Chapter 321: Roll Down to the Underworld to Receive Punishment (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 321: Descend to the Netherworld and Suffer Your Doom

Overbearing?

Chen Yi felt a faint urge to laugh.

How could a cabal of heretical fiends, lurking in the shadows to slaughter innocent commoners, ever comprehend the true meaning of being "overbearing"?

That word, after all, bore the sacred character of the Dao.

Yet, Chen Yi understood precisely why such a sensation had gripped them.

It was entirely because their minds and spirits had been utterly cowed by the illusory world manifested around them.

Within the human body lay three seas of qi: the Dantian, the Shanzhong, and the Yintang.

Though all appeared to draw, gather, and store qi, subtle distinctions separated them.

They corresponded to the triad of Essence, Qi, and Spirit.

The Dantian harbored Essence, the Shanzhong fortified Qi, and the Yintang nurtured Spirit.

The martial path followed this exact sequence, utilizing true yuan to gradually replenish one's Essence, Qi, and Spirit from the bottom up, until achieving perfect consummation.

But the arts of the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting pursued by scholars did not operate this way; or rather, when scholars cultivated their moral character, what they nurtured was their very Spirit.

This was the exact reason Chen Yi could employ the Dao of Chess to withstand Du Cang's covert sorcery of headhunting.

In terms of Spirit alone, once a scholar attained perfect mastery in these four arts, they could harness the spiritual mechanics of heaven and earth to accomplish feats impossible for ordinary men, or even martial artists.

Just as the Dao of Chess could manifest heaven and earth to divine people or events.

Just as the Dao of Painting could confound reality, turning painted figures from illusory phantoms into solid existence, deceiving the very eye.

Thus, when Chen Yi used the Dao of Chess to ensnare the minds of Xue Chong and his cohorts, he was suppressing them with absolute, overwhelming Spirit.

Though the Dao of Chess lacked the raw, slaughtering edge of Du Cang's headhunting sorcery, it was more than enough to grievously wound Xue Chong.

As for the venomous insects swarming from all sides... soulless creatures devoid of intellect would have their heads easily crushed by the sheer weight of his Spirit.

Chen Yi watched the clash between Yan Jingchen and Pei Ze's faction in the outer world, all while unhurriedly continuing to place his pieces.

As each white stone descended onto the board, it triggered violent transmutations in this pocket of heaven and earth.

Tempests, thunderclaps, landslides, and more erupted in succession.

Xue Chong was left utterly battered and bewildered by this relentless barrage of anomalies.

Even though he was certain that he and his companions were not truly wounded in the physical sense, the agony they felt was entirely real.

Moreover, with every additional wound that marked his form, he could perceive his own growing decrepitude.

It was not a decline in his true yuan cultivation, but rather a heavy, leaden sensation in his physical body, coupled with a profound impotence whenever he tried to channel the spiritual mechanics of the world.

"Liu Wu!"

"The Shuzhou martial world widely rumors you to be a figure matching Xiao Jinghong, yet who would have thought you cannot even face us in direct combat!"

Chen Yi cast a sideways glance at him. "Noisy."

With a flick of his fingers, he cast another stone, which linked seamlessly with the dozens of white pieces placed before, thoroughly encircling several black stones.

In the very next instant, a horned flood dragon erupted from the chessboard, its massive torso coiling and churning as it hovered in mid-air, its golden eyes entirely devoid of emotion as it stared coldly down at Xue Chong and his men.

Chen Yi grew weary of wasting words on these people and simply raised a finger in command.

The flood dragon instantly dived toward Xue Chong and the others, the gentle, shimmering aura surrounding its body softly illuminating the surroundings.

Seeing this, a dark, venomous look settled upon Xue Chong's serpent-like face, so crimson with rage it seemed ready to drip blood.

The seductive woman beside him spun on her heel and shoved him aside. "Dodge!"

The rest of the group moved in perfect, synchronized tandem to evade.

Yet as the flood dragon swept past, countless scales began to shed from within its ambient luminescence.

Even though Xue Chong and his cohorts managed to dodge its primary strike, they were instantly impaled by the following cascade of scales.

Piece after piece tore through them, puncturing dozens, even hundreds of bloody holes across their bodies.

Some pierced their chests, others their heads, riddling them from top to toe.

Even so.

They neither dissipated into smoke nor perished outright.

Xue Chong and his men looked down at themselves, each wearing a bitter, wretched smile.

"A fine Dao of Chess. I concede defeat."

To think their Five Poisons Sect had dominated the martial world for over a century, relying entirely on the venom arts they cultivated and the poisonous insects they painstakingly bred.

Yet before Chen Yi, not only were their venom arts completely useless, but even the venomous insects that had cost them their heart's blood failed to produce the slightest effect.

They were like toddlers who had barely learned to walk, left with no choice but to endure endless torment within this chessboard domain.

The woman no longer possessed her former seductiveness; a large portion of her face had been sliced away by the dragon's scales.

It was a mangled mess of flesh and blood.

Yet her eyes still glared at Chen Yi with unyielding ferocity.

"No matter how high your mastery in the Dao of Chess, it remains useless in a true martial clash. Were our cultivations to break through to the upper three realms, this chess art of yours would be nothing more than a cheap parlor trick!"

Chen Yi paused upon hearing this, waved his hand to disperse the flood dragon, and stepped up onto the chessboard, his voice flat and indifferent:

"When your Five Poisons Sect laid your schemes in Shuzhou and slaughtered those refugees, did you ever consider that they possessed no cultivation, or that their strength and realms were far beneath yours?"

"If they had the martial path to rely on, even if they could not avoid the pestilence, they might have endured a little longer. But now..."

"They are forced to wrestle for their very lives against the King of Hell!"

Chen Yi's gaze swept over Xue Chong and the others one by one, as though looking at a handful of insignificant ants.

"Do not do unto others what you would not have them do unto you. It is a virtue you would never understand anyway. You might as well roll down to the underworld and face your torture there."

As his voice fell, the surrounding mountains, rivers, and forests abruptly vanished into thin air.

When clarity returned, he and Xue Chong's group were still standing in their original positions.

The distant sounds of Yan Jingchen and Pei Ze's trio locked in fierce combat drifted over once more.

In stark contrast to Chen Yi's calm composure, Xue Chong and his companions, having just emerged from the world of the chessboard, retained none of their prior ferocity.

Instead, they withered at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Their bodies hunched over, barely able to sustain the effort of standing.

Even if they could still stir the true yuan within their bodies and connect with the spiritual mechanics of the world, their auras had grown exceptionally feeble.

Their entire cultivation and martial techniques were left at less than one-tenth of their peak.

Staring at Chen Yi a short distance away, Xue Chong suddenly gritted his teeth and roared, "Sect Master, beware! He—"

But before they could finish their warning, Chen Yi had already moved.

A distance of thirty feet was crossed in the blink of an eye.

His long spear, gleaming like a crescent moon, flexed into the curve of a bow as it swept out horizontally.

“Quickly…”

“Hide…”

Xue Chong and his companions stared at the sudden blaze of golden light, their faces going pale with shock.

But against that bullet, even if they tried to dodge, there was no escaping its path. They could only watch, eyes wide, as the golden light sliced across their bodies.

—A single bullet—fifteen masters of the Poison Sect lay dead!

Yan Zhihen felt a sudden movement behind him. With a swift palm, he drove Pei Zhe and his two companions away, then turned his head to look.

There, at his feet, were the skulls of his enemies, having crashed against the rocks and rolled into the dirt. The headless corpses, their throats torn open, spurted blood as they crumpled to the ground.

Thudding. Thudding. Thudding.

The sound echoed endlessly.

A sudden stillness fell over the battlefield.

Pei Zhan stopped Pei Changling and Li Yunjun from advancing, instead focusing on circulating his internal energy to recover his reserves. He watched Chen Yi with quiet admiration.

“The younger generation is truly formidable, the younger generation is truly formidable.”

They had once believed that these mountain-clan warriors, even if they couldn’t exterminate the Poison Sect, could drive them out of Shu once more.

They never imagined their foes would fall so quickly, with half the Poison Sect either dead or wounded before they had even drawn their blades. And those who perished were none other than the sect’s most powerful disciples, masters of the highest arts.

Pei Qian could only nod in agreement, his gaze lingering on the calm demeanor of Chen Yi.

If this man could become a son-in-law to the mountain clan, he might even accept that.

Blue Yan Ni paid no heed to Chen Yi. Instead, she crouched to inspect the corpses of Xue Chong’s group, licking her lips.

“Brother, what do you think? Should I go ask that ‘Dragon Tiger’ elder-in-law for a couple of bodies? He probably wouldn’t mind.”

The bodies of Poison Sect members contained potent poisons, rare alchemical treasures. She had her eye on them.

Pei Qian shot her a sideways glance. “Brother?”

Blue Yan Ni let out a coy laugh. “Mang, my husband, naturally I’m his brother-in-law.”

“You… Wait until you speak to your brother-in-law. Ask him to spare a few more corpses.”

“Alright then.”

With Xue Chong and his men dead, some rejoiced, others… seethed with hatred.

Yan Zhihen stood frozen, staring at the scattered corpses, as if unable to believe what he had seen.

These were the fruits of his thirty years of cultivation—his Poison Sect disciples.

Xue Chong, a mid-level four-tier cultivator skilled in serpent arts, had once governed the Snake Valley. His trained snake palm had reached completion.

The delicate woman beside him, Shi Lan, was a late-stage four-tier specialist in long-chain weapons and poison crafting.

The other muscular men…

Yan Zhihen regarded the Poison Sect’s top masters and elders, their jade-like faces now serene.

After a long pause, he finally looked at Chen Yi, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

“Without respect, one cannot grow.”

“These few together—even I couldn’t subdue them in such a short time, let alone slay them all.”

He paused, catching his breath, then asked with a grin, “I suppose the ‘Dragon Tiger’ elder must still practice other arts, yes?”

“Let me guess—Soul-seizing techniques?”

“Probably not. Soul-seizing and spirit-reading divination shares similarities with the Bosi Suofang method. Together, they wouldn’t be defeated so easily.”

“The Buddhist art of crushing evils with golden bells? That’s not it either. You don’t carry that sandalwood fragrance.”

“The Daoist path…”

After weighing possibilities, Yan Zhihen shook his head. “It’s been years since I last roamed the streets. I’ve grown rather complacent in judging people.”

Chen Yi watched him silently, his eyes still gleaming with murderous intent.

This time, had he not sensed the plague spreading through Shu, how many innocents would have perished?

He would never have shown such mercy to Yan Zhihen.

These vermin of the Poison Sect were not worth a second thought.

Yan Zhihen, too, understood the situation. He let out a self-deprecating laugh, his breath surging uncontrollably through his body.

Though he made no move, the stones beneath his feet began to crumble in a ring around him.

Vast clouds of toxic mist poured from his sleeves, merging with the poisonous force from his previous White Jade technique, coalescing into a thick, inky haze.

Not like the choking miasma of poison gas, but more like spilled ink.

Moreover, Yan Zhihen’s power surged to its peak, stirring the very fabric of the world. Floating, weightless daggers materialized in the air around him.

He glanced at Chen Yi, then at the three Pei brothers hidden in the shadows, his smile widening.

“I’ve roamed the martial world for decades, witnessing countless events, big and small.”

“From the mountain peaks to the valley depths, and back again—could any of you frighten me with such a simple formation?”

“Pei Zhe—you seek vengeance for your lost son, yes? Then come here!”

Like a madman, his hair standing on end, Yan Zhihen bellowed, his gaze locking onto Chen Yi.

“And you, ‘Dragon Tiger’! Let’s finish this together!”

“If I die today, you and your companions will never know peace again!”

Chen Yi said nothing, but glanced at the three Peis and the concealed Pei Qian and Blue Yan Ni.

After a moment, he motioned for his allies to step back, then raised his spear and advanced toward Yan Zhihen.

“I have no interest in your conflict with the mountain clan, nor did I intend to act against the Poison Sect. But…”

“You all insisted on walking the path of destruction.”

“Like Yan Fushasha, like you—even escalating to this extent, daring to poison the people of Shu.”

“Such matters…”

Chen Yi stepped into the range of Yan Zhihen’s golden light, his body instantly cloaked in black and white. The light and shadow merged with him, stretching his form impossibly long.

In the next instant, his figure vanished.

Yan Zhihen seemed prepared. His claws clashed against Chen Yi’s spear tip, which had been dyed gold.

A sharp *ting* rang out as the spearhead met the claws.

A surge of immense power erupted.

Yan Qingcheng’s body was driven back in an involuntary retreat.

His smile faltered, eyes widening as he watched Chen Yì’s spear dance and another thrust, “Your strength…”

No! Chen Yì’s cultivation was merely at the fourth grade! Even with perfect spear, fist, and foot techniques, he could only ascend one realm at most.

Yet he, thirty years prior, had already reached the third grade. Now, though he hadn’t yet broken through to the first, he wasn’t far from it.

With the surrounding poison and fist intent cloaking him, he should indeed be far stronger than Chen Yì. Yet the current circumstances were the reverse.

As he pondered this, a sudden thought erupted in Yan Qingcheng’s mind, threatening to crumble his resolve to fight for his life.

Could it be… is Liu Wu hiding martial arts within his body? Or perhaps some unconventional techniques? If not, how could his power be so fearsome?

“You, your talent…”

Before he could finish, Chen Yì, relentless, vaulted into the air after another thrust.

The spear pierced the heavens. A dark cloud began to coalesce over the once-clear night sky, thunder and lightning flashing within.

In less than two breaths, a thunderclap boomed, then a silver-white bolt of lightning descended upon the spear, its strike leaving faint sparks dancing across Chen Yì’s body.

Yan Qingcheng’s brow furrowed, yet he reacted swiftly, releasing a cloud of poison dust to veil Chen Yì’s silhouette.

At the same time, the floating daggers began to plummet, one by one towards Chen Yì, their swooshing sounds echoing through the forest.

Chen Yì stayed still, his eyes locked on Yan Qingcheng. Only when the daggers drew close did he take a step forward.

His form dissolved into a black shadow, weaving through the daggers’ gaps like a maze, advancing and retreating, shifting aside to evade the blades.

His long spear was ensnared by golden spear intent and crackling sparks, a divine weapon sweeping the surrounding daggers aside.

Yan Qingcheng, certainly wouldn’t wait passively, watched as Chen Yì drew near, a cunning smile spreading across his face.

Then he extended his hands, lifting the ink-dark mass above, and suddenly opened them wide. The dark poison cloud split in an instant, spiraling towards Chen Yì.

“I’ve trained for decades; my poison force is enough to kill even a third-grade warrior.”

“Let’s see… huh?”

Before Yan Qingcheng could even rejoice, he saw a white glow flash by. When he looked again, the glow had already intercepted the poison cloud.

The minuscule form dove fearlessly into the poison cloud. Yan Qingcheng was stunned and furious, “Mountain clan, Hive King?!”

The bee-like Hive creature was none other than the one he’d encountered thirty years prior from the Mountain Mother. It appeared forged to subdue the five poison sects, able to consume all poisons.

No matter how he raged, that pale, glowing “bee” simply consumed the mountain-sized poison cloud in mere three breaths.

Chen Yì wouldn’t let this opportunity pass, ditching the “Dancing Dragon, Phoenix Steps” for the “Meteor Butterfly Steps.” With a spear’s flick, he arrived in a blink.

—Falling Dragon!