Whether in Thousand Channels or outside it, looking up one could always see the same night sky, the same bright moon.

Tonight the moon was astonishingly bright, especially on the vast snow plains.

The closer to the edge of the continent, the lower the temperature. If not for cultivators’ protective spiritual energy, their blood would freeze solid.

After crossing the snow mountain, Song Qian Ji descended from his flying sword, giving up the fight against the increasingly violent winds. To prepare for the final battle, he needed to conserve his spiritual energy.

On this plain with no people, no beasts, no flowers or grass, no living things at all, two people were trudging through the snow under the moonlight.

Xian Jian Chen wore a black cloak to ward off the cold, taking good care of himself, while also supporting Song Qian Ji’s shoulder to save energy.

Song Qian Ji wore plain white robes, using the Shadowless Sword as a snow staff, almost blending into the white snow.

Their footprints, some deep and some shallow, meandered forward like a small stream, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Disciple, you haven’t finished the story you were telling. What happened after reaching the Western Heaven?”

“Of course, they obtained the true scriptures, saved all sentient beings, and were elevated to immortal status,” Song Qian Ji shook off the hand on his shoulder for the twentieth time.

“Can a few volumes of scripture save all beings? Look at the state of people now—do they look saved? After all that trouble, they just become immortals? What’s the point?”

Song Qian Ji was speechless: “Not nitpicking when listening to stories is a virtue.”

Xian Jian Chen once again placed his hand on Song Qian Ji’s shoulder: “This master feels that after experiencing eighty-one tribulations, merely ascending to immortality or achieving nirvana is too disappointing, unsatisfying, and boring.”

Song Qian Ji thought for a moment: “You’re right. If I went through all that trouble to reach the Western Heaven and completed my task, I would find a good piece of land, bury myself in farming for ten, eight, or twenty years, not leaving even if the Jade Emperor himself came calling, and just enjoy myself thoroughly.”

Xian Jian Chen was speechless for a moment: “…Young in age, but big in appetite.”

Song Qian Ji: “Stop acting like an old fogey, and let go of me!”

“You little rascal, who are you calling an old fogey! I won’t let go!”

“Ah, look what’s ahead!”

“Nice try, this godforsaken place doesn’t even have a chicken death—ah!” Xian Jian Chen jumped up.

His hand was still pressing on Song Qian Ji, nearly pulling the latter down.

At the limit of their vision, on the horizon illuminated by moonlight, numerous ice sculptures stood abruptly.

From a distance, they looked like a grove of crystalline trees, varying in height, reflecting a faint glow.

Song Qian Ji and Xian Jian Chen stopped their childish bickering, their smiles gradually disappearing.

The ice sculpture group stretched out like a transparent dike, blocking the path they had to take.

They had no choice but to continue forward.

The closer they got, the clearer they could see. Each statue was as tall as a person, with blurry features and varying postures, some standing, some sitting cross-legged, but all maintaining a gesture of palms pressed together, emitting a terrifying aura.

“What are these?” Song Qian Ji murmured.

In his previous life, he had also come this far but had never seen these things.

Xian Jian Chen sneered: “Given his temperament, knowing we’re coming to kill him, would he just sit and wait for death?”

Song Qian Ji: “But I’ve already killed all his avatars.”

Xian Jian Chen solemnly said: “These aren’t avatars, they’re people.”

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a crisp “crack” sound.

The ice sculpture suddenly burst with a fissure, splitting from head to toe.

“Crash!”

The cracks spread rapidly. The ice sculptures burst one after another, crisp breaking sounds echoing across the silent snow plain in the deep night, like a group of wild beasts hatching from their shells.

Song Qian Ji felt his scalp tingle at the sound and frowned: “You say they’re people?”

Before Xian Jian Chen could answer, the group of statues began to move. Shedding a layer of ice shell, they revealed their features, skin, clothing, and limbs.

They turned out to be a group of cultivators dressed as monks.

They wore not the usual apricot-colored monk’s robes or gold-red cassocks, but black Kasayas.

On the white snow, a group of black shadows stretched their bodies like ghosts, shaking off the ice fragments, their stiff bodies gradually regaining flexibility.

Xian Jian Chen said: “He’s been ‘Master Wu Xiang’ for so many years, preaching dharma, with a far-reaching reputation and high virtue. Alas, for two hundred years I’ve been suspicious of everyone, killing his avatars everywhere, yet I never thought Wu Xiang was one of them.”

How good was Wu Xiang’s reputation?

The cultivation world knew him as compassionate. Jiang Yun sought him to treat He Qing Qing’s face, and Xu Yun asked him to divine Chen Hong Zhu’s fate. When Song Qian Ji was comatose after being assassinated, Ji Chen immediately invited him in upon hearing of his arrival.

Reputation is an invisible sword.

Song Qian Ji called out loudly: “Who are you all? Why do you block our path?”

“Amitabha,” the cultivator at the front pressed his palms together, bowed slightly, his attitude very polite: “We are disciples of Master Wu Xiang. The Master sent us to wait here to intercept and kill you two.”

Song Qian Ji: “There is no such master. He is a madman who wants to destroy the world. You’ve all been deceived by him!”

Xian Jian Chen just shook his head and sighed: “It’s useless. He’s most skilled at bewitching hearts.”

“Form the formation!” the lead cultivator commanded.

The disciples chanted scriptures in unison, their black Kasayas emitting a crimson glow.

Suddenly, fierce winds arose, and eerie auras rose from their bodies.

Broken snow swirled up, forming tornados that swept toward Xian Jian Chen and Song Qian Ji.

The snowflakes were as sharp as knives. Song Qian Ji raised the Spring and Autumn Sword, forming a sword energy barrier to protect Xian Jian Chen.

“We have waited here for a long time, confining ourselves in ice and snow, just to merge our lives with the snow plain, so we could set up this formation using the power of the snow plain. Benefactors, you cannot pass tonight.”

Song Qian Ji felt this was absurd: “I have no grudge against any of you, why are you so willing to sacrifice your lives?”

His voice couldn’t penetrate the raging snowstorm and dissipated instantly.

The sun and moon lost their light, only the chanting grew louder, echoing across the snow plain.

The two were trapped in the center of the storm, with sharp snow particles closing in from all sides like iron walls.

Song Qian Ji listened until his head hurt: “What are they chanting? What ‘life brings no joy, death brings no suffering, sacrificing oneself for the Way is dying worthily’? What has Wu Xiang been teaching them?”

Xian Jian Chen sighed: “Could the scriptures Wu Xiang taught be anything genuine? This must be his self-written doctrine. Thousand Channels’ power of faith and wishes condensed into fortune, becoming your shield. These disciples fanatically believe in him, making them his spear.”

Song Qian Ji again summoned the “River Crossing Sword” from Sailing Against the Current, bowing his head to hack forward, protecting Xian Jian Chen as they advanced.

The sword he thrust cut into the raging snow on all sides, and those disciples’ bodies also split open with wounds, fresh blood dripping onto the snow through their black Kasayas.

Seeing this, Song Qian Ji knew their words were true: “Can we be reasonable? Just listen to me for a few words!”

The disciples remained expressionless, their eyes empty, still chanting:

“In this vast snow and ice, our bodies remain. The old world is dead, the new world shall rise.”

Their voices were like demonic sounds filling his ears.

Song Qian Ji’s ferocity was provoked: “You want to wear me down? Before the formation exhausts me, perhaps you’ll die first.”

But the lead cultivator said: “As long as we have breath left, we swear to block you to the death.”

Song Qian Ji’s heart sank.

Seeking benefit while avoiding harm and the desire for survival are human nature. To overcome this instinct, external force alone is not enough.

Thousand Channels was strong because of its power of faith and wishes. To protect their homeland, even weak mortals dared to resist powerful cultivators.

The alliance cultivators attacking Thousand Channels and hunting them, whether driven by greed, power, or hatred, no matter how crazy, still cherished life.

Who wants to die if they can live? They’d recite phrases like “as long as the green mountain remains, there will be firewood” or “a gentleman can wait ten years for revenge” and move on.

But these people before him set aside life and death, viewing martyrdom as an honor.

Greedy desires cannot defeat the power of faith, but can faith defeat faith?

Does the spear pierce the shield, or does the shield block the spear?

Song Qian Ji silently cursed Wu Xiang for harming people, cursed desire for harming people, while demanding of Xian Jian Chen: “This is already the most difficult enemy to deal with. Aren’t you going to take action yet?”

Xian Jian Chen shook his head: “Hard to say. You should take this sword.”

Song Qian Ji grasped the hilt of the flying sword, his wrist involuntarily trembling: “Why is it so cold! Don’t you have a warmer one?”

Both men were already covered in snow and frost. When this sword was unsheathed, a piercing cold aura emanated, adding frost to the snow.

“This sword is called ‘Breaking Illusions,’ it can help the wielder see through falsehoods. This formation is powerful because it’s reinforced by the power of faith and wishes. Other swords won’t be easy to use, only this one is most suitable. But when wielding it, you need to temporarily set aside complicated thoughts and abandon intense emotions.” Xian Jian Chen changed his tone, “Can you do it? If you can’t, this master will prepare to escape.”

Song Qian Ji took a deep breath: “Recite the heart method!”

The curtain of wind and snow on all sides grew increasingly solid. Each sword thrust with full force could only make shallow marks.

Like a bamboo sword unable to penetrate an iron wall, Song Qian Ji fell into a passive state.

Xian Jian Chen: “There is no heart method. First imagine you are made of ice and snow, unrelated to all worldly joys and sorrows. You understand right and wrong, your will is firm, but you don’t have strong emotions of understanding…”

“What nonsense is this?” The more Song Qian Ji listened, the more abstract and incomprehensible it seemed: “What great sin did I commit to be cramming like this in a deadly formation?”

“First think of something happy. Meeting this formation means he’s also out of cards to play.”

They had successfully shaken off the righteous alliance’s pursuit and blockade, forcing the enemy behind the scenes to use his last and strongest aid.

“You have a point,” Song Qian Ji agreed. “Let’s talk more about this sword.”

Though they had argued all the way, they had also accumulated much tacit understanding.

No matter what desperate situation they faced, they could always find joy in hardship.

Who says the journey to the West can only have suffering?

Xian Jian Chen: “Hmm, the material used to forge it is special, from the same source as Qingya’s ‘Snow Blade.'”

Song Qian Ji cursed: “Why didn’t you say so earlier!”

Xian Jian Chen: “Is that important?”

Song Qian Ji closed his eyes and began to recall the feeling of using the snowblade.

…

The night had deepened, thick clouds obscuring the bright moonlight.

The lanterns on the cloud ships above Hongfu Prefecture had been extinguished, and darkness enveloped both heaven and earth.

Deep in the night sky, a crimson glow suddenly lit up, like a meteor trailing a long tail across the sky.

People on the ground looked up:

“How can a meteor be so bright, so red?”

“That’s the Sound of Immortals Sect’s black gold carriage. Is Immortal Maiden He going to Hua Wei Sect?”

He Qing Qing sat in the splendid black-gold carriage, eyes closed in false sleep until the cloud carriage stopped.

“Sect Master, someone is blocking the road ahead!” A young disciple driving the carriage reported.

He Qing Qing lifted her eyelids, her gaze passing through the hanging green gauze.

She saw that the woman blocking the road wore sleek red fighting clothes, had a slender waist and long, powerful legs, and wielded a beautiful long sword.

Chen Hong Zhu brought “Hundred Flowers Killer” and alone blocked He Qing Qing’s black gold carriage:

“Miss He…”

The Sound of Immortals disciples immediately shouted: “Our sect’s master is here. Immortal Maiden Chen, why are you so disrespectful!”

Chen Hong Zhu was startled, and corrected herself: “Sect Master He.”

The Sound of Immortals disciples looked unfriendly, holding instruments like guqins and pipa, their fingers tense.

Chen Hong Zhu’s gaze penetrated the slightly swaying green gauze, fixing on the slender figure behind it.

“We meet again,” a cold female voice came from behind the green gauze. “I’m rushing to treat your father, why are you blocking my path?”

“Sect Master He, I have a few words I want to say to you!” Chen Hong Zhu said.

“Oh?” the woman responded indifferently. “Then come aboard.”

The black-gold carriage gleamed brilliantly in the night. Years ago, Immortal Maiden Miao Yan had ridden in such a carriage.

The one He Qing Qing rode in now was even larger and more magnificent, like a palace in the clouds, emanating a cold aura.

A beauty in an exquisite carriage—ninety-nine percent of the cultivators in this world would long to sit in it, even just once.

But Chen Hong Zhu said: “I won’t come aboard. Please come down to speak with me.”