Chapter 151: Demonic Mist

Ming Lan was injured?

The whole scene was far too bizarre—especially that abrupt comment from Elder He—which immediately put Yu Ci on alert. He turned his head to look and saw Ming Lan still coughing up blood, unable to even straighten her back. 

At this moment, she looked older and frailer than ever, so much so that one might wonder if she’d collapse and die the very next second.

But the eyes can often deceive.

Yu Ci narrowed his eyes. In response, his soul sense picked up something—over at Ming Lan’s location, a radiance was flickering.

That light was so distinct that even without the Divine Illumination Bronze Mirror, he could “see” it purely through his soul sense. 

At her position, the light pulsed and morphed constantly, its brightness surging and dimming in irregular rhythms. The light and heat it emitted seemed to dominate everything, even masking Ming Lan’s own vital essence.

Yet, in such a state, Ming Lan still trembled as she took steps toward them. At first, she coughed incessantly, but after walking about twenty or thirty steps, the coughing began to ease. Then, she took out a handkerchief and slowly wiped the blood from her lips and hands.

By the time she finished, she had already passed Yu Ci’s position and arrived at the spot where Immortal Chi Yin had fallen. She bowed her head to look down, her gray hair hanging loose, obscuring her expression from view.

Now, the one closest to her was actually Elder He. The female cultivator remained stern, though now her seriousness carried a hint of gravity. She opened her mouth and said:

“Whether this affects the relations between our two sects depends on both parties’ perspectives. What do you think?”

A figure flickered at Yu Ci’s side—Elder Yu Zhou had arrived. 

Yu Ci seemed to hear sword qi whistling in the void. The atmosphere shifted sharply in that moment.

Pressure came down from the sky as well, but before he could examine it closely, Ming Lan spoke:

“Very impressive.”

Her voice seemed to resonate through her chest and throat before vibrating the air. It didn’t sound loud at first, but even the eardrums quivered from the force of it.

Yu Ci’s brow twitched. That didn’t sound like Ming Lan’s usual tone—and what did she mean by those words?

She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she slowly squatted down and placed a hand gently on Chi Yin’s now-cold chest. Her lips parted slightly, and she seemed to be chanting scripture. Though it sounded like a hazy murmur, each syllable rang clearly in everyone’s ears. 

At first, no one could understand the awkward, archaic verses. But in the latter part, it felt as though she were speaking with someone, word for word, crystal clear:

“My Lord once said: The human heart is most wondrous. It contains the most splendid hues of the world, the most stirring of sounds, the richest of fragrances. Compared to it, so-called spirit fruits and fine delicacies are but tasteless wax, unfit to be eaten. Thus, for sacrificial offerings, the human heart is of the highest grade, followed by flesh, spirit, and soul. Then come the natural spiritual treasures, and finally, mortal offerings may be dispensed with entirely.”

Yu Ci held his breath. That voice rolled over like waves on a lake, threatening to drown everyone in its tide. Within it was a bone-piercing chill, enveloping all and cutting straight to the marrow.

Just then, Ming Lan lifted her head. Despite her aged face, she suddenly broke into a dazzling smile, making her look twenty years younger in an instant:

“A single surge of human emotion can twist and churn like a roc soaring ten thousand miles, as dazzling as fireworks streaking across the sky, mixing five colors and five aromas, ever-changing and pleasing to the eye. Isn’t that wonderful? Why would the Divine Lord ever be displeased?”

The Divine Lord again?

Yu Ci felt as though his head was swelling. He understood every word Ming Lan said, but together, the meaning became increasingly intangible, as if only an ethereal image remained, drifting before his eyes, merging into Ming Lan herself—and her radiant smile now carried a suffocating intensity.

A sword cry rang beside him—perhaps a warning from Yu Zhou. 

Ming Lan seemed to hear it too, and her smile dimmed slightly. She raised her hand and pointed to the sky:

“Shouldn’t you be paying more attention up there?”

What now?

Ming Lan’s gesture had a magnetic pull. 

In that moment, everyone—Yu Ci, Yu Zhou, Elder He, even Xie Yan and Xie Liang in the sky—couldn’t help but follow the direction she pointed with their eyes.

Up there, a serpent-shaped shadow swam through the sky. It had just swallowed a True Immortal’s Yang Spirit and was now digesting. And under everyone’s gaze, the serpent began to show signs of distress.

Its long body twisted abnormally, and a distinct bulge appeared around its belly, as though it might burst open at any moment.

Elder He furrowed her delicate brows, murmured a spell, and the serpent coiled tightly before stretching out suddenly. Borrowing that force, its maw opened wide, and it spat out a pillar of gray mist—about the thickness of a child’s arm, stretching several dozen meters—before finally stopping after five breaths.

No sooner had the serpent finished expelling the mist than it began to swirl, forming a massive cloud of gray fog. Wind and cloud surged as the fog turned into a vortex. Occasionally, golden serpents flitted through it, light flashing in and out. The world’s elemental energy was pulled toward the center, converging as if something were about to be born.

Was that still the True Immortal’s Yang Spirit? Why had the color changed?

Sword cries rang out from above. 

Xie Yan raised his sword, sending sharp sword qi slashing through the gray mist. Though he scattered some of it, that was all he achieved. His expression grew even graver. 

Meanwhile, Xie Liang repositioned himself mid-air. The thunder pearl he’d charged for years revealed itself, now the size of a fist, floating over his shoulder. A net of lightning flickered around him as he began drawing talismans and forming seals.

On the ground, an unnoticed mist had started to form—sword qi condensed by the old daoist.

Without a doubt, the situation was changing—and not in their favor.

Yu Ci didn’t know what the four of them saw. His own soul sense could barely probe the gray fog—its power was overwhelming. Even in the realm of soul sense, the vortex was immense, instantly swallowing any mental probe. His spirit itself began to tremble, threatening to leave his body again.

Having previously suffered from having his soul forcibly yanked out, Yu Ci didn’t dare take the risk. He quickly retracted his soul sense. But just then, he noticed something strange from Ming Lan’s direction.

In his soul sense, she had always been a beacon of light. Now, however, that light was shifting rapidly—too erratic for his senses to lock onto. What he saw with his eyes no longer matched what his senses told him, and the resulting feedback caused a wave of dizziness.

Yu Ci blinked—and in that split second, Ming Lan’s form began to blur. Not just her, but also the fallen Chi Yin and the surrounding few feet of space, all rippled unnaturally like an illusion.

Yu Zhou noticed and called out, “Junior Sister He!” 

But Elder He, closest to the phenomenon, only shook her head.

“A Great Illusion Transposition—thousands of miles in a blink. Even the Great Net of Heaven and Earth has only a fifty percent chance of containment. It’s not worth the distraction!”

As her voice fell, Ming Lan’s location became completely empty.

Yu Ci had not spoken a word all along. He simply narrowed his eyes, gazing at the now-vacant space. Light glinted between his lashes, cold as a blade.

The old daoist extended a hand, shielding Yu Ci and gently said, “Focus on what’s in front of us. That True Immortal’s Yang Spirit turning demonic… it’s only going to get harder. Your Aunt Master He’s ‘Great Net of Heaven and Earth’ might struggle with just this one.”

Yu Ci gave a quiet “mm.” He wasn’t one to dwell on what had passed and let it cloud his judgment. 

The situation was indeed tense. 

From where he stood, Xie Yan and Xie Liang formed the first defensive line in the sky. Yu Zhou was the second. Elder He, with her Great Net of Heaven and Earth, seemed to be controlling the spiritual energies within ten miles, trying to interfere with the Yang Spirit’s qi convergence—but with little effect.

Just then, a figure suddenly descended—Xie Yan. His sword had already been sheathed.

“Senior Brother Xie?” Yu Zhou was surprised.

Xie Yan’s water-colored eyes flicked toward Yu Ci, then said, “Something’s off. Did you see that barrier above?”

Yu Zhou nodded. “It seals clarity and lets heart demons run rampant. Ruthless indeed. But using it on a Yang Spirit… that’s just insane.”

“I feel like I’ve seen this technique before. Back when you trained in the south—does it ring any bells?”

“The south?”

With the hint, Yu Zhou’s mind clicked. He glanced toward Elder He, voice dropping a pitch. “The Celestial Star-Severing Lock?”

Smack—Xie Yan clapped his fist into his palm. 

In the next instant, he grabbed Yu Ci and bolted backward, shouting, “Get back! That’s not forming a body—it’s a heart demon outbreak… He Qing!”

Yu Ci was yanked away like a lightning bolt. 

Behind them, Yu Zhou rose on his sword, turning into a shimmering stream of water, following close behind. 

Even now, Yu Ci found himself thinking, ‘So her full name is He Qing…’

At that moment, He Qing’s chanting sped up dramatically. A band of light reappeared in the sky, lengthening and circling the fog. The moment its ends connected, a “zzt” echoed in the void, and the sky shook. 

The condensing force within the fog halted for a moment—then surged outward in a blast. But the light band locked the outer layer, barely holding the first wave at bay.

Now the gray mist looked like a fat man squeezed at the waist—sunken in the middle, wisps of cloud squeezed from the sides. Under the magnetic pull of the band, those wisps curved back inward, latching onto the ring like woven vines. The entire formation resembled a meticulously crafted flower basket.

But anyone could see—it wouldn’t last.

Xie Liang began retreating. Surrounded by lightning and golden serpents, he vanished with a thunderclap. When he reappeared, he was near Yu Ci and the others. 

Finally, He Qing retreated. Though she still chanted, each step took her a hundred paces—compressing distance with ease, not the least bit slow.

Then, the band gave out under the pressure. The gray mist exploded outward, and just as it did, the long-silent Yang Spirit’s shrill voice blasted from the sky:

“Yu Qingxuan, I’ll f*ck you ten thousand times over!”

The voice echoed in their ears, full of desperation and venom.

As it rang out, the gray mist burst like a storm, spreading across ten miles in the blink of an eye, shrouding the skies and moon alike. Under the pitch-dark heavens, blue-gray energy twisted and churned, as if a thousand ghosts had been unleashed, charging straight toward them.