The hills were lush and verdant, the trees thick and flourishing. Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting golden spots of light upon the ground.
The figures of the gray-robed monk Meng Qi and Mu Yunle gradually faded into the distance, finally vanishing at the end of the mountain path.
It was unknown how much time had passed when suddenly, patches of blood converged, coalescing into a hazy human figure with blood-red eyes, cruel and emotionless—clearly the Blood Sea Rakshasa!
“Where did he go…” The Rakshasa’s consciousness, like a beam of light, instantly enveloped the wild mountains and desolate lands, searching for any trace of Meng Qi and the young girl from the Hua Shan Sect described by the Joyful Bodhisattva. It sensed that two people had once stayed here, but they had long since departed and were now nowhere to be found. Even with his cultivation at the Dharma Body level, he could only vaguely grasp their trail, unable to accurately locate them.
He hesitated slightly, then his figure suddenly disintegrated, bloodlight scattering and fading into the air until it vanished completely.
The mountains returned to their former silence.
…
“Master, we’ve arrived at Li City,” Mu Yunle, now wearing a light green robe that made her appear even fresher and more lively, pointed toward the city in the distance.
Li City wasn’t far from the desolate mountains where the ruined temple lay. At their pace, it took less than a day to reach the city gates. Along the way, Mu Yunle noticed that Master Zhen Ding remained silent and weary, as if burdened by the weight of countless trials. She dared not ask questions recklessly and remained quiet, finding the silence stifling.
Meng Qi nodded slightly, his gray monk’s robe gently swaying. There was no Buddhist rosary at his chest as he stepped into the city, walking along the streets. At every corner, he instinctively chose his direction without asking for directions or speaking.
This puzzled Mu Yunle inwardly. Master Zhen Ding seemed very familiar with Li City—why then had he asked her to guide him?
Her dark, lustrous eyes flickered, and she feigned nonchalance: “Master, have you been to Li City before?”
“Never,” Meng Qi replied succinctly, as if indifferent to all worldly matters.
“Then where exactly in Li City are you going?” Mu Yunle grew even more perplexed. Although her master and other elders were experts at the Grandmaster level, this kind of mysterious, unfathomable figure was something she had never encountered before!
The stream murmured, the green trees swayed gently in the breeze. As soon as Mu Yunle finished speaking, Meng Qi stopped in front of a small riverside courtyard.
Crack! Crack! The crisp, melodious sound of splitting firewood echoed around, smooth and natural, as if the wood effortlessly split in two with each axe stroke. The intervals between the cracking sounds were perfectly consistent, measured precisely, without the slightest deviation!
As soon as Mu Yunle heard the sound, her expression turned serious. Internally, she was half puzzled and half astonished.
Though it seemed like a trivial, mundane task, she knew that in her own place, she could never achieve such precision. Even her elders might not manage it, and she wasn’t sure if her master could. Just listening to the sound through the wall, she instinctively imagined an image of an unparalleled sword and a solitary, proud swordsman.
Accompanying the sound of splitting wood was heavy breathing. For Mu Yunle herself, such breathing only occurred when she was extremely exhausted, and a Grandmaster cultivator would never allow their breath to become so clearly audible unless their condition was extremely poor.
Yet, she felt no contempt—because the heavy breathing carried a suppressed killing intent. Even the tiniest leakage of it sent chills down her spine, made her heart race, and caused her very soul to tremble, her entire body shaking as she found herself unable to draw her sword.
If the killing intent were fully unleashed, how terrifying would it be? It might manifest as a tangible force, forming dark clouds that covered the city and instantly slaying every living being within!
“The wood-splitter inside the courtyard is certainly no weaker than my master, perhaps even stronger… If ‘his’ killing intent is uncontrollable, he might even rival the current Joyful Bodhisattva, or even resemble a world-destroying evil cultivator. Among the Black List, he could almost contend with the ‘Demon Emperor’…” This thought naturally surfaced in Mu Yunle’s mind.
She had once been captured by the Joyful Bodhisattva, and comparing the two based solely on what she had experienced, she found the wood-splitter terrifying. However, she couldn’t accurately judge his exact strength, as the gap in cultivation was too great.
As for comparing him to the “Demon Emperor,” she instinctively excluded the “Demon King’s Claw” factor, because her master, the Green Lotus Prince, had once mentioned that under normal circumstances, the “Demon King’s Claw” weakened rather than strengthened the “Demon Emperor.” The “Demon Emperor” had to constantly suppress the Claw to prevent being corrupted by evil intent and losing his sanity. Of course, in a crisis, if the “Demon Emperor” unleashed the “Demon King’s Claw,” he could temporarily overpower even a Dharma Body expert!
“Who exactly is this evil cultivator inside? Why have I never heard of him before?” Mu Yunle recalled all the famous evil cultivators she knew, but none matched the person splitting wood inside the courtyard.
How could someone of such strength not appear on the Earth List or the Black List?
She couldn’t help glancing at Meng Qi, her heart both anxious and excited. She had always believed herself to be from a prestigious orthodox sect, with superior insight and knowledge, able to recognize most famous martial artists and avoid the embarrassment of meeting a renowned figure without realizing it. Yet, Master Zhen Ding was one such case, and now this Left Path grandmaster was another. The world was vast, and the number of hidden experts far exceeded her expectations!
Mu Yunle felt as though Master Zhen Ding had lifted a veil, revealing a brand-new martial world before her eyes—one that was fresh and fascinating.
Then she saw the gray-robed monk, the calm-faced Master Zhen Ding, walk forward and gently knock on the courtyard gate.
Inside the courtyard, a woman dressed as a Taoist priestess was holding an axe, focused yet clearly agitated as she split firewood. She was tall, with a high nose and phoenix eyes, her demeanor cold. She wore no headgear, her hair loosely hanging down.
Knock knock knock—the sound of the knocking echoed.
The female Taoist was startled, as if waking from a dream. Only now did she realize that someone had arrived at her doorstep!
“Who is it?” she asked coldly, suppressing her killing intent.
“A poor monk named Zhen Ding,” came the calm, low voice from outside.
The familiar sensation reached her ears, and the female Taoist’s phoenix eyes widened.
“It’s you!”
The enemy she had longed for and hated! The killing intent arising from him was so strong that she had to use all her strength to contain it!
The killing intent surged forth, and the courtyard instantly darkened, as if dark clouds were gathering. The gate silently crumbled into decay, as though it had reached the end of its existence, losing all vitality.
This female Taoist was none other than the Sword-Restraining Taoist, the Wolf King’s master, Saren Gao Wa. Her acupoints lit up, emitting eerie, dark light. They connected along her body, extending to her right hand, where they coalesced into a strange sword three chi, three cun, and three fen long—utterly black, without luster or pattern, ancient and sinister. The trees within the courtyard instantly withered and crumbled into dust, and cracks spread across the ground in all directions.
Yet, when the cracks reached the edge of the courtyard, they abruptly stopped. The killing intent silently seeped outward but could not escape the courtyard!
With the “death” of the gate, the Sword-Restraining Taoist saw the enemy she had “longed” for day and night.
She hesitated slightly. In her memory, he had been a heroic, vigorous man, full of vigor and confidence, seemingly unshaken by any hardship or challenge. Yet now, he had become a gray-robed monk, his face gaunt, his emotions deeply hidden, like a long-dead volcano, his eyes expressionless, filled with the weariness of someone who had endured countless trials and lost all hope.
He had become a monk again, living under a dim lamp and beside ancient Buddhas?
Had he renounced the world at the peak of his glory?
Her hesitation lasted only an instant. The Sword-Restraining Taoist’s aura surged to its peak, but the killing intent still could not break past the courtyard walls, as if an invisible barrier blocked its way.
She said coldly, “Have you come to eliminate a threat?”
The killing intent and aura unleashed by the wood-splitter caused Mu Yunle’s heart to race. This was the first time she had encountered a Grandmaster-level cultivator fully exerting their power, and the oppressive killing intent made illusions flicker before her eyes. Instinctively, she took a step back, hiding behind Master Zhen Ding. Though his back was not tall, it was withered and desolate, yet strangely reassuring.
The woodcutter’s strength was indeed as she had imagined. Among the heretical and Left Path cultivators, excluding those who had attained the Dharma Body, she would rank him within the top three. Had he ventured into the martial world, he would undoubtedly have shaken heaven and earth. Yet here he was, squandering his remaining years in a humble courtyard, splitting firewood. Recalling how Master Zhen Ding had once stood unshaken before the Joyous Bodhisattva, Mu Yunle felt a profound sense of impermanence—how fleeting glory could be, how swiftly the radiance of heroes faded like blossoms scattered by the wind.
Who exactly were they? Why had they chosen such a fate?
Ten or twenty years ago, had Master Zhen Ding and the wood-splitter been as famous in the martial world as the Demon Emperor or the Supreme Sword Saint?
Mu Yunle was lost in thought.
Meng Qi, the gray-robed monk, remained unmoved by the killing intent. Standing by the gate, his eyes were calm, his emotions dead. He shook his head slowly. “In the past, if not for your protection, I might have perished at the hands of the demonic races. Later, as the world changed, the lines between kindness and vengeance blurred. I once considered finding you and killing you to eliminate a future threat, but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
The Sword-Restraining Taoist said coldly, “I saved you because it was destined. I have no regrets.”
“What use is it to say this now? Can you repay the debt with your life?”
Mu Yunle listened intently, not missing a single word, her mind flashing with countless tragic and beautiful stories.
“The source of your killing intent doesn’t originate from within you—it stems from the influence of the Nethersea Sword,” Meng Qi remarked calmly, unfazed by the murderous aura, as though he had pierced through the world’s illusions, remaining unperturbed by both tempest and tranquility.
“So what?” The Sword-Restraining Taoist’s emotions wavered slightly.
Meng Qi gazed at her earnestly. “You are not the true master of the Nethersea Sword. You are merely its vessel. To let go is to embrace new life.”
The Sword-Restraining Taoist’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Are you trying to weaken my killing intent indirectly, eliminating a future threat?”
As her words faded, she suddenly moved. The dark, lightless sword in her hand abruptly appeared before Meng Qi’s chest, as if it had always been there.
Meng Qi looked at her, his expression calm, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, making no move to defend himself.
With a tearing sound, the deadly sword pierced Meng Qi’s chest. No blood flowed—everything was absorbed!
“You…” Holding the sword, the Sword-Restraining Taoist stared blankly at the gray-robed monk. She could feel the physical reality of his body, yet her killing intent and sword qi, following the wound, rushed toward Meng Qi and rapidly dissipated.
“Ahh!” Mu Yunle cried out in shock, wanting to draw her sword to help, but under the immense pressure, she couldn’t even unsheathe her blade.
Why hadn’t Master Zhen Ding defended himself, allowing such a terrifying strike to pierce his body?
Meng Qi’s face turned pale, his expression calm, his eyes filled with weariness. Slowly, he said, “This strike repays the debt of your life-saving grace.”
His aura plummeted, but he did not die immediately. His body trembled slightly, as if struggling to remain upright.
The Sword-Restraining Taoist’s sword qi and killing intent vanished completely. Her eyes, dazed, looked at the gruesome wound, then at Meng Qi’s eyes—like a dead sea, utterly still. Suddenly, she felt an emptiness in her heart, an unprecedented peace and tranquility.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Her right hand loosened, and the dark sword vanished. She turned around and left without looking back, no one knowing where she went.
Mu Yunle stared at the scene, as if in a dream.
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