Meng Qi knew that the young master Wang was crazy, but he never realized he could be this extreme. Wang had already achieved the Dharma Body, no longer worrying about dying young at fifty. He could calmly deal with the “Celestial Dao Monster” and “King Fengdu,” planning gradually without urgency—preserving his strength for the long haul. Yet he chose the most intense and unimaginable method!
Did he achieve the Dharma Body just to commit suicide?
Initially, Meng Qi thought Wang laid out his death because the “Ghost God True Soul Chart” had returned, and “King Fengdu” was pressing hard, making it difficult for him to cope. His old illness flared up, and death loomed, forcing him to take risks, seeking survival through death, grasping at a sliver of opportunity to attain the Dharma Body and temporarily escape his fate. Having Meng Qi sever a “Karmic Tether” was part of his plan to survive, shedding most unnecessary karma to reduce his burden, then using the conflict between the “Celestial Dao Monster” and “King Fengdu” to achieve a balance and transform peril into safety. But Wang’s current actions completely overturned Meng Qi’s assumptions—he truly wanted to die, his resolve as hard as iron!
Was it really necessary? Did it have to go this far?
Did Wang Siyuan stop thinking about returning alive the moment he entered the Graveyard Paradise?
The most outstanding numerological genius of the Wang family in the middle ages chose to end his life in such a dramatic way?
Indeed, Wang Siyuan was the ultimate madman, his madness ingrained in his spirit and blood.
Meng Qi was shocked and puzzled, but his feet never slowed. With one step, he had already ascended the Graveyard Mountain, his right hand drawing the ultimate blade, where purple lightning condensed.
No matter what, he had to fulfill his promise to Young Master Wang with absolute precision. As for what final outcome would emerge, it all depended on Wang’s own plans.
With a clang, the ultimate blade was drawn, a brilliant purple light piercing the gloom and haze. At that moment, Wang Siyuan’s left hand, fingers joined like a sword, pierced his own forehead.
Crack! A sound of illusion shattering rang out. Wang’s forehead was pierced directly, his true soul seemingly fracturing instantly. An invisible flame roared within his Dharma Body. His aura began to weaken, his vitality rapidly fading, his face growing paler. Yet his eyes burned with a maddening brightness.
He wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t feigning retreat. He was truly ending his own life!
“Twenty thousand years, a dream passed. Towers like mist, graves like smoke. How many heroes’ tales under heaven, all poured into a cup of tea before the hall…” Wang Siyuan’s scattered consciousness murmured softly at first, then rose in pitch, brimming with clear signs of madness. “All that has passed, today shall die with me!”
“Die with me!”
Wang had always disliked speaking loudly, but now his voice howled like a long scream, vibrating the paradise. The Luo Shu, which had been resisting Yama, suddenly trembled, its surface seemingly coated in the same invisible flame from Wang’s body.
Points of light danced wildly. A black-and-white sphere, as if formed from layers of numerological power, rose from the Luo Shu—seeming real yet illusory, like a law. It was the mark the Jiangdong Wang clan had continuously reinforced within the Luo Shu over twenty thousand years, the foundation of their control over this supreme treasure.
At this moment, as Wang cried “Die with me!” the mark was completely engulfed by invisible and golden flames, burning fiercely, gradually fracturing. The Luo Shu was thus activated, its aura surging, emitting a watery glow. A fate river, overlapping with the River of Time, emerged. Black-and-white specks floated within it like stars. Within the formation, every divine weapon and artifact ignited their true forms, radiating their most brilliant light, filling the paradise with dazzling colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—forming a sky-covering array of radiant clouds.
The ancient remains within the Graveyard Mountain also ignited, unleashing all their power into the formation. The coffins suppressing each “Celestial Dao Monster” flew upward, crashing into the most terrifying parts of the formation, as if seeking death.
The final strike descended, utterly unremarkable. Meng Qi’s eyes shimmered like glazed glass, already revealing the luminous threads of karma entwined around Wang Siyuan, while the surrounding scene simultaneously imprinted itself upon his mind.
Young Master Wang had sacrificed the divine weapons accumulated by generations of the Wang family!
He had sacrificed the remains of the Wang ancestors’ Dharma Bodies!
He had sacrificed the Wang clan’s mark within the Luo Shu!
He was dragging the entire Wang family into death with him!
This was the accumulated foundation of the entire True Realm, even surpassing it greatly!
What a grand gesture! What madness from Young Master Wang!
Besides mourning the loss of those divine weapons, Meng Qi was left speechless, unable to find words to describe Wang Siyuan’s madness.
This was completely beyond his expectations.
Once the sacrifice was complete, the Luo Shu seemed to awaken. The hazy array of hexagrams was pierced by the River of Fate. The multicolored lights from the divine weapons and treasures surged like waves, mighty and overwhelming.
The formation expanded, instantly swallowing Yama’s fist.
“Ahh!”
A scream echoed from within a dream. Yama was powerless to resist, his fist directly erased. The formation, following the connection, surged toward her true form. Even though she was in the underworld, even though she was a legend, she seemed unable to withstand the Luo Shu formation after such a massive sacrifice!
At this critical moment, from the void emerged a pitch-black fist. Its five fingers were half-closed, not terrifying but instead resembling a gem—lustrous and profound, filled with peace and calm, as if representing the state after death.
This black fist seemed directly formed from the essence of death, yet within it, a thread of life spontaneously emerged. Extreme Yin gave birth to Yang. It showed no trace of evil, only profound and sublime mystery.
It had six fingers. When clenched, swirling black vortexes formed at the knuckles—six channels leading to different Bridges of Reincarnation. The fist itself symbolized that even through reincarnation, one would ultimately fall into eternal, unchanging “slumber.”
This fist descended without a trace of fire or smoke, as if seen only in a dream. Yet the formation, powered by the Luo Shu, suddenly fell silent. The many tributaries of the illusory River of Fate were all absorbed into its main current, leaving only one outcome—destruction. The luminous black-and-white specks, like translucent fragments, extinguished one by one. The dazzling multicolored lights gradually dimmed. The divine weapons and treasures being sacrificed began to crumble. Even the entire paradise began to collapse.
Before the formation was completely “dead,” the fist’s intent pierced through slightly, making Wang Siyuan’s face turn green like a ghost, his vitality draining uncontrollably.
Such overwhelming power even slowed Meng Qi’s “Karmic Severance” strike.
“King Fengdu” had finally sent down a fragment of his power!
If this were a normal Dharma Body, panic would have set in, unable to resist the encroachment of “death.” But Wang Siyuan smiled faintly, calm and indifferent. After all, he was already committing suicide—what was there to fear from “death”?
If even “death” was no longer feared, what else was there to fear?
He sat cross-legged again, closed his eyes, and smiled, beginning to enter final stillness, no longer concerning himself with the “Ghost God True Soul Chart” or the Taigu Soul-Sealing Coffin.
At this moment, the power from the sacrifice rapidly faded under King Fengdu’s strike, heading toward death. The Wang clan’s mark within the Luo Shu burned completely away.
It returned to dormancy, floating silently in midair, now ownerless.
Wang Siyuan could even abandon a supreme treasure!
After all, he was about to die—what use was a supreme treasure?
The black fist opened. It did not first claim its own “Ghost God True Soul Chart,” nor did it vent its fury on the meditating Wang Siyuan, reducing him to nothingness. Instead, it reached for the Luo Shu.
The Luo Shu, a supreme treasure, rivaling the Hetu as a symbol of the Dao of Change. Legend said that if the two were united, they would achieve perfect completeness, becoming an object of the Other Shore. Even the “King Fengdu” could not resist coveting such a treasure!
As the black fist was about to seize the Luo Shu, the void suddenly rippled, and a head leaped out. His face was gaunt, his hair completely white, his beard pitch-black, exuding deep malevolence. His eyes were like black whirlpools, revealing the original and ultimate evil.
As the whirlpools spun, two twisted beams of black sword-light shot forth, directly slashing toward King Fengdu’s hand—one sword cutting through reality, the other entering dreams.
The Taishi Devil Sword? The Devil Monarch had been lurking nearby, preparing to seize the Luo Shu! Meng Qi turned his ultimate blade, intending to sever the glowing threads of karma around Wang Siyuan. But at that moment, he saw the Devil Monarch strike.
Thoughts flashed through Meng Qi’s mind, and suddenly he understood. Wang Siyuan’s plan of laying down his life could have been done more secretly. Why had he made it so public—so that King Fengdu, the hidden Wang lineage, and even Meng Qi himself had all figured it out? His old illness flaring up did not truly prevent him from attaining the Dharma Body, yet before this, everyone believed he had no choice but to seek life through death.
Because he had deliberately spread the news of his illness worsening, leading others to speculate that he would lay out his death. This attracted great beings and powerful experts to observe, preventing King Fengdu and the one who originally “granted” the Luo Shu to the Wang clan from monopolizing it. He created chaos to create opportunities for what came next.
What was that “what came next”?
As the Devil Monarch struck, suddenly a gentle zither sound echoed, filled with ethereal grace. A long, beautiful giant hand emerged from the void.
At the same time, the Luo Shu suddenly trembled on its own, evading King Fengdu’s black, ghostly hand, leaping upward toward the sky.
The sky above suddenly turned dark red. Clouds transformed, taking countless forms, embodying ultimate chaos, waiting for the Luo Shu’s return.
Meng Qi pushed aside distractions, no longer thinking about the struggle for the Luo Shu, no longer thinking about these mighty beings, and focused solely on Wang Siyuan.
Wang Siyuan’s eyes were tightly shut, his breath nearly gone. He was at the final moment before entering eternal stillness.
At this moment, his face suddenly twisted, filled with terror, as if encountering something extremely terrifying, just like all the Wang clan’s Dharma Body cultivators who had practiced the “Mathematical Classic.”
As if everything had been timed precisely, Meng Qi’s ultimate blade fell exactly at this moment, severing the glowing, illusory threads of karma around him.
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