Chapter 69: Red Clothes Stained with Blood, White Hair Becomes Blades
A month ago.
In a secret chamber covered in ancient Nanyin totems, Jiao Liqiao began to activate the Rama Cauldron. Its body was engraved with eerie runes, gleaming coldly under the dim blue candlelight. On the ground surrounding the cauldron, a complex formation was drawn with cinnabar mixed with blood. All offerings were placed at the center of the formation, where they would be drawn through the formation, serving as a source of energy to reshape the meridians.
Jiao Liqiao, dressed in red, chanted ancient Nan Yin incantations like a priest. She placed Li Lianhua beneath a cauldron already filled with carefully cultivated offspring of the "Karma Fire" Gu worm. These Gu worms were no ordinary poisons, but the core of Nan Yin's secret techniques, capable of devouring toxins and reconnecting meridians, but also corroding the mind.
As the ritual began, the poisonous insects within the cauldron, incited by the incantation, began to stir. They first devoured the poison drawn into Li Lianhua's body by Di Feisheng. As the insects devoured the poison, Li Lianhua trembled violently, as if every inch of her flesh were being torn and reassembled. The process was comparable to slow slicing.
Then, using the sacrifice as a guide, the Gu worm began to forcibly open and reshape Li Lianhua's damaged Dantian and Sanjiao meridians. His body felt as if crushed by an invisible force within the cauldron. His bones cracked, and tiny beads of blood oozed from his skin. Old meridians were severed, then reconnected under the influence of the new force. This method of "breaking to rebuild" bears resemblance to Di Feisheng's philosophy of "severing meridians to survive death" at the highest level of "Sad Wind White Poplar," but it is even more sinister and overbearing.
After experiencing extreme pain, Li Lianhua's previously depleted Dantian revived like a dead tree, his immense internal energy returning like a tide, even surpassing his peak strength. However, even as his power revived, the "Karma Fire" demon implanted by Jiao Liqiao began to erode his mind.
Beneath the cauldron, Li Lianhua's eyes gradually shifted from one of struggle and pain to one of emptiness and numbness. Past memories faded bit by bit, like sand paintings washed away by the tide. When he finally opened his eyes, they no longer held the warmth of Li Lianhua or the sharpness of Li Xiangyi; only a cold indifference remained.
Jiao Liqiao helped him out and gently called his newly given name "Wuming". He knelt down obediently to show his submission.
The blood rain fell without any warning.
It was a foggy morning when the gate of the Qinglan Sword Sect was silently broken into by a dark figure.
He was "Wuming." He was dressed in a black robe, the material personally selected by Jiao Liqiao. In the dim light, it shone a dark hue, making his white hair even more glaring. His face was expressionless, his eyes as hollow as two deep wells, reflecting not a single ray of light from the sky or a single person.
The disciples of the Qinglan Sword Sect didn't even have time to sound the alarm before a shadow, lighter than mist and swifter than the wind, flashed past. The sword flashed, not the moonlit "Xiangyi Taijian" of Li Xiangyi's past, but a cold, precise, icy light meant only to harvest lives. There were no names for moves, no shouts, only the subtle sounds of blades slicing through air, slicing throats, and the dull thud of bodies falling to the ground.
His killing efficiency was terrifying. Facing the thrusting sword, he didn't block it, but simply thrust the tip of the sword into the enemy's throat with even greater speed. He let the enemy's blood splatter on his dark robe and pale face, but he didn't care, not even an eyelash fluttering. As if the warm, crimson liquid was just ordinary morning dew in the mountains.
In the space of a single stick of incense, all thirty-seven members of the Qinglan Sword Sect, including the leader and his direct disciples, perished. The stench of blood was so thick it could not be dispelled.
Wuming sheathed his sword and stood still for a moment, as if completing a mundane task of gardening. Then, he turned and vanished into the lingering mist, like a ghost, appearing and disappearing without a trace.
Next came the Haisha Gang and the Funiu Mountain Fist Sect... In just a few days, three sects were massacred one after another, and the method was exactly the same: one person, one sword, leaving no one alive.
The news spread quickly to every corner of the world, as if it had wings and carried a strong smell of blood.
"Have you heard? There's a white-haired killer god on Wanshengdao!"
"More than a killing god! His martial arts skills... I'm afraid they're even more terrifying than Li Xiangyi's back then!"
"He kills people without blinking, like a soulless puppet!"
"Where did Wansheng Dao find such a monster? I'm afraid Wansheng Dao is going to unify the martial arts world!"
In the teahouses and taverns, everyone looked panicked, whispering in hushed tones. Fear spread like a plague. The mysterious white-haired master had become a sword hanging over everyone's head.
The wielder of this sharp blade—Jiao Liqiao—was lazily reclining in a newly crafted sedan chair, listening to her subordinates' reports, a smug yet cruel smile curling her lips. This was exactly the effect she desired. She wanted everyone to know the consequences of disobeying her, and even more so, to let the one she couldn't obtain know that everything he held dear now prostrated at her feet, obeying her commands.
Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing received the news almost at the same time.
Fang Duobing's hand holding the intelligence was shaking violently, his face was pale: "Impossible... Absolutely impossible! How could Li Lianhua..." He couldn't connect the Li Lianhua in his memory who always had a lazy smile and couldn't bear to watch a chicken being killed, with the cold-blooded and ruthless killing machine in the rumors.
Di Feisheng's reaction was even more terrifying. His aura instantly plummeted to freezing. The teacup in his hand was shattered, the shards embedded deep in his palm, blood flowing, yet he remained oblivious. For the first time, those eyes, always sharp as an eagle's, showed a trace of something approaching shattering. He knew Li Lianhua's strength better than anyone else, and he understood the devastating consequences of Li Lianhua losing her mind and becoming a prey.
"Jiao, Li, Qiao." These three words seemed to be ground out from the depths of hell, carrying with them murderous intent and earth-shattering rage.
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