Autumn winds swept across the ground, withered yellow leaves fluttering through the air.

Sunlight poured onto the dilapidated thatched cottage, yet left no warmth behind.

After Song Qian Ji left, Meng Zheng Xian remained seated in his original position. The cold noodle soup still sat on the table.

Suddenly birds took flight in alarm, and beasts scurried in panic.

Black shadows flashed across the sky and through the dense forest, stirring up clouds of dust with their movements.

Meng Zheng Xian sat with half-closed eyes, fingering his prayer beads, as if he noticed nothing unusual and couldn’t sense the changes in the spiritual energy throughout the mountain.

The mountain breeze stirred his hanging white hair, his demeanor desolate.

A violent shout erupted:

“Meng Zheng Xian, back then we were willing to serve you as our leader, hoping you would revitalize the evil path and launch a great war between the righteous and evil cultivators, crushing the righteous path’s prestige! But you built that Golden Palace where both righteous and evil cultivators could enter freely without hindrance. You didn’t strive for advancement, only indulging in pleasure. How are you fit to be the leader of the evil path?”

The speaker remained unseen, yet their voice seemed to come from everywhere—at times descending from the heavens, at times right beside the ear.

Anyone hearing it would feel anxious, wondering from which direction the enemy might attack.

Meng Zheng Xian continued to sit motionless.

For many years, the evil path had lacked successors, and without a leader they couldn’t gain momentum.

Meng Zheng Xian’s emergence undoubtedly rekindled hope among evil cultivators.

He was extraordinarily gifted, progressed with supernatural speed, and acted with reckless abandon—a true demon lord.

Most crucially, he was still young enough to have ambitions of conquering territories and dominating the world.

Many people waited for him to lead the evil cultivators in an earth-shattering battle against the righteous path, then take over the Central Plains, seizing spirit-rich immortal mountains, precious lands, and productive spirit stone mines.

From then on, evil cultivators would no longer need to wander and hide in desolate places like the Dead Sea and Western Sea.

But Meng Zheng Xian didn’t do this.

Another person shouted:

“Now the Golden Palace has been destroyed, and the cultivation world says you were taken hostage by Song Qian Ji. The righteous path is laughing at us. Yet you indulge the murderer and abandon the Western Sea! With one command, you had the entire evil path join your killing game!”

This voice shifted between male and female, shrill and eerie, making one’s skin crawl.

But Meng Zheng Xian continued fingering his prayer beads.

“Over the years, you’ve grown increasingly outrageous and brutal. You’re no longer fit to lead the evil path! You should hand over the keys to the underground treasury and the treasure maps, and step down in favor of someone more worthy!”

A third voice, incomparably deep, spoke with grand-sounding words, pressing down on the cottage like a great mountain.

The cottage roof shattered.

Meng Zheng Xian sat amid flying debris, finally opening his eyes. His face showed no expression, not even anger, only a hint of weariness:

“If you’ve come to kill, why waste words?”

His impatient attitude thoroughly enraged the visitors.

Black poisonous mist surged from the ground, corroding vegetation.

A seething flock of crows, like a black cloud, descended from the sky with strange cries.

Burning arrows inscribed with mystical symbols shot out from all directions, their flames glowing an eerie blue.

Deadly attacks launched simultaneously from above and below, instantly surrounding the broken cottage.

Meng Zheng Xian raised his hand, and eighteen ruby prayer beads scattered from his fingers, rotating rapidly around his body.

He seemed a step too slow—the black mist had already arrived, the crow flock had descended, and the blue-flamed arrows had pierced the table.

From within the black mist came the sounds of arrows cutting through the air, crows flapping their wings, and the hissing of corroded earth, but no human voices.

A woman wrapped in a black cloak angrily exclaimed: “He escaped!”

A thin cultivator with a face covered in poisonous sores frowned: “No, the demon’s aura is still here.”

The fat elder’s eyes shifted, and he called out loudly: “Everyone listens! Meng Zheng Xian is seriously wounded. This opportunity cannot be missed—whoever can cut off his head will receive ten million spirit stones!”

Various colored banners appeared throughout the forest, surging forward like the tide, charging toward the cottage.

Suddenly a gust of wind rose, and a voice descended with it:

“Crow Hag, Poison Dwarf, Yin Fire Old Demon—you’ve brought people to kill me, so you must be prepared to perish here.”

…

As Song Qian Ji approached the cottage, his mood grew heavier.

The ground seemed to have been scorched by fierce flames—charred and hot, without a blade of grass.

A pungent, fishy stench hung in the air, churning one’s stomach.

Disfigured corpses and severed limbs flowed downstream, turning the river red.

Anyone could see that a fierce battle had just taken place.

“So many people came. The leaders must be the old demons of the evil path. I haven’t heard Xiao Meng’s call for help—has he successfully broken through? No matter, my old injuries have healed now, and I’m at full strength. Who can stop me?”

Song Qian Ji applied two miasma-repelling talismans to himself, grabbed his sword, and charged into the rolling black mist.

He passed through scattered limbs and broken arrows, slashing through the black mist with sword energy, finally seeing clearly what lay before him.

Meng Zheng Xian’s white hair fluttered, his pupils blood-red, the vermilion tattoos all over his body seeming to come alive, growing and moving across his pale skin like burning flames or flowing blood.

The eighteen prayer beads glowed bright red, enveloping Meng Zheng Xian within.

Countless blood-colored vines grew from his wrists, dripping bright red fluid, grotesquely strange.

Numerous silhouettes were tightly bound by the vines, struggling helplessly in mid-air, unable to make a sound. The vines greedily absorbed blood and flesh, causing the bodies to wither until only skin remained.

Three people were forced to kneel at Meng Zheng Xian’s feet, weeping and begging for mercy.

A gaunt cultivator with a face covered in poisonous sores said:

“Your humble servant knows his mistake! I’m willing to offer my life-bound poison pennant to the Evil Buddha in exchange for my worthless life.”

Meng Zheng Xian smiled slightly, bringing his palm down, shattering a skull completely.

Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments splattered everywhere.

At such a scene, even Song Qian Ji, with all his experience, couldn’t help but break out in a cold sweat, his intoxication completely gone.

—This person wasn’t Meng He Ze, but the Evil Buddha Meng Zheng Xian.

“Drinking causes problems, drinking causes problems!”

He could only bring back Meng He Ze’s soul after gaining Meng Zheng Xian’s complete trust, but these past few days he had talked of nothing but Qian Qu and farming. Meng Zheng Xian must think he’s gone mad—how could he trust him now?

While hesitating, he saw the Evil Buddha’s palm gently press downward, as casually as brushing away dust—

“Pak!” Another skull exploded.

Song Qian Ji opened his mouth, finally shouting the words caught in his throat: “Stop!”

Unexpectedly, he wasn’t shouting at the pursuers but at Meng Zheng Xian.

“Why did you come back?!” Meng Zheng Xian’s eyes flickered slightly, as if suppressing something. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

Among the three kneeling on the ground, only one remained. Seeing the situation, he no longer begged for mercy but instead laughed loudly:

“Kill me then, go ahead and kill! I’ve seen through your cultivation technique. The more you kill, the less you can suppress your murderous nature. Eventually, you’ll become a mindless monster that kills by instinct—”

Before he could finish, Meng Zheng Xian’s palm came down again.

Song Qian Ji reached out to grab his wrist: “There are more pursuers behind. Let’s go!”

“Who wants to go with you?” The blood vines retracted into Meng Zheng Xian’s body, and the eighteen prayer beads returned to their places.

Song Qian Ji grabbed at empty air. The other had a teleportation device similar to a “Cross-Cutting Comb,” allowing instant movement that he couldn’t anticipate.

He could only watch helplessly as Meng Zheng Xian transformed into a red mist, dispersing with the wind.

…

What was the most sensational event in the cultivation world recently?

—The Evil Path’s leader was ambushed at Jade Mushroom Mountain, after which he went on a killing spree.

Wherever he passed, corpses littered the ground and rivers ran with blood.

The previously loyal “Four Golds” had even raised banners of rebellion, causing evil cultivators everywhere to mobilize en masse.

Yet Meng Zheng Xian grew increasingly arrogant, provoking others along his path, smashing the gates and plaques of various sects and noble houses.

The cultivation world united in righteous indignation, with calls to exterminate the demon growing louder.

All major immortal sects jointly issued a bounty: whoever killed the Evil Buddha would receive a position as an honored elder and a golden statue in a temple receiving incense offerings.

Meng Zheng Xian fought bloody battles all the way, growing wilder with each fight, with a group of people in relentless pursuit.

Among them, the cultivator at the very front, closest to the Evil Buddha, was named Song Qian Ji.

Song Qian Ji once again made a name for himself as “Undying in a Hundred Battles.”

Spectating cultivators, eager for excitement, even opened betting pools at various gambling houses, wagering on whether he could kill Meng Zheng Xian:

“After the Golden Palace auction incident, Song Qian Ji must hate the Evil Buddha to the core.”

“Whoever can kill the Evil Buddha will be a hero who eliminates evil. This is a great opportunity for independent cultivators to rise to prominence.”

Amid the various speculations, Song Qian Ji intercepted Meng Zheng Xian at Looking Back Mountain.

“Stop using your cultivation technique. The spiritual energy in your body is in turmoil. If you don’t find a place to rest and meditate, you will certainly die.” Song Qian Ji was truly angry this time, but more confused. “What madness has gotten into you?”

Meng Zheng Xian’s cheeks were sunken, his body wasted away to skin and bones, yet his demonic aura grew even stronger: “Get out of my way. Don’t think I’m unwilling to kill you!”

A blood vine lashed out toward Song Qian Ji’s face. Unable to endure anymore, Song Qian Ji drew his sword and engaged him in battle, preparing a binding talisman in his sleeve, ready to subdue him at any moment.

Behind them came chaotic footsteps, stopping three li away. Flying vessels hovered in the sky without advancing.

Pursuers from various sects had arrived but, fearing Meng Zheng Xian’s insidious techniques, none wanted to be the first to approach.

Someone shouted: “Master Song, we’ll cover for you!”

In just one short month, Song Qian Ji had transformed from Old Thief Song to Master Song.

“Stop this.” Song Qian Ji had no time for others, addressing only Meng Zheng Xian, “I’ll take you away.”

Meng Zheng Xian acted as if he hadn’t heard.

The blood vines grew increasingly violent, forcing Song Qian Ji’s sword to move faster and faster.

Dense clouds obscured the moon, dust filled the air, rocks tumbled down, and large sections of cliff collapsed as red light intertwined with sword shadows.

Without warning, Song Qian Ji heard a message transmitted directly to his mind: “Why do you still want to save me? Why haven’t you given up yet?”

“Stop talking nonsense. Stop fighting me. I’ll hold off the people behind, you head east. In three days we’ll…”

Before he could finish, he saw a smile in Meng Zheng Xian’s eyes.

Song Qian Ji sensed something was wrong and hurriedly withdrew his sword.

Still, he was too late.

The blade pierced flesh, making a slight sound.

A sword through the heart, blood gushing forth.

White hair dancing wildly, red clothes fluttering.

Meng Zheng Xian smiled as he fell backward, plunging into the abyss.

“Damn it!” Song Qian Ji, shocked and furious, jumped down without hesitation.

From a distance, people only saw the two falling off the cliff one after another, disappearing into the thick mist below.

…

With the howling wind in his ears, Song Qian Ji plummeted downward on his sword, feeling this scene was somehow familiar.

Wasn’t it the first night after his rebirth when Meng He Ze was knocked down a broken cliff by him?

Below, Meng Zheng Xian’s figure flashed once, disappearing into the cliff face.

Song Qian Ji felt a sense of relief and quickly followed, rushing into a cave glittering with light.

The cave was clean and tidy, laid with white long-pile carpets, lit by eternal lamps.

Golden Knife, Golden Law, Golden Hairpin, and Golden Peach—all four were actually in the cave.

Meng Zheng Xian gestured to his subordinates not to help him, staggering a few steps on his own before collapsing onto a soft couch.

So it was a plan to fake his death and escape. Song Qian Ji was furious: “Are you sick in the head? Who throws themselves onto a sword?”

“Are you sick in the head?” Meng Zheng Xian smiled. “Who jumps off a cliff?”

Song Qian Ji turned and snapped: “What are you all looking at? Hurry up and treat his wounds! He’s almost bled out!”

Yet the four wore sorrowful expressions and remained motionless.

Meng Zheng Xian nodded slightly.

Golden Hairpin presented Song Qian Ji with a wooden box: “These are the keys to the underground palace treasury.”

Golden Law offered a jade scroll: “This is the treasure map and the method to break the mechanisms.”

Meng Zheng Xian raised his sleeve, and Golden Peach stepped forward, presenting him with a wine jar.

He laughed loudly: “I’ll drain this jar of mortal wine, and in the next life, I’ll be a great demon lord again!”

Meng Zheng Xian threw back his head and drank deeply.

“My lord!” The four knelt in salute, tears streaming down their faces.

“To hell with that! Where are your healing herbs?” Song Qian Ji’s face paled slightly as he rushed forward, grabbing Meng He Ze’s wrist to check his spiritual meridians.

The mountain wind blew away the dense clouds, revealing a full moon once again.

Meng Zheng Xian dropped the wine jar, his voice calm as he slowly spoke: “If you kill me, both the righteous and evil paths—everyone in the world—will thank you. The treasures in the vault are my accumulation over many years. Enough for you to find a precious land, establish a sect, and become a master of a generation. These four can serve as elders and protectors…”

“You will not die!” Song Qian Ji frantically transferred spiritual energy, but could not stop the rapidly fading life force. “Shut up!”

Meng Zheng Xian fell against his shoulder, blood continuously flowing from the red tattooed patterns, soaking through his red clothes:

“This mountain is called Looking Back, and this place is called Life-Forsaking Cliff. I cannot turn back, I can only forsake my life. I have entered the path of Asura, with no hope of ascension, nor do I seek immortality.”

“I chose this path, dominated for a lifetime, without regrets. Having reached the end of my road, I neither wish to be sealed by my subordinates, clinging to a wretched existence nor do I wish to become a mindless monster. Tonight I call you Senior Brother, and am willing to die by your hand, establishing your reputation.”

Song Qian Ji cursed through gritted teeth, using every dirty word he knew.

Meng Zheng Xian’s blood-colored pupils gradually became unfocused: “Senior Brother, I see it… the spring fields of Qian Qu, truly beautiful.”

Song Qian Ji felt his eyes burn, his vision blurring: “Do you believe me?”

Meng Zheng Xian’s breath was like a gossamer thread: “The Buddhist scriptures speak of three thousand worlds. I believe what you said—that in some world, I have family and friends.”

Song Qian Ji moved with lightning speed, placing a “Soul-Drawing Talisman” on Meng Zheng Xian’s forehead:

“Xiao Meng, come back!”