Chapter 139: Great Completion, Vajra Stillness

Boom!!

The windows of the children’s welfare home shattered into powder.

The sound was muffled, not sharp, and no shards of glass flew into the room where the children were.

A giant hand reached in from outside the window, grasping blindly through the air.

The lights inside flickered erratically.

A deliberately manifested, ghastly emerald-green ghost face, fangs bared to terrify, was suddenly snatched by that giant hand.

The laughter cut off; the evil face twisted like weak dough, violently deforming as it was yanked away.

The children in the room huddled in one corner; several volunteers appeared to be college students.

One had fainted from terror; the others were drenched in cold sweat.

As the ghostly face vanished, the indoor lights instantly brightened and stabilized.

The group hurriedly looked out the window.

There stood a young man in black robes with golden embroidery, slapping the strange object he held against his mouth.

The strange object vanished completely.

The next instant, the young man himself was gone.

One volunteer, with a vivid imagination, suddenly blurted out a sentence.

“Zhong… Zhong… Zhong Kui?”

They wanted to go over and see where the young man had gone, yet hesitated to approach the pitch-black window.

Chu Tianshu had leapt from the second-floor corridor, covered the courtyard in a few strides, and jumped over the wall in one bound.

Tap!!

The moment Chu Tianshu landed, two pure black palms erupted from the cement ground, gripping his ankles.

His shoes today were high-cut, like short boots, covering his ankles.

The moment those palms gripped, they tore through the black leather, oozing out between their fingers.

The palms clamped around his ankles like iron shears.

But the instant they touched his skin, the palms ignited like gasoline, instantly engulfed in transparent flames.

“Ah!”

A muffled scream rose from underground; the two palms retracted rapidly.

Evil spirits inherently possess the ability to pass through most solid objects, float, and move underground.

But many evil spirits do not know how to properly use this ability.

For example, when facing substances like cinnabar, rooster blood, or dog blood, they need only dive underground, circle around, and emerge elsewhere—this is an effective tactic.

Yet very few evil spirits can actually execute such a tactic.

And this one, with most of its body still submerged and ethereal, yet its hands protruding above ground with tangible killing power…

Only an exceptionally unusual evil spirit could accomplish this.

It must be a ferocious, malevolent entity.

But Chu Tianshu, using his soldier soul, activated the “Inner Sage, Outer King” state, his entire body saturated with condensed mental force.

The quality of this mental force surpassed Chu Tianshu’s own realm, specifically adept at subduing evil.

For an evil spirit to harm his body was like a hairy pig charging into a furnace.

“Formation! Array!”

Chu Tianshu, having tricked the evil spirit, immediately shifted into his Qiao state and cast a spell.

Two semi-transparent flames appeared in midair—one vertical, one horizontal.

Chu Tianshu’s expression hardened; his fingertips seemed to stick to the center points of the two lines, his wrist twisting.

The vertical and horizontal lines immediately rotated, facing the ground, emitting a piercing suction force.

A black figure resembling a gorilla rose from underground, eyes glowing red, hands still burning.

It was as if the flames on its hands were pulling its entire body upward.

“Advance!”

Before it could move, Chu Tianshu changed his hand gesture, replacing it with a sword finger in his left hand.

The rotating lines instantly bulged forward, forming a spiral spearhead that pierced through the black evil spirit’s head.

The evil spirit’s aura plummeted; Chu Tianshu then spat out a single syllable—“Dou”—opening a bowl-sized hole in its chest.

The remaining evil energy scattered; its form disintegrated.

“Who?”

Chu Tianshu spun around, staring toward the end of the street.

There stood a middle-aged to elderly man in a silver-gray vest and white shirt, with a straight nose and rugged features, stepping into the glow of a streetlamp.

Chu Tianshu’s gaze shifted: “You… Mo Shengyi?”

Mo Shengyi blinked in surprise: “You know me?”

“I saw several paintings at the principal’s office of the Golden Knife Martial School—scenes of you and others destroying the Ghost Market.”

Chu Tianshu said, “Apart from the change in your hair color, you’re virtually unchanged from twenty years ago.”

“Are you also out here hunting evil spirits?”

Mo Shengyi smiled: “Why do you feel the urge to attack evil spirits?”

Chu Tianshu frowned: “Hm?”

“Exorcising evil and eliminating wickedness counts as good deeds—but what’s the point of doing good deeds?”

Mo Shengyi continued, “Look at Feng Jianhua—he did plenty of good in his life, had countless friends, yet also had countless enemies.”

“If someone commits evil and rises to power, they too gather legions of allies and enemies—so what real difference is there between good and evil?”

Chu Tianshu stared at him, flexing his fingers.

“I once thought: to be famous like Feng Jianhua, with a spotless reputation—that would be a life worth experiencing, so I went out to do good.”

“Later, my second and third brothers craved wealth, saying there were endless pleasures to be had by buying them—I took them into business. Indeed, countless fools admired and followed us; financial circles praised us endlessly. Even those few who knew where the money came from genuinely feared me.”

Mo Shengyi sighed, “Gradually, I found it just as boring.”

“I don’t want to do good, I don’t want to do evil, yet I don’t want to kill myself—it’s such a nuisance.”

Chu Tianshu caught the tone, suddenly smiled, and stepped forward.

“Sir, to be honest, I’m a physician. What you’re describing sounds like a medical condition.”

He said warmly, “Come, give me your wrist—I’ll take your pulse.”

A smile also surfaced in Mo Shengyi’s eyes.

“Lately, my body has changed—I’ve grown a worm inside me, stirring in me an intense desire to expand my kind, to make evil spirits exert enough influence so that ghostly and divine power descends in pure form.”

“This must be the combined influence of a ghostly deity and a centipede—but this feeling…”

Boom!!

Mo Shengyi raised both palms and caught the two fists suddenly slamming toward him.

A ripple of air surged; cracks split the ground.

“This feeling—having clear, driving desires—is truly excellent!”

Mo Shengyi chuckled.

Chu Tianshu touched his right canine with his tongue: “You know, mental emptiness is a common social illness—countless people suffer from it at midnight.”

“But you—who’ve done nothing but vile deeds before declaring yourself empty—don’t deserve to be mentioned alongside my lovely patients.”

“You deserve another name.”

He said calmly, “Die, you idiot.”

Chu Tianshu jerked his shoulder; the two fists pressing against Mo Shengyi’s palms suddenly writhed like snake fangs, leaving afterimages as they slid sideways to latch on.

His hands clamped around Mo Shengyi’s forearm like a python, nails digging toward the elbow’s pressure point.

This move was brutally vicious—if completed, it would sever tendons, gouge bones, crush the arm, and even tear off the shoulder; mere blood loss alone would be fatal.

But Mo Shengyi’s motion was simpler—he merely pushed his palms outward lightly.

Two black palm prints shattered the air with a crash, hurtling toward Chu Tianshu’s chest.

No one expected that within seconds of engagement, they had already clashed in a mutually destructive stance.

Chu Tianshu sensed the power of the two palm prints, yet refused to dodge—he puffed out his chest and ripped his arms apart with full force.

Boom!!!

A thunderous sound echoed.

Chu Tianshu was blasted six or seven meters away, slamming into a thick streetlamp pole.

His chest clothing exploded open, revealing the dark-gold sheen of his Golden Thread Treasure Armor.

But the normally orderly weave of the Golden Thread Treasure Armor was now utterly disordered.

Where the palm prints struck, the armor’s texture resembled crumbling yellow paper—dry, brittle, and chaotic.

Since returning home, Chu Tianshu had worn the Golden Thread Treasure Armor constantly; today, it had indeed saved him from disaster.

Beneath the armor, his thick ribs had shifted and merged together, like two solid steel plates.

The two palm prints struck them, and the power of his Guanyin Bones immediately dispersed and redirected the force backward.

Though thick, the streetlamp pole was hollow metal; after a second of resistance, it suddenly shattered into five or six pieces.

Clang! Clang! Clang!!

The streetlamp pole flew apart, crashing down everywhere.

Chu Tianshu landed from midair, unable to suppress a small spurt of blood from his mouth.

Mo Shengyi’s sleeves were shredded to bits; his twisted joints snapped back into place, wrists and palms returning to normal.

Even so, the skin on his shoulders still bore the marks of nearly being torn apart.

From elbow to forearm, several deep gashes nearly exposed bone; the veins on his dorsum trembled uncontrollably.

Chu Tianshu struck the moment his internal force erupted from his palms.

At that instant, the internal force in his arms must have momentarily weakened.

Yet his palm strike released a ferocious, unmatched power, while the internal force within his arms coiled like black threads around muscle fibers, wrapping every joint.

Chu Tianshu’s yank damaged his tendons, bones, and joints—but did not fully sever them.

With such internal force controlling his injured arm, he still moved with perfect ease.

“Hahahaha!”

Mo Shengyi laughed loudly, “Your desires are strong too. Let me see if you can match the obsession of spirit-world genes and demonic allure!”

His figure flickered, charging forward aggressively.

He did not advance in a straight line, but zigzagged like lightning—darting left and right.

This movement maximized air disturbance and blurred the opponent’s sense of distance and direction.

Chu Tianshu glanced and felt, though the man had not yet reached him, his mind already blaring alarms.

Zing!!

He tilted his head, dropped low instantly; a lock of hair on his temple was sliced clean off by the palm wind.

But his long arm had already lashed forward, snapping like a spring toward Mo Shengyi’s waist.

Mo Shengyi dodged as expected.

Chu Tianshu let his hand drop naturally, five fingers like iron hooks, precisely aimed at the opponent’s calf.

When dodging sideways, one leg always lags slightly behind the upper body.

Shhh!!

Mo Shengyi suddenly shot upward, evading the grab.

Fist masters who refine force rely on solid objects to generate or absorb impact—they never leap randomly.

But internal cultivators can lighten their bodies, leap and soar, and manipulate air—even midair, they retain ample maneuverability.

Mo Shengyi flipped instantly in midair, head down, feet up, and unleashed a continuous flurry of strikes toward Chu Tianshu.

Yet Kunwu ore—hard, soft, cunning, sharp!

Mo Shengyi’s “Kunwu Iron Palm Art” was famed as “the most astonishingly varied technique among all iron sand palm styles within the Four Seas.”

The Shanhaijing says: there is Kunwu Mountain, whose ore, forged into blades, cuts jade as easily as mud.

After channeling his force, Mo Shengyi’s hands could produce serrated edges capable of slicing half a meter away.

A heavy strike might instead be a broad, yielding force, luring the enemy into a trap.

Chu Tianshu met him head-on, his arms moving so fast they seemed like a roaring, chaotic barrage.

Yet his hands trembled, smashed, chiseled, slapped—whether striking flesh or internal force—he made not a single misstep.

His injuries appeared to have little effect on his combat ability.

But Chu Tianshu’s injuries were lighter.

Just a little blood.

Given his physique, even spitting out a liter of blood wouldn’t matter—as long as no organ fragments mixed in.

In moments, the two had exchanged over a hundred strikes.

Mo Shengyi never touched the ground, yet his internal force surged and receded, coalescing into a heavy, crushing force that slammed down, denying Chu Tianshu any chance to retreat.

It seemed they would fight this way until one revealed a fatal opening.

But tonight’s Guangling was overrun by a hundred demons.

Chu Tianshu’s vigorous, pure blood and qi were irresistibly alluring to malevolent spirits of the highest tier.

Across the street, a spirit riddled with arrows pierced through the shuttered shop door and drifted toward them.

It pulled an arrow from its temple, drew its bow, and aimed straight at Chu Tianshu.

It seemed the distance was too great, the force insufficient.

It drifted closer, to just ten meters from the two.

A tickle on Chu Tianshu’s right neck told him exactly where the arrow aimed.

“Hmph!!”

The arrow pierced the air; muscles on his neck bulged like ropes, skin taut and vibrating.

At the instant the dark arrow struck his neck, it shattered into yin energy.

As Chu Tianshu grunted, he accelerated his assault, driving a punch like a skyward cannonball.

But his exhale and force were too rigidly direct.

Mo Shengyi blocked sideways, his palm pressing like a steel post; his body spun off, hurtling toward the spirit.

The spirit gasped in shock, revealing a mouth full of rotting teeth, raising its bow skyward.

Mo Shengyi’s body radiated thick black internal force; both palms pressed down as he rotated.

The black force split into two streams, spiraling around the spirit.

The spirit lost balance, floating upward, spinning like a giant iron hedgehog within the black mist.

Mo Shengyi landed behind it, pushing his palms into empty air.

The spirit, being ethereal, was now driven and inflated by the cold internal force, swelling to nearly block the entire alley, hurtling toward Chu Tianshu.

By tormenting the spirit this way, its power was not neutralized—instead, Mo Shengyi’s internal force grew fiercer, more murderous.

Because the white-bone centipede fused within him had sensed this trend while attempting to alter his internal force.

Now he reversed it, activating the spirit’s latent potential.

Chu Tianshu, having fought this long, realized his techniques gained no advantage; his blood and qi churned with heat—he simply charged straight into the spirit.

After unlocking its potential, the spirit’s size expanded, but its yin energy was diluted, unable to harm Chu Tianshu much.

Upon collision, it would merely be pierced through, helping to cool the heat in his blood.

The two were about to collide.

Mo Shengyi pushed the black mist, eyes alight with frenzy; silently, he rotated his palms and lunged forward.

The hedgehog-like spirit instantly shrank.

From blocking the entire alley, it reduced to barely half a man’s size.

The spirit’s form grew denser, even glistening with a black sheen.

A black arrow shaft neared Chu Tianshu’s right eyeball.

In that instant, Chu Tianshu considered switching to his Open Meridian state, releasing his mental force to dilute the spirit’s power, then shifting to a sidelong charge.

But would he really fight Mo Shengyi at close range while in Spirit-Link Open Meridian state?

Switching back again would expose another opening!

Chu Tianshu’s pupils narrowed, his heart ignited.

Since his fist art had found its true path, he had always suppressed emotion in battle—maintaining calm to target his enemy, releasing rage only after the fight.

But recently, training within Feng Jianhua’s painted circle, that radiant killing aura had made him more willing to accept it—and raised a question.

To break through the mortal barrier, must one train always brimming with killing intent?

Then, when nearing this threshold, must one still pursue precision and self-restraint in battle? Is that truly right?

Lin Bing Dou Zhe, Jie Zhen Lie Qian…

“KILL!!”

Chu Tianshu’s face twisted grotesquely; his organs surged, bones stretched wide, and from his mouth erupted a roar as if exploding.

The roar shook his entire body, forcing him to strike the most standard fist posture without thought—his right fist blasted forward.

Whoom!!!

The arrow shaft striking his eyeball hit his face and shattered into yin energy.

The condensed, charging spirit’s body was erased in the center, leaving a gaping hole.

Chu Tianshu’s arm extended fully, piercing through the spirit, his fist slamming straight into Mo Shengyi.

That fist did not turn blue or red—it was heavy, unyielding.

Tendons, bones, blood and qi radiated outward with the texture of forged metal.

Yet his skin glowed translucent, like a heavy piece of yellow jade containing the essence of five metals.

Mo Shengyi raised his palms, one high, one low, trying to clamp the fist—but it still struck his chest.

CRASH!

A vertical ring of black dust exploded from Mo Shengyi’s body, hurling him into the air.

He did not fly far—only ten meters—before his feet scraped the ground, stumbling several steps.

Yet blood, thick and dark red, poured from all seven orifices; he felt hollow inside, unable to stand.

That punch had driven his internal force out from the very edges of his body.

“Huh…”

“Laugh at your mother!”

Chu Tianshu surged forward, slapping his palm across Mo Shengyi’s face, smashing his skull into the street.

The momentum was too great—he dragged the blood-smeared, clueless old bastard along the road, leaving a trail of blood.

No matter how severe the ailment, sever the head, and it will all be fixed.

“Huff! Huff!!”

Chu Tianshu gasped a few times, his body still immersed in the prior danger, heart pounding uncontrollably, yet within the swelling and contracting of his cardiac muscle, he absorbed the condensed willpower of the Three Seven Sword, restoring his strength.

For the first time, he felt that his own bodily muscles could actively absorb willpower.

Not cooperating—devouring.

The hand covering Mo Shengyi’s face remained the color of yellow jade, spreading along the arm, neck, and toward the left side of the body.

Entered Shaolin Fist, perfected: Diamond Stillness!

A single Diamond strike—shatters evil, liberates souls, sends them straight to the Western Paradise.

Chu Tianshu’s translucent ears twitched slightly; he snapped his head up.

On the rooftop of that building, over two hundred meters away.

Mo Laosan saw the scene and cried out in panic: “Big brother!”

Even Mo Laosan himself felt that this cry, drowned by the typhoon’s wind, had not carried far.

Yet the monstrous figure, his body like yellow jade, drenched in bloodied palms, lifted his face and looked this way.

(End of Chapter)