Gaze and you will become stronger: starting from Doupo

The blood of the Ancestral Dragon was leaking out from every crack, and he suddenly remembered the incomplete mural in the clan temple: in the Battle of Beiyuan ten thousand years ago, the ancestor had to use the blood sacrifice of the inverse scale to buy a moment of respite.

"Roar!" The battle axe of the ancient giant leader finally broke. He knelt on one knee, letting the tip of the ancient king's silver hair whip across his back, watching his blood gather into a river in the ice cracks. Deep under the ice, tens of millions of ancient skeletons suddenly opened their eyes, and the diamond-shaped scales between their brows lit up synchronously. Bai Shuanghua's heart trembled: "It's the blood sacrifice formation! They want to awaken the ancient ancestors under the ice sea!" She used up her last strength to pierce the broken staff into the ice surface. Thousands of ice spikes rose from the sea and woven into a huge "seal" in the sky, but they broke inch by inch in the ancient king's sneer.

The purple flames of Nanling illuminated half the sky. On the battle axe of the Barbarian Chief Xingtian, the wild war pattern had been mostly extinguished. He looked at the defense line formed by the bodies of his tribesmen, and suddenly remembered the legend he heard from the witch when he was young: "When the three-color blood dyes the totem pole red, the ancient barbarian war god will return." At this moment, his blood, the blood of Xiao Zhan, the master of the War God Temple, and Su Mei, the master of the Demon King Temple, were seeping into the root of the totem pole along the scorched earth, and the shadow of the war spirit on the top of the pole gradually solidified.

"Ants, enjoy your last struggle." The wings of the six-winged purple flame ancient king crossed the sky, and purple fire rain fell, burning the Broken Blade Camp of the War God Temple into ruins. Xiao Zhan held the half handle of the knife, looking at the cracks on Su Mei's Demon Emperor Ruler, and suddenly heard Xing Tian's roar: "Sacrifice to the totem!" The three of them sprayed their blood on the totem pole at the same time. The moment the war spirit opened its eyes, the mountains of Nanling resonated, and every rock showed ancient war patterns, which actually bounced the purple flame rain back to the sky.

In the wheat field of the East Desert, Jiang Han squatted down, his fingertips brushing across the lightning dewdrops on the wheat seedlings. Duan De's gourd had come closer at some point, the aroma of wine mixed with the smell of blood: "Old Jiang, the letter for help from the West Desert has arrived." He shook the charred jade slip in his hand, the four words "Liu Li Tower Shattered" on it were still emitting electricity. Jiang Han stood up and looked towards the western sea of ​​sand, the lightning pattern on the hem of his clothes suddenly lit up - it was the peace pattern embroidered by the old abbot himself when he was copying scriptures in the Vajra Temple five hundred years ago.

"It's time to go check it out." He raised his hand and waved it gently, and the lightning condensed into a boat under his feet. "Ye Fan, keep an eye on the wheat fields in the East Wasteland for me." Before he finished speaking, he disappeared into the clouds, leaving behind a wheat ear pattern made of lightning, which slowly dissipated on the top of Mount Tai. Ji Ziyue looked at the lightning and suddenly remembered that when Jiang Han shot down the warship under the barrier just now, he deliberately avoided the ancient tree with a young bird in the nest - it turned out that the most terrifying thunder always has a gentle scale.

In the sandstorm of the Western Desert, the Eight-Armed Ancient King was about to give the Glazed Tower the final blow when he suddenly felt the air pressure drop above his head. Looking up, he saw a green figure stepping on thunder. The "thunder" pattern on the hem of his clothes resonated with the thunderclouds in the sky. Each thundercloud turned into a thunder image, holding different ancient weapons. These were the Eight-part Heavenly Dragon Formation that had been lost in the Vajra Temple.

"You are..." The ancient king's pupils shrank suddenly, and he recognized the Penglai emblem on the other party's sleeve. It was the emblem of the human monks who were exterminated by him ten thousand years ago. Jiang Han did not answer, but raised his hand and cast a thunder seal. When the seal fell, the Buddha bone relics deep in the sand sea lit up at the same time, nailing the eight arms of the ancient king to the ruins of the glazed tower. Every wound was oozing out purifying lightning.

On the ice sea of ​​Beiyuan, Bai Shuanghua looked at the sudden lightning and found that each lightning accurately avoided the fisherman's village in the ice crack. Jiang Han's figure appeared on the ruins of the Ice God Palace. His fingertips lightly touched the ice surface. The phantom of the ancient ancestor under the ten thousand year black ice wailed, and the scales between his eyebrows shattered. He looked at the giant patriarch: "Use your blood to carve the word 'symbiosis' on the ice." Before he finished speaking, the thunder had turned into a carving knife and carved a thousand-foot-long word on the ice surface. Every stroke was infused with the breath of the wheat fields in the East Wasteland.

In the purple flames of Nanling, Su Mei suddenly saw lightning falling from the sky, completing the last battle pattern on the totem pole. Jiang Han came in the rain of fire, and his sleeves swept across the Demon Emperor's ruler. New fox fur patterns grew in the cracks - that was the Demon Emperor's bloodline reshaped with the thunder wood spirit roots of the East Wilderness. He raised his hand and grabbed the wings of the Purple Flame Ancient King. The flames turned into spring mud in his palms and seeped into the roots of the totem pole. Next spring, exotic flowers and plants that can resist the purple flames will grow here.

When Jiang Han returned to the East Desert, dusk had already fallen. An old woman from Chenjia Village was standing at the entrance of the village, holding a freshly cooked green bean soup, with a few wheat ears floating on the surface of the soup. She trembled and handed over the ceramic bowl: "Mr. Jiang, the sand of the Western Desert, the ice of the Northern Plains, and the fire of the Southern Mountains all taste like wheat."

In the distance, Ye Fan was leading the monks to repair the forests burned by the war, Ji Ziyue used the Vermillion Bird Ring to attract lightning to irrigate the new seedlings, and Jiang Taixu carved a new boundary monument on the top of Mount Tai, with the pattern on the monument head exactly like the wheat ears with thunder patterns on Jiang Han's clothes. The evening breeze blew, and the wheat fields made a rustling sound, as if the world was humming an ancient ballad - about thunder and land, about destruction and rebirth, about the farmer who always wore a patched green shirt, and how to make the smoke of war in the myriad realms eventually turn into morning dew to nourish the wheat seedlings.

Above the sky, the last piece of purple scale debris fell to the land of East Wilderness. The moment it merged into the soil, a small flower that was half red and half gold blossomed. The lightning patterns flowing on the petals were exactly the same as the Thunder Punishment Seal on Jiang Han's palm.

The sky of Zhongzhou was shattered into pieces by the ancient warships. Eight thousand black iron giant warships were arranged in the ancient star formation. The dragon carved on the bow of the ship swallowed and exhaled purple-black demonic mist, dyeing the originally azure sky into rust. The black dragon robe of the Great Xia Emperor was soaked in blood. His knuckles were holding the guard of the emperor's sword. The two words "Zhen Shi" on the sword flickered in the demonic mist. It was an emblem cast with the blood of three generations of human emperors, and at this moment it was almost peeled off by the dragon power of the ancient king.

"Old Four, protect the star map!" The golden battle suit of the Ancient Emperor spread out twelve pairs of light wings, and each wing was breaking. The holy sword in the hands of the Godly Clothes collided with the dragon claws of the Ancient King, and the sparks ignited the ruins below. The witch pattern battle skirt of the Jiuli Emperor was covered with ice slag. She had just frozen three warships with the blood of the ancestor witches, but saw the golden ancestor dragon horn of the Ancient King tremble slightly, and the frozen warships shattered like glass. The Emperor of Shenzhou sat cross-legged on the wreckage of the observatory, and his fingertips drew star tracks on his bleeding palm. He could see that the life stars of the four emperors were rapidly dimming, and only the main star of the golden battle suit was still struggling to support.

"I really underestimated you." The dragon horns of the Ancient King swept across the visor of the golden armor, and sparks splashed into his red-gold pupils. "However, mortals are mortals after all." A star seal condensed in his palm, and each star was engraved with the ancient clan's world-destroying rune. "Back then, your Human Emperor was able to cut off a corner of me, but now..." Before he finished speaking, the holy sword of the golden armor suddenly burst out with the light of the sun, and the sun totem on the chest of the divine armor turned, and twelve beams of light shot towards the vital point of the Ancient King.

The four emperors spurted blood at the same time. They knew that this was the last masterpiece of the golden battle suit. The ancient emperor recalled the grand ceremony when he ascended the throne. The old state teacher once said: "The battle suit is spiritual. It can only be activated by the blood of the four emperors." At this moment, he looked at the light wings of the battle suit that gradually became transparent, and finally understood why the classics recorded that the previous wearer was the co-lord of Zhongzhou ten thousand years ago. The emperor's sword of the Great Xia emperor suddenly broke. He took advantage of the force of the broken sword falling to the ground and stepped back three steps. He stepped on a broken monument engraved with "Protect the People" - it was the remains of a residential building that was burned down by the war three days ago. "Awaken the guardian." The voice of the Jiuli emperor was trembling. On her witch pattern battle skirt, there were less than a hundred shadows of the eight hundred ancestors of witches. The emperor of Shenzhou nodded, and his fingertips drew the last line of life stars in the void. The blood of the four emperors splashed on the golden battle suit at the same time. The divine clothes suddenly let out a dragon roar, and the light wings condensed again, but each wing was covered with bloody cracks.

In the Yaoguang Holy Land of the East Desert, the cassock of Master Alan fluttered in the teleportation array. He looked at the clear stream and lush ancient trees in front of him, wondering if he had accidentally touched the spatial turbulence - the West Desert was currently shrouded in sandstorms and bloody rain, so why was the fragrance of locust flowers still floating in the air of the East Desert? The runes of the teleportation array suddenly lit up, and seven divine rainbows cut through the sky. The patrol team of the Yaoguang Holy Land surrounded him in the Big Dipper formation, and the leading disciple had a half-grain of wheat condensed from lightning tied to his sword tassel.

"I'm from the Western Desert..." Alan was shocked by the patrolman's answer before he finished speaking. "Ancient creatures? They were destroyed by Hongjun long ago." The young disciple pointed to the sky, "Look, even the fragments of the warships were purified by the lightning. The rain yesterday was sweet." Alan looked around, and there was indeed no trace of war. Even the air was peaceful. Only the lightning boundary monument on the top of the mountain in the distance was shining with a faint golden light in the sun.

He grabbed the arm of a team member, and the Buddhist beads under his cassock were almost broken: "Where is the Ancient King? Does he have golden hair and diamond-shaped scales on his forehead?" The team members smiled at each other, and the older monk said: "You are talking about the Purple Scale King, right? He was crushed into powder by the ancestor with the Thunder Punishment Seal. We saw with our own eyes that where the lightning fell, not even blood splashed on the ground." Alan's face turned from white to red, and then from red to purple. He suddenly remembered the last words of the abbot of the Great Leiyin Temple: "If there is hope for life in the East Wasteland, pray for that lightning."

When Alan arrived at the ancient Jiang family, Jiang Taixu was repairing the boundary amulet in the Stargazing Pavilion. The Eastern Wilderness giant looked at the anxious expression of the monk in front of him, and suddenly remembered that three days ago, under the thunder barrier, he saw Jiang Han deliberately change the trajectory of the thunder dragon in order to avoid the bird's nest. "The ancestor is in the wheat field." He pointed to the east, "But you may not believe it, he looks like a farmer."

In the wheat field, Jiang Han was squatting on the ridge, holding a wheat seedling scorched by the war between his fingertips. Lightning flashed from his palm, and the charred wheat stalks gradually sprouted new buds, with dewdrops made of purple scales hanging on the leaves. As Alan's cassock was just stained with dew from the field, he saw the green shadow stand up, and the patch on the hem was wet by the morning dew, revealing the faintly visible lightning pattern underneath - exactly the same as the demon-killing pattern on the Western Desert Pagoda.

"The glazed tower in the Western Desert is about to break." Alan knelt down with his Buddhist beads scattered in the mud. "Eight hundred monks used their blood to light the lamps, but the ancient king..." Before he finished speaking, he was lifted up by a gentle force. Jiang Han looked at the blood stains on his cassock and remembered that five hundred years ago in the Vajra Temple, the old abbot used his own blood to repair the torn monk's robe for him. "Buddhism says that all living beings suffer." He looked to the west, and the lightning gathered into a boat at his sleeves. "Let's go and see your pagoda."

On the return trip on the Thunder Light Boat, Ye Fan looked at the ruins of Zhongzhou passing by quickly below, and saw that the golden battle suit was perishing together with the ancient king, and the blood of the four emperors dyed the light wings of the battle suit red. Ji Ziyue's Vermillion Bird Ring suddenly made a clear sound, and the lightning pattern on the ring resonated with the light of Jiang Han's cuffs. She suddenly understood why the thunder in the East Wasteland never hurt people - those seemingly violent lightning lights were actually the most gentle hands of heaven and earth, gently brushing away the suffering of the world.

When the lightning descended on the Western Desert, the glazed tower of the Great Leiyin Temple was emitting its final wail. The fist wind of the Eight-Armed Ancient King had shattered the sixth floor of the tower. The abbot of the Great Leiyin Temple knelt on the tower base and chanted the Rebirth Mantra with his last breath. Suddenly, a dragon-like thunder roared from the sky, and a green shadow came stepping on the thunder. Wherever the hem of his clothes swept, the sandstorm subsided, and the Buddha's bone relics rose from the ground and condensed into a glazed golden body again in the lightning.

"You're here." The voice of the ancient king trembled for the first time. He recognized the Penglai emblem on the other party's sleeve - it was the emblem of the human monks who were exterminated by him ten thousand years ago. Jiang Han did not answer, but raised his hand and cast a thunder seal. When the seal fell, every tile of the glazed tower uttered a Buddhist chant, resonating with the lightning to form the word "卍". Each arm of the eight-armed ancient king was nailed to the sand by the thunder pattern, and the moment the purple blood oozed out, it was purified into nutrients to nourish the sea buckthorn.

Alan looked at the looming figure in the lightning and suddenly remembered the ancient scroll in the Sutra Library of the temple. The Leiyin Bodhisattva in the painting was exactly the same as the lightning pattern on the hem of the person in front of him. He picked up the scattered Buddhist beads and found that there was an additional fine lightning pattern on each bead - that was the protective power that Jiang Han quietly injected when he raised his hand.

The battle in Zhongzhou continued. The four emperors watched the golden battle suit turn into flowing light, and saw the eastern sky lit up with lightning. The Great Xia Emperor clenched the broken sword, and the new lightning pattern on the sword was exactly the same as the mark on Jiang Han's sleeve. The Ancient Hua Emperor looked to the west, as if he saw the deep sea of ​​sand, the glazed tower was rebuilt in the lightning, and each floor of the tower reflected the wheat fields of the Eastern Wasteland.

In the wheat fields of the East Desert, the newly sprouted wheat ears swayed in the wind, as if greeting the warriors in the distance. Jiang Han stood on the Thunder Boat, looking at the land of Wanyu, and remembered his master's words before his death: "Thunder is not for destruction, but for the seeds to hear the sound of spring." At this moment, the lightning from his sleeves gently fell on the injured shoulder of the Western Desert monk, on the bleeding palm of the Emperor of Zhongzhou, and on the ice ridges of the North Plains Ice Sea that were about to collapse - it turned out that the most powerful force was never destruction, but to let hope sprout again on the ruins.

When the lightning faded, Alan found that his cassock had become brand new, with a few wheat ears embroidered on it. In the distance, the bell of the Great Leiyin Temple rang again. (End of this chapter)