Chapter 154: A Hanging Heavenly River, Quiet as a Painting

At the farthest western edge of the world, endless yellow sands stretched beneath a sky awash with colorful clouds.

In this realm, a river of blood roared and surged across the heavens. A pitch-black brush traced dark characters in the air—each word sealing the blood river’s fury.

Nearby stood a towering giant, his body shaded in blue-black hues. He howled defiantly toward the sky, every movement causing the void itself to wither, suffused with overwhelming deathly energy. Not far from him, beneath the blood river’s ominous tide, a woman clad in a delicate pink gown remained serene and unshaken.

She exuded a cold, pure aura, transcending the chaos around her—like a sovereign queen gazing down upon all living beings. Even as she lifted her chin to watch Nan Luo descend from the Ninth Heaven, there was no flicker of emotion in her eyes—only a tranquil, aloof beauty, incomparable in grace.

The vibrant clouds rolled across the sky, cascading downward.

Above the Ninth Heaven, a river of stars plunged earthward.

This river was none other than the Azure Face Sword, swelling to tens of zhang in height; to others, it appeared as a celestial river flowing from the heavens.

The river of stars poured silently, its stillness profound.

No matter what impressions others had upon seeing Nan Luo’s majestic descent from the Ninth Heaven, his own heart was empty—void of all but a singular thought: the sword alone.

At this moment, his spirit seemed to merge with the Azure Face Sword, as if fused with the entire expanse of heaven and earth. Suddenly, his mind cleared completely; his consciousness floated above the Ninth Heaven.

Had anyone looked closely, they would have seen Nan Luo’s eyes closed, his expression devoid of joy or sorrow, calm and serene. It was as if he were not engaged in a battle against the universe’s supreme sorcerers, but instead resting, contemplating some exquisite truth.

To the onlookers, as if in a fleeting moment of spiritual detachment, the Azure Face Sword descending like the Milky Way became ethereal and elusive. Not only the sword, but Nan Luo himself appeared to dissolve into a translucent mist.

Had people not been fixated on him without turning their heads, they would have noticed how Nan Luo suddenly became intangible—not vanished, but utterly devoid of any aura, yet clearly visible, like clouds drifting faintly on the horizon, barely there yet unmistakably present.

The Azure Face Sword, like a celestial river, seemed to have melded into the void. Where once it felt somewhat out of place with the cosmos, it now became truly part of the heavens, as if it had always existed in this form for countless ages, unchanged through time.

“Has he attained the Dao? Could it be that he has truly entered the Dao?” an astute observer exclaimed in astonishment upon witnessing the subtle, ethereal transformation enveloping Nan Luo.

As their voices echoed with disbelief, Nan Luo’s figure gradually blurred and then vanished entirely, as though he had never existed in this world. Those who had doubted now felt a profound shock ripple through their hearts: “He has indeed entered the Dao.”

Immediately, the Azure Face Sword itself began to transform, becoming a genuine waterfall cascading from the Ninth Heaven. Mist drifted along its path as the torrent poured down in the manner of the Milky Way falling through the sky.

“This… this is materialization,” someone gasped in horror.

When magic reaches a certain pinnacle, every spell cast can effortlessly manifest into physical forms. Achieving this multiplies the spell’s power exponentially—this is known as materialization, primarily concerning spells.

Transformation, by contrast, pertains to magical artifacts. The ultimate refinement of innate spiritual treasures is transformation, whereby the artifact’s external form disperses and reshapes at will, the opposite of spells. At this stage, the weapon’s power surges dramatically, and its abilities diversify endlessly, changing according to the wielder’s intent.

Nan Luo felt his essence, energy, and spirit suddenly break free from a binding constraint, flowing freely through the cosmos. A sensation arose as if the mere flick of his hand could set the entire universe in motion.

The deathly aura in Shebi’s eyes intensified further. He tilted his head back and roared wildly, swinging his colossal hand—capable of tearing the heavens and earth apart—toward the river of stars cascading from the Ninth Heaven. Even from a great distance, one could see the giant towering above the mountains, his outstretched hand nearly grasping the sun and moon.

Above, the multicolored clouds roiled violently, and from within them, a celestial waterfall poured downward.

The azure-black giant hand, as if traversing layers of space, struck at the descending Milky Way. Yet the moment it touched the river, it was engulfed.

From afar, spectators saw that the giant hand offered no resistance to the falling Milky Way; it was swallowed instantly.

Their hearts contracted sharply. Though the Milky Way descended silently, it held no terrifying aura. Instead, it seemed a picturesque scene. Yet all knew this river was the embodiment of Nan Luo’s innate sword artifact—it could not be mere beauty alone. Assessing its power was impossible, but by sheer presence it paled compared to the ancestral sorcerer Shebi’s overwhelming might. Perhaps it was two entirely different styles: one earth-shattering, altering heaven and earth with a gesture; the other, like Nan Luo’s, descending with clouds yet evoking a delicate, ethereal painting.

But when Shebi was suddenly submerged beneath the river of stars, emitting a thunderous roar, all were struck with horror. Though the river fell silently, it swallowed the ancestral sorcerer’s formidable power. Those witnessing this felt a cold helplessness—as if the celestial river descending from the Ninth Heaven was a silent, absolute execution.

A sword fell from the Ninth Heaven, transforming into a river of stars. The Milky Way cascading down was a waterfall—silent and unyielding.

Each drop within the waterfall was a thread of blade, capable of severing mountains or beheading men.

From afar, onlookers watched clearly as Shebi’s thunderous roar was cut short. The silent waterfall surged into his giant mouth, silver droplets cascading over him from head to toe.

The roar ceased abruptly, and the figure taller than mountains was swallowed whole, leaving the world in profound silence.

“Has the ancestral sorcerer Shebi perished?” No one dared to believe such a fate had befallen the great ancestral sorcerer so easily.

Not only Shebi was present—also the Reincarnation Brush of Emperor Jiang and Xuan Ming. If the Reincarnation Brush was locked in battle with the blood river and unable to intervene, Xuan Ming still possessed the strength and opportunity to save Shebi. Yet she remained motionless and indifferent, watching coldly from beginning to end, as if all were unrelated to her.

Rumors spoke of the twelve ancestral sorcerers of the Wu clan harboring deep discord, many dying estranged from one another. Some had even witnessed battles between these ancestors. This stirred thoughts among the crowd: could it be true? Was Xuan Ming truly estranged from Shebi?

The waterfall finally reached the earth but vanished like swallowed by the void before touching down. From where it disappeared emerged a man.

Clad in a blue robe, black hair flowing behind him, his face stern as he lifted his gaze to the sky.

From afar, all eyes fixed on the sword hanging at his waist—a long blade sheathed in azure, swaying gently in the wind.

Upon the blue scabbard was etched a proud phoenix soaring amid the Ninth Heaven.

No trace of Shebi’s body remained. Before the crowd could comprehend this, the sky suddenly stirred—felt by all.

The clouds within a thousand li radius shifted, converging overhead. Heaven and earth’s primal energy surged wildly toward the Ninth Heaven, causing a sudden sensation of depletion in the surrounding air.

In moments, the sky was shrouded in black clouds, enveloping even the Reincarnation Brush and the blood river locked in battle above.

From afar, people fled in beams of multicolored light.

In that instant, the sky severed its subtle connection with Nan Luo, as if no longer part of the former world. Yet he did not retreat but stared upward, where a butterfly fluttered freely amid the blood waves—beneath the oppressive weight of the Reincarnation Brush and the rolling black clouds above.

In the blink of an eye, the world darkened, as black as ink.

Yet amid the void, the blood river still churned and swelled.

A lone butterfly, vibrant in color yet fragile, trembled its wings within the blood waves under this apocalyptic sky.

[End of chapter for today.]