Chapter 152: Those Years, Those Months, That Heart

Nanluo had not seen many of the Twelve Ancestral Witches, but he knew all of their names. The moment Shebi announced his title, Nanluo recognized him as one of the Twelve Ancestral Witches of the Wu clan. However, he had never heard of the River Styx that Shebi mentioned, nor did he know what origins it had that would cause an Ancestral Witch like Shebi to admit that if its true body were present, he would be unable to keep it here.

Previously, Dijiang had made two moves with the Samsara Brush. The first time, it was easily shaken off; the second time was out of forced self-preservation. Yet anyone could see that the second move was unleashed in fierce rage after Dijiang manipulated the Samsara Brush... And now, Nanluo had once again audaciously launched an attack against an Ancestral Witch of the Wu clan, and the opponent was even in his true form. This seemed unbelievable to the many onlookers watching from afar.

The sword light surged, dazzling and eye-catching.

Without even turning his head, Shebi still lunged to grab the butterfly transformed by Beiling. With a sweep of his hand, he parted the waves of blood and repelled the blood corpses. He did not even glance at Nanluo. In his mind, Nanluo was likely just some ignoramus who knew nothing of the immensity of heaven and earth; he could not even be bothered to pay him any attention.

At this moment, although the brilliance on Nanluo's sword was dazzling and radiant, it did not display any killing intent... The killing intent had already been restrained and concealed, and only when the sword reached its target would one experience that terrifying, heart-palpitating sword qi.

A faint, ethereal hum of the sword swept through the void, and without the slightest obstruction, the sword pierced straight into Shebi's throat.

In an instant, the heavens and the earth fell into utter silence; even the blood corpses in the sea of blood seemed to cease their roaring.

"He actually pierced an Ancestral Witch's throat with a sword... actually..."
"How could he possibly have done that..."

The physical bodies of the Ancestral Witches were robust and capable of withstanding Xiantian spiritual treasures—this was a fact proven through countless battles and slaughters by the Ancestral Witches themselves... Therefore, when Nanluo swung his sword, no one favored his chances. In their minds, they had already predicted the outcome: the sword would strike the Ancestral Witch Shebi and then bounce right off.

Yet now, it had actually pierced straight through. A sword through the throat, with the greater part of the blade protruding from the back of Shebi's neck. It reflected a blinding glare under the sunlight, and a bone-chilling coldness welled up in the hearts of the distant spectators.

Shebi had naturally been careless. He was aware of Nanluo's appearance, but he had simply paid him no mind. In his eyes, Nanluo was at most a somewhat sturdier ant, completely incapable of posing a threat to him... It was entirely normal for him to feel this way. The *Taiqing Scripture of Perception* was a Qi-refining method centered on sensing heaven and earth. Those who practiced this method possessed a serene and actionless temperament; the deeper their magic power, the more ordinary and plain they appeared.

Especially the *Huangting Scripture*, which communicated with heaven and earth and subtly elevated one's realm, bringing the practitioner closer to nature. Therefore, when Nanluo appeared, Shebi merely swept his gaze over him and dismissed him.

Back when Nanluo drew his sword, Shebi had seen it clearly as well, yet he still cared nothing for it... He knew very well in his heart who in this world could harm him, and Nanluo was not among them. Thus, he paid no attention to Nanluo's sword strike, remaining utterly indifferent even upon realizing that the weapon in Nanluo's hand was a Xiantian sword. This was precisely because Nanluo's swordsmanship had entered an entirely different realm.

If Nanluo's sword in the past possessed a sharpness that soared into the heavens and cleaved through the world, it was now almost entirely in harmony with his own temperament: restrained, obscure, and appearing completely unremarkable on the surface. Yet when one truly faced it head-on, one would abruptly realize that everything was far from being as plain and simple as it looked on the surface...

Consequently, due to his repeated carelessness, Shebi was pierced through the throat by Nanluo's single sword strike. The moment the sword approached his body and he sensed that terrifying killing intent, it was already too late to evade.

Sword intent, killing intent—cold, resolute, carrying an indomitable aura of absolute destruction, a fierce sharpness that declared no matter who or what stood before him, he would cut it down with a single stroke.

"Roar—roar—roar—"

The blood river churned violently, and the blood corpses roared. Other than this, there was no other sound left in the world...

Nanluo floated suspended in mid-air, with churning waves of blood and roaring blood corpses directly behind him. The long sword in his hand was deeply embedded in Shebi's throat, yet not a single drop of blood flowed out; all that remained was the lifeless gaze within the Ancestral Witch Shebi's eyes. His rigid, cold face faintly shimmered with a greenish hue.

"Human, I want to know what gave you the audacity to strike at me." Shebi stared into Nanluo's eyes and spoke in a low voice. Perhaps because the sword was jammed in his throat, his voice sounded metallic, harsh, and grating.

Nanluo looked back at Shebi without dodging or evading, remaining silent. His sword remained deeply embedded in Shebi's throat, piercing straight through, with faint five-colored mists revolving along the blade...

"Speak, human, what gave you the audacity to strike at me?" Shebi asked again in a low voice, his eyes dead and ash-colored. His voice was hard, and the spot pierced by the Azure-Colored Sword shone with a bright green light that enshrouded the wound, making it impossible to clearly discern the changes happening to it.

Nanluo still did not answer, but the five-colored mist on the sword grew increasingly dense, and soon a faint five-colored haze began to swirl around his own body as well. It was not that he refused to pull the sword out, but rather that Shebi was preventing him from withdrawing it...

In the eyes of others, they could only hear Shebi's low, metallic voice and the green light enveloping his throat, while Nanluo was shrouded in ethereal, immortal-like five-colored mists both on his sword and around his body. They could only guess that the two of them were engaged in battle on an entirely different level.

Nanluo could feel an endless suction force transmitting from the Azure-Colored Sword. Had his magic power not increased vastly and his swordsmanship not undergone sublimation, he would have only been able to let go of the hilt and retreat at this moment.

Rays of icy divine will surged along the Azure-Colored Sword, fiercely impacting the depths of Nanluo's mind—dead silence, nothing but dead silence... A primordial dead silence that had existed since the evolution of heaven and earth pounded against him wave after wave.

Like towering, furious billows, endless and unceasing.

Deep within his heart, Nanluo rapidly recited the great Daoist scriptures from the *Huangting Scripture* to fend off that onslaught. The willpower contained within that divine will, along with the comprehension of the Great Dao, belonged to a form of close-quarters combat. Unless it was a matter of life and death or one possessed absolute certainty of victory, no one would ever resort to such a method. For once one engaged in it, extricating oneself became exceedingly difficult.

Defeat meant death. There was no other path; even possessing supreme divine powers would make it hard to alter that doomed fate.

Nanluo could only defend now, standing like a solitary peak amidst a howling tempest. At this moment, any divine powers, swordsmanship, Xiantian sword artifacts, or various spells were of no use whatsoever.

The only thing he could rely on was a heart that had been soaked through endless ages and had achieved profound insight into the Dao of heaven and earth.

Throughout his many years of cultivation, he had hovered on the brink of life and death countless times. He had known despair, experienced hesitation, and felt deep, profound helplessness. Back when he stood atop Mount Buzhou looking down at the earth, he bore the heavy pressure of the human race's destiny. When faced with the reality that his entire Yangping clan—with whom he had lived since childhood—had been utterly slaughtered and his younger sister had perished, his heart had nearly shattered. At that time, the only thought in his mind was to slaughter every single member of the demon race in this heaven and earth.

In the end, that intent to kill subsided deep within his heart, steeping into his flesh-and-blood soul. The hatred, the faint despair, and the endless desolation he felt within Luoling Mountain—no one could ever truly comprehend. The instant he asked Meng Ziyi to sever his soul, the agony capable of tearing a person's soul to complete scattering—how could ordinary people ever endure it?

All of these trials combined to forge the Nanluo of today.

Tempered by wind and rain, eroded by the passage of time, his heart was like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon, breaking out of the shell at last to transform into a butterfly and soar away.