Jiu Shan's face twisted hideously as he struggled with all his might.
In the space of an instant, he cycled through more than a dozen arts and divine abilities: the Blood Primordial Spirit Divine Art, Sun-Swallowing Collapse Fist, Asura Baleful Palm, Netherworld Ghost Steps... Each was a supreme technique he had poured his heart and soul into mastering, and each could strike terror into the vast majority of cultivators in the world at the mere mention of its name.
Yet before this blind old monk, amid the Buddhist chanting that filled the sky, everything proved futile.
The invisible restraints did not budge.
At last, a trace of fear surfaced in Jiu Shan's eyes-the fear of a power he had never encountered, one that lay beyond his understanding.
He hardened his heart, a savage resolve flashing through his eyes. If he did not find a way to escape now, he would never get away.
Boom!
With a muffled explosion, Jiu Shan's body burst into a cloud of blood mist. Thick as syrup, it rapidly evaporated beneath the Buddhist light and dispersed.
From within that bloody mist, countless phantom images of Jiu Shan shot in every direction like startled birds. Each carried a faint aura, real mingling with false, substance with illusion, making it impossible to tell which was his true body.
The Buddhist light shone over all. Like moths flying into a flame, the phantoms vanished into nothingness the instant they touched it.
Still, a few managed to escape the reach of the light. They streaked across the night sky and disappeared in an instant into the boundless darkness.
The old monk raised his head, his blind eyes "gazing" into the night sky, toward where the fleeing phantoms had vanished.
His expression was sorrowful, his eyes filled with compassion.
"For such