39 Useless to Me

He Ping's entire body tensed. He whipped around, slammed his foot down onto the suspended silk thread, and flicked his sleeve. With a sound like a plucked string, the Milo Blade erupted from his hand, diffusing into hundreds of empty blades that wandered through the wind, forming a dense, lethal web of steel.

A green-robed shadow had appeared abruptly behind him. Before the figure could finish speaking, it saw the sharp, surging blade-qi of the Milo Blade unfurl from all directions. Unable to dodge, the figure was instantly swept into the fray, its form tearing apart and scattering like shredded rags.

"Wrong!"

He Ping's pupils constricted sharply. The shredded fabric was empty; as the wind caught it, it dissolved into fluttering butterfly-like scraps. The crisscrossing blade-lines hadn't even grazed a real person.

Only then did he realize that the figure torn apart by the blade-net was merely a green robe. Chixinzi's true body was not here.

The voice definitely came from behind me, yet the person isn't here...

Before he could ponder further, he saw two pitch-black phantoms suddenly shoot out from the scattered green robes.

"Hands?"

He Ping focused his gaze and saw two arms—carved from dark, gold-flecked wood, with five slender, graceful, and lifelike fingers—flying toward him through the air.

"Severed Ghost Hands?"

His brow furrowed, his expression shifting drastically.

At that very instant, the two bizarre hands lunged forward, golden mist swirling between their long, sharp fingers, glowing with intense light.

—The "Severed Ghost Hands" were also a form of puppet art, though the Formless Secret Treasury in He Ping's possession only contained a record of them, claiming the forging method was "long lost" without providing a single word of detail.

(It seems the records in the Formless Secret Treasury are incomplete; the forging method for the Severed Ghost Hands was never lost...)

All of this happened in a heartbeat. He leaped backward, the silk threads beneath his feet swaying. He flicked his fingers through the void, and the Milo Blade's offensive surged once more. More threads vibrating in the air transformed into hundreds of formless, yet overwhelmingly powerful, blade-qi strikes, attempting to shred the incoming Severed Ghost Hands.

With a few tearing sounds, the blade-net and silk threads disintegrated together. The Severed Ghost Hands flared with spiritual light, shattering the web and pursuing him like a shadow, transforming into two golden rays that pierced through everything, the sound of them breaking the air deafening!

"The Severed Ghost Hands are also a puppet art, so they can naturally graft that 'Armor-Clad Spirit Light'—I cannot take this head-on!"

As it turned out, the puppet arts of the Immortal Puppet Sect were extraordinary; every puppet forged could activate a specific spell characteristic.

For the members of the Immortal Puppet Sect, crafting a puppet was equivalent to refining a spell, and the more powerful the puppet, the more formidable the spell imbued within it.

As He Ping pondered, he flicked his sleeves. Utilizing the Formless Strings he had set up in the air, he moved with a rush of wind, his figure flitting away like a ghost.

Right behind him, the Severed Ghost Hands pursued with lightning speed, their momentum fierce. In the blink of an eye, they caught up, slamming toward He Ping's back.

Unexpectedly, He Ping's movement in the air shifted eerily. He veered off course, his body striking a silk thread that had appeared out of nowhere. With a kick, his trajectory twisted and changed.

The Severed Ghost Hands were moving in a straight line; their momentum was too great, and they overshot He Ping, slanting downward into the forest behind him. They pierced through thick tree trunks and smashed into the ground, sending sand and stone flying as leaves and dust scattered into the air.

"That was close!"

He Ping exhaled in his heart, his body rising and falling on the dense web of threads across the treetops like a spider.

This forest was filled with countless crisscrossing threads, laid out like a spider's web. His ability to change direction at bizarre angles in mid-air, or hang suspended like a paper doll stuck to a thread, relied entirely on the grafting method within his puppet arts:

Just as the "Armor-Clad Spirit Light" of the Paper Puppet could be grafted onto the Paper Sedan to increase its defensive power, the "Spider Walk Technique" unique to the Wood Demon Puppet he had crafted could be transferred to his own body, allowing him to be as light as nothing and use the aerial threads to steer and change direction with ease.

At that moment, the sound of air being torn returned. He Ping looked up to see several golden shadows plummeting from the sky—they were more Severed Ghost Hands, their fists clenched.

"Damn, are these homing missiles?"

He Ping clicked his tongue, dropping down into the forest. The golden light tore through the air, shattering the surrounding trees. Countless branches and leaves shook, wood chips and foliage splashing everywhere, yet he still managed to escape through the gaps.

The environment in the dense forest was complex, and the eerie, terrifying woods at night were an excellent place for concealment.

He Ping landed like falling cotton, his feet barely touching the ground before he moved again. He wove through the gaps in the trees like a nimble cat. His own constitution was poor; had it not been for the aid of the "Spider Walk Technique," he could never have been this agile.

"I don't know where that fellow is hiding to keep watch. To make surveillance easier, I didn't bring the Wood Demon Puppet or the Paper Puppet..."

Moving with a large group of puppets was too conspicuous. To avoid having his movements detected, he had previously hidden the Paper Puppet, the Paper Sedan, and the Wood Demon Puppet in a concealed location not far from here.

"Now is the time they are actually needed."

He Ping pushed off with his feet, ducking his head to avoid a branch, and sprinted forward like a bolt of lightning.

On the rugged, undulating paths of the mountain forest, his legs moved in a blur. After several leaps, his trail became impossible to track; an onlooker might have mistaken him for one of the mountain apes.

For now, he did not intend to use the pre-arranged spider-web of threads to move. Chixinzi was likely watching him from a more open area or a higher vantage point; only by hiding in the dense, leafy mountain forest could he evade the pursuit of Chixinzi and the Severed Ghost Hands.

"Senior, over here!"

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the bushes ahead. It was Cheng Zhi, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

(How is he here?!)

He Ping's five senses were far sharper than an ordinary person's, not to mention his soul's ability to sense the surrounding environment—he didn't need his eyes or ears to detect killing intent or hostility. Yet, in this instant, he hadn't sensed Cheng Zhi's presence at all.

He adjusted the ghost mask on his face, his foot seemingly slipping, and his body veered off his original path, sprinting in a direction away from Cheng Zhi.

But the moment he moved, Cheng Zhi's toes pushed off the ground, and he leaped, hooking and kicking to climb a large tree before swinging over on a vine.

"Die!"

With a swing, he roared, drew the Burmese iron blade from his waist, and dropped from the air, his right hand gripping the blade as he slashed directly at He Ping's back.

"Seeking death."

Even without turning around, He Ping could sense what was happening behind him. He didn't wonder why Cheng Zhi would try to kill him; since Chixinzi had already appeared, it was inevitable that this kid would be seduced by him and turn against him.

Without turning, he flicked his sleeve backward, and the Milo Blade erupted through the air, whistling as it dispersed.

At this instant, Cheng Zhi's eyes turned a ghostly green, as if a demonic power had taken residence within them. His right hand, which gripped the Burmese Iron Soft Blade, and the blade itself began to emit a faint, strange radiance.

Hum...

The blade slashed through the air, shattering the Milo Blade's web of refined silk threads layer by layer as it rapidly closed the distance to He Ping's back.

This time, He Ping had nowhere left to hide. He spun around abruptly, the fingernails on his right hand, hidden within his sleeve, turning pitch black as he tapped lightly against the air.

With a crisp ding, the incoming Burmese Iron Soft Blade shattered into pieces, and Cheng Zhi spat out a mouthful of blood, his entire body sent flying backward.

"Fool, do you really think..."

Before He Ping could finish his sentence, the blood and qi throughout his body suddenly seized up, and a bone-chilling force seeped into his frame. He realized something was wrong and looked up, only to see Cheng Zhi, who had collapsed not far away, staring at him with eyes that shifted eerily, as if a void flame were burning within his pupils.

What... what kind of bizarre technique is this?!

He Ping's face was filled with astonishment. Suddenly, it felt as if his body had been seized by some foreign entity; his muscles went limp, heavy as iron sinking into deep water, and even his mind felt as if it were being hollowed out.

His entire body felt frozen by an alien force, and his consciousness seemed to be slowly dissolving, drifting toward a state of total detachment.

Only then did he realize that some evil art had been cast upon Cheng Zhi's body, turning him into a "medium" to reach him—no, it didn't even require physical contact. As long as their eyes met, the evil art would cling to him like maggots on a bone, invading his very being.

No, this isn't targeting my body. This power is aimed at a cultivator's soul. If that's the case—

In an instant, the sensation of his entire body being frozen began to slowly recede. Control over his flesh and blood returned to his mind, and the influence of the evil art began to lose its effect.

That's right, this must be an evil art specifically designed to affect a person's soul and will. It can be transmitted through one's gaze, but this kind of move, for me...

He Ping let out a silent, mocking laugh in his heart.

He was different from ordinary people. Hidden within his consciousness were two souls: one was his own soul as a transmigrator, and the other belonged to the original owner of this body.

The evil art transmitted through the Eye-Borrowing Technique could only affect one of his souls. For instance, right now, the murky, sinister power generated by the technique was contaminating the original owner's soul, but it had absolutely no effect on his own.

It is completely useless against me—