Mo Yun stood before the table, lost in thought, gazing at the blank canvas.
Clutching his brush, drops of ink fell, splattering like ink plum blossoms.
What should he do?
Control the brush's movement?
How to move it?
Mimic the form of something?
Landscapes? Flowers and birds?
What's the point of that!
If he was going to paint, he would paint something ordinary people couldn't, something that didn't exist!
He wielded his brush wildly, the thick ink gradually drying, finally filling the scroll.
What was this thing?
If he wasn't satisfied, he would tear it up and start over.
Good works don't come from simple strokes!
Use the body as the brush, the soul as the hand, and inner qi as the ink.
Splash!
Embellish!
Shift!
Don't think about what to paint with your mind; leave it to inspiration! Leave it to the soul!
...
Simon and Kun Qing jointly persuaded Quan Suhuan to go see the Young Master Yun from the Great Xiangguo Temple.
Quan Suhuan was very displeased, but still agreed; she was someone who listened to reason.
"Let's take my Golden Sea Chariot and have a cup of tea together."
"Amitabha."
"That would be excellent."
The three of them walked out of the residence. Simon said to a maid, "This benefactress, please go to Junxian Residence and inform Young Master Mo Yun, the one in white, that the girl who plays the zither is in danger. First, see if he has finished his painting. If he is staring blankly inside, then knock. If he is still painting, then wait a moment, there's no need to rush."
The maid bowed and left.
Daoist Kun Qing calculated with his fingers, squinting at the sky. After a long while, he smiled faintly, "This will save us a lot of effort."
Simon was quite impressed with this person's divination abilities, so he asked curiously, "Daoist, with your skill, why are you still just a three-sect successor?"
Kun Qing's expression was not very good. "It's all because those old fogeys are hogging the positions, and there are a few people with connections ahead of me. Maybe by the time I'm seventy or eighty, I'll finally get my turn."
Simon laughed heartily at this, swinging his flowing sleeves as he entered the luxurious carriage.
The Daoist followed behind, disgruntled, saying nothing more.
...
Mo Yun sat on the ground.
He recalled what Simon had said to him.
"Either indulge completely, or forget completely; the choice is yours."
A voice came from outside the door: "Young Master Mo! Junior Master Miaoji asked this maid to deliver a message to you."
Mo Yun tilted his head slightly, "Speak."
"The girl who plays the zither is in danger."
"Understood."
"This maid takes her leave."
Mo Yun turned his head back.
His eyes were dead.
"Forget emotion. Forget the sword."
"No thought is thought, no method is method."
These words were all spoken by that person.
That unfathomable young monk...
Who exactly was he?
Ripples spread across his heart lake.
The incomplete Xin Jian Jing (Heart Sword Sutra), an ancient swordsman.
The lingering divine will, the restrained spiritual energy...
Suppressed magma erupted from the depths.
Mo Yun suddenly stood up.
He whispered.
"I don't want to forget, I don't need to forget."
He shouted.
"Those who obstruct me, those who confuse me, I will simply cut them down!"
So-called reclusive masters, so-called etiquette and morals, so-called biases and prejudices, all of you are cages upon me!
"Ha!"
A long laugh.
Clang!
Zhan Jiao unsheathed!
A silver rainbow of light flew into the swordsman's raised hand.
Mo Yun twirled his wrist, unleashing a light and ethereal sword glow, like flying petals in the changing seasons.
Holding the long sword reversed, he pushed open the door. The midday light, along with the winter chill, blew in with the wind, stirring the high-hanging painting.
On the pristine white paper, there was a striking ink sword!
Though the broken sword is severed, the Heart Sword is still sharp!
Evil demons and heretics, kill!
Those who disturb my heart, kill!
Enemies and foes, kill! Kill! Kill!
...
A slender, long arm shot up like lightning, grabbing Ning Baiyi's neck.
The girl looked at Quan Hongming with horror in her eyes.
No.
He wasn't Quan Hongming; he was the monster beneath that skin!
"Finally, we meet, my good friend!" The monster bared its teeth, revealing two rows of sharp fangs.
Ning Baiyi's face flushed red, "Who… are you?!"
One by one, scarlet ghost faces emerged from "Quan Hongming's" skin, like sacrificial totems of a primitive shamanic cult.
"I am Zhong Xiang Sheng! You can call me by that name, haha!"
Zhong Xiang Sheng's form continuously distorted, growing taller and more robust. His dark, muscular body seemed as strong as a reef, bursting the chains.
More and more ghost faces appeared, becoming denser, revealing the myriad forms of sentient beings—he was indeed Zhong Xiang Sheng!
Countless fair, delicate arms grew from his back, grasping each other, forming a dense mass. In the shadows between the arms, there seemed to be countless flickering eyes, as if a netherworld was hidden within his torso, and countless evil spirits were peeking into the world of the living.
Soon, the expanding Zhong Xiang Sheng reached the ceiling of the stone cell. He clutched Ning Baiyi with one hand, punched through the wall, and burst out.
"Roar—!!!!"
This enormous, inhuman roar quickly summoned the monks of the Great Xiangguo Temple.
"What demon! Release Benefactress Ning!"
The monks in the capital were scholarly monks, not martial artists, but they were still unafraid, shouting loudly, ordering Zhong Xiang Sheng to surrender.
"Good, good, good! You Bald Donkeys, I'm sick of your incessant babbling! Today, I'll just carve you up and have a feast!"
Zhong Xiang Sheng furiously swung his claws, knocking down a swath of monks. Blood poured like rain, yet no one retreated.
The living began to chant sutras for the dead, standing still like wooden stakes.
Seeing this sight, Zhong Xiang Sheng felt a deep contempt, growing even more enraged. He grabbed a monk, stuffed him into his gaping maw, and began to chew. Bones crunched like popping beans, and blood streamed down his mouth, winding across Zhong Xiang Sheng's savage chest, like a blood sacrifice.
Just as he was slaughtering, a furious roar rang out.
"How dare you be so arrogant! This humble Daoist has arrived!"
Kun Qing stood atop the Mahavira Hall, holding a jade talisman, pointing it directly at the demon.
"Curse of Mu Gong!"
A surge of green energy blew from the east, transforming into an illusory, slender, tough vine that pierced Zhong Xiang Sheng's body, twisting and intertwining into a net. It bound both flesh and soul, instantly rendering him unable to move his body, speak, turn his will, or change his divine aspect.
Simon jumped into the bloody courtyard, looking at the dead monks with no change in his expression.
He gently waved his hand, and the wrongfully deceased souls flew into a ghost-faced fruit in his hand.
Over there, Daoist Kun Qing unleashed another surprising move. His long sword flew out from behind him like a bolt of lightning, striking directly at Zhong Xiang Sheng's arm, intending to rescue Ning Baiyi.
This was Ran Mountain flying sword Art!
Controlling the sword with qi, killing enemies from a hundred paces away.
The sword light was brilliant, piercing stone and breaking jade with ease.
However, the sharp sword qi could only barely scratch Zhong Xiang Sheng's tough skin, cutting a few ghost faces. The wounds immediately healed, as if nothing had happened.
Simon looked at Ning Baiyi. Although she was held in Zhong Xiang Sheng's grip, she was not in immediate danger. Her eyes were grave, and she seemed to be looking for a way to escape.
Daoist Kun Qing's flying sword returned without success, which made his expression somewhat displeased.
He raised his talisman again and shouted, "Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zhen, Lie, Qian, Xing!" This was the Six Jia Secret Mantra, the Nine-Character True Word Incantation.
After finishing the incantation, Kun Qing's aura grew even stronger, and his flying sword moved like a swimming dragon, weaving around his body.
The Daoist put away his talisman, raised his hand to grasp the long sword, holding it vertically in front of him. His aura was solemn and majestic, as if divinely aided.
"Take this sword!"
He leaped up, thrusting his sword in mid-air, pointing directly at the demon's brow. It was as grand as Mount Tai pressing down, as swift as a waterfall plummeting from the nine heavens.
Extreme Fourth Tier, Grand Treasure Nine Splendor Sword!
The sword strike was light and airy, yet it cleaved the dust in its path.
This sword was by no means easy to block, and Zhong Xiang Sheng, immobilized by the Curse of Mu Gong, was utterly helpless!
Kun Qing was immersed, body and soul, in the sword's momentum. He felt his martial arts had reached a new realm, man and sword as one, how remarkable!
However, he saw Zhong Xiang Sheng reveal a ferocious smile.
The curse power disintegrated.
Boom!
A punch!
A punch like a battering ram!
A punch like lightning tearing through the air!
The Daoist was struck down before he could even change his move, falling into the Buddhist hall with a dull thud.
Simon remained unmoved, standing still and caressing the epiphyllum ghost-fruit in his hand.
But Zhong Xiang Sheng was unwilling to let him go, "Another little Bald Donkey! Hehe!" He seemed intent on pouncing, but looking at Simon's indifferent face, for some unknown reason, his heart stopped for a moment.
Zhong Xiang Sheng's eyes became hesitant and wary. He muttered, "I'll eat that Daoist first, then come for you!"
Just then, a clear sword light flew from outside the temple, suddenly streaking across the sky like a meteor.
"Demons and monsters, kill!"
The sword light exploded, scattering like a school of fish. Each ray of sword light had a life of its own; they moved and danced, forming a formation, encircling and attacking.
Zhong Xiang Sheng's expression changed. He swung his palms furiously, sending out gusts of wind, but the sword lights deftly dodged them.
Thousands upon thousands of sword qi, not one missing, pierced Zhong Xiang Sheng's body. His tough skin was torn and worn away by this violent sandstorm.
Constantly regenerating, constantly cutting, it was comparable to death by a thousand cuts.
Zhong Xiang Sheng bathed in the sword rain, letting out cries of both pain and pleasure.
"Finally, a worthy opponent has arrived!"
Before his words finished, a faint, cold light flickered for a moment. The demon's rock-like hand was severed at the wrist.
"Ow—!"
The hand fell, and Ning Baiyi leaped out.
Mo Yun's tall figure appeared behind the demon, white robes and a white sword, colder than snow.
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