Chapter 67

On the other side.

Chen Zhao's gaze pierced through the snowstorm.

The arrival bore a solemn, compassionate countenance.

"Two laypersons, you have injured my followers and sent others to kill Fo Men disciples—do you truly think Ban Ruo Men is easy to bully?"

The gray robe flapped fiercely as the young monk clasped his hands in prayer; behind him, a faint golden Merit Wheel bloomed.

A Buddha's phantom gradually solidified beside him.

The next instant.

He stepped forward, leaving footprints in the snow.

"We humbly beg Master Zhen Chang to act and aid this disciple in exterminating evil."

The young monk bowed deeply and chanted a true mantra.

Immediately, threads of Incense Fire Qi surged forth, flowing into both of them.

The Buddha possessed Foundation Establishment mid-stage cultivation, while the young monk's strength reached Qi Refining ninth layer.

But the next instant.

The Buddha pinched a flower between two fingers and softly uttered, "Duo!"

The entire city's snowstorm vanished instantly, replaced by an endless illusion—four hundred and eighty ancient temples rose from the ground, enhancing his ancient, majestic aura.

Li Zhiwei furrowed her brows.

She distinctly remembered that this Zhen Chang was one of the Golden Core cultivators who had attacked Tiankui, slain by the Sect Master's single sword strike.

How could he possibly appear here now?

Was he dragged back from the Other Shore's Yellow Springs using Incense Fire Qi?

The method was too bizarre—even she had never heard of such a thing.

It seemed they had come prepared.

But this place was merely a Level One Spirit Pulse—why such a massive show of force?

Seeing their uncertain expressions, the young monk chuckled lightly.

Had it not been for a fortuitous coincidence, he himself would not have known.

After Master Zhen Chang's death, his lifetime's treasures fell beneath Tingxiang Water Pavilion.

There were three Foundation Establishment Pills alone, let alone other treasures.

Yet the waters below were strangely peculiar—spiritual sense could not probe them, as if another realm lay hidden within.

Thus, through the Water-Land Dharma Assembly, he gathered the faith of mortals and Cultivators, using the Demon-Subduing Pestle to break the seals and investigate.

"Master, please strike swiftly."

"Giving orders? That's not your place, young pup."

Zhen Chang cast a sidelong glance at the young monk, his expression displeased.

He pointed to heaven and earth, intoning a Buddhist mantra.

The sky's starlight flickered, transforming into countless blades, densely packed.

Each blade was as large as a mountain, matching the power of the Evil Cultivators' attacks on the Immortal City.

In an instant.

Mountains and rivers lost their color; the sun and moon dimmed!

Zhen Chang had once been a Golden Core; his spell's power far surpassed that of an ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Li Zhiwei raised her hand and summoned an ice mountain to block seven-tenths of the sword rain, yet the remaining three still severed the Spirit Pulse clean in two!

Logically, a Level One Spirit Pulse had sparse Spirit Qi—how could both of them cast spells so easily?

Yet somehow, a stream of Spirit Qi still leaked from Tingxiang Water Pavilion.

Precisely, it originated from beneath where Yan Xiaoqian was!

"All just illusions to frighten people."

Li Zhiwei snorted coldly, her gaze indifferent.

She flicked her finger casually; a sliver of ice shot out from her fingertip.

No strange phenomena, no pressure—like a child playing.

Yet Zhen Chang's eyes grew grave; scriptures floated around him, forming a protective circle.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

A series of sharp snaps followed in quick succession.

The protective scriptures shattered on contact; the ice sliver showed no hesitation, already pressed against his full forehead.

He had no time to dodge, barely tilting his head aside.

Soundlessly, half his skull turned to dust and vanished into thin air.

"Had I not been merely a lingering soul, you would not dare act so boldly."

Zhen Chang's expression remained unchanged, as if he felt no pain at all.

He beckoned with a finger.

Wind stirred; the city's Incense Fire Qi reversed, flowing like a river into his skull.

Within two breaths, he was restored to perfect condition.

Even stronger than before.

Li Zhiwei raised an eyebrow and looked at the young monk.

Of the Incense Fire Qi, this one had absorbed the most—he was surely the mastermind.

She formed a hand seal and pointed.

Sixteen flying wheels emerged one by one, swirling around her.

With a thought, one Geng Metal Revolving Blade dissolved into a pale golden phantom and shot toward Xiao Er.

"Let the young ones settle their own affairs—why do you interfere, friend?"

Zhen Chang's face darkened; he flew forward to block a streak of golden light.

Having seen Li Zhiwei's power, how could he dare underestimate her?

Yet even with his full defense—

Boom!

Zhen Chang was blasted backward, his form blurring as if about to dissolve back into illusion.

He hastily absorbed incense offerings and restored himself once more.

Then two flying blades followed close behind.

Next, four, then eight—the flying blades seemed to multiply endlessly…

Zhen Chang's form solidified, then scattered again, his power continuously strengthening.

Yet he still could not withstand it; he stumbled, and a flying blade struck him squarely in the chest.

Clang!

The ancient temple's phantom phenomenon rippled outward; the shockwave reached Xiao Er, who raised a hand to block it.

It emitted the sound of metal striking metal!

"The Ancestor was right, layperson—why not spar with this monk?"

He smiled faintly, snatched up his Precept Knife, and brought it down in a slash toward Chen Zhao's head.

Chen Zhao moved faster—his Qingming Spirit-Absorbing Sword struck mid-attack, cleanly severing the Precept Knife.

Then he unleashed the Kuai Xue Shi Qing Sword; ink-like strokes splashed across the air, all striking Xiao Er.

At the same instant.

A tremendous force surged up the sword's length, shattering Chen Zhao's grip—blood streamed from his palms, his right hand went numb.

Chen Zhao was secretly startled.

Impressive hardening art! His physical strength far surpassed his own!

Of course, Xiao Er, enduring the killing blow, spat blood continuously, his entire body riddled with internal injuries; he staggered back five steps before finally stabilizing.

Then he shed his monk's robe, revealing a body crusted with knotted muscle, every inch of skin inscribed with dark-gold sutras.

A wisp of smoke drifted from Tingxiang Water Pavilion, merging into the runes—his internal injuries vanished instantly.

Tingxiang Water Pavilion?

Chen Zhao glanced sideways and instantly slashed out a stream of ink-like Sword Qi.

"Layperson, killing innocents will send you to the Avici Hell."

Xiao Er's expression shifted slightly.

He punched forward, summoning phantom dragon-elephant forms to intercept the Sword Qi.

His cultivation was still shallow; he could not gather much incense, so he relied on the Demon-Subduing Pestle to collect it.

Seeing Chen Zhao had the means to destroy the Dharma Treasure, how could he not intervene?

The phantom collided with the Sword Qi—both exploded violently, dust rising in all directions.

Amid rolling smoke, the dark shadow vanished abruptly, reappearing in an instant above Tingxiang Water Pavilion.

Xiao Er cursed inwardly and chased after him without delay.

Inside the water pavilion, only Yan Xiaoqian remained; the other two had vanished.

Seeing Chen Zhao approaching, Xiao Er broke into a cold sweat.

He immediately gathered all his strength and punched again.

It struck Chen Zhao's back with full force—piercing straight through!

Strangely, the "Chen Zhao" dissolved into a pool of ink, and when he reappeared, he was beside Yan Xiaoqian!

Xiao Er gritted his teeth, beads of sweat glistening on his shaved scalp.

"What strange technique!"

He no longer cared—he flew forward to shield the Demon-Subduing Pestle, watching helplessly as Chen Zhao raised his long sword and slashed toward him.

The dark-blue blade reflected his face.

Yet something felt off.

"This sword… why isn't it wrapped in mist?"

Xiao Er observed closely—this sword had always been entwined with spiritual mist; why was this one not?

Yet the spiritual energy fluctuation was identical! Even a clone could not replicate this!

In that split second—

He saw Chen Zhao's sly smile, and at the same time, the blade reflected another Chen Zhao!

Tricked!

Time was too short; after gathering power, Xiao Er had only one punch left.

His gaze hardened, and he spun to strike behind him.

The hut exploded outward; the autumn waters boiled!

Chen Zhao could not resist—he crossed his sword before him and was blasted away instantly.

The mist on the blade broke free; he rolled across the lake's surface, bouncing several times before stopping.

He dissolved into a pool of ink.