The secret chamber was as spacious as a palace hall, its furnishings simple yet solemn. Gilded racks held every kind of saber, spear, sword, and halberd. A heavy saber lay across one of them, the carved Yazi head at its guard gleaming coldly in the light, as though it might come alive at any moment and choose someone to devour.
This had once been the secluded cultivation chamber of Man Bodhisattva, the Western Liang Kingdom's State Preceptor. Now it had been thoroughly cleaned and arranged like a commander's tent.
Draped in a fur robe, Han Zongwang sat upright in a tiger-hide folding chair.
His hair and beard were gray, and he had aged somewhat since those earlier years. Deep furrows crisscrossed his face, every wrinkle seemingly etched with the wind and frost of passing time.
His back was straight as a spear, his gaunt body perfectly upright. Simply sitting there in silence, he was like a coiled dragon or a crouching tiger, radiating an indescribably tremendous presence.
That presence was not ostentatious; indeed, it was restrained to the utmost. Yet the more restrained it was, the more it made the heart tremble.
He resembled an ancient Fierce Beast asleep. Though its eyes were closed in a light doze, the breath flowing in and out of it was enough to make this stretch of heaven and earth shudder.
"Sect Master Mo..."
He spoke slowly, his voice low but every word clear, echoing through the sealed chamber.
"All these years... you have watched over Chan'er. It has been hard on you."
"How the years drift by. Ten years have passed before I knew it!"
Seated beside him, Mo Qianshan-the man Han Chanjuan called an "old stick-in-the-mud"-sighed at his words.
He still wore coarse, short garments with his sleeves rolled high, dressed like