Chapter 176: Such Humiliation

Behind him, Jin Chanzi toyed with a gilt demon‑subduing pestle, its tip forged of dark iron refracting a cold glint within the reincarnation halo.

"Brother Dizang," Jin Chanzi chuckled suddenly, his Buddhist robe's wide sleeves sweeping over the surging karmic flames, "It's been three hundred and sixty day‑nights, could it be that the resentment of the Wrong‑Death City has clouded your eyes?"

Before the words finished, the seven‑treasure kasaya moved without wind, faintly revealing an inner lining embroidered with a six‑winged golden cicada pattern.

Dizang's prayer beads at his wrist halted abruptly, and the phantom of the lotus platform solidified in an instant. He caught a glimpse of the world‑crossing golden bowl hidden in Jin Chanzi's sleeve—a relic that should be enshrined in the Eight‑Treasure Merit Pool, now swirling with soul‑devouring dim light.

"Junior Brother Jin Chan, if you're inclined, you may go to the Bridge of Forgetfulness to hear Old Lady Meng recite sutras," he said, his plain white monk shoes crushing the resentful spirits beneath. "After all, the Nine‑Ring Tin Staff bestowed by the Master has never invoked a killing vow."

Amid the roar of the Sea of Blood, twelve reincarnation golden wheels turned slowly above the Netherworld. Dizang stared at the orderly queue of souls before the Ghost Gate, while the Wu Clan's distinctive Yu Qiang totem pulsed blue on the columns of the Judgement Hall.

It was entirely different from what he had seen a hundred years ago when he sneaked into the underworld at night; then the Six Paths were chaotic, the Yellow Springs water back‑flowed into the mortal realm, nothing like the strict order of today.

"Brother, look!" a accompanying bhikṣu shouted suddenly. At the edge of the Looking‑Home Platform, the revolving mirror that should have been guarded by a yaksha now floated with a bronze chime.

Dizang's pupils narrowed; the chime's surface bore a gluttonous‑beast pattern, clearly swirling with jade‑pure immortal aura.

Dizang tapped the lotus platform lightly with his fingertip, then looked down at the disciples below and instructed, "Jin Chanzi, take the twelve guardians to the Netherworld for a visit, claim that our sect's disciples need to borrow reincarnation to cultivate merit, and ask the underworld for a favor."

He then raised his eyes and added, "If you encounter resistance, say that the Saint of the Western Sect already has cause and effect to settle."

Jin Chanzi's wide sleeves caught the wind, flinging his prayer beads with a Whah‑la sound: "The Saint's edict is a heavenly decree; now let's see how the Wu Clan will respond."

Turning, his kasaya raised three inches of dust, and with only three direct disciples he ventured onto the Yellow Springs Road.

Watching the Buddha light fade, Dizang's lips curled slightly; beneath him, the attentive divine beast let out a sudden low roar, startling the other‑worldly flowers by the Bridge of Forgetfulness into a rustle of red petals.

"What a scheme of borrowing a knife to kill," Jin Chanzi crushed the white bones beneath his foot, sneering at the surging Netherworld ghost‑qi ahead.

The demon‑subduing pestle at his waist flickered, casting mottled shadows along the Yellow Springs Road.

When he passed here in the past, the guarding Wu clan merely offered a few empty rebukes; today, a black, oppressive formation loomed a hundred zhang away.

A colossal spirit with a bull's head and human body blocked the path with a massive axe, shaking the Forgetting River into reverse flow: "Reincarnation forbidden ground—those who trespass shall be executed!"

"How dare you!" the accompanying arhat glared, his golden bowl poised to sacrifice, but Jin Chanzi's Buddha light suppressed it. He then stepped forward slowly, the Nine‑Ring Tin Staff sparking fire on the ground: "When did the underworld change its rules? The three‑life Buddha child sent last month…"

Before the words finished, twelve bone spears pierced the air, forming a ring that trapped everyone. From the dense fog emerged a crimson‑faced Wu elder, a Candle Nine‑Yin coiled on his shoulder, breathing Netherworld fire: "Do you truly think the Saint's edict can subdue the Six Paths?"

Jin Chanzi's pupils narrowed as he sensed hidden machinations in the surrounding Wu clan aura; three great‑lord pressures lay concealed in the formation, and a city‑sky divine‑demon array formed by a hundred Golden Immortals had already sealed the retreat.

Cold sweat soaked the monk's robes of the disciple behind him, yet he snapped the bone spears with a reverse strike, pointing his tin staff toward Yama Hall: "Excellent, such a display is worthy of my personal discourse on the Dao."

The melee erupted the instant the tin staff collided with the massive axe. Jin Chanzi's surrounding Buddha light transformed into eight celestial dragons, but dimmed abruptly when it struck Yu Qiang's chilling aura.

The Wu clan's battle array turned like a millstone; each step crushed three zhang of Buddhist realm.

The accompanying arhat's demon‑subduing implements shattered in succession, and the weakest junior monk had his clavicle pierced by a soul‑hooking lock.

"Master, save…" Amid the wailing, Jin Chanzi caught a glimpse of a faint Jie Sect sigil shimmering on the Wu elder's cuff, his mind suddenly clear as ice.

He feigned collapse, letting the Jiuli war axe slice half of his kasaya, while secretly attaching a strand of his primordial spirit to the demon‑subduing pestle, which silently fell to the bottom of the Forgetting River.

At the edge of the Netherworld realm, Zhou Yi and several Wu clan elites were observing the battle.

When Jin Chanzi's silhouette entered his view, a playful curve lifted his mouth; the outline of six‑winged golden feathers reminded him of a famed entity from ancient legends.

"These six‑winged golden cicadas are truly fascinating!" Zhou Yi mused, rubbing his chin.

Through his spiritual perception, the opponent's true form could not hide: wings as sharp as blades, a slender insect body glinting with cold light, exactly the terrifying beast of the Honghuang era.

Legend says this creature was born at Chaos's Beginning, possessing both murderous aura and enlightened roots, and was once enlightened and taken under the wing of a Western Saint.

Zhou Yi's thoughts suddenly drifted to the future; this eminent Buddhist disciple would, millennia later, shed his golden body, be reborn in the Eastern lands, and become the holy monk who journeys west for the scriptures.

If he were slain now… that notion circled Zhou Yi's mind several times before turning into a silent sigh. Could the trajectory of the Heavenly Dao change because of a single person?

Even without Jin Chanzi, there would be Yin Chanzi and Yu Chanzi to take the pilgrim's place.

At this moment the battlefield situation was clear: all Buddhist disciples had been routed, and only Jin Chanzi still struggled to hold on.

"Shall we completely eradicate these bald donkeys?" Yu Qiang, the ancestral Wu, asked, pointing at the still‑resisting Jin Chanzi.

"Just give them a lesson and send them back to the Spirit Mountain," Zhou Yi chuckled, waving his hand. "It should have been Dizang leading, yet Jin Chanzi came instead; there must be something fishy about that."

He gazed at the fading Buddha light in the distance, a calculating glint flashing in his eyes. The game had only just begun, and he had already prepared several countermoves, waiting for the Western Sect to fall into the trap.

While Zhou Yi conversed with Yu Qiang, the ancestral Wu, Jin Chanzi had already been subdued by several Wu clan warlords, and the Wu clan, using their unique rites, entertained the unexpected guests.

When the members of the Western Sect were expelled from the Netherworld, each was in tattered clothes, stumbling, their faces marked with bluish‑purple bruises.

At this moment they had not only lost all their magical treasures, but even their personal spirit jade was not spared; in the end they could only summon mana to forge illusionary robes to cover themselves.

If cultivators of the Honghuang era saw such a ragged sight, it would surely spawn a hundred and eighty anecdotes spreading through the immortal market.

"If this grievance remains unavenged, I, the humble monk, will scatter the three blossoms atop my crown!" Jin Chanzi said, his eyes widening as he looked back at the Netherworld barrier.

As a direct disciple under the Saint of Jieyin, how could he ever have endured such humiliation?

The Wu clan's brazen conduct clearly aimed to reduce the Western Sect's face to dust.

A accompanying disciple suddenly realized, "Since Brother Dizang ordered us to explore the Six Paths, he should preside over justice in this matter!"

Everyone responded in agreement, completely forgetting who had originally volunteered to go to the underworld. A dark glint flashed in Jin Chanzi's eyes as he led the group, turning into several streaks of light that pierced the void.

When this band of scar‑ridden cultivators appeared at the Spirit Mountain annex, a commotion erupted instantly.

Jin Chanzi wept and cried out, painfully recounting his ordeal, painting the Wu clan as thieves of others' treasures and violators of the holy teachings; finally, in a mournful voice he said, "If Brother Dizang does not step forward, where will our sect's authority lie?"

At that moment Dizang was contemplating celestial mechanisms on the lotus platform; hearing the clamor, he frowned. He noted the oddity—how could the Wu clan have set up defenses in advance?