Chapter 487: The Deadlock of the Equal Heaven Path

That grayish-white shadow lunged at Yao with astonishing speed.

It had no substance, no aura, like a wisp of smoke drilling out of the void,

Silently it bypassed the front battlefield and shot straight for the back of Yao's neck.

Yao sensed it.

A chill ran down her back; she whipped her head around—the shadow was already thirty li in front of her face.

She moved her hands, interlocking her fingers, and quickly formed seals.

Colored light rays shot from her fingertips, looping around her body and forming a circle.

The moment the shield rose, the shadow slammed into it.

Bang.

The grayish-white thing hit the colored shield, exploding like water splashed and scattering into fragments.

But the next second, those fragments reassembled.

This time they didn't strike directly; instead they split into countless thin, blade-like shards that sliced in from all directions at once.

Screech, screech.

The sound drilled into her ears, worse than fingernails on a blackboard.

The blades scraped the shield's surface—they couldn't cut through, but cracks began to appear, one after another, spreading outward from the point of contact like shattered glass.

Yao gritted her teeth.

She poured more dream power into it; the cracks slowed but did not stop.

"Wukong!"

She didn't call a second time.

Because she knew he was blocked up ahead.

On the front battlefield, Sun Wukong's eyes shifted from gold to blood‑red.

He heard that piercing screech.

Without turning, the sound snapped the last thread in his mind.

"I'll let you move her!"

He roared, the roar tearing his throat; his Chaos Dao Iron blazed in his hand, crimson‑gold light surging and dyeing the surrounding void red.

The Equal Heaven Path unfolded fully.

It felt as if everything in his chest had been set ablaze, burned away, and expelled outward.

He lifted his Iron Staff and swept it horizontally through the dense forest of gray‑white light pillars before him.

Boom—

The shockwave spread out 100,000 li.

The light pillars shattered.

All of them shattered.

It wasn't one by one; the shockwave from that staff swept up every light pillar in that region of void, grinding them together into powder that turned into drifting golden dust.

He didn't stop; he turned and left.

Crimson‑gold tail flame trailed behind him as he took three steps at a burst, arriving at Yao's position in an instant.

He swung his Iron Staff to the side.

The gray‑white blades cutting the shield hadn't even reacted before the staff wind swept them away, blasting them into fragments that scattered across a star field.

The cracks on the shield ceased spreading.

Yao leaned on the shield, drawing a breath; her face remained pale.

Sun Wukong stood before her, back to her, his Iron Staff still turning in his hand.

He glanced at the battlefield he had smashed.

Then he froze for a moment.

The void was repairing itself.

Not slowly—it was instantaneous, as if someone were rewinding time; the gaps he had blasted closed one by one, the shattered dimensions re‑knit, and the gray‑white light pillars regrew from the debris.

In less than a minute the battlefield was back to exactly how it was.

Not a trace of his staff marks remained.

It was as if he had done nothing at all.

Sun Wukong's face darkened.

The faceless giant face loomed ahead, dead‑pan and expressionless, yet it 'spoke'.

The voice came from all directions, carrying a lazy disdain that overlooked everything.

"Finished smashing?"

"Is that all you've got, finished smashing?"

"Honestly, tell you this: the only things your staff can smash are matter, structure, and form."

"Your power is huge—huge enough to shatter dimensions."

"But what good is that? I am not a dimension, I am not a structure, nor am I any concrete form."

"You're not hitting me."

"You're hitting my shadow."

"Your staff hasn't even touched my fur once."

Sun Wukong remained silent.

He plunged his Iron Staff into a massive floating meteorite beneath his feet.

Crack.

The meteorite split open from the middle, shards flying in all directions, the broken stones whistling as they smashed into the distant void.

He stood on the split meteorite, gripping the staff's handle, not saying a word.

This is what truly made him feel blocked.

The giant face was right.

He smashed nothing but those light pillars from start to finish, smashed the avatars sent out, smashed the various forms of 'agents' in the void.

But where is the 'main body'?

He couldn't even see clearly what the main body was.

When fighting the Original Mistake, he could still trace the causal line to the source, could dismantle it from within, could cut off its energy supply.

But this thing is different.

It has no clear anchor, no energy supply line; even if he smashed the void to pieces, it automatically replenishes itself the next second, with no loss.

Destruction is useless against it.

Sun Wukong lifted his head and stared at the faceless giant face.

Equal Heaven Path.

All he's ever used from childhood to now, boiled down to one word: smash.

He sensed it, smashed toward it; if it didn't break, he smashed harder; if it broke, he smashed the next one.

He has fought the Heavenly Court, fought Ling Shan, fought Hongjun, fought the Original Mistake.

He won.

But those could be smashed.

They had substance, a source, weaknesses; with enough force, one could always find them.

But this thing now, it prevents him from finding it, it can infinitely replenish its blood, it turns the battlefield into a dead loop.

No matter how hard you smash, after smashing it resets, and you try again.

Sun Wukong's tiger's mouth was still bleeding, he ignored it.

He gripped the Iron Staff tightly, his mind racing.

"Figured it out?"

The giant face's voice came again.

"Brute force has its limits; I smash one, I replenish one; I smash ten, I replenish ten—how long can you hold out?"

"The bit of Dao level your master gave you won't hold up."

"Speaking of which, your junior disciple has poor judgment; back then he brought you back, thinking he'd picked up a treasure, but actually he's just a strongman who can wave a staff."

Sun Wukong's fingers tightened on the staff's handle.

He wasn't angered.

He was holding back.

The worst thing he could do now was to rush out and smash wildly after a few insults—that would play right into the enemy's dead end.

He had to think.

He had to come up with another way.

Yao walked up beside him, her voice low: "Can't smash it?"

"Can't smash it."

Sun Wukong said, "This thing can't be solved by smashing."

He lifted his head and looked again at that giant face, the earlier fire in his eyes gone, replaced by a sharp focus.

Master once said, when you can't win, first think it through.

Figure out what the opponent is, then strike.

He didn't believe this thing had no weakness.

No existence is truly invincible.

Just then, on the surface of the faceless giant face, the hollow surface began to slowly change.

The grayish-white skin layer indented inward, forming a circle, then slowly something grew out of the circle.

Sun Wukong's gaze narrowed.

The shape of that thing grew clearer.

It was an eye.

An eye growing out of that deathly silent, faceless flesh.

The pupil was vortex-shaped, spinning, drawing inward.

Sun Wukong's Iron Staff tightened its grip.

The moment that eye opened, the light of the entire star field dimmed a bit.