Chapter 564: Entering Dreams and Chilling Fear

Chapter 564: Entering the Dream and the Chill of Fear

The Huangliang Desert Sea, a desolate expanse of endless sand and sky.

A rickety boat drifted lazily across the vastness, tethered by a long pole to a colossal sea beast that seemed carved from stone.

The splashing sounds ceased, and the ripples surrounding the vessel gradually dissipated.

Zou Qijiu rested his oar against his knees, murmuring that the distance was sufficient. Even if Zhang Qingli truly possessed the audacity to lead troops from the Dragon Tiger Mountain in a surprise assault, he could not breach their dual shield of protection around Mingmei’s side, nor recapture the location of the spiritual realm.

“Hey,” Zou muttered, only to realize he had unexpectedly furrowed his brow with a hint of discontent.

The spiritual realm had been retrieved, yet Chen Qisheng now existed as nothing but pure flesh and blood, no longer capable of directly linking to the Huangliang spiritual realm. The only option was a convoluted detour: first, Yuan Mingmei would guide Chen into the Buddha’s realm, then Zou would carve a passage within the sealed spiritual realm, acting as the intermediary to escort Chen inside. But this meant peril for all three of them.

In the Huangliang Desert Sea, authority was a weapon of death, a barrier to survival. Chen Qisheng now wielded no authority, reduced to his bare self after entering the spiritual realm, vulnerable to the sea’s ceaseless erosion. If Zhao Yanlong harbored ill intent, Chen would face an inescapable void, awaiting his fate. Worse, the state of the spiritual realm itself was uncertain. The beast’s form suggested structural integrity, yet Zhao’s authority had been stripped by Dragon Tiger Mountain, leaving the realm in slow decay. Chaotic, immeasurable fragments of consciousness seeped in, risking unforeseen transformations. Could Zhao even maintain his sanity? He was now akin to a Huangliang ghost, bereft of earthly reliance. Zou, as the bridge, had to remain in the desert sea indefinitely—maintaining the realm’s gateway for Chen’s escape and shielding its location from pursuit. Yuan had to safeguard their physical forms. The three worlds—modern, desert sea, and realm—formed concentric circles; any fracture would doom the innermost layer.

“Sister Yuan, are we truly letting Chen enter?” Zou frowned.

“Worried about something happening?” Yuan smiled. “Shall we cast a divination to see the outcome?”

“Forget it. Unless it’s a grave omen, I won’t believe it.” Zou sighed. “To be honest, I’m not afraid of danger—this path has seen too many twists, and I’ve grown numb to death’s specter. But this time feels different. If Chen and Dragon Tiger Mountain clash, I won’t stop him. Yet the desert sea is unpredictable; if some trivial mishap claims our lives, it’d be a cruel irony.”

This was concern for Chen.

“Even if he dies in the desert sea, it won’t surpass his current predicament.” Yuan closed her umbrella, sighing. “We seem to hold the upper hand, dealing Dragon Tiger Mountain’s temple a severe blow, forcing the Zhang family into retreat. But inwardly, everyone knows this hinges on Li Jing’s sacrifice. To be blunt, how much blame does Dragon Tiger Mountain bear for Master Su’s death? Hardly enough to be the culprit. If it were merely about avenging Master Su, Li should target the Xu family in Jiangning, killing Xu Hai-chao, the Japanese envoy. But he didn’t. The reason is clear to us all.”

“People gravitate toward their kind; objects cluster by nature. A band of outcasts, shunned and cast out, cling together for warmth, babbling about revenge and redemption. Yet when it comes to drawing blades, none truly wish to drag others into the fray.” Yuan smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The old fiery spirit had faded; her gaze held a complex mix of emotions.

“We’ve all suffered, but none without a streak of defiance—Shen Jisun, you, even Chen Qisheng. None want Master Li to bleed on the outside while they cower in the shadows, powerless to act. Chen’s heart must ache, though what can he do? He lacks the strength to rival Dragon Tiger Mountain, let alone the solar sect that nearly killed him. Now, with this opportunity before him, will he retreat?” Zou sighed, understanding all too well. They’d all boasted of indifference to life and death, yet hesitated when action was needed, fearing they’d fall behind. “Better to endure tempest and retreat to safer waters,” Zou had once believed, but now deemed it hollow. Anger breeds more anger; retreat only leads to greater distance. Is not the Confucian order’s infiltration and assimilation the strongest? The martial order stands no weaker! “Let Chen decide. Life or death, it’s his choice.” Yuan stood, extending her hand. “Here, you have my trust.” “Don’t worry—I excel at killing here.” Zou laughed, wiping his temples.

Linking into the Huangliang spiritual realm, Chen had once felt like a gentle breeze. Now, it felt like plunging into icy water, a suffocating pressure. He’d visited Zhao’s realm before, but the scene now was starkly different. The realm was a monochrome void, like a ink-wash scroll exuding an indescribable void. The descent led not to a city, but a humble temple hidden in the mountains. A desolate hall enshrined a true warrior deity, its incense burner nearly consumed. No Zhao Yanlong, no ordinary Huangliang ghosts. Chen stared at the forsaken temple, lost in thought.

“Hey, new arrival?” A voice pierced his daze, sharp as a plug removed from his ear. Voices surged like a tide. Chen turned to see a young man with an air of arrogance, hands in pockets, sizing him up. “What’s your name? Didn’t catch that.” Chen realized he was shorter, clad in a similarly tattered robe, ill-fitting. “My name is Chen Qisheng.” “Qisheng? What kind of name is that? Sounds like a death sentence—where’s the spirit?” The youth muttered, slapping his flimsy chest. “I’m Zhao Yanlong. From now on, I’m your senior brother and mentor. Understand?” The world remained black and white, yet devoid of decay. The youth exuded vigor, while the furnace blazed with incense. “Got it. Nice to meet you, Master Zhao.” Chen bowed slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. So it was like this!

The air trembled with whispers, veiled in shadows, while truths clung like mist to the edges of sight, each step a silent reckoning, each breath a fragile thread weaving through the tapestry of fate, where whispers of past deeds and unseen hands clasped in silent pact, the weight of unspoken truths pressing upon the fragile veil of moments, yet still, the path ahead remained a labyrinth of echoes, where footsteps echoed with secrets yet unvoiced, and the faintest flicker of doubt lingered beneath the surface, a fragile flame flickering in the dark, awaiting the moment it might ignite, or fade, as the world held its breath, waiting for the next move, the silence stretching long, thick, a promise half-remembered, half-forgotten, yet still present, as if the very air itself held its breath, holding its breath, holding its breath.

No more words. The matter is decided!

Zhang Chongyuan's voice rose, a sharp command: "Li Jun is even now within Nanchang Prefecture. You will mobilize at once, to crush him in a pincer with Yi Quidou of Gezao Mountain—let him find no path of escape."

"You go as the representative of Longhu Mountain's Celestial Master Mansion to Nanchang; all affairs of Guangxin Prefecture fall temporarily to Zhang Ximao. Moreover, beyond the Nine Elite Divisions at your disposal, the last three sealed 'Xi'-generation Dao San of the Mansion are likewise placed under your command."

Zhang Chongyuan's eyes were ice: "This Daoist Lord shall personally oversee the Big Dipper's 'Broken Army,' ever at the ready. You need only pin Li Jun down—this Daoist Lord shall strike and kill him where he stands!"

Zhang Qingyu stood dumbstruck, soul fled; when he recovered, Zhang Chongyuan's projection was already gone without trace.

Longhu's Nine Elite Divisions, three sealed Dao San, personally commanding the heavenly tracks and stars.

A show of overwhelming force, yet Zhang Qingyu's heart was naught but bleak desolation.

The demons have swollen to dominance, yet at such an hour Zhang Chongyuan still refuses to leave the mountain in person.

Gezao Mountain sends a true Dao San elder to lead; Longhu Mountain sends a mere Dao Four—me—to head the demon-slaying.

What reason is this?!

If you, Zhang Chongyuan, truly deem this no trap, why shove me to the front?

"Longhu's majesty. What majesty, what face of the Zhang clan."

Cold qi wreathed Zhang Qingyu; three hard words burst from his gritted teeth.

"Good. Truly good!"