Chapter 150 — Frenzy

Mingli gave a bitter smile, but said nothing, and slowly rose to his feet. Xiaobai looked at him and said softly, "It's the Blood-Devouring Bead, isn't it?"

Mingli picked up the Soul-Devouring Demon Staff, which had at some point fallen to the ground. He looked at it deeply, then once again stowed it away in his sleeve.

Xiaobai's eye twitched. Suddenly she stepped forward. "Don't think that saying nothing keeps others from knowing," she said. "The Blood-Devouring Bead's vicious demonic force has already begun to devour you in turn. Over these ten years, your meridians and vital blood have long since grown yin-cold and venomous from day and night in the company of that foul thing. That you have escaped death now is only by luck—you actually obtained the Mystic Fire Mirror, one of the few treasures in this world capable of contending with the Blood-Devouring Bead. But…" Her face seemed somewhat bleak, and even her voice grew world-weary. "But are you sure you can escape it a few times? The next time—can you escape it then?"

Mingli had stood there all along, his haggard face betraying little, listening quietly to Xiaobai. After a long while, he said softly, "I'm not sure. But what else can I do?"

Xiaobai bit her white teeth, angry. "Don't play the fool with me—as if you don't know! There is only one way now: cast off this foul thing at once, then take the Mystic Fire Mirror to a place of utmost yang and use the earth-fire to drive the pure yang of the Mystic Fire Mirror into your body. That is the only way you can live!"

Mingli looked at Xiaobai for a long while, then suddenly smiled. That smile held a curious innocence, as though he were the simple Qingyun youth of ten distant years ago.

Then he slowly turned, and as though utterly spent, made his way along the wall. Little Grey at once ran to his master and scrambled up onto Mingli's shoulder in a few quick bounds.

Xiaobai stared blankly at that back—resolute, yet at the same time betraying its fragility. Suddenly she cried out loudly, "You want to die, don't you? In your heart you simply want to die, isn't that right?"

Mingli's body paused, but he did not turn back, nor did he speak. After a moment, he continued walking forward.

Xiaobai's voice came loudly from behind him. "You want to die? Don't dream of it! You haven't yet repaid your debts to all the people in this world you owe, and you think you can end it all with death? Impossible! You won't listen to me, will you? Fine, you're so formidable—then I'll go myself. I'll go find the true incantation of the 'Eight Fiends Mystic Fire Formation' and let you save yourself. Mark my words: Bili is still lying in that ice-cold stone chamber, and until she wakes, even dying is not up to you!…"

"Not up to you, not up to you, not up to you…" The echo came faintly from the distant reaches of the long, dark passage. Mingli's face was ashen; he slowly straightened his back, but in the end he still did not turn back for one last look.

A dense forest, a secluded valley—morning in the Valley of Venomous Snakes had once been a quiet and peaceful place. But at this moment the earth was gradually trembling, the stench growing heavier and heavier, and the countless venomous snakes that had gathered and slithered along the valley's edge had suddenly vanished, as though dimly sensing something; all these creatures had gone into hiding.

A stretch of black smoke and dust appeared far off in the valley and came rushing swiftly toward the Valley of Venomous Snakes. A thick, choking stench filled the air, and ever-growing roars gradually merged into a single earth-shaking howl!

Closer and closer!

"ROAAAAR—!"

They were countless monsters, like malevolent ghosts and savage souls charging out of the Nine Hells, blood-red eyes and keen fangs, their shrill roars rushing head-on. All manner of grotesque monsters and demonic beasts had gathered into an irresistible surging torrent. Before this ferocious flood, no one could stand or survive; even the forest trees lining both sides of the path were swiftly swallowed by the torrent amid the thunderous roaring.

Without hesitation, without pause, the torrent plunged straight into the Valley of Venomous Snakes, like black tidewater pouring in an instant into a green ocean. In every corner of the forest, venomous snakes were hurled out in terror, struggling desperately within the flood, but without exception they were submerged in an instant. Even the forest's poisoned rainbow mist could not stop this dreadful flood of beast-demons; the dozen or so charging at the very front fell dead, but countless more trampled their companions' corpses and surged on irresistibly, and a mighty hurricane scattered the colored poison mist in the blink of an eye, carrying it drifting high above the forest.

Within the black torrent of beast-demons, four or five powerful demonic beasts—looking dozens of times larger than ordinary monsters—led their underlings forward, fangs bared and claws spread. And at the entrance to the Valley of Venomous Snakes, countless more monsters still poured in without end.

The whole of Snake Valley seemed to be shivering at that moment. Everything looked like the end of the world.

At the other end of Snake Valley, the Underworld King stood on high ground and drew a deep breath. He had seen the ferocity of the beast-demons before, yet the scene before him still drained the color from his face. He steadied himself, brooded a moment, then looked toward the forest north of Snake Valley; beneath the morning sunlight, a faint shimmering reflection glinted among the trees.

A cold smile slowly surfaced at the corner of the Underworld King's mouth: one day, all of you will know who it is that wins in the end.

He roared it in his heart, and his expression gradually hardened. Bili was gone—then let the world make up for it!

He turned slowly. Behind him in the dense forest stood the disciples of the Underworld King Sect, packed so tightly they filled the woods, their fighting spirit burning high. The Underworld King gazed at the men before him, countless eyes fixed upon his face.

In that moment, who could know what was in his heart?

His arm rose slowly, seeming to grow heavy; from afar the roaring and the rising screams of terror seemed to reach even here. The Underworld King's expression shifted once more—then he brought his raised arm down hard.

His arm was a blade, a keen edge slashing at the world, severing the last of tenderness, tearing apart dreams once held; the sound it cut through the wind was like bone snapping inside a chest!

Behind his towering figure, countless men raised a cry of boiling blood and surged down the mountain with blades held high, sleeves flying, a fierce wind hissing; the trees of the forest swayed and shook as if dancing wildly to it. The Underworld King stood amid the tide of men like hard, cold rock, unmoving. He turned and looked to the northern forest, where the woods too stirred in a ripple that slowly spread outward.

The Underworld King laughed—there in that sea of men marching to their deaths he suddenly threw back his head and laughed wildly. The laughter was so harsh on the ear that none dared question him a single word; only the morning sun, just risen, still carried a faint warmth as it rushed upon this mad mortal world!

Seven days later, entrusted by the Orthodox leaders—Daoist Zhenren Daoyan, Abbess Pucheng, Yun Yifeng, and the others—a party of Orthodox disciples set out from Canglan Mountain and reached the southwestern lands. Because the matter was grave, all three great sects sent their most capable disciples, and as if by coincidence, these people had long known one another.