As far as the eye could see, the land was black, smeared with dark red blood that gave off a strange hue.
There were no mountains, no rivers, no sun or moon, no clouds here—only a faint glow descending from above. It illuminated broken limbs and decaying corpses, casting them in a sinister red light.
The entire plain stretched endlessly, with only a distant swirl of black mist as a distinguishing feature. The mist was hard to penetrate with the eyes, as if concealing something within.
After observing for a moment, Meng Qi activated the Step of Emptiness, stepping onto air currents and generating clouds, gliding low toward the swirling black mist.
The area felt eerie, and he dared not fly too quickly, fearing that something terrifying might be lurking midair.
While flying, the stench of blood and decay filled his nose, making Meng Qi feel as though he had entered an ancient battlefield—one where the corpses had never been gathered.
As he flew on, many more relatively intact corpses appeared ahead, such as the strange figure standing on one leg like a golden rooster not far away.
It wore patched robes, had no hair on its head, and its face and body were rotting in many places, exposing bone beneath the yellow pus, looking particularly disgusting. In its hand, it held something—it was its own left leg, torn off at the thigh with blood and flesh still attached, shoved toward its mouth as if it were biting it.
“How could it tear off its own leg like this…” Meng Qi slightly ascended, intending to fly around it.
At the same time, he extended his consciousness outward, sensing subtly, trying to uncover the secrets of this place.
Suddenly, the corpse leaped up, swinging its decaying left leg and striking Meng Qi from a distance!
A chill of death surged forth. The left leg suddenly grew larger, and even before making contact, Meng Qi felt his skin beginning to rot.
A pale golden glow shimmered across his body, emitting a strange sizzling sound. With his right hand, “Heaven’s Wound,” he slashed downward in a beautiful arc, displaying the utmost variation. The movement was graceful and unpredictable, like drifting clouds and shifting dogs—exactly one move from the Jade Purity Origin Slash technique.
Puh puh puh! The blade light scattered, as if white clouds had filled the air, accompanied by dull thuds. From head to toe, the zombie was sliced into nothing but bare bones!
With a clatter, the bones collapsed, quickly rotting into blood-soaked mud.
As the sound echoed outward, more corpses nearby began to rise shakily. Some were missing arms, some had gaping holes where their organs should be, and others had no heads—none were intact!
Meng Qi furrowed his brow, opened his acupoints, and his entire body radiated brilliant light, like a rising red sun shining into the distance.
His long sword transformed into radiant sunlight, its glow spreading like water, burning, searing, sacred, and dazzling—capable of dispelling all darkness!
Every corpse engulfed by the sunlight vaporized instantly, clearing the area. Only the stream of light from the sun pierced the sky, speeding toward the swirling black mist.
…
“These eight words—’Sentiment, righteousness, and benevolence must not enter this gate’—are imbued with deep Chan wisdom, glowing with a lustrous sheen, etched into the stone wall. They give a sense of purity like Bodhi and unshakable strength like a diamond.”
“Do you know who wrote these eight characters?” Wang Siyuan showed no tension, worry, or unease at being in Shaolin’s secret chamber. Instead, he seemed as relaxed as returning home, idly asking the person beside him.
Beside him stood a figure cloaked in black, whose voice wasn’t particularly mature, kept low as if afraid the senior monks guarding the crossroads might hear:
“I don’t know.”
Besides Wang Siyuan and the black-cloaked figure, there were two more people. One was an old man with white hair, deep wrinkles, a long horse-like face and high nose, his aura carrying the dust of time.
He kept his eyes tightly shut, saying nothing. Even when Wang Siyuan faced him directly, he couldn’t maintain his usual composure and air of control.
The other had jet-black hair, stood straight-backed, wore wide robes with large sleeves, dressed in an ancient style. His features resembled Wang Siyuan’s somewhat, but with sharper contours, more masculine and mature.
Upon hearing the reply, Wang Siyuan chuckled lightly: “This is the secret passage behind Shaolin’s rear mountains. These eight words contain the compassion of a Bodhisattva and have remained uncorrupted for a thousand years. Naturally, they must have been written by Bodhidharma, the founder of Shaolin.”
“Bodhidharma…” The black-cloaked figure sounded slightly surprised, seemingly not expecting the legendary figure who had long since passed away.
His voice was deep and clearly male.
Wang Siyuan extended his right hand, gently stroking the eight characters: “Bodhidharma attained the Dharma Body of Kashyapa, nearing the state of Buddha. Though he never fully succeeded in his lifetime, during his time he had already achieved the fruit of Bodhisattva. One of the strongest beings after the chaos of demons and Buddhas, his warning remains as solid as a diamond even after being eroded by time for over a thousand years, sealing this gate. Without special methods, even a master of the Dharma Body cannot open it.”
The eight characters shimmered with lustrous light, their Chan wisdom enduring, as if verifying Wang Siyuan’s words.
If Meng Qi were here, he would be greatly surprised, for the eight characters he had seen before were ordinary, devoid of any power, seemingly completely eroded by time!
The cloaked man couldn’t help but feel curious: “What exactly is behind this door?”
Wang Siyuan smiled without answering, turning instead to the nearby cliff wall, reading aloud the inscription:
“If one does not enter the mundane world, does not endure the sea of suffering, does not violate precepts, how can one understand the true meaning of discipline, how can one see through the illusions of the world, perceive one’s own Buddha nature, and realize the profound truth of emptiness and wondrous existence?”
“A-nan, one of the two great Arhats under the Buddha, truly pioneered a unique path with deep Buddha nature…” He praised, “Yet this path is perilous. A single moment of confusion could lead to rampant desires, spiraling out of control, resulting in eternal suffering, rebirth after rebirth without liberation.”
His tone seemed to carry hidden meaning, but the cloaked man appeared not to hear. Instead, he turned his gaze to the pattern beside the inscription—a series of monks wielding precept knives in various postures. Each move was annotated in tiny script, explaining the intricacies of the martial technique and heart method. At the end was a final message:
“This old monk’s path differs from that of Venerable Ananda. I have yet to fully comprehend the true meaning of the Precept-breaking Knife Technique, and its transmission can only occur once, never to be repeated. Therefore, I am filled with profound regret, leaving this secret here. Should Shaolin ever face destruction and a fortunate soul reach this place, may they uncover its true essence and return to the origin. —Bodhidharma.”
“The Precept-breaking Knife Technique of Venerable Ananda…” The cloaked man’s gaze seemed to burn with intensity. “Is that the martial art he practiced?”
“You are different from him. If you were to practice this technique, you would instantly fall into chaos, never finding peace.” Wang Siyuan coughed twice. “During Bodhidharma’s time, this place was not secret. But after his Nirvana, the entire Shaolin seemed to have forgotten it.”
The cloaked man withdrew his gaze: “Then what exactly do you intend to do? What help can I offer?”
At this moment, the elderly man who had remained with his eyes closed stepped forward, squatting down without concern for his appearance, touching a small hole, sensing the invisible yet seemingly still burning flame within.
“The might of the Demon Saint transcends eternity, undying through the ages…” he murmured, his eyes suddenly snapping open.
They were eyes that sent chills down one’s spine—pure white, without pupils!
The black-cloaked man took a step back, seemingly startled.
The old man chuckled eerily: “Capable of seeing the past, capable of foreseeing the future, hence unable to see the present.”
His words were full of mystery, but the cloaked man couldn’t decipher their meaning, only turning to look at Wang Siyuan.
Wang Siyuan clenched his fist against his lips, catching his breath: “You need not concern yourself with anything else. Just begin practicing your technique and attempt to push open the door.”
“Me?” The cloaked man was first startled, then calmed himself, whispering, “I hope you will honor your promise after this.”
He abruptly threw off his cloak, revealing his face—ordinary features, yet with a deep aura, still retaining a hint of youthful naivety. It was none other than Duan Rui, the youth Meng Qi had desperately sought!
The boy who had suffered mental breakdown from improperly practicing the Muscle Changing Classic, alternating between lucidity and madness!
Suddenly, his eyes turned pitch black, his expression grotesquely twisted, his aura instantly transforming into something sinister. Strange black mist began swirling faintly around his palms.
He pressed both hands onto the stone door, and the black mist silently seeped inside.
At this moment, the tortoiseshell radiated brilliant light, the black and white dots continuously rotating, manifesting numerous hexagrams, which then flowed into the black mist!
The eight characters—’Sentiment, righteousness, and benevolence must not enter this gate’—remained unchanged, still glowing with luster, yet the stone gate slowly opened!
…
The red sun streaked across the sky at high speed, Meng Qi escaping the many undead corpses on the black plain, approaching the swirling black mist.
The mist enveloped faintly visible Buddhist temples—there were merit ponds, treasures of gold, silver, lapis lazuli, agate, and other seven treasures, with swaying Bodhi trees, and a central mountain peak. Yet all were in a state of destruction or decay and wilting, except for a gentle stream still trickling, slightly tinged with a blood-brown hue.
Upon arriving here, Meng Qi sensed a subtle difference in the natural laws of heaven and earth compared to the surroundings, akin to the aura he had encountered at the core of the Nine Nether in Wuyou Valley.
The ambient spiritual energy here was in a semi-dormant state, with a seven-colored lustrous glow at the base, overlaid by a black sheen above. The laws of nature were convoluted and ever-changing. Techniques like the Eight and Nine Mysteries and the Great Sun True Fire were sometimes suppressed, sometimes enhanced. Similarly, techniques involving purple lightning, golden merit, and others were weakened.
Last time, he could transform into a yin ghost to adapt to the laws, but this time, Meng Qi was unsure what form he should take to ignore the effects, considering he hadn’t even completed learning all nine transformations yet.
A pale golden glow emanated outward, resisting the black mist, as Meng Qi cautiously stepped into this ruined Buddhist sanctuary.
Suddenly, a half-corroded crystal beneath a withered Bodhi tree reflected a figure. She wore white robes as pure as snow, her presence ethereal and refined, her delicate features bearing a faint, ambiguous smile.
“Gu Xiaosang…” Meng Qi was startled, immediately on guard, scanning the surroundings, yet finding no enemies nearby.
At this moment, a hoarse voice reached his ears: “Aren’t you longing to defeat her, capture her, ravage her, and make her understand the consequences of using and mocking you?”
“Who?” Meng Qi was even more surprised. Regarding Gu Xiaosang, aside from vigilance and hostility, if he claimed he had never harbored such dark thoughts, that would certainly be a lie—but those were only fleeting thoughts, never to be acted upon.
Now, having his hidden dark thoughts exposed, Meng Qi couldn’t help but feel shocked and increasingly vigilant.
Scanning his surroundings, Meng Qi still couldn’t detect anyone.
A Bodhi leaf fell, catching Meng Qi’s attention. Its veins seemed to form the face of Jiang Zhiwei!
Just then, the hoarse voice spoke again: “Don’t you hate her? ‘Cutting me, seeing me, yet I am not me’? ‘My only love is a seven-foot sword’?”
“No!” Meng Qi blurted out.
Human hearts are full of shadows and often harbor dark thoughts, but like thin snow under the sun, they vanish in an instant. Yet now, someone had uncovered these dark thoughts, revealing secrets that naturally unsettled Meng Qi’s mind, even making him feel unable to face Jiang Zhiwei again!
The Bodhi leaf drifted into the deep grass, and a half-wilted golden lotus slowly bloomed, inside which faint images of Ruan Yushu, Qi Zhengyan, and Zhao Heng seemed to appear.
“Aren’t you tired of them holding you back, wishing you could kick them aside with one kick?” The hoarse voice rose again.
Meng Qi took a deep breath and shouted loudly: “No! Who exactly are you?”
“Turn around, and you’ll know who I am.” The hoarse voice came from all directions.
Meng Qi abruptly turned around, only to see the gently flowing stream, and in the stream was his own reflection.
It was a twisted face, half-mad, half-crazed, with pitch-black eyes.
Meng Qi was horrified, his heart surging with shock!
Me?
How could it be!
When was I ever invaded by an evil force?
“I am you, you are me. What I say is naturally true!” The hoarse voice laughed loudly, and Meng Qi saw his own mouth opening and closing. “Do you still think you’re a good person?”
His voice lowered, like chanting scriptures:
“The human heart is dark, the nature of all is evil. Once you enter this gate, you will see yourself truly, where sentiment and righteousness no longer exist, where benevolence and kindness perish!”
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