Chapter Fifteen: That Year, the Hero's Hair Turned White

"On my fortieth birthday, Uncle Fu took me down the mountain..." Sobbing, Liu Yueming began to recount, in halting fragments, the events of that night.

...

"He didn't kill me, but I could sense that it was only because he disdained to do so."

"Then he simply left... and after that, I remember nothing. There are only vague impressions of a group of people arriving, Uncle Fu fighting them off, and him telling me to go. I got up and left..." For reasons unknown, Liu Yueming did not mention being pursued by the Xuan Army.

Though the rumors had grown even more fantastical than what Liu Yueming described, hearing him recount the story himself left those present feeling as though they were witnessing it firsthand. Each of them drew a sharp breath. Even a tiger does not eat its own cubs; yet Liu Wujian not only killed his own father with his own hands, but even raised his hand against his son. Who could say what greater cruelties he was still capable of?

"Yueming, righteousness must come first. You must make your decision." Hua Queyue gently stroked Liu Yueming's back. Bowed over, sobbing, Liu Yueming gradually quieted.

"Liu Wujian was once a hero who stood tall, but now he has fallen to the demonic path. Though it is tragic, we must not show him mercy. Liu scion, if Liu Wujian dared kill his own father, why should you not dare kill him?" Jin Buhuan said.

The hall fell into a heavy silence. Liu Wujian's reputation had always been formidable, now even more so for his deeds. Even in his absence, few dared speak his name openly. Even the envoys from the Beichen family and the Soul Sect, who had previously interrogated Liu Yueming, now kept utterly silent.

Jin Buhuan's direct stance was, of course, rooted in his own strength, but even more so in his character. All cultivators knew that Jin Buhuan was famed for his hatred of evil, and his title as Elder of the Spirit Realm was well-earned.

It was this very nature that had made him so aggressive in his search for Liu Yueming.

Liu Yueming straightened, leaning back in his chair, face upturned, eyes closed, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. The tears at the corners of his eyes turned to shards of ice, falling in swift succession.

"He is mine. Only I can kill him." Liu Yueming did not open his eyes. In that moment, his voice grew truly cold and merciless.

Hua Queyue sighed softly. There is no greater tragedy than father and son turning upon each other.

Thus was the matter of the Sword Sect concluded. From now on, Liu Wujian would be lost forever to darkness.

"Senior Iron Sword, after the demon invasion, many of the great sects' strongest were slain by the Bone Emperor Bai Gu Ku and his demon kings. Of all who faced him, not a single one survived. We therefore lack any firsthand intelligence about Bai Gu Ku. You alone survived that ambush years ago—please, tell us what you know." Hua Queyue bowed deeply to the old man, her tone reverent.

All those who had ambushed Bai Gu Ku that year had perished. The old man had lost an arm and fallen into a deathlike stupor, thus escaping the slaughter.

At the memory of his fallen brothers and that brutal massacre twenty years past, the old man closed his eyes in torment.

"There were twenty of us, and within the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn..." The old man broke off, his closed face lined with pain.

"Could you be more specific?" Hua Queyue prompted gently.

"Hmph! All your comrades died heroes' deaths. Did you survive by deserting the field?" Jin Buhuan accused.

The old man opened his eyes, staring straight at Jin Buhuan. "I should have died! My brothers fell; so should I! But since I survived, I must avenge them. So, I cannot die!"

"Yet I doubt you could withstand even a second against Bai Gu Ku. What talk is this of revenge? You only love your own life!" Jin Buhuan pressed on.

Hua Queyue's expression darkened. "Elder Jin!"

"Hmph!" Jin Buhuan said no more.

"Senior Iron Sword, the demons have invaded, and Bai Gu Ku is already south of Misty Mountain, within the human realm. We need information about him, so that we may devise a strategy to destroy him with the least cost. Do you understand?" Hua Queyue said.

The old man took up his flask, poured himself a few mouthfuls of liquor, and spoke: "Back then, I was of middling strength among my companions. Yet against Bai Gu Ku, I survived only two exchanges before he severed my right arm."

"Bai Gu Ku, true to his name, is a master of bone magic. His body is encased in white bone, impervious to blades and spears—ordinary attacks are useless. His bone magic is uncanny. He can conjure razor-sharp bone spears and lances, defend himself from all angles without a single opening, and, most terrifying of all, he can summon a monstrous Bone Dragon."

The old man frowned, thinking for a moment. "He certainly has other techniques. We were overwhelmed from the start, never forcing him to show his full strength."

Jin Buhuan had listened intently. When the old man finished, he said in a grave tone, "You were once famed as the Invincible Iron Sword. How strong are you, truly? Attack me, so I may judge Bai Gu Ku's strength by your own."

The old man did not hesitate. He rose, gripped his iron sword with his left hand, and said, "Prepare yourself."

Jin Buhuan stood, stepping to the center of the hall, hands clasped behind his back like a towering giant. "Begin."

No sooner had he spoken than the old man's sword shot forth.

The massive blade leapt like a startled dragon, powerful and swift, thrusting at Jin Buhuan. A gleam of surprise flashed in Jin Buhuan's eyes, but he made no move. Though the strike was strong, it was far from enough in his estimation.

As the sword-point neared within an inch of his chest, Jin Buhuan finally moved. He lightly extended his right hand, two fingers poised to clamp down on the blade. In that instant, the old man's sword faltered; its tip twisted, writhing like a serpent, slipping past Jin Buhuan's fingers and darting toward him with even greater speed. It was the Snow-Smiting variation—sudden, unpredictable, always adapting to the foe.

Jin Buhuan's gaze sharpened; his right hand switched from a pinch to a slap, golden light flaring from his palm as he struck the blade aside.

The old man abandoned the sword, conjuring a wave of sword energy with his hand, lunging forward. Jin Buhuan scattered the energy with his palm. The old man unleashed a second wave, drawing ever closer.

Jin Buhuan dispersed this attack as well, about to strike the old man when he felt a sudden, intense danger from behind. Instinctively, his left hand shot backward, two fingers snapping shut—grasping the very sword the old man had discarded. It turned out the old man had imbued the blade with hidden force as he let it go, sending it spinning back for a surprise assault.

Jin Buhuan's right hand hovered at the old man's throat but did not strike. Returning the sword, he walked back to his seat, left hand tapping the armrest in thought.

Jin Buhuan had not moved a single step, appearing to fend off the old man with ease. Yet the many experts present saw clearly what had transpired: at first, Jin Buhuan underestimated his opponent, planning to use only his right hand. In the end, he was forced to use both.

If a single old man could push Jin Buhuan to that extent, what of twenty such men?

Though Jin Buhuan was confident, he did not believe he could defeat twenty of that caliber within a single incense stick's time, let alone emerge unscathed.

Gazing at the old man's empty right sleeve, Jin Buhuan's expression grew graver still. The loss of his arm had surely diminished the old man's power—was Bai Gu Ku truly so formidable?

The old man retrieved his sword, returned to his seat, and took a hearty swig of wine. "Jin Buhuan, you truly live up to your reputation! In a single move, you could have ended me."

"You are impressive as well—you possess the strength of a lower demon general. Tell me, twenty years ago, had you reached the level of a demon king?" Jin Buhuan's tone was now respectful—deference reserved only for the truly strong.

"No. My strength then and now is much the same. After losing my right arm, I spent twenty years mastering the sword with my left. Now, I am about as strong as I was." The old man replied.

"I have heard that the Iron Sword Sect has a secret art that grants immense power for a short time. Is this true?" Jin Buhuan asked.

The old man considered this. "There is such an art. If I use it to the utmost, I can reach the level of a lower demon king for a brief period. But back then, I had no chance to invoke it before Bai Gu Ku severed my arm."

Jin Buhuan's solemn expression relaxed a little. He now had a clearer sense of Bai Gu Ku's strength.

"Today, there is but one matter left—concerning these Children of Destiny," Jin Buhuan announced.

At the mention of the Children of Destiny, the assembly could not help but recall the legendary tale known throughout the world.

"My master, the Lord of the Realm, departed days ago to visit Senior Nangong Wen—for this very reason," Hua Queyue explained.

The name Nangong Wen sent the hall abuzz.

The world's greatest prodigy, Nangong Wen—omniscient, all-knowing—such was his renown.

What was the connection between the Children of Destiny and Ling Youzi's seeking out of Nangong Wen? This was the question on everyone's mind.