The bleak autumn wind, mingled with the scorching heat of the blazing sun, swept across the Death Sea, causing the sand dunes to shift slowly like waves upon the ocean.
Viewed from above, it was a sea of yellow sand.
The autumn wind here was entirely different from elsewhere. There was no biting chill, only deathly silence.
For killing intent to exist, there had to be living creatures to kill. This place resembled a world of death, utterly devoid of life, so desolate that it could not accommodate even the slightest trace of killing intent, hence the name Death Sea.
A pair of bare feet, with cracked and weathered skin, stepped across the yellow sand without caring about the scorching sand that seemed ready to smoke beneath the blazing sun. The trail of footprints quickly vanished with every gust of autumn wind.
A monk with his chest exposed wandered through the Death Sea, patting his belly as he hummed a song.
What use are heaven and earth when there is nowhere to stand?
What use are romance and beauty when a fair face is a skeleton in disguise?
What use are all things when the Dao follows nature?
What use are divine powers when they cannot perceive the suffering masses?
What purpose does my existence bring to this world...
Before he could finish singing, the monk’s voice abruptly ceased. He raised his head to look into the distance and saw a flying ship traversing the Death Sea.
The monk abandoned his carefree demeanor. His expression turned solemn as he straightened his robes, pressed his palms together, and uttered a Buddhist invocation.
The next instant, an enormous sleeve materialized out of thin air, blotting out the heavens and obscuring the sun as it swept gently through the air.
Immediately, a colossal mountain came crashing down, hurtling toward the flying ship with the overwhelming force of heaven collapsing and earth splitting apart.
Although the mountain appeared remarkably lifelike, it was entirely pitch-black, resembling a shadow imprinted from its original form or an ink-wash landscape painted by a master artist. It appeared to be the shadow of an actual mountain peak.
This was precisely the Ancient Wuist’s Shadow Art.
The power of this technique depended not only on the cultivation of its practitioner but also on the original object from which the shadow had been imprinted.
The mountain’s shadow slammed violently into the flying ship, instantly overloading its numerous formations. The ship shuddered uncontrollably as showers of sparks rained down from several sections of its hull. Nevertheless, a flying ship belonging to a Mansion Master was fundamentally different from an ordinary passenger ship. It still managed to withstand the blow and did not crash on the spot.
The shattered mountain shadow resembled ink dropped into water, gradually diluting until it eventually disappeared without a trace.
Then, an enormous, illusory silhouette of a woman appeared between heaven and earth, towering high enough to touch the sky. This was not her true body, but rather an outline formed from clouds, mountain peaks, sand dunes, ravines, and the earth itself, radiating an aura of primordial wilderness.
Even the slightest change in viewing position or angle would cause the woman’s silhouette to disappear. Only from a particular angle could this extraordinary sight be witnessed. It had no tangible substance and could not be touched, much like a mirage.
Such a technique was nothing short of mystical.
If Qi Xuansu had been present, he would undoubtedly have recognized it at a glance.
That was because he had seen it before, and he would never forget it for as long as he lived.
It was none other than Wu Luo.
However, this time, Wu Luo was not alone. Beside her, an enormous gatehouse materialized out of thin air, its black roof tiles and sweeping eaves crowned with black tiles and its massive doors tightly shut.
Then the doors of the gatehouse slowly began to open, the rumbling sound of their movement resembling muffled thunder. This was yet another old acquaintance—True Lord Siming.
In the blink of an eye, the enormous gateway, which seemed to lead directly into the Netherworld, had already opened halfway. True Lord Siming’s two gigantic palms were bracing against the edges of the doors, forcing them apart and accelerating their opening.
Beyond the gateway lay an unfathomably deep void. Within its darkness, countless shadowy figures could faintly be seen moving about, resembling ferocious beasts lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce upon and devour their prey.
As the gateway opened wider, billowing waves of purplish-black qi surged outward. Alongside them was a red light that seemed disturbingly alive and seething, accompanied by an overpowering, foul, bloody stench.
Immediately afterward, a dark red river of blood surged out from the opening. The blood was so thick and viscous that it seemed impossible to dilute, flowing and winding like a mighty river. It was saturated with an aura of savagery and brutality that was enough to send chills down anyone’s spine.
The entire sky turned blood-red, resembling an immense sea of blood suspended upside down.
The torrent of blood cascading from above completely engulfed the flying ship.
The flying ship’s defensive formations were already pushed far beyond their limits and could not endure any longer. Corroded by the river of blood, its hull was riddled with countless holes in an instant.
Countless people needed only the slightest contact with the aura of the blood river for all their life force and vital essence to be drained away, leaving behind nothing but blood-red skeletons. Some even remained frozen in the very positions they had held during their final moments of life.
The flying ship’s formations were not a single independent system but rather an intricate combination of numerous large and small formations, arranged like the gears of a clock, layered upon one another and interlocking seamlessly.
Under the relentless external assault, some formations finally succumbed to the tremendous pressure and began to collapse. The violent fluctuations generated by their destruction triggered a chain reaction, causing many other formations that might otherwise have held firm to rupture and explode as well.
The violent explosions that followed caused sections of the deck to collapse. Fragments of the ship’s hull continuously broke away from both sides, tumbling toward the ground below.
At the same time, the flying ship lost all propulsion and plunged toward the earth.
Seeing that the ship’s destruction was now inevitable, the numerous people aboard were overwhelmed with despair, yet there was nothing they could do.
After all, not everyone was as experienced as Qi Xuansu. Many people might never experience a flying ship crash in their entire lives, yet Qi Xuansu had already survived several such incidents. In this regard, his experience was practically as extensive as Wu Luo’s experience in bringing flying ships down.
For ordinary people, abandoning the flying ship without sufficient cultivation meant they would likely be swept away by the howling winds in the blink of an eye. Yet remaining aboard meant doing nothing but waiting for death, as they would undoubtedly be killed by the impact.
There were also Heavenly Beings aboard the ship, but they were suppressed by the blood river and could not escape. They could only accompany the ship as it plummeted toward the sea of sand below.
At first, his stride was no different from that of an ordinary person.
Before long, each stride covered 3 meters, then 30 meters, growing longer with every step.
Billowing clouds of dust and yellow sand rose behind the monk, resembling a raging sandstorm as he sprinted toward the location where the flying ship was about to crash.
Within the monk’s field of vision, the flying ship that was trailing a long plume of black smoke and flames plunged headfirst into the sea of sand. An earth-shattering explosion followed. It was so deafening that it seemed capable of rupturing one’s heart. Then came a secondary explosion that sent a towering column of thick smoke into the sky, even denser than the smoke from an ancient beacon fire.
Across the vast desert, a solitary column of smoke rose straight into the sky.
Before long, the monk arrived at the site of the flying ship’s crash. Coming to a halt a short distance away, he pressed his palms together once more and recited another Buddhist invocation.
As though responding to the Buddhist invocation, a hand emerged from the wreckage of the flying ship and parted the flames. Chen Zhengxian slowly stepped out, looking somewhat disheveled. The explosion had not harmed him in the slightest. They had not even managed to scorch his hechang.
After all, Chen Zhengxian was a sixth-generation disciple and an Omniscient Sage with Pseudo-Immortal cultivation.
However, Chen Zhengxian’s complexion still bore an unusual reddish flush, clearly indicating that he had been affected by the blood river.
Chen Zhengxian was also dragging someone along with him—his secretary. Unfortunately, the secretary had been corroded by the blood river. Although Chen Zhengxian had barely managed to sustain his secretary’s life through his cultivation, there was no longer any hope of saving him. His secretary was merely clinging to his final breath. By now, his secretary’s entire body had begun to rot, without a single patch of intact skin remaining. Beneath the ruined skin was decaying, horribly mutated flesh. One of his eye sockets had even been completely corroded, causing the eyeball to fall out.
The secretary’s vocal cords had suffered severe damage, and all his teeth had fallen out, leaving only his gums. Even his tongue had shriveled, rendering him incapable of speech. Nevertheless, he continued to gaze at his superior with his one remaining eye.
The unspoken understanding they had developed over many years allowed Chen Zhengxian to comprehend his secretary’s wishes—he wanted a swift and merciful death.
A flicker of anguish passed through Chen Zhengxian’s eyes. Nevertheless, he bent down and placed his palm upon the secretary’s head. The next instant, Chen Zhengxian unleashed a burst of power that reduced his secretary to fine dust.
Finally, there would be no more suffering.
Chen Zhengxian straightened his body, adjusted the lotus crown upon his head, and turned his gaze toward the monk.
Illuminated by the surrounding flames, Chen Zhengxian’s face alternated between light and shadow.
The monk finally spoke. “Greetings, Sage Chen.”
Chen Zhengxian took a step forward. “An eminent Buddhist monk, huh? It seems the Nalanda Temple has finally lost its patience.”
The monk replied with sincerity, “For the sake of all living beings under heaven, I have come specifically to ask you to sacrifice yourself.”
Chen Zhengxian burst into hearty laughter. An immense surge of innate qi soared into the heavens, stirring the winds and clouds into violent turmoil. Yet despite his laughter, there was not the slightest trace of amusement on his face. His expression held only cold indifference and imposing authority.
The monk said nothing. He merely clenched both fists.
This monk was a Bhikkhu belonging to the Great Arhat lineage, which bore certain similarities to the Manly Immortal lineage, though the two were not entirely the same.
Then, a layer of golden radiance enveloped the monk’s entire body, making him resemble a magnificent Buddha statue enshrined within a Buddhist temple. This was none other than the Buddhist Golden Body.
The monk was already an Immortal. Even if he were to face Chen Shuhua or Zhou Mengyao, he would be able to hold his own without being at a disadvantage.
Even under normal circumstances, Chen Zhengxian would be no match for him. But now, Chen Zhengxian was clearly no longer at his peak.
One side was exhausted and battered, while the other was fresh and well-rested, having conserved his strength for precisely this moment.
The outcome had already been decided.
This was a meticulously arranged death trap laid by the Nalanda Temple, designed to ensure that Chen Zhengxian would be killed in a single decisive strike, without the slightest possibility of failure.
The monk’s expression remained perfectly calm as he said, “Sage, there is no personal enmity between you and me. I am merely fulfilling my responsibilities. Please forgive the offense.”
Chen Zhengxian still said nothing. Instead, he took the initiative and launched the first attack.
Even if he was destined to die, he would make sure his death was a glorious and earth-shaking one.
All the innate qi within Chen Zhengxian’s limbs and bones, his three major Dantians, meridians, and numerous acupoints converged into a single location, condensing into an Inner Elixir. It contracted into a tiny point and sank into his lower Dantian. Immediately afterward, a brilliant speck of golden light emerged from his lower Dantian, transforming into golden liquid that surged upward through his body.
He reached into the void and drew forth a sword that possessed no visible form or shape. Were it not for the unmistakable gesture of his five fingers curling around an invisible hilt, it would have been almost impossible to determine that he was holding a sword at all.
This sword drew its substance from heaven and earth, and wielding it was akin to wielding heaven and earth themselves. It existed independently and remained unchanging, circulating endlessly without ever ceasing. It was none other than the Daozi Sword.
The monk simply threw a punch. Its overwhelming might was sufficient to shatter mountains and uproot towering peaks.
The mere shockwaves radiating from the force of his punch caused countless ravines to split open across the ground as the earth collapsed bit by bit.
The moment the golden fist collided head-on with the Daozi Sword in Chen Zhengxian’s hand, the sword shattered while the fist emerged completely unscathed.
The monk followed up with a second punch, radiating with the bold, unrestrained spirit of a Jianghu wanderer. This was even more evident in the imposing manner with which he unleashed his attacks.
The monk thought to himself, What use are heaven and earth? With a single punch from me, even the vast heavens must acknowledge my existence!