Chapter 617: Soul-Absorbing

"Uncle Puzhen, be careful."

Qi Hao flicked his fingers, and the Cold Ice Sword transformed into a streak of white sword light, fast as lightning, carrying a bone-chilling aura as it shot straight toward the back of the white-clad monk.

Disciples who had not been initiated for long, like Lu Xueqi, might not understand Qi Hao's strength.

But disciples like Wenmin who had participated in the previous Seven Peaks Martial Tournament knew that Qi Hao was a top-tier expert among the younger generation; had it not been for the emergence of the even more brilliant Xiao Yicai at Tongtian Peak, he might well have taken first place. Thus, although the upcoming Seven Peaks Martial Tournament had not yet officially begun, many disciples had already concluded that he would win the championship.

As for the White-Clad Wonderful Monk Puzhen, although he was said to be a peerless genius born once in a millennium in the Buddhist faith, he had only been initiated into Tianyin Temple for a mere two years; how strong could his cultivation be?

Wenmin and the other women could not help but worry for the White-Clad Wonderful Monk.

The White-Clad Wonderful Monk did not even turn his head. As the Cold Ice Sword was about to strike, the string of prayer beads around his neck suddenly erupted with golden light, condensing into a golden wall. With a "ding" and sparks flying everywhere, it blocked the Cold Ice Sword.

"Is this Junior Brother Puzhen's magic treasure, the Ten Thousand Paths Boundless?" Cangsong Daoren's expression tightened slightly. "Qi Hao, feel free to attack. With such a divine object protecting him, you cannot hurt your Uncle Puzhen."

"Yes, Master."

Qi Hao was eager to try again. He pinched a sword seal, and the Cold Ice Sword shone with brilliant white light, about to strike once more.

"Stop, you are not allowed to hurt him."

Just at this moment, a slightly childish, sharp cry rang out. A streak of red mist was seen sweeping in from afar, the sound of wind breaking through the air like a long red dragon, twisting and changing, swift and peerless.

Qi Hao frowned and pinched a sword seal. With a "clang" like a dragon's roar, the Cold Ice Sword burst into dazzling white light. Not only did it easily withstand the incoming, aggressive rays of light, but it also illuminated the surrounding dozens of zhang into a world of white, with frost forming on the ground, making one feel as if they were in a land of ice and snow, built of white silver and jade.

"Tian Buyi, what is the meaning of this?"

Cangsong frowned as he watched Tian Buyi and his family flying in from afar, among whom Tian Ling'er had unleashed the Amber Red Silk to protect the white-clad monk.

"Cangsong, I should be the one asking what you mean!?"

Tian Buyi puffed out his belly and snorted coldly: "As the Peak Master of Longshou Peak, and one who is in charge of discipline, you are inciting a disciple to attack a guest of Tianyin Temple on Tongtian Peak?"

"This is a sparring match; what does it have to do with you?"

On the other side, Tian Ling'er and Qi Hao began to fight.

With Tian Ling'er's strength, she was naturally no match for Qi Hao.

But for some reason, upon seeing the spirited and pretty young girl in red, his heart skipped a beat, and he could not bear to strike hard, causing the Cold Ice Sword and the Amber Red Silk to remain in a stalemate.

However, just because he could not bear to strike hard did not mean Tian Ling'er felt the same.

Seeing Tian Ling'er's beautiful eyes widen, she shook her arms, her red clothes fluttering, and her delicate body slowly rose into mid-air, as if she were a fairy. Crossing her hands over her chest, she cried out: "Binding God."

As soon as the words fell, the rosy light grew instantly. The Amber Vermilion Silk, which was originally only one or two zhang long, grew countless times longer in an instant, filling the surrounding ten zhang completely. It even suppressed the white light of the Cold Ice Sword. A moment later, the red silk surrounded Qi Hao, surging toward him like red ocean waves, leaving no room for escape.

But there was not a trace of worry on Cangsong Daoren's face.

A calm smile also appeared on the corner of Qi Hao's mouth.

Just as Qi Hao was chanting under his breath and the Cold Ice Sword's light shone brilliantly, the white-clad monk lowered his head and recited a Buddhist chant: "Amitabha."

Qi Hao felt a roar in his mind and his expression became dazed.

In the next moment, he was struck by the Amber Red Silk and sent flying. Although his reaction was extremely fast and he hurriedly channeled the Taiji Xuanqing Dao to avoid falling to the ground in a disheveled state, he was still quite embarrassed.

"Insolent!" Cangsong Daoren's face changed, and he was about to erupt.

"What are you doing!?"

Just then, three people walked out from Yuqing Hall.

The person in front, wearing a dark green Daoist robe, had the bearing of an immortal, his eyes gentle and profound, yet faintly carrying a power beyond what ordinary people could imagine. It was the famous leader of the Qingyun Sect, Daoxuan Zhenren.

Following him was an old monk with a face full of wrinkles, wearing a tattered Buddhist robe, his entire body looking dirty. If no one said so, no one would know he was Puzhi, one of the Four Great Divine Monks of Tianyin Temple known throughout the world.

Only the string of jade prayer beads in his hand was no ordinary object; it was crystal clear, dazzling to the eyes, and emitted a faint green light.

Strangely, among the dozen or so identical, clear, and translucent green jade beads, there was one bead that was neither jade nor stone, deep purple in color, emitting a faint dark light.

When Cangsong Daoren's gaze caught sight of that string of beads, a flash of imperceptible greed crossed his eyes.

As for the last person, it was the aforementioned Master Shuiyue.

With Daoxuan Zhenren mediating, they naturally could not fight, and in the end, they dispersed.

Tian Ling'er chased after the white-clad monk, her dark hair fluttering, and she tugged at his sleeve, pouting: "I want to hear you play the zither too."

It was precisely because a disciple had told her that the White-Clad Wonderful Monk was playing the zither in front of the Library Pavilion that she had dragged her parents along, never expecting to see that smug-faced guy drawing his sword the moment they arrived.

The white-clad monk smiled slightly and whispered two words into Tian Ling'er's ear.

Tian Ling'er's pretty face flushed red, she nodded, and then hopped away to find her parents, Tian Buyi and Su Ru.

Before leaving, she did not forget to glare at Qi Hao and make a face—what an annoying guy.

But whether it was the Tongtian Peak lineage or the Xiaozhu Peak lineage, even after decades, they would never forget this white-clad monk playing the zither, elegant and otherworldly.

……

Under the moonlight, a young monk in moon-white robes arrived at the Back Mountain of Dazhu Peak.

With a tap of his toes, he traveled on the wind without the aid of any magic treasure, ethereal as an immortal, heading straight into the depths of the Back Mountain.

This was Yu Liancheng's first time exploring Dazhu Peak under the cover of night. The moment he stepped onto Dazhu Peak, he faintly sensed a strange fluctuation coming from the Back Mountain.

Remembering that there was still some time before his appointment with Tian Ling'er, he came to investigate.

Before long, the white-clad monk reached the depths of the secluded valley. Looking ahead, he saw sparse trees and could faintly hear the sound of water.

After another moment, the view suddenly opened up. It was indeed a wide, open space covered in gravel, with a small green pool in the middle, the water rippling as it flowed eastward.

"It should be within this green pool."

The white-clad monk looked at the green pool and saw that within three zhang of the green water, not a blade of grass grew. But beyond three zhang, the trees were lush and dense.

And in the center of the pond, there was a pile of scattered stones of various sizes and shapes.

Among the scattered stones, a black short stick was stuck at an angle, with a portion exposed above the water and the rest submerged. The short stick was pitch black, and it was impossible to tell what material it was made of; it looked very ugly, like a fire-poking stick.

When he approached the green pool, a feeling of nausea rose from his internal organs, rushing straight to his head, and the closer he got, the more intense this feeling of nausea became.

The white-clad monk had read all the strange books in the world, and the records from the ancient book "Ten Volumes of Strange Treasures" immediately surfaced in his mind: Heaven has strange iron, falling into the Nine Netherworlds; the nether ghost fire burns the yin spirits and fierce souls to refine it; it takes a thousand years to turn red, a thousand years to take shape, a thousand years to gather the energy of ghosts and ferocity, and a thousand years to become the power of Soul-Absorbing...

"The legendary evil object, the Soul-Absorbing Rod?"

The white-clad monk muttered to himself, channeled the "Great Brahma Prajna," reached out his palm, and grabbed with his five fingers. The demonic Soul-Absorbing Rod turned into a streak of black light and flew into his hand.

This legendary evil object appeared to be nothing more than a short stick about two feet long; it felt icy cold to the touch, and faint sounds of ten thousand ghosts wailing rose from it, yet it could not cause him the slightest harm.

The Great Brahma Prajna power in the White-Clad Wonderful Monk's hand erupted violently, surging into this evil object with waves of upright, radiant force. If the Four Great Divine Monks of Tianyin Temple were here, they might be immensely astonished.

This was because Puzhen's Great Brahma Prajna was far more vigorous and powerful than any of them had imagined, almost describable as vast and boundless, continuously battering the Soul-Sucking Rod.

Furthermore, the White-Clad Wonderful Monk gripped his palm tightly, driving the power of the "Heaven-Shaking Dao," and that immense force capable of splitting mountains and cleaving seas surged into the Soul-Sucking Rod simultaneously.

Even though this Soul-Sucking Rod was a rare evil object in the world, under this double assault, it soon emitted "Crack! Crack!" sounds; cracks spread across it, and in the blink of an eye, they covered the entire body of the Soul-Sucking Rod. Finally, with a "Bang," it completely shattered into countless fragments that shot outward. A wisp of black Qi emerged from the Soul-Sucking Rod, attempting to flee as if it had a spirit of its own, but it was sucked into the White-Clad Wonderful Monk's prayer beads.

Two years ago, when he met the monk Puzhi, the White-Clad Wonderful Monk possessed nothing but the name Yu Liancheng and this dharma treasure named Myriad Daos Boundless. This dharma treasure was incredibly strange and possessed multiple abilities, which even the Four Great Divine Monks found astonishing.

Most of the black Qi was sucked into the "Myriad Daos Boundless," but a small portion burrowed into the White-Clad Wonderful Monk's mind.

This black Qi was formed from the convergence of baleful energy, malice, and the like; in an instant, it caused countless images to surge within his mind, stirring up past memories and pulling forth scene after scene of mountains of blades and seas of blood, with corpses piled as high as mountains.

The most soul-stirring scene took place in a location called Hutou City.

In that lifetime, the Beimang army of four hundred thousand launched an all-out assault on Hutou City.

Atop Hutou City, there were eighteen Martial Dao Grandmasters.

He took the form of the world's number one handsome man, Murong Tonghuang.

Standing against ten million enemies, he struck down eighty-one immortals, and over one hundred thousand of the Beimang army died by his hand.

Some revered him as the Twin Leaders of Murong, or Murong Wudi. Others secretly called him a lackey of Beiliang, a butcher.

Besides this scene, other bloody images flooded in, all of him fighting and risking his life against others, battling one powerful enemy after another, killing countless people.

Most of those who died by his hand deserved to die. But to say there were no innocents among them would be a pure lie.

Those so-called giants of the Demonic path had likely killed fewer people than even one-tenth or one-hundredth of what he, the White-Clad Wonderful Monk, had.

In a trance, layers of phantoms twisted from all directions, vaguely appearing as ten thousand distorted human faces wailing and groaning, as if they were all people who had died by his hand; they contained a terrifying power of illusion and destruction that made one's heart tremble.

Yu Liancheng pressed his palms together, merely watching these phantoms before him calmly, neither sad nor happy, neither retreating nor advancing.

And so, the phantoms dissipated.

Yet, for the White-Clad Wonderful Monk who remained untainted by dust, that past killing intent had unknowingly permeated his heart.

……

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