Chapter 87: Fierce Battle

At the core of the small mountain peak, gravel swirled like dragons, blocking the sky and covering the sun, spiraling upward as if the most terrifying sandstorm had arrived.

Within the spiraling hurricane of sand, vague dark shadows emerged. They twisted and shifted, formless and insubstantial, exuding a heavy aura of yin, their cries shrill and piercing, continuously lunging toward the mountaintop.

This was exactly the “Eighteen Strikes of Resentment” technique from the Raging Sand Divine Art, also known as “Ghosts Demand Lives,” unleashed by the old man known as Ku.

At the foot of the mountain, the lush green oasis withered rapidly amidst the flying sand and stones. The ground turned a desolate yellow, as if all moisture had been drained. Livestock and shepherds stood frozen in place, their skin and muscles dehydrating inch by inch. Black shadows flew out from their bodies toward the “ghosts” on the mountaintop.

This horrifying scene was not confined to the small mountain and its nearby oasis but spread outward for miles, threatening to drain the souls of all living beings and wither the entire land.

Beyond the Sandy Stream settlement, the wind and sand covered the land, leaving the soil dry and cracked, extending from the direction of the mountain into the settlement and beyond.

Within the settlement, pedestrians gradually froze in place, their movements sluggish, their skin shriveled, and dark shadows struggled to escape from their bodies.

The sand battered the exterior of the “First Inn of the瀚海,” creating a dense, crackling sound, making the seemingly dilapidated inn tremble and creak as if it would soon lose its moisture, turn to dust, and collapse to the ground.

Inside the inn, the guests at each table, like the shepherds outside, became dazed and were about to lose their souls.

Jiu Niang Qu suddenly stood up, her eyebrows furrowed, shouting loudly, “You old bastard, beware divine retribution! May your son be born without an anus! What did my inn ever do to you?”

With her cold, sharp rebuke, it seemed as if a chill swept through the inn. The guests dining or resting there all shivered, regained their senses, looked at each other in alarm, and felt a lingering fear. At the same time, the inn’s outer walls and wooden boards no longer showed signs of dehydration, though they still creaked and swayed under the wind and sand.

“The clash of Grandmasters is too terrifying…” a sand traveler with sapphire-like eyes muttered. They were still dozens of miles away from the battle and nearly lost their souls. Without the mysterious Jiu Niang Qu, they might not have survived this disaster.

The leader of the sand travelers, with a curved saber at his waist, said with lingering fear, “Ordinary Grandmasters usually contain the scope of their power to focus its impact, but Ku is an exception. The more souls he absorbs, the stronger his ‘Eighteen Claps of Grievance’ becomes! To encounter such a situation is truly damned unlucky.”

They were the horse bandits of the vast Gobi, serving under the “Evil Blade of the Desert,” Ze Luoju, and had some knowledge of the “Eighteen Palms of Grievance.”

“Boss, should we maybe take refuge in Buddha to cleanse our sins and avoid such bad luck?”

“Take refuge in your mother’s Buddha!”

…

Just arriving at the center of Sandy Stream, Meng Qi’s skin shimmered with a dark golden glow, locking his body and soul like an Arhat, but the golden luster was growing dimmer, like a candle in the wind, about to extinguish at any moment.

He gritted his teeth and persisted, desperately trying to focus. Only today did he realize the terrifying might of a peak-level Outer Manifestation, like a natural disaster!

Atop the small mountain peak, Xuan Bei was reciting sutras while turning his dark golden prayer beads. Beams of lapis lazuli light radiated from his hands, transforming nearly half of the mountaintop into a pure Buddhist land.

As Ku struck with one palm, waves of vengeful spirits surged forth like torrents of darkness. They occasionally shrieked and dissipated within the lapis lazuli radiance, while at other times they tore the light into fragments.

Xuan Bei remained neither pleased nor angry, neither anxious nor hasty. He simply gazed at Ku, his voice echoing in Ku’s mind:

“Do you know why I abandoned the complete inheritance of the martial art and chose the ‘Maha Subduing Fist,’ which lacks important scriptures?”

Ku’s eyes narrowed. He raised his right palm and pushed with his left, sending sand and wind surging like dragons. The vengeful spirits grew even more shapeless, drifting between life and death, rendering them utterly unstoppable.

After speaking, one bead on Xuan Bei’s prayer beads turned pitch black. Then, he threw a punch.

This punch seemed to encompass the heavens and the earth. His fist became transparent and pure, like glazed glass, untainted by dust.

Golden light surrounded him as illusory golden lotuses bloomed atop the peak. A vague emptiness formed behind him.

Amidst the void, hideous evil spirits and vengeful souls encircled a golden lotus throne, their expressions serene. Seated upon the throne was a Bodhisattva, radiating boundless compassion and mercy for all beings. In his hand, he held the Wheel of Life and Death, ceaselessly turning like a rotating treasure of black and white, embodying the profound mysteries of the universe and the deep truths of existence.

The Bodhisattva’s face blurred and changed, eventually revealing an exact replica of Xuan Bei at the peak of his martial intent, though one appeared sorrowful and heavy, while the other was compassionate and solemn.

The Bodhisattva opened his mouth, and thunderous, cloud-like sounds echoed through the void:

“After today, for countless aeons to come, in all worlds, I vow to rescue all beings from hell and the three evil paths, freeing them from suffering. Only after all these beings have attained Buddhahood shall I attain enlightenment myself.”

“Hell shall be emptied before I attain Buddhahood; only when all beings are saved shall I achieve enlightenment.”

The sound of Buddhist chants reverberated, and the light of wisdom shone forth. The approaching malevolent spirits and vengeful souls shed their ferocity and resentment, their faces peaceful as they dissolved into emptiness.

The wind and sand halted. At the foot of the mountain, chants and Buddhist sounds arose. Withered grass gradually turned green again. Streams trickled with life. The skin of the shepherds and livestock slowly regained its vitality, and the black souls flying from their bodies returned. A vibrant aura of life returned.

The cracked earth stabilized once more. On the streets of Sandy Stream, the lost souls regained consciousness, feeling both bewildered and fearful.

Inside the inn, the cursing Jiu Niang Qu showed a trace of surprise on her face, murmuring to herself, “Is there truly someone who has mastered the ‘Maha Subduing Fist’ to this extent?”

Under the radiance of life and the glazed Buddhist light, Meng Qi, who had been battling against the “Eighteen Strikes of Resentment,” finally broke free. The dark golden glow on his skin no longer faded but instead regained its purity.

Looking at the scene before him, having just returned from the brink of life and death, Meng Qi couldn’t help but think in astonishment, “This must already be the power of immortals!”

The ‘Maha Subduing Fist’ explores the cycle of life and death!

Ku’s strike was neutralized, and he let out a long roar, piercing the heavens, as if a ghost king from the depths of hell had arrived.

Darkness surged around him, as if hell itself had opened and the spirits were out of control.

Then, he flipped his palm from above and struck downward, unleashing the “Opening of the Ghost Gate” from the “Eighteen Claps of Grievance”!

Xuan Bei and the Bodhisattva behind him, one sorrowful and the other compassionate, clenched their fists like seals and struck again, unleashing the ‘Saving All Beings’ of the Maha Subduing Fist!

…

Meng Qi turned his head and looked back, seeing the vast expanse of sand surrounding the small mountain peak, where black qi and Buddhist light competed and continuously crossed each other, seemingly evenly matched for now.

He was well aware that with his current strength, not only could he not assist his master, but he likely couldn’t even approach the mountain peak without becoming a liability. However, his younger junior brother was alone inside the inn, frozen in place and inexperienced. If anything went wrong, it could lead to a fatal disaster. Thus, he temporarily abandoned his plan to “escape from Shaolin” and decided to return to the inn to reunite with his younger junior brother.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t feel the slightest guilt about fleeing, but the current situation was special. After all, he and his younger apprentice brother had a deep bond; how could he not come to his aid?

Moreover, there was something Meng Qi was unwilling to admit but clearly understood: if there were other enemies or if Ku gained the upper hand again, and the nightmare of dehydration and soul extraction resurfaced, then the inn would be the safest place, as it was protected by the mysterious Jiu Niang Qu, who might be at the Outer Manifestation level.

Meng Qi had to admit that seeking refuge and rescuing his younger apprentice brother each accounted for half of his reasons for returning to the inn.

Just as he turned around, his gaze suddenly froze, his pupils contracting sharply. Standing on the sand-blown street directly in front of him was a strangely shaped man.

He wore a black robe like a sand traveler, his hair white, yet his face was youthful, appearing no older than a man in his twenties. This contrast was particularly unsettling.

“An Guoxie…” Meng Qi softly called his name, not turning to flee.

In such a situation, running away with your back exposed would only offer your vital points to the enemy.

An Guoxie, the “White-Headed Vulture,” was Ku’s great-granddisciple, a master with all nine orifices opened, ranked thirty-sixth on the Human List, far stronger than Meng Qi.

An Guoxie had a gaunt face with prominent features, yet possessed a strange exotic beauty. A sinister smile played on his lips as he taunted, “My luck is quite good. I ran straight into one, so I won’t have to fear my master’s punishment anymore.”

He considered an opponent who had not yet opened his spiritual channels unworthy of his attention, treating the encounter like a cat toying with a mouse.

As he spoke, he lunged forward like a vulture. With a push of both palms, he unleashed a scorching palm wind that made Meng Qi feel as if he were sinking deep into a desert, struggling to breathe, his skin drying, his body dehydrating, and his strength waning.

Although he had not yet mastered the “Eighteen Palms of Grievance,” his proficiency in the Whirling Sand Divine Art had already reached an extraordinary level!