of the stone chamber and stood there a space, still and silent. Then all at once he leapt straight up, three full feet into the air, and let out several fierce roars of his own voice, venting to the full the joy within him. Only now had he truly returned to himself — the true self of a boy of sixteen years.
"At last I am free!"
"At last I am free!"
"I..." — with a snap, as though cut short by a knife, Han Li's cry broke off in the midst of his rejoicing.
A vast figure, drifting idly to and fro not far beyond the stone door, swung into his view — none other than the huge man who was called "Iron Slave."
Han Li's face all at once turned very ugly. At the very sight of the man, he seemed to feel anew that dull ache in his shoulder. He had blundered greatly, and again let slip the fellow's existence; that he had clean forgotten to ask Yu Zitong's spirit of the giant's origin and his weakness.
Yet what set Han Li somewhat at ease was that the giant seemed to have no interest in the least in what passed within the stone chamber; he did but pace ceaselessly outside, keeping fast to the watchful commands Doctor Mo had laid upon him in his lifetime, and never turning an eye toward the open door.
Han Li knit his brows, and felt the matter was no easy one. This giant man was plainly a little dull of wit, knowing only how to obey a single command; yet for Han Li, men of such a sort were the hardest of all to deal with, for no persuading of words could move him to lay by his arms and clasp hands in accord. And once come to blows, Han Li was no match for him; the one thing that could threaten the giant was the tube of venom, now quite empty.
Han Li paced the breadth of the chamber this way and that in long, even strides, racking his wits for a way to subdue the fellow; but for the hour his mind was as tangled as a skein of silk, without a single clear thread.
His eye, wandering idly, fell at last upon the corpse of Doctor Mo.
At that, a sudden inspiration seized him.
"Perhaps," he thought, "upon the body I may find some means to curb this giant."
He cast a glance at the door; the giant still paced tirelessly without, showing not the least sign of drawing near.
Seeing this, Han Li's heart was set at ease, and he came a few steps to the corpse of Doctor Mo and, with no thought of distaste, reached out both hands and began to feel it over carefully, inch by inch.