Floating Cloud Mountain, Passing Peak.
Eighty-seven longswords keened mournfully, falling like a rain of blades to plant themselves atop their owners' graves.
From then on, they would slumber here forever, restraining their sword intent and silently keeping their owners company through wind, frost, rain, and snow.
Until they were utterly worn away.
This was a sword burial, and a Sword Sacrifice:
While the bearer lived, the sword endured; when the bearer died, the sword perished.
After the sword offering came the Daoist offering.
Over ten thousand people stepped forward with bamboo slips in hand and cast them into the fire. Each slip bore a single character they had carved themselves. Even the illiterate commoners had been taught by the Daoists, each learning one character.
These characters formed various scriptures for delivering the dead, circling the graves together with the curling incense smoke to soothe the departed souls.
The evening drum sounded eighty-seven times in all. Each Daoist of the Truth-Seeking Abbey cut off a lock of hair and cast it into the fire.
An eerie wind rose within the Heroes' Mound, and the temperature plummeted. A Yin Soul stood atop each of the eighty-seven graves. They smiled faintly at the Daoists of the Truth-Seeking Abbey and the commoners, then rode the drumbeats away as wind, heading toward
At this sight, the Daoists bowed. Suppressing their alarm, the commoners followed their example.
Xuanming bowed with them. When he raised his head, something stirred within him. He gazed at the scriptural smoke and flame rising from the burning bamboo slips, which gathered the commoners' heartfelt wishes. His eyes flickered as he stared unblinkingly at the smoke and flame, entering a mysterious state. His middle dantian trembled slightly.
That subtle sensation came and went in a fleeting instant, but Xuanming caught it, and