“Since this junior is able to stand here, naturally I am also a member of the Merchant Alliance, acting under the orders of Lord Biying, the Chief Steward of the Blood Sky, to invite Senior Han for a discussion,” the coldly beautiful woman replied respectfully.
“Biying? Although this is the first time I’ve heard this name, since he is the chief overseer of your alliance on this continent, he must be a figure of great renown in the Blood Sky. What urgent matter does Fellow Daoist Bi have for me?” Han Li’s eyes flickered slightly as he countered with a question.
By now, he had already realized that the news of his arrival must have been leaked by Ming Zun. Otherwise, how could the other party have so precisely “intercepted” him?
“This junior does not know. I was merely ordered to invite Senior Han over. If Senior has any questions, you may ask Lord Biying directly when you arrive,” the woman replied without hesitation.
“Heh, did Fellow Daoist Bi give you any other instructions when he sent you to invite me? Or is he so certain that I, Han Li, would agree to meet?” Han Li let out a cold laugh.
“Before sending me, Lord Biying entrusted me with an object to deliver personally into Senior’s hands,” the woman said, a strange glint flashing across her face.
“An object? Show it to me,” Han Li narrowed his eyes.
“As you wish, Senior.” The woman flicked her sleeve without hesitation, producing a scroll as crimson as blood, which she presented with both hands.
Han Li waved a hand, and the blood-red scroll flashed into his grasp. After scanning it with his divine sense, his brows furrowed slightly, but he unrolled it without hesitation.
Inside the scroll was an ink-black depiction of “Eight Ghosts Devouring a Buddha.”
Eight ferocious green-faced ghosts with fanged tusks—some clawing wildly, others wielding bone forks or clubs—surrounded a monk with blurred features, as if they were about to tear him apart and devour him alive. The scene was rendered with chilling realism.
Han Li held the scroll, his expression unchanged, though inwardly puzzled. What meaning did Biying intend by showing him such a painting?
Just then, with a *puff*, a streak of bloody light shot from the scroll’s surface, coiling toward Han Li.
Han Li was momentarily startled, but after sweeping the light with his divine sense and a brief hesitation, he neither dodged nor resisted, allowing it to envelop him. In a flash, he was pulled into the painting.
Xue Po, Zhu Guo’er, and the others nearby were shocked by this sudden turn.
Hua Shi Laozu’s expression darkened, and with a shake of his shoulders, several strands of black mist erupted from his back, transforming into massive black pythons over ten zhang long. They fixed their menacing gazes on the coldly beautiful woman, as if ready to attack at the slightest provocation.
“Do not panic, fellow Daoists. Senior Han is unharmed. Lord Biying merely used a strand of his divine sense to summon him into the painting for secrecy’s sake. He will emerge shortly,” the woman said calmly, raising a hand to Hua Shi Laozu.
“Is that truly the case? If anything happens to Master Han inside, do not blame me for turning hostile,” Hua Shi Laozu growled, half-convinced.
“If Senior Han does not reappear after a while, you may hold me accountable,” the woman replied with a faint smile.
“Brother Hua, she doesn’t seem to be lying. Let us wait a while. With Senior Han’s abilities, even if something unexpected occurs, he will surely be unharmed,” Xue Po said after a moment of contemplation.
Seeing reason in this, Hua Shi Laozu retracted the pythons and stood silently, his expression grim.
Meanwhile, Zhu Guo’er gazed worriedly at the eerie ghost painting floating in the air.
The sinister artwork was now enveloped in a bloody red glow. Any attempt to probe it with divine sense was instantly repelled, preventing any deeper inspection.
A faint scent of blood even wafted from the painting.
The remaining foreign cultivators nearby, witnessing this spectacle, exchanged alarmed glances before hastily departing, eager to avoid entanglement.
Only the round-faced man who called himself Fang Jin remained, watching the scene with a faint smile.
At the same time, within a mysterious space inside the ghost painting, Han Li frowned slightly as he observed a gray-robed monk seated in meditation before him.
The monk’s attire and appearance matched the blurred figure surrounded by the eight ghosts in the painting.
Yet now, the monk sat motionless, as if carved from wood.
If the monk was here, where were the ghosts?
Han Li’s thoughts shifted as he scanned his surroundings.
All around him, within a radius of a dozen zhang, thick blood-red mist swirled like congealed liquid.
Amidst the swirling fog, faint wisps of yin energy oozed forth. The instant his divine sense made contact, it was as though he had grazed against something unbearably frigid, plunging his consciousness into a numbing abyss.
A flicker of surprise crossed Han Li’s face.
Just then, a deafening roar erupted from the blood mist. The fog parted, and eight towering, monstrous ghosts, each over ten zhang tall, emerged with thunderous steps.
These demons were bare-chested, clad in beast hides, their bodies covered in eerie ghostly patterns, with twisted horns atop their heads. The moment they stepped out of the mist, they encircled Han Li.
“Fellow Daoist Biying, what is the meaning of this?” Han Li’s expression darkened as he turned to the monk and spoke coldly.
“Oh? How did Fellow Daoist Han know I was here?” The monk’s body trembled slightly as he opened his eyes—clouded and dull, as if still half-asleep.
“You jest. Although I have only recently ascended to the Mahayana realm, I am not unfamiliar with techniques like divine sense possession. I assumed Fellow Daoist had summoned me here to discuss something confidential, which is why I allowed myself to be drawn in. But seeing these ghosts, it seems my assumption was mistaken,” Han Li said flatly.
“Do not misunderstand, Fellow Daoist Han. I summoned you here precisely to discuss a matter of great importance. However, given its gravity, I must first verify whether you are truly qualified to hear it. These eight illusory Yellow Spring Ghost Kings may not be particularly powerful, but the Yellow Spring Netherwind they command is the real thing. Ordinary cultivators would dissolve into yin water upon the slightest contact. Even most Mahayana cultivators would avoid it rather than confront it directly. If you can move freely within the Netherwind and endure it without any treasures or artifacts for a quarter of an hour, you will have passed our test. Afterward, I will personally serve tea as an apology and reveal everything truthfully. If you cannot, I will simply send you out of the painting as if nothing happened,” the monk said impassively.
Almost simultaneously, the eight ghosts roared and opened their mouths, spewing forth pitch-black yin wind. The gusts surged violently, forming an impenetrable wall of wind that sealed the surrounding void before rolling toward Han Li.
“Yellow Spring Netherwind? Enduring it for a quarter of an hour without artifacts? Interesting. But this seems to underestimate me,” Han Li remarked, watching the approaching eerie wind with a hint of surprise before speaking nonchalantly.
*Boom!*
Without any visible incantation, as the black wind was about to engulf him, a layer of golden light abruptly enveloped Han Li’s body.
The sinister wind came to an abrupt halt a zhang away, frozen in place by the golden radiance, unable to advance any further.
“Impressive. But do not grow complacent. The Yellow Spring Netherwind grows stronger against resistance and weaker against yielding. This is but a fraction of its power,” the monk said, his pupils contracting slightly, though his tone remained indifferent.
“Is that so? If this eerie wind is so peculiar, I would gladly observe it further,” Han Li said coolly, eyeing the black gusts.
As soon as his voice trailed off, the eerie wind grew fiercer, unleashing an overwhelming force.
The golden light emanating from Han Li wavered under the pressure, emitting eerie creaking sounds as it was forced back half a chi before flaring anew to hold its ground.
Han Li’s eyes gleamed thoughtfully.
“This Yin wind is indeed intriguing. I would like to collect some for study. I trust you have no objections?” Han Li suddenly proposed.
“Oh? If Fellow Daoist possesses such skill, you are welcome to take as much as you please. I have an abundance of it,” the monk replied, surprised but chuckling lightly.
“Then I shall not stand on ceremony.” Han Li smiled faintly, forming a hand seal.
*Puff!*
A golden halo materialized behind him, coalescing into a towering, three-headed, six-armed golden Dharma Form.
The form, over ten zhang tall, was adorned with countless golden runes and radiated blinding brilliance. As soon as it appeared, its six arms rose, chanting incantations.
*Boom!*
Six golden orbs manifested in its palms, swelling rapidly before merging into a colossal golden vortex before Han Li.
“**Absorb!**”
Han Li pointed at the vortex, his voice solemn.
The vortex roared to life, spewing forth golden runes as immense suction forces erupted.
To my amazement, the seemingly invincible Yin Wind, upon meeting the suction of the vortex, morphed into spiraling columns before being irresistibly pulled inside.
Multiple black wind pillars vanished into the golden vortex like rivers returning to the sea.
In moments, the vast black wind wall had been reduced to scattered remnants.
Even the eight ghosts, desperately spewing eerie winds, were dragged toward the vortex, powerless to resist its pull.
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