Chapter 316: Every Cause Has Its Effect

Mu Yunyang felt utterly hopeless, even wondering if he had encountered the legendary human calamity.

"Didn't the master say orthodox cultivators don't have human calamities?"

Yes, although Mu Yunyang worked for the gang, he still considered himself an orthodox cultivator.

The reason was simple.

First, he had never taken shortcuts in his cultivation, diligently advancing step by step and never neglecting the refinement of his mind.

Second, he had never taken a human life; when he intervened for the gang, it was always to save or rescue people.

Third, he never involved himself in gang affairs, and even when he saw injustice, he would lend a hand.

By adhering to these three "nevers," his years as a patron of the Port Gang had not only earned him no karmic debt, but even accumulated considerable merit.

Even by the strictest judgment, he could at most be classified among the Wild Maoshan or Outriding Immortals — a fringe path, and even most fringe paths were less upright than he was.

But working for a gang inevitably entangled one in karmic threads; this human calamity had come at last.

Regret was useless now; Mu Yunyang watched the Port Gang enforcers around him dwindle one by one, his anxiety mounting. The pitch-black room was silent, every person beside him like wooden statues. He tried gathering his Qi, but the moment it left his body, it transformed into something utterly alien, rendering him unable to cast even a single spell.

He also tried awakening the gang members trapped in the Illusion using traditional methods, but even after slapping them with all his strength, not a single one stirred.

With some basic knowledge of illusion arts, he clearly realized the opponent's Illusion strength far exceeded the range pain could reach. To achieve this, either the Qi was terrifyingly potent — so strong that even if pain briefly broke the Illusion, the victim was dragged back into it the next instant — or the Illusion was exquisitely woven, generating events within the Illusion that mimicked pain precisely at the moment it occurred, making the victim utterly unable to distinguish reality from illusion.

Whether it was the massive Qi capable of enveloping dozens at once, or the hyper-precise computational power controlling each mind, clearly neither was something Mu Yunyang, a beginner cultivator, could resist.

No, that's too generous — properly speaking, even if his master summoned the founding ancestor to join forces, they might still fail to break this Illusion.

"Shhh!"

Another gang member vanished; now only five remained in the pitch-black room. Mu Yunyang's heart pounded wildly. Though the opponent had not restrained his movement, without any spells available, he had no confidence he could escape this room. More importantly, he had begun to wonder: why had the opponent let him escape the Illusion?

Given the Illusion's strength, he and these mortals were no different — so why had he been spared?

"No, this isn't sparing — this is torture! He's deliberately letting me know I'm controlled, then letting me scramble desperately for salvation, forcing me to realize that no matter how hard I try, I can only wait in despair for the final outcome! A demonic cultivator — it must be a demonic cultivator!"

Mu Yunyang believed his mind was already resilient, but now he was inevitably flustered. He paced the room, searching for solutions, mentally replaying every technique he had ever learned, trying to find one that might help in this situation.

But unquestionably, in an environment where Qi instantly corrupted the moment it left the body, every spell was futile — unless he wanted to turn himself into something else entirely.

……

Finally, the last gang member vanished from the room. Mu Yunyang had now been trapped in this dark, cramped space for over thirty hours.

Yet he no longer felt the earlier panic; instead, he felt a strange sense of acceptance.

Not enlightenment — merely the certainty that the next to go would be himself.

When the familiar yet alien sensation of teleportation washed over him, Mu Yunyang's eyes took on an otherworldly detachment — no longing for life, no fear of death, as if he had reached the legendary state of a sage —

Liberation!

The thought flashed through his mind, then his vision blurred. The next instant, the dim surroundings exploded into brilliance, and as blindness struck, a cacophony of voices flooded his ears —

"The heavens are dead; the yellow heavens shall rise. In the year Jiazi, all under heaven shall be blessed!"

"When autumn comes on the eighth day of the ninth month, my flowers bloom and all others die. The scent of my blossoms pierces Chang'an; the whole city wears armor of gold!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

"Why not march to Tokyo and seize that damned throne?"

"Take up your blade and head to Luoyang — today!"

……

"What the hell is all this?" The cultivator's senses were extraordinarily sharp; though the voices varied in volume and distance, Mu Yunyang caught every word. Not to mention that literacy rates in this world were high, and any cultivator aiming for progress certainly couldn't be illiterate.

Mu Yunyang understood the meaning of these words well — and precisely because he understood them, he found them utterly baffling.

Even stranger, these voices sounded familiar!

The transcendent calm he had felt moments before, as death approached, shattered completely under these sudden, eerie sounds. A chill raced up his spine, raising every hair on his body.

Having fallen from sagehood back to mortal flesh, he felt all his years of cultivation and ascetic discipline vanish in an instant. His whole body trembled uncontrollably. Just then — as if fate had timed it — his vision cleared from the blinding light. He looked up and saw the "demonic cultivator" approaching, holding a pale silver orb in his hand.

"Stop! Stop! Don't come closer!"

Mu Yunyang, like a horror-movie victim watching a monster slowly advance, frantically waved his arms backward, tripped over his own feet, yet still scrambled away on his back — not even noticing that his Qi had returned to normal.

Watching this terrified cultivator, Feng Xue tilted his head slightly, thought for a moment, then reached out.

Mo Ying and Feng Xue's coordination was already flawless. As his hand swept forward, a powerful suction surged forth. Seated on the ground, Mu Yunyang had no time to resist — he was yanked upward like Wolverine seized by Magneto, hurtling backward through the air.

"Relax — it'll just be a bit dizzy. Normal!"

Feng Xue slapped the Diliujiang orb into Mu Yunyang's forehead with a sharp crack, using a touch of the Wu Qing Shen technique to counter the cultivator's stubborn spiritual awareness.

Mu Yunyang let out a loud "Aaow!" — a massive bump immediately swelled on his forehead. Then, as if possessed, he snapped his feet together, stood rigidly upright, and suddenly began chanting:

"Dá mài…"

"It's done!"

(End of Chapter)