Chapter Eighty-Eight: Each Stood by Their Own View

“Where am I?”

That was Liang Yan’s first question when he awakened, but he had no leisure to ponder it. His head was still drowsy and heavy, and his entire body throbbed as though sliced by knives. Spiritual power raged wildly within him, surging this way and that, utterly unlike his own true qi; it was more like a horse long since broken free of its reins, galloping rampant through his meridians.

Enduring the searing pain, Liang Yan forced himself to circulate his cultivation art. The Twin-Fish Life-Linked Array slowly turned within his body, doing its utmost to draw those unruly currents of spiritual power into formation.

But the power was simply too vast. It had split into rival factions throughout his meridians, like feudal lords carving up the land and refusing the central dantian’s commands.

At this critical moment, the Bluewater Heart-Devotion Art from Xiumu Sheng suddenly surfaced in Liang Yan’s mind.

Though it was only a supplementary secret technique, it drew upon the changing ways of flowing water and understood well the principle of guiding force according to circumstance. Its purpose was to smooth one’s meridians and thereby hasten the condensation of spiritual power. At that moment, used to channel the raging currents inside him, it was perfectly suited.

He sat cross-legged on the spot and, after circulating the Bluewater Heart-Devotion Art through several great cycles, the piercing pain finally eased a little.

As Liang Yan’s mind gradually cleared, he abruptly opened his eyes and looked around. He found himself in a stone chamber. Three sides were walls, and the fourth was made of wooden bars. It was pitch-dark, with not the slightest trace of light.

“So it was a prison cell.”

Liang Yan gave a wry smile, only then realizing that he had already fallen into captivity.

Lowering his head, he noticed an iron restraint locked around his ankles. He had been in so much pain just now that he had not even realized it. The shackle was neither gold nor iron; he did not know what material it had been forged from, but no matter what divine ability Liang Yan used, he could not damage it the slightest bit.

“Looks like I’ve been thrown into the punishment cells of Chess Star Pavilion. I’d only heard rumors of them before; I never imagined they’d one day be used on me.”

He had already remembered that on the day he fainted, he had indeed glimpsed two law-enforcement disciples from the Law Pavilion arriving. Most likely, it had been them who had seized him and brought him to justice.

Thinking back on that day, Liang Yan’s heart was immediately filled with many doubts.

Who exactly was that purple demonic shadow? How had it been able to stir up the inner demon within him without his even noticing?

And after confronting the Celestial Mechanism Pearl for so long, why had it finally dispersed its own power and allowed the pearl to draw it in?

Most importantly of all, after the Celestial Mechanism Pearl devoured the fiend, a single character for “demon” had appeared among the four spheres surrounding it. Then what, precisely, did the other three spheres represent?

No one could answer these questions for him. With his current cultivation and knowledge, he naturally could not make heads or tails of them either.

At the very moment Liang Yan regained consciousness, inside the council hall of Chess Star Pavilion—

In the center of the great hall, seated upon a golden rattan chair, was a woman in purple. Her face was dignified, her expression frosty, and between her brows there lingered an air of authority that needed no anger to inspire awe. Standing below her were six people, men and women alike, young and old together, each dressed in a distinctly different manner.

The woman in purple swept her gaze across the hall and spoke coolly.

“During our sect’s Marvelous Script Assembly, such a major incident has actually occurred. What do you all make of it?”

As soon as she said this, someone immediately answered first.

“According to the law disciples who rushed over, the Righteous Iron Scroll left behind by our founding patriarch had clearly been moved, and Zhuo Bufan was brutally slain within. Liang Yan alone survived. It is obvious that this boy intended to lay hands on the patriarch’s legacy treasure. Zhuo Bufan discovered him, and after the two fought, Liang Yan somehow used some underhanded trick to prevail. But the fact remains that he butchered a fellow disciple and stole sect property. That much is beyond dispute.”

The speaker was a man in white, around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with a plum blossom alchemical pattern embroidered on his sleeve cuffs. Any disciple of the alchemy line would instantly recognize him as the current master of that branch, Yang Dansheng.

No sooner had Yang Dansheng finished speaking than another person chimed in.

“Indeed. This man harbors wolf-like ambition. After joining the sect, he deliberately drew close to Xian’er. Who’s to say he isn’t one of our sect’s enemies sent in as a spy?”

The voice was pleasant and melodious. Its owner was a woman in palace dress, with gentle features and an elegant bearing: none other than Yan Xinyu, the master of the zither path, whom Liang Yan had once met only in passing.

“Master Yan’s words are going too far. He is only a servant disciple at the fifth level of Qi Refinement, and his cultivation talent is poor as well. I’m afraid even if he trained until old age and death, he still would not be able to break through to Foundation Establishment. How could he possibly come into contact with the core secrets of our sect? If he truly were a spy sent by our enemies, he should not be so mediocre.”

Yan Xinyu shot a sidelong glance and saw that the one interrupting was a young scholar in a blue Confucian robe, fair-skinned and sharp-eyed.

She let out a cold snort and retorted, “In my view, Master Xu is the one making reckless judgments. How can you fathom the intentions of an outer-path fiend? Perhaps he carried a heavy treasure on him and had other means hidden in reserve.”

“Haha! Xu merely speaks to the matter at hand. Our illustrious Chess Star Pavilion is a grand Confucian sect; when a disciple’s life and innocence are concerned, we should handle it impartially. We must not sacrifice public duty for private feelings.”

“Xu Kuan! Who are you accusing of sacrificing public duty for private feelings?” Yan Xinyu flew into a rage and snapped, “Believe it or not, I’ll go to your Chess Peak tomorrow and smash your lousy chessboard to pieces!”

Xu Kuan did not grow angry. He merely clasped his hands behind his back, chuckled twice, and said nothing more.

Seeing the two of them quarrel, the woman in purple frowned slightly, then turned to another person in the hall. This one wore gray robes, was tall and lean, and had a talisman emblem embroidered at his cuffs.

“Wu Jiuzhi, as the master of the talisman line, what is your view?”

Wu Jiuzhi, the gray-robed man addressed, wore a grave expression and said in a deep, booming voice, “Outer-path fiends deserve death. I have inspected Zhuo Bufan’s corpse; his injuries were bizarre, and all life force within him had been extinguished. What Liang Yan used was absolutely not the means of our sect’s disciples. In my opinion, he is unquestionably a spy!”

“Wrong. There are far too many suspicious points in this matter. Liang Yan is merely a servant disciple. How could he possibly know the location of our sect’s patriarch statue?”

At this point, a burly, fat man objected. “And how could Zhuo Bufan have arrived at the scene so coincidentally? When he discovered something was wrong, he did not notify the on-duty watch disciple, Bai Ze, at once. Instead, he went in alone. That is highly suspect.”

The speaker was a robust man in coarse cloth, with a wine gourd hanging from his waist. In the midst of such a solemn hall, he was actually bare-chested and half-exposed, looking every bit like a drunken loafer from the streets.

If Liang Yan had been there, he would certainly have recognized him as the drunkard he had once encountered carving pictures into the cliff face when leaving the valley not long ago.

With the hall divided by differing opinions, the masters of the various paths each held fast to their own view. The woman in purple’s brows knit even more tightly. She let out a soft sigh and then turned her gaze to someone standing in a corner of the hall.

At first glance, this person looked like a seventy-year-old elder, with a balding crown and a face so deeply wrinkled that his eyes and nose seemed nearly squeezed together. A writing brush was tucked into his waist sash, though, just like its owner, it was nothing but a bald brush.

Aside from the woman in purple, there were only six people in the hall. Five had already given their opinions, yet this old man had stood in the corner the entire time, eyes shut, hands clasped behind his back, occasionally even emitting a string of snores. He had actually fallen asleep while standing.

The woman in purple looked distinctly embarrassed and could only cough heavily before asking, “Senior Brother Sima, what is your opinion?”

The old man seemed awakened by her words. The snoring stopped abruptly, and after smacking his lips a few times, he slowly opened his cloudy old eyes.

“Not guilty!”

Having said that, he closed his eyes again and said no more.