Escape from the Ghost Domain

Just as Meng Changxi reached out to steal the Buddhist treasure, an invisible wave of sound swept over him like a raging tide and slammed into his body. Caught off guard, he flew backward like a kite with its string cut and crashed heavily against the edge of the offering table. A coppery sweetness rose in his throat, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Inside the ruined temple, sinister winds gusted and candle flames flickered, illuminating the Corpse Buddha's thousand-odd shriveled eyeballs as they spun wildly. Its gaze locked onto the two sacrifices who had escaped the temple. The Corpse Buddha could act only within this ruined temple; once its sacrifices escaped the ghost domain, it could no longer bring its powers to bear.

Unless...

The Corpse Buddha slowly turned, its thousand-odd eyes fixing in unison on Meng Changxi, who had just climbed to his feet.

Meng Changxi's heart tightened, and a chill shot up his spine. But he had always been decisive, and a ruthless gleam flashed in his eyes. Without hesitation, he reached into the shrine, snatched out the Buddhist treasure, and tucked it securely against his chest.

Then, with a flick of his right hand, he produced a grappling claw from somewhere and flung it upward. The claw spun three times through the air before hooking firmly onto a roof beam. Rotten wood splintered and dust billowed. Meng Changxi hauled on it, his round, plump body springing up as lightly as a swallow. His toes tapped the offering table, and he shot upward. Releasing the claw, he caught the beam with his other hand, flipped like a sparrowhawk, and landed steadily atop it.

Had the monk been there, he would surely have recognized the grappling claw as the Yin-Seeking Claw of the Grave-Robbing Commanders' lineage.

As Meng Changxi flipped upward, he glanced at the Corpse Buddha standing by the doorway, and doubt suddenly stirred in his heart—the Corpse Buddha had not moved at all. It merely watched him coldly with its thousand-odd eyes.

Something was wrong!

But he had no time to dwell on it.

Standing on the beam, Meng Changxi pulled a paper talisman from behind his waist, a trace of reluctance flashing in his eyes. This talisman had been his greatest safeguard for this journey, yet now he had no choice but to use it here.

The Corpse Buddha's thousand-odd eyes watched him like venomous snakes, making every hair on his body stand on end. Without hesitation, he bit his index finger and smeared blood onto the talisman. Holding it in his left hand, he drew a Baleful-Breaking Nail with his right, swiftly pressed the talisman against the roof, and drove the nail viciously through it.

Boom! Golden light burst from the talisman, and the crimson palm prints roaming across the roof scattered like a startled shoal of fish.

The Baleful-Breaking Nail pierced the roof, opening a fist-sized hole. Fresh air surged in like a tide.

Meng Changxi was overjoyed and silently congratulated himself. Naturally, he had something to rely on if he dared scheme against Zhang Xuan and the monk. As an heir to the grave-robbing lineage, he was versed in opening burial chambers and breaking formations. So long as the two of them held the Corpse Buddha back for a moment, he would have a chance to escape unscathed with the Buddhist treasure.

He had stolen this Three Mountains Shatter Peaks Talisman from an elder of his sect. There were only three in the entire grave-robbing lineage, making it extraordinarily precious. Yet compared with that Buddhist treasure, what did a mere talisman amount to?

Meng Changxi suppressed the heat and excitement in his chest and leaped. His round, plump body slammed toward the opening in the roof like a cannonball, and he sprang out of the ruined temple.

Yet the instant he left the temple, sinister winds erupted around the Corpse Buddha, which had been standing silently at the doorway. A few breaths later, it vanished into thin air.

At the same time, the eyes of the two-faced Buddha head tucked against Meng Changxi's chest, previously closed in a compassionate expression, slowly opened. A crimson glow gradually brightened within them...

After they left the ruined temple, surging water surrounded them, its waist-deep currents seeming ready to swallow them whole.

Knowing this was an illusion, Zhang Xuan simply closed his right eye and quietly activated the Nether Candle Mystic Eyes in his left. The scene before him changed instantly—the waist-deep water vanished without a trace, replaced by a thin layer of blood-colored mud beneath his feet.

This blood-colored mud was strange. It seemed less like dead matter than something alive. Paying close attention, Zhang Xuan could feel a pulse-like throbbing beneath his feet.

The blood-colored mud originated in the ruined temple that housed the Corpse Buddha. Flowing down its steps, it covered an area extending several thousand meters around the temple. It was presumably one of the Corpse Buddha's supernatural powers.

[Name: Followers’ Flesh and Blood]

[Type: Innate supernatural power]

[Abilities: Perception, illusions]

[Description: Soil saturated with the flesh and blood of the Phoenix-Cry Mountain God's followers. Where followers dwell, faith dwells. A powerful mountain god can know everything through what its followers see and hear, and can also perceive through their flesh and blood. Who says followers who have died and become minced flesh no longer count as followers?]

"A mountain god?"

Zhang Xuan frowned at the information provided by the Nether Candle Mystic Eyes. The Headless Corpse Buddha's verse had hinted at its extraordinary origins, but he had never expected it to be the transformed Orthodox God of a mountain. That certainly warranted deeper thought...

Since it was the former Phoenix-Cry Mountain God, and they were still treading upon this Followers’ Flesh and Blood, they had not truly escaped danger as long as they remained within Phoenix-Cry Mountain's boundaries.

Zhang Xuan and the Monk dared not pause for even a moment, trudging laboriously through the mire of flesh and blood.

Thanks to the Nether Candle Mystic Eyes, a mere illusion could not affect him.

Although the Monk was still caught in the illusion, surrounded by water half a person's height, his skills were remarkable. Even trapped in an illusion, he moved no slower than Zhang Xuan. It was just that...

From Zhang Xuan's perspective, the bald monk was hopping around on level ground, which looked rather comical.

By now, the thunder in the sky was fading into the distance. Fierce winds howled, as though urging them to leave as quickly as possible.

"Brother Zhang Xuan, what was going on with that Meng Changxi?" the Monk asked between running strides and nimble leaps.

With no outsiders present, the Monk no longer addressed Zhang Xuan as a Daoist.

"Hah... hadn't you already noticed something was wrong with him?" Zhang Xuan asked back, panting heavily.

The monk nodded. "Before entering Phoenix-Cry Mountain, I stayed for a few days in Kangyang Town at its foot, so I sounded him out a little. But Meng Changxi was a meticulous fellow. There were no holes in his answers."

Zhang Xuan realized that his stamina really was a serious problem. The Monk beside him had been running through the illusion all this time without so much as a heavy breath and even had the energy to strike up a conversation. Meanwhile, Zhang Xuan was practically coughing up his lungs.

"Then... then how did you find the hole in his story?"

The monk held nothing back and explained everything. "There was a drought this year, and Kangyang Town was among the affected areas. Never mind a scholar in patched robes—even the landlords with fields and estates were all so hungry their faces were sallow and their bodies emaciated..."

Zhang Xuan understood without needing him to continue. Meng Changxi was fair-skinned and plump. He certainly could not be a resident of Kangyang Town who had just lived through a year of disaster.

In the urgency of the moment, the Monk had not delved into why Zhang Xuan had allowed Meng Changxi to destroy the Two-Faced Buddha Head. Thinking back now, Zhang Xuan had shown no surprise at Meng Changxi's betrayal. No, not merely no surprise—he had even seemed somewhat relieved.

His lungs felt as though they were on fire, and Zhang Xuan slowed a little.

The Monk, too, had noticed that his strength was nearly spent. That was why he had tried to distract him with conversation.

Zhang Xuan adjusted his breathing, trying to steady it. Only after a while, when his lungs felt less painful, did he speak. "If I'm not mistaken, Meng Changxi was probably with the two corpses we saw earlier in the black coffin."

The Monk's thick eyebrows rose. "You mean they were... grave robbers?"