In the main hall, Hu Ling'er lay motionless on the Dragon Qilin's back, secretly opening her eyes to see heads tumbling down one by one.
The scene was bizarre — there were no enemies in sight, yet every Celestial Being who stepped into the courtyard dropped dead on the spot!
The others stood on high alert. A Celestial Being shouted, his sword energy crystallizing into frost that coiled around his body as he slowly stepped into the courtyard, his gaze sweeping warily in all directions.
His swordwork was fierce — countless sword lights swirled around him like tiny fish, darting playfully in circles. He had adopted a purely defensive stance: thousands of miniature sword-fish encircled him, harboring his vast cultivation. At the first sign of hostility, they would counterattack with lethal precision!
He had no choice. The enemy came and went without a trace — he couldn't even tell where the enemy was or how they struck, yet so many Celestial Beings had already perished. It was beyond strange.
He encountered no danger, but still dared not relax his vigilance. He slowly advanced toward the main hall where Qin Mu and the others slept — and then he saw the painting hanging before the door.
Qin Mu had lit a candle in front of it, casting its glow upon the artwork.
The painting depicted the back of a middle-aged man, a sword strapped across his back. The man's face was turned slightly to the side, as if looking at the painter from the corner of his eye.
His sidelong glance carried murderous intent that could shake the heavens.
That fleeting glimpse had been captured by the painter and transformed into this masterpiece.
Though only this single figure appeared in the painting, the impression it gave was that countless details remained unpainted — hidden within the blank spaces.
An apocalyptic battle had just ended. The corpses of countless powerhouses lay crumbled at this man's feet, rising and falling in a sea of blood. Bones, dyed red, gleamed with an unnatural hue. Countless slain souls under his blade were seized by messengers of the underworld and dragged into the darkness.
And in that dark realm, a demonic god with two nine-bowed horns was hosting a grand celebration — reveling in the arrival of these souls as his honored guests and nourishment.
This was the hidden message concealed within the blank spaces of the painting!
In the courtyard, the Celestial Being saw the painting and its subject. He froze — and in that instant, perceived his own head sliding from his neck. Everything seemed to slow, as though he were plummeting into a lightless void, sinking deeper and deeper, endless, never reaching the bottom.
Thud.
His head hit the ground and rolled twice, eyes still wide with shock.
Suddenly, a large hand reached out and snatched the severed head.
Outside the courtyard stood nine others, faces drained of terror. Only the white-browed elder, Daoist Qingshan, remained composed — and it was he who had seized the head.
He was the only expert among them at the Life-and-Death realm.
Daoist Qingshan looked into the dead man's eyes and exhaled a heavy breath: "Fine swordwork."
The others rushed over, voices trembling: "Senior Qingshan, what did you discover?"
"Look at his eyes."
The eight crowded close. In each of the dead man's pupils, a sliver of sword light remained — as though the blade had struck head-on, and in the next instant, life had been snuffed out.
Daoist Qingshan lifted the head and aimed it toward the hall where Qin Mu and the others slept. "The sword came from there. What lies within?"
He shifted his body slowly, adjusting his angle until he glimpsed the flicker of candlelight, then the edge of the painting: "It is a painting. I can see the hem of the subject's robe..."
"Senior Qingshan, why bother with such caution? Just destroy the house and everyone inside!"
A Celestial Being suddenly attacked — a sword pearl shot skyward, its light erupting like a pillar that screamed toward the hall where Qin Mu and the others lay!
The sword pillar was enormous; everything it passed was shredded by the spiraling blade energy!
The Coiling Sword Style, created by the State Preceptor of Yankang!
The State Preceptor of Yankang was not one to hoard his knowledge. Many of his techniques had already spread throughout the land, and numerous sword sects practiced his methods. This attacker was one of the more skilled among them.
His mastery of the Coiling Sword Style surpassed many others.
This strike was monumental — if it struck the hall, everything inside would be ground to dust. Qin Mu, the Futian Demon God, the Dragon Qilin — all would be obliterated!
"Do not direct killing intent at that painting!"
Daoist Qingshan's face changed. He tried to intervene, but it was too late.
The sword pillar suddenly froze in midair, as though striking an invisible wall. Then it crumbled inch by inch — and with a sharp crack, the sword pearl exploded.
A red mark appeared between the attacker's brows. A single drop of blood seeped out, and then he swayed and toppled with a thud.
"Guard yourselves!" Daoist Qingshan roared.
His aura erupted — six thunderous booms sounded from within as all six of his divine repositories opened: Spirit Womb, Five Planets, Six Harmonies, Seven Stars, Celestial Being, and Life-and-Death!
The Celestial Beings around him were driven back by the overwhelming force of his presence.
Whoosh—
Behind Daoist Qingshan, the phantom of a divine demon materialized — a dragon-headed figure, half in the void, half stepping into reality, like a god descending upon the world.
Daoist Qingshan gripped a luminous mirror, staring at the hall with taut intensity, his voice hoarse: "Will you guard yourselves or not? Do you have a death wish?"
At that moment, Qin Mu — feigning sleep — cracked his eyes open and saw a figure descend from the wall behind him. He could only make out the back of a middle-aged man, stretched long by the candlelight.
The man who stepped down from the painting was tall and gaunt, with a precious sword across his back. Utterly silent, like a spirit without flesh, he drifted toward the courtyard.
The figure gazed up at the sky, drew the sword from his back, and danced the blade while singing softly. Sword light flashed as fish and dragons cavorted.
"A single sword opens the Imperial blood ocean — the mountains and rivers remain, but my heart is lost. Left and right I gaze, yet the old kingdom is gone, and men still wear their ancient garb..."
Qin Mu did not dare move. He felt the entire world fill with razor-sharp sword energy, weaving past him, shuttling through time and space.
He closed his eyes, but behind his lids, sword light still slashed through the darkness.
His ears caught the sound of blade energy piercing the air — urgent, clipped.
He opened his eyes. Sword light crisscrossed everywhere. From outside the courtyard came furious shouts and terrifying shockwaves. In the dim night, the other houses of the little village flew into the air, disintegrating mid-flight.
Qin Mu's heart hammered: "Grandpa Deaf animated it — he animated the Village Chief from the painting..."
Then suddenly, all sound and light vanished. The low singing faded into silence.
Qin Mu's eyes, half-open, vaguely saw a figure approaching — heading back toward the painting behind him. Then the figure collapsed, dissolving into a puddle of ink on the ground.
Qin Mu stared, then carefully turned to look behind him. The painting on the wall had become a blank sheet of paper.
The candle flickered. All was silent.
Qin Mu exhaled a long breath. Hu Ling'er opened her eyes and whispered, "Young Master..."
"We are safe now. Go to sleep."
Qin Mu said, "Tomorrow we must cross the mountains. There is a long road ahead."
Hu Ling'er tucked her head back down. Qin Mu lay back as well, gazing at the blank paper behind the candlelight, a deep calm settling over his heart.
The next morning, Qin Mu woke and stepped into the courtyard. The little village from the night before had been reduced to bare ground — the other houses had vanished entirely. Only their half of the courtyard remained, walls crumbled, the east room collapsed on one side, the roof of the west room gone.
Qin Mu washed up and set up the pot to make breakfast. Hu Ling'er repaired the Futian Demon King's mechanical body, then ran off with him, shrieking with delight.
Dragon Qilin awoke groggily, shuffled outside, took one look around, yawned, licked his paws, then sloppily scrubbed his face with the wet fur. Curious, he asked, "Where are we now? What happened to yesterday's village... Cult Master, is breakfast ready? Can you sprinkle a little cumin on my Crimson Fire Spirit Pills today? I feel like a change of flavor..."
Qin Mu grabbed a pinch of cumin and scattered it over half adou of Crimson Fire Spirit Pills.
Dragon Qilin looked down at his meal, then looked up, confused: "Only half adou?"
Qin Mu snapped, "You're so fat you can barely move! Half adou is more than enough!"
Dragon Qilin protested, "But I'm still growing. If you cut my rations, I'll never reach my full size..."
"Growing?"
Qin Mu flew into a rage, trying to pinch the flesh on his belly — and finding it impossible to get a grip. "You're not growing. You're putting on fat. Pinch yourself and see if you can even make a crease!"
Dragon Qilin tried pinching himself and confirmed he truly could not: "I'm the type that gains weight just from drinking cold water..."
Hu Ling'er ran over, furious: "Then from now on, just drink cold water, you fat dragon!"
Dragon Qilin hastily shielded his Crimson Fire Spirit Pills, grinning sheepishly: "It's only because I'm afraid of being hungry — I always want to eat a little more. Half adou is fine, truly. Any less and I'll be nothing but skin and bones."
The Futian Demon King walked over. Seeing that Qin Mu had already finished eating and was taking down the blank painting from the hall wall, he asked, "Was this painted by your elder?"
Qin Mu nodded.
The Futian Demon King was silent for a moment. "The person in the painting — is that also your elder?"
Qin Mu rolled up the scroll and placed it in his glutton bag, nodding again.
The Futian Demon King said, "I do not fear them. However, locking me inside this statue is no solution. Why not release the seal? I will withdraw my consciousness from your world and return to the Futian realm, never to set foot here again."
Qin Mu offered no reply. "Ling'er, eat up. We need to keep moving."
The Futian Demon King's head throbbed.
After Hu Ling'er finished eating, Qin Mu helped wash the dishes and packed them into the glutton bag. He checked the remaining supplies inside: "Should last us until the Great Ruins. Let's go, Your Majesty."
The Futian Demon King followed, muttering, "I do not fear them. Were my true form to descend, none would dare—"
The Dividing Mountain Range stretched on for untold thousands of miles. Qin Mu and the others reached the foot of the range and found the mountains impossibly steep — even spirit apes could not scale them, and flying birds could not cross.
Qin Mu took out the Yankang geographical map and studied it carefully, then smiled: "Withered Ridge canyon is not far from here. Let's go!"
As he spoke, a crack split the dark clouds overhead. A colossal red serpent thrust its head through the gap, breathing great gouts of fire that scattered the clouds in every direction. Then golden swarms of insects poured from the rift and dispersed in all directions. A few of the insects flew toward them.