Chapter 236: Two hundred and forty-four, Return, O Return!

Two hundred and forty-four, Return, O Return!

Pure Land Underground Palace.

Behind the lotus pedestal, the atmosphere began to get a bit awkward.

Ouyang Rong ignored Liu Zilin's words. He looked around blankly, frowning in confusion. The purple mist in Ouyang Rong's eyes had long since faded, as if it had never happened.

The crowd that had retreated in shock surrounded him again.

The muscles at the corners of Liu Zilin's mouth twitched:

Ouyang Rong suddenly raised his head:

Ouyang Rong looked around the dim underground palace. Ignoring the sharp blade at his neck, he suddenly stood up and looked up at the wellhead above his head.

He stood on the lotus pedestal, looking stunned, and stretched out his palm, grabbing at the familiar blue sky outside the well.

Those lines of familiar handwriting, just like the five-character stone carving, radiated dazzling moonlight.

Everyone was shocked and uncertain when they heard this. Liu Zilin's previous words had already left Ouyang Rong confused, but the latter few sentences made him horrified.

Some turned and fled, while others rushed forward in fear.

He raised a pale face. He didn't know when, but he was already in tears, his eyes red.

Because it came from a monk at Donglin Temple who had used the sword Qi of a Tripod Sword a hundred years ago and hurriedly left behind the "Return, O Return" poem before his death.

There was no response.

He reached out to pick up the moonlight longsword, preparing to chop off the head before turning to recite the long sword technique on the four walls.

There was thick, cold liquid dripping like a line of water onto the dusty lotus pedestal.

Fragmented, yet bizarre and strange:

His body stiffened, and he knelt on the lotus pedestal, staring blankly at the hilt of the knife that had appeared on his stomach.

Kong Meibin only felt a chill in his stomach.

"And you, Master Zhong Ma, you steal swords, what kind of shitty Lotus Tower Alliance? For a broken sword, you imprison yourself in the underground palace under the Lotus Tower after the flood, smoking yourself to death. If you die, you die, but why leave your mother's sword technique? Why pretend to be a flesh-body Buddha? Misleading future generations like this!"

Ouyang Rong suddenly pulled his arm away, turned and lunged, grabbing the rope hanging from the wellhead.

One is brighter, one is darker.

The underground palace was dim. Although the center of the lotus pedestal was illuminated by the light from the wellhead, the ground under the pedestal was covered by the lotus pedestal, in eternal shadow, covered in deep moss.

At the end of the poem on the east wall, there was an extra paragraph of text, between the lines, sorrowful and mournful...

Ouyang Rong turned his head, preparing to light a torch. He paused, didn't get up, and casually drew the moonlight longsword, bringing the blade close.

Like a myth appearing in the mortal world.

The young magistrate suddenly laughed out loud, but the laughter didn't sound joyful to Ouyang Rong and the others; instead, it had an indescribable sense of mourning and death of heart.

A bit more curved than a straight line, a bit straighter than the outline of the sun and moon. The Third Young Master Liu only had time to spit out these two words.

The young man kneeling on the ground suddenly rose, struggling desperately, regardless of the blood gushing like a spring after the wound on his abdomen was pulled.

Its mirror surface reflected scenes happening quietly. It was not a sword, nor was it a tripod.

Ouyang Rong straightened up, looking left and right in both joy and panic. The green-clad servants also hurriedly gripped their swords, guarding in panic.

Under the interplay of sunlight and moonlight, the clear blue color like a clear sky was so beautiful, and it had a perfect arc that everyone present had never seen before.

Before Kong Meibin's smile could fully fade.

The one with the fewest desires obtains

the object that can most arouse greed. The greediest die in the bitter search for treasure.

Suddenly, a tremor from the soul rose from the soles of Ouyang Rong's feet, surging up along his spine, as if to lift his skull.

There was also cold liquid spraying onto the lotus stone pedestal.

On the four walls of the underground palace were lines of hurried, sloppy handwriting, reappearing in the world with the old walls.

On the wall of the underground palace was the "Return, O Return" poem.

Ouyang Rong's eyes were full of anger:

In a beam of sunlight floating in the center of the underground palace.

Ouyang Rong frowned and looked closely, bringing his head closer, and read slowly:

The sword did not appear.

Ouyang Rong opened his eyes wide, anger burning in his chest, and kicked the youth climbing the rope: Liu Zilin, Ouyang Rong, and the green-clad servants' faint shadows were stretched very, very long.

The young magistrate's clothes and hair were messy. He grabbed the rope and climbed up desperately, his eye circles turning pathologically red:

It is called Craftsman.

A fine cracking sound was endless, coming from the four walls of the underground palace. A line appeared in the underground palace.

As if a switch had been correctly flipped by someone, something that had been sleeping for a long time began to be slowly awakened.

The next moment, the scene in front of his eyes made Ouyang Rong's soul fly away in terror.

The sound of heads falling had an elegant rhythm, just like an artist arriving late, playing a newly composed movement without haste.

Finally, it was Ouyang Rong's dead fish eyes full of soul-eating unwillingness, paired with a face full of unbelievable and incredible expressions.

That's right, behind the gray moonlight covering the moonlight longsword, it was actually emitting moonlight brighter than the former, but the two seemed to be of the same origin.

Just then, Ouyang Rong, who was groping on the ground behind the lotus pedestal, was suddenly overjoyed. In the position where Liu Zilin, who had just had purple Qi in his eyes, had groped, he also groped for something unusual—a cold, smooth stone carving engraved on the ground, which seemed to be five characters.

But what truly stunned him was that the moonlight stone carving on these four walls was not just a "Return, O Return" poem.

Kong Meibin suddenly frowned, finding that the five-character stone carving in front of him seemed... to be glowing?

The most indignant, even if they obtain a mythical sword, can only rage helplessly.

The clear light of the bright moon shone on faces looking around in confusion.

"There is no such thing as a 'Return, O Return' blessing to go home in this world. It's just a piece of shitty sword technique called 'Return, O Return' poem."

There was vomit. It's better to die.

It was an elegant work of art that fit intuition.

When harvesting the heads of the crowd in front of him, it was also so calm and elegant.

From the perspective of anyone in the underground palace, it looked like a line.

The most homesick, hope shattered, can never find the way home again.

If there is no one left, what is left?

He was trembling with excitement, his gaze was exceptionally firm, and he was muttering to himself.

His left cheek was pressed against the cold, smooth floor. Under his blood-red short hair, his dull black eyes reflected the "Return, O Return" five-character stone carving blooming with moonlight in front. A murmur sounded in this empty underground palace where no one was standing:

Because as everyone knows, the sword-wielder has the number one killing power, but the sword-wielder is also as fragile as glass.

The youth below, his eyes withered and silent, his side face facing the air beside him, gently spat out two words:

:

There were also the backs of those fleeing and the stiff bodies kneeling and kowtowing. In this short but urgent, one-sided slaughter.

Kong Meibin lowered his head, his bloody hands stroking the hilt of the knife inserted in his abdomen, his mouth making a low, hoarse laughing sound:

. Roaring sounds echoed in the underground palace.

He pointed laughingly at the moonlight sword Qi crisscrossing the "Return, O Return" poem on the wall, covering his stomach and laughing painfully, almost laughing out his intestines from the bleeding wound. Liu Zilin was still having a great time:

The guards hurriedly pressed down hard, but he still straightened his waist, raised his tearful head, and tore his heart and lungs toward a small wellhead above his head:

A series of light and shadow flashed through the underground palace.

Liu Zilin climbed up, ignoring everything, his red eyes staring straight at the blue sky above.

The latter struggled desperately.

Ouyang Rong stared at the long text on the wall, read the first few sentences, and couldn't help frowning. However, just in case, he quickly took out the blood-stained Buddhist scripture, lowered his head and recited it silently. After finishing, he drank softly toward the underground palace that was shining brightly:

After saying that, he quickly squatted down in front of the lotus pedestal, reaching out to grope under the lotus pedestal, the shadow that Kong Meibin had groped before, his eyes anxious, searching the ground for the treasure bead.

Five green-clad servants immediately rushed forward, pulling or dragging, and pulled Liu Zilin back.

Liu Zilin's eyes were straight, staring at the last words.

This scene was like a butterfly breaking out of a cocoon, taking only three short breaths to completely reveal its true appearance.

Then there was a warm, sore current flowing through his lower abdomen. Master Zhong Ma.

Dong! — Dong! — Dong! — Dong! — Dong!

At this very moment, his wide-open eyes clearly reflected a clear blue arc.

The five-character stone carving finally revealed its true appearance.

It seemed that something on the old wall of the inner layer was shining brightly, even causing the murals on the new wall to fall off, unable to cover it anymore.

Liu Zilin slowly raised his head.

"Good for you, Tao Yuanming. It's fine that you didn't serve as the Dragon City magistrate, but you were a good 'Cold Scholar' sword master, yet before you retired, you left this 'Cold Scholar' sword technique to the monks of Donglin Temple, harming future generations!"

Under the lotus pedestal, the "Return, O Return" five-character stone carving shone brightly.

Liu Zilin, whose abdominal pain had reached numbness, knelt on the lotus pedestal and turned his head blankly.

Ouyang Rong cursed angrily, pushed Liu Zilin away, threw away the knife hilt, and roared at his subordinates beside him with a face full of murderous intent:

God really played a huge joke on someone. There were broken limbs.

Liu Zilin's limbs were soft and paralyzed like mud. He lay on the ground, his side face pressed against the cold floor, his heart dead.

A distant place that had long been regarded as a pure land of peace of mind was completely extinguished.

On the four walls painted with murals of the Buddha's life, fragments fell off, slowly revealing the... old walls smoked black by flames behind the murals.

Not a single speck of dust fell on his body."

Ouyang Rong was first shocked, then overjoyed. He threw away the blood-stained Buddhist scripture. The next second, he seemed to react to something, quickly pressing the young magistrate's head tightly against the floor, blocking his eyes, and said sternly:

Ouyang Rong suddenly turned his head, asking Liu Zilin angrily:

At the same time, the cold stone carving engraved by someone on the floor silently absorbed the cold, clear moonlight emitted by a certain sword edge for a while.

On the four sides of the underground palace, a slight cracking sound appeared. There was a yellow-toothed, bloody mouth that didn't make a sound.

He pulled up the silly laughing youth who was looking up and reaching out on the lotus pedestal, grabbed the latter's hands, and pried them open one by one, but they were empty. Where was the shadow of any treasure bead?

Liu Zilin looked around in shock, but his tone couldn't hide his irritability:

A broken blade that had been shaken off and splashed out spun in the air.

Ouyang Rong pressed his fingers hard on the unknown five-character stone carving.. z.

And beams of bright, dazzling moonlight slowly shot out from where those fragments had fallen off.

For a time, the underground palace was calm.

In this beam of light, dust swayed slowly.

Amidst Ouyang Rong's anxious and violent voice searching for the bead on the ground and the vicious insults of the surrounding green-clad servants.

The green-clad servants either looked sideways and were moved, or drew their swords with cold eyes.

Death is not terrible; what is terrible is the bloody reality that is ugly to look at after the illusion is shattered.

Ouyang Rong rushed forward, his big hands grabbing Liu Zilin's collar like pliers, and his spit sprayed out. He stared and questioned:

The underground palace around him first fell into a deathly silence, then exploded.

There were dull eyeballs as big as copper bells.

He frowned slightly, then lowered his body, bringing his head closer. Suddenly a sound.

Kong Meibin lowered his short-haired head, his arms tied behind his back, and was fiercely pressed by the green-clad servants. The short knife on his stomach moved slowly with the breathing of his chest and abdomen. He knelt in a pool of blood.

Liu Zilin knelt on the ground looking up at the sky, his voice hoarse, roaring silently.

In the spacious underground palace, Liu Zilin and the crowd lay on the ground together, remaining motionless throughout.

Kong Meibin seemed to have turned into an old postgraduate entrance exam joker again, but beneath the bright smiling face he raised was full of indifference and loneliness.

The underground palace was dim. A beam of sunlight fell, landing only on the lotus pedestal in the center of the underground palace, and also on a bruised, knife-in-the-stomach, murmuring youth.

The Pure Land Underground Palace, shining brightly, dropped one head after another.

He grabbed the knife hilt on Kong Meibin's abdomen again, forcing him with his wrist.

He was laughing at the obsession of his predecessors, and also laughing at his own obsession.

The constant shadow under the lotus pedestal was driven away by the gray moonlight. Having a home but not being able to return, and never having a home again, are two different things.

No one saw clearly how it appeared. He already knew this poem by heart.

Liu Zilin covered his bloody stomach with both hands, laughing and muttering like a madman. Crack... crack ===== CHAPTER 237 =====