"Bang! Bang!" came the successive reports as the green sword qi struck the ice walls—but utterly unlike when Lin Jinghong's flying sword had struck the ice wall before, this time the Zhanlong Sword cut through like a bamboo knife through stalks. The ice shattered with each report, and in a moment all seven walls were smashed to fragments, shards of ice flying everywhere—yet the green sword qi had not diminished in the slightest. Its force only grew fiercer, roaring like an enraged dragon, claws bared, charging at Qi Hao.

Qi Hao's face was ashen. With nowhere to dodge, he could only pour out all his strength, his ten fingers moving in ceaseless incantation. The Cold Ice Sword emitted ten thousand rays of white light, congealing into a shield before him.

"Boom!"—a tremendous crash as the green sword qi struck the white light. Though it did not shatter it at once, it pressed the white radiance steadily backward. Qi Hao's eyes went wide; he summoned every ounce of strength in his body and at last barely held the seemingly unstoppable green sword qi a foot from his chest. Now he saw only the dazzling green glare before his eyes, heard the bitter wind howling, so close at hand it was as though he stood face to face with a snarling beast, and his hair stood on end.

Before he could steady himself, the surging tide of green pressure came bearing down upon him, layer upon layer. Qi Hao fought with all his might to keep the white light from scattering, but his feet could no longer hold, and he was driven straight backward by that immense force.

From the start of the fight until now, Tian Buhui had stood rooted to the spot, not moving in the least—yet the green sword qi from the Zhanlong Sword in his hand only grew stronger with distance. The two of them were driven by that force straight out the door of the Shoujing Hall, and still could not stop retreating. Once outside the hall upon the open ground, the green brilliance blazed all the more fiercely, and wherever it passed the ground was carved as though by a gigantic blade, cutting furrows a full foot deep—a sight to strike terror into the heart.

This astonishing green sword qi poured ceaselessly from the Shoujing Hall, forcing the two of them back a full three zhang more. By now the white light before Qi Hao had been compressed to less than half a foot from his body; his breathing came ragged, his face turning from red to green, and his feet, at some unknown moment, had sunk deep into the earth. A moment later Qi Hao at last gave a great cry, his strength failing; the white light scattered, and the Cold Ice Sword was struck skyward by the immense force, spinning out of control.

Qi Hao and Lin Jinghong were bloodless. The ferocious green sword qi rushed at them in the blink of an eye—truly a moment between life and death—when it suddenly halted, suspended in midair.

Qi Hao's palms were slick with sweat. He did not dare move a muscle.

After a short while, the green brilliance seemed to lose its control and slowly dispersed.

"Zheng!"

With a sharp ring, the Cold Ice Sword fell again, planting itself in the ground before the two of them. Qi Hao, his soul somewhat settled, hastily bowed toward the Shoujing Hall and said respectfully, "Thank you, Martial Uncle Tian, for your mercy."

Lin Jinghong, watching from the side, saw that this unremarkable-looking Tian Buhui possessed such divine power, and could not help lowering his head.

"Zhi"—the rending of air sounded again, and the two of them jumped in fright. Through a flash of green they saw something fly out from the Shoujing Hall, azure light flickering—the Zhanlong Sword itself, shooting through the air, landing true before the two of them and planting itself in the ground right beside the Cold Ice Sword, the two blades crossed, trembling without cease.

"You may go!" Tian Buhui's voice had returned to calm, carrying from far within the hall, its coldness plain for all to hear.

Qi Hao hurriedly answered, tugged at Lin Jinghong, who was still peering back toward the hall, and the two of them gathered up their immortal swords. Not daring to linger, they took to the air and departed.

*********************** The disciples, seeing that Tian Buhui had flown into a thunderous rage, scarcely dared breathe. Zhang Qingyue especially—glimpsing for the first time Tian Buhui's wondrous divine powers, he was filled with awe, so much so that he nearly forgot the wound on his chest. In his distraction he jarred it, and with a yelp of "Aiya!" he cried out, grimacing in pain.

Hearing Zhang Qingyue's cry of pain, Tian Buhui looked toward him. Zhang Qingyue gritted his teeth, forced himself to endure, and lowered his head. Tian Buhui regarded him for a moment, but said nothing more, and instead looked one by one at the disciples standing in a row to one side.

Everyone lowered their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.

Tian Buhui sighed deeply, shook his head slightly, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked toward the rear hall. Su Wan, standing to one side, watched her husband's retreating figure, then said gently to the others, "You may go now."

The disciples answered, and Tian Lingsu went up to help Zhang Qingyue to his feet. Together with the others, they went out. When everyone had left the Shoujing Hall, Su Wan went alone into the rear hall. Passing through the door, she saw Tian Buhui standing on the covered walkway, staring blankly at the green bamboo in the courtyard.

Su Wan walked over to her husband's side and said softly, "What made you so angry today?"

Tian Buhui shook his head slightly. Instead of answering, he asked, "When Ling'er was fighting Lin Jinghong just now, and Qi Hao congealed ice into a wall to block the Zhanlong Sword—did you see clearly?"

Su Wan sighed. "He did not summon the Cold Ice Sword."

Tian Buhui gave a snort. "At the last great trial of the seven lines, Qi Hao still needed the power of his immortal sword and treasures to congeal an ice wall. I never thought that in only a few short decades he would have cultivated to such a level." Here he turned to look at Su Wan. "You were watching from the side just now—where would you say his cultivation has reached?"

Su Wan said calmly, "When he cast his arts he was unhurried and still had strength to spare. He has reached at least the eighth level of the Yuqing Realm."

Tian Buhui's lips moved, as though he would speak and then thought better of it—but Su Wan finished the thought for him: "Among the disciples of Dazhu Peak, there is not one who is his match."

Tian Buhui looked deeply at his wife, then slowly turned his head and gazed at the courtyard full of green bamboo, which, as winter drew near, was gradually withering and turning yellow. Unwittingly he fell into a daze.

After a long while, he suddenly said, "How is Old Seven doing?"

Su Wan looked at him, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. "How should he be doing? He was beaten until he spat blood by you, great immortal that you are!"

Tian Buhui seemed to choke on that. His squat, round body shifted, but he did not turn around. "Tonight take a Great Yellow Pill and go see him," he said mildly, "so he doesn't play dead tomorrow and leave us with nothing to eat."

Su Wan smiled and said nothing.

*********************** Night fell, and the sky darkened.

Zhang Qingyue walked slowly back to his quarters and pushed open the door. The monkey Xiaohui, who had followed at his heels the whole way, was the first to dash into the room, and after him came the big yellow dog, which in a single day had already grown inseparable from Xiaohui. Monkey and dog romped endlessly about the room, a chorus of "wang wang wang" and "zhi zhi zhi" rising and falling.