Han Li felt with his finger the chill of the great fellow's flesh, and looked upon that dull, unseeing pair of eyes, while in his heart he turned over the fortune that Zhang Tie had met.
Nine parts in ten, it had been Doctor Mo, in league with Yu Zitong, who had seized upon Zhang Tie when his Elephant-Armor Art had reached but a middling degree of accomplishment, and then, forging the semblance of his flight, had hoodwinked the many ears and eyes of the Sect of Seven Mysteries. And thereafter, in secret, by some art or other had robbed Zhang Tie of his very soul, and changed his body into this monstrous thing, that bore so close a likeness to one who had brought the Elephant-Armor Art to its full fruition.
Han Li's conjecture struck near the truth, and the true state of the matter differed from it but little.
In those days it had been a sudden fancy of Doctor Mo's to wed the Elephant-Armor Art to the craft of corpse-making that Yu Zitong had furnished, and to raise thereby a troop of corpse-beasts, docile to a master's bidding, yet mighty enough to sweep the pugilistic world before them. But in that scant span of time, he had managed to fashion but this one great fellow; and he prized him above all treasure, keeping him hidden of wont in some secret place at the foot of the mountain, and had only brought him back with him on his last return to the sect.
Yet Yu Zitong had no jot of liking for such a botched and misshapen corpse-beast as this — nay, he held it in contempt, and sniffed at it. For while his true body yet endured, he had a dozen arts to subdue so imperfect a creature; and besides, compared with the lofty iron-armored corpse of a true cultivator of immortality, the power of such a thing fell away past all reckoning, and could only strut and bluster among the common run of men. Its sole virtue lay, perchance, in the meanness of its materials and the ease of its forging, so that any with the least spark of magic could fashion one.
After a long while, Han Li of a sudden drew back the hand he had laid upon the giant's face, and turned his gaze uneasily from him, fixing his eyes upon the shattered stone door, and fell into a blank muse.
In that instant he felt his heart grow somewhat cold within him — not for the piteous lot of Zhang Tie, but for his own cold and ruthless spirit, at which he took alarm.
He had supposed that, learning the sorry doom of his good friend, he would rear back his head in fury, and cry aloud the names of "Mo Juren" and "Yu Zitong," and fill his voice with the hot anger of his hatred for them.
But in truth, beyond a faint pang of grief, he felt no great stirring, no rage — as though the one who had come to such a pass were not his old friend "Zhang Tie," but some stranger passing by.
Was it because he knew that this Zhang Tie before him was but a husk, and not the man himself? Or had his heart turned to so much iron and blood?
This selfish, cold-hearted bearing of his filled even Han Li himself with dread. Then did he perceive that, none knew when, he had grown a thing so strange to himself.
At last Han Li roused himself from his daze, and cast upon the giant a troubled look, scarce knowing what name to call "him".
Calling to mind the talk of Doctor Mo's — that "the soul is lost," that "the body walks though the spirit is gone" — Han Li lifted up his head to the sky and spoke softly:
"Brother Zhang, by now you must have been reborn into the world. The body you left behind has no further use, so pray let me, your young brother, borrow it to serve me! I shall use it with all care, and hope you will not hold it against me."
When he had made an end of this prayerful speech, and soothed his own conscience as one sleeps to sleep, he said again to the giant:
"Since you are the husk Brother Zhang left behind, with no soul of your own, I shall call you 'Soul-Summoning'. May you, in the days to come, lend me but one helping hand."
The giant heard Han Li's words, yet stood stock-still, with nought but the wonted look of docility upon him, and not the least stir besides — verily he had no mind of his own, and could only receive commands in a passive fashion.
"To speak thus to a body without wit — how foolish have I grown!" Han Li shook his head at himself, and then, with light and easy steps, made his way into the stone chamber.
"Soul-Summoning, follow."
Han Li had wholly recovered from his low spirits, and wore his usual countenance, as though nothing whatever had befallen. Verily, as he had himself deemed, he had grown wondrous hard and steeled, no longer lightly shaken by the passions.
Whether this great change boded fortune or ill for Han Li, who now set his feet upon the path of the cultivator, none could say.
For some while after, Han Li kept himself busy a good half of the day, that he might set all such business to rights.
Not only did he bury Doctor Mo's body beneath a great tree, and burn and cast away every thing that remained in the stone chamber, but he even bade Soul-Summoning batter the whole chamber to pieces, so that it was rent asunder and scattered, past all telling what it once had been, and only then would he stay his hand.
After such a fit of toil, the sky had darkened toward evening, and the sun had begun to sink.
Han Li stood before what had once been the stone chamber and was now but a pile of broken stone, and cast his eye about, and, finding nothing overlooked, nodded in satisfaction.
"Soul-Summoning, let us be gone!"
"There is a host of affairs to see to on the morrow. A pity you have no mind, and cannot speak; else, had I some one to counsel with me, I should feel the safer."
Beneath the crimson light of the setting sun, Han Li dragged his long-drawn shadow behind him, and chattered in a low voice without end to the giant he had renamed "Soul-Summoning," as though he had at last found a good listener to whom he might pour out his heart, and who would never once complain of him. Where now could one spy the least trace of that cold and heartless bearing? He was wholly like some simple lad of the neighborhood.
When he had settled Soul-Summoning well and good, Han Li returned to his own abode. Within the room, like a stranger long away from home, he felt here at the tables and chairs, looked there, and muttered to himself:
"How long this day has been! It seems longer than all the ten-odd years I have lived afore, bound up in one."
Then of a sudden, he threw himself headlong upon the bed, and slept the heavy sleep.
He was sore weary — wearied alike in spirit and in body.
"But it is good to have come back alive!" With a smile upon his lips, this was the thought that came to him as he sank into slumber.