Chapter 30: The Face Arises from the Mind, Nine-Headed Divine Lion (Requesting Follows)

Wasteland conceals fragrant grass; mountain winds lie in wait, driving bone-deep chill.

I have to say, Zhang Fan had lived nearly half his life without ever meeting a woman like He Huan—overflowing with desire and violence, flipping chaos and indulgence upside down.

[2] To be fair, Zhang Fan had lived half a lifetime and had never met a woman like He Huan—brimming with desire and slaughter, twisting madness and debauchery.

People have a thousand faces; ordinary folk may never see more than two or three of their own in a lifetime.

But cultivators are different: suppressing the conscious mind, contemplating the primordial spirit, they more easily glimpse the unseen side.

That is the yin extreme of the world, infinitely amplified within the restless conscious mind.

The broken-precept elder brother once said, in this lifetime, the people you meet are all merely yourself…

“The you others see is not you; the you you see is not you; the others you see are yourself…”

“All things are but projections of the mind…”

“Green tea meets me, as darkness meets light…” Zhang Fan murmured softly: “Kneel, if you wish redemption.”

“Daoists are all frauds,” He Huan said coolly.

“Brother, I wonder if your mouth will still be so sharp after I tear off your head.”

A shy blush appeared on He Huan’s intoxication-drenched face; in her eyes, Zhang Fan was already dead—a toy, a possession.

“Delusion,” Zhang Fan muttered, glancing at He Huan’s gaze.

Of the eighty thousand characters in the world, only the word “think” is most mysterious: top is appearance, bottom is heart—all external forms arise from the mind, merely what people imagine.

All things change ceaselessly; this is precisely what is meant by “all dharmas are impermanent.”

What we perceive is merely the brain’s delayed, partial projection to us.

What we see now is neither the last moment nor the next.

Thus, for great cultivators, all forms are false: past does not exist, present does not exist, future does not exist—only this instant remains.

The Buddhist sect calls this 【Three Intervals Emptied】. Yet for ordinary beings, precisely these false forms trap them, unable to escape, spawning thoughts, breeding emotions, forming actions, endlessly strengthening the conscious mind, suppressing the primordial spirit, draining their essence and spirit until body and soul wither.

Hence, Buddhism says the mortal world is a hell, and beings sink within it, mistaking suffering for joy without knowing it.

Just two years ago, Zhang Fan and Li Yi went to Diannan; the latter accidentally ate poisonous mushrooms, suffered hallucinations and bodily damage, yet remained unaware, addicted to the illusions, refusing treatment.

The principle is understood, but putting it into practice is hard—that is the meaning of cultivation: using false forms to cultivate true nature.

At that time, there is neither true nor false; both true and false coexist—all is contained within.

That is Wuji! That is Pure Yang!!

At this moment, He Huan seemed to see the false future—the future where Zhang Fan’s head was severed from his body.

Thinking of this, He Huan licked her lips, her expression growing more excited.

“Sorry… you’re not green tea. You’re a damn psychopath.”

Zhang Fan, watching He Huan’s trembling body, knew he had met a psychopath.

He had met He Huan only twice; their total words probably didn’t reach twenty. To kill someone right outside his own gate? This is a pure, unadulterated psychopathic killer!!! With such madness, how could she even cultivate?

“Those who cultivate fox spirits are never normal.”

Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened, fixed on the narrow path behind He Huan.

“Still trying to flee!?” He Huan’s eyes flickered with mockery as she watched Zhang Fan.

“When I came down the mountain, the broken-precept elder brother told me: before achieving cultivation, you must keep your tail tucked, avoid restless conscious mind, never seek fights or show off…” Zhang Fan sighed.

At these words, He Huan smirked, sitting down directly: “Are you begging?”

“Begging won’t help. First, show sincerity.”

As she spoke, He Huan pointed to the ground beneath her feet.

“The Ancestor also said…”

“Endure a moment, and you ruin your cultivation; retreat a step, and you shatter your Dao heart…”

Zhang Fan shook his head softly, flexing his wrists with a crackling sound.

“Huh?” He Huan froze.

“I’ll kill you!”

The moment the words left his lips, Zhang Fan stepped forward, blocking He Huan’s retreat. A gale surged, howling across the wasteland, its force making surrounding plants tremble violently, scattering loose stones across the ground. “I underestimated you.”

He Huan’s face paled; a crushing pressure slammed into her, choking her breath, nearly stopping it. She looked up—Zhang Fan was already before her, like a shadow closing in.

Huh…

At that instant, He Huan parted her lips and exhaled a thick plume of smoke, rolling and surging toward Zhang Fan’s face.

Instantly, Zhang Fan’s body swayed, dizziness rising.

Those who cultivate fox spirits, long devoted to immortal patrons, their primordial spirits fused with the patron’s essence—bodies inevitably develop anomalies: nails like blades, now breath turning to smoke…

Hum…

Suddenly, Zhang Fan’s true yang surged within him like a tidal wave; in an instant, he regained clarity and punched straight for her chest.

“Such a brutal true yang!” He Huan’s expression changed again.

She had not expected her 【Fox Miasma】 to fail to halt Zhang Fan even for a moment…

Boom…

In a flash, He Huan crossed her arms before her chest; a muffled crack echoed, and her entire body flew backward like a severed kite, leaving only a faint trail of blood in the air.

Huh…

Suddenly, He Huan’s twin pigtails exploded, her hair spreading like a tail, swaying gently in the air, lifting her body as it settled slowly to the ground.

“Good… I truly underestimated you. Night Unlit, such a small company, hides a master like you.” He Huan wiped blood from her lips, her eyes flashing with cruelty.

“Am I a master?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange. “Do you misunderstand Night Unlit?”

“Bai Buried… a self-taught Daoist who clung to a few connections to survive in Yujing City, with only a handful of followers…”

At this, He Huan sneered: “Do you think I’m a fool who attacks without knowing your backing, recklessly killing?”

“….”

“You want to die!”

He Huan stared fixedly at Zhang Fan, teeth clenched, sitting cross-legged on the spot. She formed a seal with her hands, murmuring incantations, her eyes rolling wildly, whites showing.

Jiu… jiu jiu… jiu jiu jiu…

At that moment, a strange sound emerged from a cave hidden by weeds behind He Huan—its entrance littered with chicken bones…

“This is…”

“This is the Fox Mouth… Do you like foxes singing?” He Huan’s demeanor grew more deranged; crimson blood trickled from her eyes, the strange sound’s frequency growing ever stranger.

Zhang Fan’s mind rang sharply—he felt his skull splitting, his vision blurring.

“All men deserve death… this is where I worship my immortal patron… how can you still live?” He Huan watched the staggering Zhang Fan, a cruel satisfaction rising in her eyes.

At seven, she watched her father offer her mother to the immortal patron.

At fifteen, her father used her to cultivate…

Since then, she believed all men deserved death; whenever her conscious mind stirred, only watching men die under her torture could quell the raging emotions within.

Hum…

At that moment, the withered grass around them erupted wildly, turning crimson like fox fur, coiling toward Zhang Fan.

“This 【Fox Fur】 is quite comfortable…” He Huan seemed near her peak, the ecstasy indescribable—Zhang Fan was already being entangled and swallowed by the grass that resembled fur.

“Kui Sha, Evil Gate! Fortune, Blessing, Wealth!”

“Nine-Headed Lion, Sever Demons, Shatter Souls!”

Suddenly, a terrifying surge erupted from the tightly wrapped grass—initially a low chant, then swelling into a lion’s roar that shook the eight directions, tearing at eardrums.

“This is…”

“Daoist seal, Nine-Headed Lion!?”

At that moment, He Huan’s face turned ashen; for the first time, deep terror filled her eyes.

(End of Chapter)