Chapter 350: The Human Tendency to Compete

Feng Xue’s appearance seemed to give Yiqi Dashshe a target; a crimson column of water erupted from its mouth. Though merely water, it was infused with complex aspirations—Dragon King, multi-headed serpent, Yiqi Dashshe, Huojin God, flood, and deadly poison—so that even a single drop would cause the body to rot away.

Fortunately, Feng Xue had once been a web novel writer in his past life, and Yiqi Dashshe was a mandatory boss in Japanese lore—he had anticipated this. Calmly, he recited an antidote spell; as his cultivation energy surged, Mo Ying transported him dozens of meters away.

To Yiqi Dashshe, this was merely half a body-length, yet enough to evade the eight intersecting water columns. It wasn’t that he was showing off by refusing to retreat farther—rather, if he fled too far, the serpent would charge straight at him again, triggering the question: “Why does it target you and not others?”

“Feng Daofriend, beware! Your previous thunder spell threatened it—it now regards you as a higher priority than fulfilling its obsession!” (Note ①)

Just as Feng Xue struggled to resolve this dilemma, the voice of the Mo Yu Xuan owner reached him. This advice was like a pillow handed to him in his sleep—and finally, he understood the oracle’s meaning: rely on orthodox cultivators.

He immediately said:

“Perfect. I’ll draw its attention—everyone else, prepare your spells!”

With that, Feng Xue slipped one hand into his pocket, drew a jade talisman from the Hu Tian Bag, infused it with cultivation energy, extended his fingers into a sword gesture, and transformed into a blue-green blade of light that shot skyward.

Player-system spells, no matter their power, always had top-tier visual flair. This technique of becoming a blade of light was especially high-class, so much so that the cultivators ignored the fact that it was actually slower than spirit-riding flight (letting a spirit ghost carry you).

The blade of light rose and began circling Yiqi Dashshe’s head, where each serpent head—fused with dragon traits, sprouting dragon horns and whiskers—looked grotesque and terrifying.

Though the Japanese merely created a big firework, at the dawn of Yi Si year, right after Jia Chen, Yiqi Dashshe’s emergence perfectly matched the year-end transition symbol of “replacing the dragon with the serpent.” It had absorbed the accumulated aspirations from the Dragon King Temple for years. If left unchecked, it might truly break free from its Japanese form and differentiate into a new state, like Xiao Lingdang.

This Yiqi Dashshe was already closer to a spirit ghost, possessing a degree of subjective agency, and naturally refused to miss this chance for transformation. Yet the Dragon King Temple lacked even a phantom Dragon King—its intake of devotees’ aspirations was insufficient.

But Gidora’s appearance offered it another path: a far superior vessel, more aligned with its dragon-transcending direction—a perfect fusion of serpent, dragon, calamity, destruction, and other imagery.

Eat it!

Must eat it!

The rust-red, flesh-rotting hue on Yiqi Dashshe’s body began to surge, converge, and finally transformed one of its longest tails into a crimson iron hue. With a violent lash, it became a blade gleaming with metallic luster, stabbing straight toward Feng Xue’s blade of light.

Feng Xue had trained this sword-flight skill countless times in the game world. He spun the blade of light, skimming past the tail and redirecting elsewhere, attempting—as in many animations—to lure Yiqi Dashshe into attacking, entangling its heads and tails.

Yet though Yiqi Dash She appeared as a giant serpent, it was in truth a Ningju of water and aspirations—its attacks were as solid as steel, but when it twisted or knotted, the water merely surged and instantly returned to normal.

“Cheating!”

Feng Xue rolled his eyes but refused to engage directly. Instead, he flew figure-eights around the tail, nudging the serpent slightly away from the ritual altar’s formation—yet never beyond attack range.

After several minutes of this skirmish, Feng Xue felt no significant drain on his cultivation energy, but the cultivators below began to worry.

“Feng Daofriend hasn’t even entered the Dao yet. Using this sword-flight technique must drain him severely. Friends, we must end this quickly!”

“Then use the relay method!”

One cultivator nodded and immediately began setting up his altar.

The relay method was typically used only in large-scale ritual feasts or blessings—not because it could only serve that purpose, but because in combat, there was rarely time to arrange so many cultivators to cast spells in sequence.

But now, Feng Xue had drawn the hatred perfectly, allowing these cultivators to finally deploy this ritual technique—normally reserved for ceremonial display—into actual battle.

One after another, cultivation energy flowed through the altars, transforming into spells—but these spells were incomplete. As soon as released, they scattered. Yet the moment the first spell dispersed, the next cultivator would take up the ritual, continuing the uncompleted spell, blending his own energy into it.

Through this relay, each cultivator could infuse their own signature techniques, and as the process continued, the total cultivation energy within the spell grew stronger.

They had no time to coordinate rituals, but since their target was a spirit ghost or demonic god, they used the foundational rites of the Soul-Subduing Spell and Demon-Subduing Spell as their framework, each adding their own knowledge.

This was a ritual demanding sharp improvisation and deep spell comprehension. Those present were either independent cultivators who held ground in Gangdu—a land dominated by major sects—or orthodox masters who had rushed over from the Sending Away Poverty Ritual. Each possessed unique techniques, and their determination and endurance were astonishing.

As the city’s ritual setup continued, more and more cultivators arrived. Seeing the scene, they understood what was happening and eagerly joined in.

One added a spirit-suppressing charm, another a curse-removal incantation; if they saw nothing useful to add, they simply compressed and refined the energy.

As is well known, human competitiveness is etched into DNA—especially among those present, all prominent figures. As the spell passed from hand to hand, its nature changed. As the saying goes: “In literature, no first; in martial arts, no second.” In cultivation circles, which prized lineage, this ritual—testing not just spell understanding but depth of lineage—demanded that each participant add something unique. If you didn’t alter it, you’d be mocked.

This wasn’t because they’d forgotten Feng Xue. On the contrary, it was precisely this competitiveness, this desire to showcase their own abilities, that transformed this chaotic composite spell into a true “collective power,” rather than some random mixture clumsily stirred together.

As the spell’s luminous aura swelled, Feng Xue, even while flying, felt sweat pouring down his body—

“Do you guys even know what the hell you’re casting?!”

(End of Chapter)