Chapter 151: Sin

Endless yellow sand stretched across the vast earth, with snowy mountains looming vaguely in the distance.

Nan Luo's flying light could not draw closer because someone already stood in his path.

It was a strange figure holding a lotus-shaped green bowl, with disheveled hair and tattered garments that seemed as if a mere gust of wind could tear them to shreds. He blocked Nan Luo's way, yet Nan Luo did not draw his sword.

This was because at that moment, the very thought of drawing his sword refused to arise. Gazing into the stranger's eyes felt like being embraced by the suffering of all sentient beings, capable of dissolving any emotional entanglement and stray thought, pulling one into an involuntary trance... Terror gripped Nan Luo's heart; he hurriedly averted his gaze and asked with a solemn expression, "Who are you?"

"Who I am is not important. What matters is that you have fallen into demonic obsession." The stranger looked at Nan Luo, and his voice seemed imbued with a magical power that drilled straight into the depths of his soul, exploding within and blooming like myriad lotuses.

Nan Luo stepped back abruptly, steadying the Qingyan Sword in his hand. He demanded in a stern shout, "Just who are you?"

"If I told you, you would not know; if I do not tell you, you still would not know—there is no difference. But once I say that your heart harbors a demonic obsession, you will understand..." The stranger's words were ethereal yet tangible, leaving it impossible to tell whether his voice was male or female, deep or ethereal. There was even a sensation that he had not been speaking aloud at all.

Yet within Nan Luo's heart, emotions raged like a turbulent sea, and deep inside, the genuine sensation of having fallen into a demonic obsession began to take root. He envisioned a man wielding a three-foot-long sword, traveling through the void and slaughtering countless beings along the way. When he realized that the man was none other than himself, a profound sense of sin instantly welled up in his heart.

The moment this feeling arose, it surged wildly. Following it, a voice echoed in his mind: "You are guilty... You are guilty... Guilty... Guilt, guilt, guilt..."

As that voice resonated, Nan Luo found himself silently chanting in his heart: "I am guilty, I am guilty, I truly am guilty..." His lips trembled, and his breathing was heavy as he seemingly fought to stop himself from uttering those words aloud...

In Nan Luo's eyes, the tattered figure before him suddenly grew illusory and hazy, blurred beyond clear recognition. Amidst the haze, the stranger's ragged clothes seemed to take on a sacred glow, with rich golden light emanating from his body. Meanwhile, the lotus-shaped green bowl in his hands shimmered with a dim green radiance, exuding an endless allure...

"Your sins are heavy; you must seek redemption..."

This voice imprinted itself upon Nan Luo's heart, and deep within, a responding voice echoed: "I, I must seek redemption." The corners of his twitching mouth quivered more violently, sweat poured down his forehead, and his eyes were clamped shut.

"I possess a method that can ferry you across and free you from this tribulation."

Though Nan Luo kept his eyes closed, the stranger's form was seared directly into his mind. Not only was he unable to banish it, but the figure seemed to grow clearer with every spoken word...

"Deliverance... Deliverance..."

"Come, come, come... I shall impart to you the supreme, marvelous method to transcend the sea of suffering and reach the other shore."

At that moment, within Nan Luo's mind, the stranger transformed into the former priest of the Yangping clan, while Nan Luo himself seemed to revert to his childhood appearance. The elder priest was smiling kindly and beckoning with his hand—this exact scene mirrored the day the priest had taught Nan Luo the art of Qi refinement.

From afar, one could only see Nan Luo with his eyes tightly shut and teeth clenched, walking step by step toward the tattered-clad stranger. Each step appeared excruciatingly heavy, as if he were locked in a desperate struggle...

The stranger's facial features were obscured, but beneath his unkempt hair, his eyes were as deep as an abyss, holding an infinite charm. Slowly, he reached out his hand to stroke the crown of Nan Luo's head, as if bestowing the ultimate teachings through physical touch.

Suddenly, a flash of sword light swept out from Nan Luo's waist, soaring with monstrous killing intent. A streak of white light sliced instantly through the stranger, yet the figure dissolved into the wind like a dream or a phantom. A breeze swept by, leaving Nan Luo shivering with a sudden chill. Had it not been for his sword intent and state of mind undergoing a profound, transformative sublimation recently, he would not have possessed even a shred of resistance...

Nan Luo was certain that if he hadn't been caught off guard, he never would have fallen into such a trap. Given his current state of mind, spells resembling inner demons should have found it difficult to invade him, especially now that he had reached the realm of a lucid and clear sword heart. Though he hadn't truly succumbed, he was profoundly shaken. Had he not conquered the stray thoughts in his heart at the very last moment, unleashing that sword strike to shatter the phantom of the stranger, the consequences would have been unimaginable. Yet, he still failed to harm the stranger, nor did he clearly comprehend how the entity had vanished.

He held his sword and looked around, but the stranger was gone. Everything felt like a dream, as though nothing had ever happened. In the distance, the Blood River was still locked in combat with the Samsara Pen, and a woman in a pink dress stood quietly at the forefront of the river. The temperature around her seemed far lower than anywhere else, and her demeanor was icy and formidable—standing there, she gave the impression that wherever she was, a blizzard filled the skies.

Naturally, Nan Luo could not forget this cold and peerless Wu Ancestor, Xuanming. She merely watched apathetically as the Samsara Pen battled the Blood River, refusing to step forward and offer help... Nan Luo found it hard to imagine whether there was anyone she could converse with, or perhaps she went decades without uttering a single word.

Earlier, an icy-faced man had stood beside her, but he was nowhere to be seen now. In the distance, many figures watched as spectators, clearly deterred by the overwhelming might of the Ancestor Witch and the Blood River, not daring to draw close. Witnessing this stalemate, Nan Luo knew it would be exceedingly difficult for the Blood River to break away and escape today.

Within the Blood River, the butterfly transformed by Beiling drifted helplessly amidst the violent waves.

In the void, the Samsara Pen inscribed heavy, solemn characters that overlapped as they descended to seal the Blood River... The Blood River seemed to harbor deep wariness toward Xuanming standing on the sidelines, preventing it from exerting its full power against the Samsara Pen, which temporarily placed it at a disadvantage.

Suddenly, a figure flickered in the void, and another person appeared at the edge of the Blood River. With cyan robes and a cyan face, features as flat as a board, and an aura of chilling sternness, it was precisely the man who had stood beside Xuanming earlier. Upon his arrival, he uttered no words; he simply thrust his hand out toward the Blood River, targeting none other than the butterfly-form Beiling amidst the crimson surges.

Though his body remained stationary, his arm stretched out mysteriously, growing monstrously huge.

Nan Luo clearly remembered how many living beings had dissolved into mere skeletons and plunged into the Blood River after merely brushing against a few drops of its crimson water. Yet this man thrust his hand directly into the Blood River, seemingly indifferent to its terrifying corrosive power.

Blood corpses surged upward with the river's current, lunging to bite the cyan-clad, cyan-faced man's hand, only to be repelled by a cyan radiance gleaming on his skin, unable to draw near. The blood corpses let out deafening roars, and the river whipped itself into a violent vortex rolling toward the giant hand.

As the Blood River—which seemed capable of corroding the very heavens—swirled over the giant hand, a wisp of blue smoke rose from it. Then the cyan-faced man laughed heartily: "Styx, if your true body were here, I, Shebi, certainly could not deal with you. But now that you are merely a wisp of an avatar, do you truly think you can harm me?"

The Blood River was cleaved apart by the cyan-robed man who called himself Shebi, who then reached out to grab the butterfly that was Beiling. The butterfly fluttered its wings gently, teleporting away to reappear in another part of the bloody waves.

Shebi laughed heartily and said, "I must see what is so special about this Spirit-Devouring Yin Insect that you would risk great danger to come out and retrieve it."

High above the nine heavens, the heavy, pitch-black characters were supported by the bloody waves, while down below, Shebi lunged toward Beiling once more. But just as Shebi's giant hand extended, a figure moved.

A flash of sword light, soaring brilliantly into the firmament, cleaved downward toward Shebi with the force of a splitting mountain.