My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

A golden palm print flew out from the palm!

The palm print was initially only the size of a palm, but it rapidly expanded after leaving the hand, growing to a size of about ten feet in the blink of an eye. It was accompanied by a howling wind and descended upon Shen Zhaoyue!

Wherever the palm print passed, the air was compressed and emitted a sharp whistling sound.

Plaster fell from the walls on both sides of the corridor, and the flames of the torches were almost extinguished by the force of the palm strike.

Shen Zhaoyue's pupils suddenly contracted.

This palm strike is unavoidable!

She gritted her teeth, holding the knife horizontally in front of her, ready to take the blow head-on—

A hand reached out from the side, put it on her shoulder, and pulled her back.

The golden palm print grazed past her nose and slammed against the wall with a "boom"!

The blue bricks shattered, and stone chips flew everywhere!

A crater the size of a millstone, more than a foot deep, was blasted into the wall, with cracks spreading outwards like a spider web.

The entire wall was shaking, and large amounts of dust and gravel fell from the ceiling.

Shen Zhaoyue's cheeks stung from the pebbles hitting her, but she ignored the pain.

She turned her head and saw that Ye Qingfeng was standing beside her at some point.

The hand that was on her shoulder was quickly withdrawn, as if it had just been a casual helping hand.

Shen Zhaoyue gasped for breath, wanting to say something, but only a mouthful of blood welled up in her throat.

She tried to swallow it, but blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.

Huiming withdrew his hand, looked at Ye Qingfeng, and a trace of apprehension flashed in his eyes.

He used seventy percent of his strength in that palm strike, thinking he could turn the woman into mincemeat.

As a result, the Taoist priest suddenly appeared beside her from several feet away and easily dodged her.

That speed...

He stared at Ye Qingfeng and slowly spoke:

"Your skills are impressive. May I ask who your teacher is?"

Ye Qingfeng did not answer.

He simply looked at Huiming, his gaze as calm as if he were looking at an inanimate object.

That gaze made Huiming feel uneasy.

He had been in the underworld for decades and had seen all sorts of people.

He had seen all kinds of eyes: fierce, insidious, cunning, arrogant.

But he couldn't understand the look in the Taoist's eyes.

There was nothing in his eyes.

There was no murderous intent, no contempt, no anger, and no wariness.

There is only one kind of complete, absolute peace.

It's like looking at a rock, a tree, or a corpse that has been dead for a long time.

Huiming waited a few moments, but received no response. His smile gradually froze.

"Not going to speak?" he sneered. "Then—"

He hadn't finished speaking.

His vision blurred.

Ye Qingfeng's figure disappeared.

The next instant, a monk's knife appeared out of thin air beside Huiming's neck.

The knife was in the hand of a monk standing nearby.

The monk was still holding the knife, his hand still raised in the air, but his hand was empty.

He didn't even feel the knife being taken away; he only felt a lightness in his hand, and when he looked down, the knife was gone.

Ye Qingfeng was the one who took the knife.

He had appeared beside Huiming at some point, standing half a step behind her.

No one saw how he got there; from disappearing to reappearing, it was less than a blink of an eye.

He held the stolen monk's knife, its blade pressed against Huiming's neck.

The cold blade touched his skin, and Huiming froze.

He wanted to move, but he couldn't.

I wanted to shout, but I couldn't.

My throat feels like something is stuck in it, and I can't even breathe properly.

Ye Qingfeng stood behind him, her voice very soft, as if asking casually:

"What did you just say?"

Huiming opened his mouth, but only made a strange "hoho" sound in his throat.

A flash of light.

The round head flew off the shoulder.

Its head rolled twice in the air, its face still frozen in terror—its eyes wide open, its mouth agape, as if it wanted to scream but couldn't utter a sound.

It crashed to the ground, rolled to the corner, hit the wall, and came to a stop.

Blood gushed out of the cavity.

The headless body was still standing, blood gushing from the severed neck, spraying all over the heads and faces of the monks nearby.

Two breaths later, it collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The entire venue was deathly silent.

All the statues of monks were frozen in place by a spell, remaining completely still.

The only sounds were the crackling of the burning torch and the gurgling of blood gushing from the cavity.

Shen Zhaoyue leaned against the wall, watching this scene with shock in her eyes.

She saw it.

The Taoist's figure suddenly disappeared and then suddenly reappeared, as fast as a ghost.

From disappearing to reappearing, and then severing Huiming's head with a single blow, it all happened in the blink of an eye.

What... what kind of method is this?

The monks finally realized what was happening.

"Host—!!"

Someone screamed.

"The host is dead! He killed the host!"

"Run! Run!"

The monks scattered in a panic, running wildly to both ends of the corridor.

Sticks and knives were scattered all over the floor, and torches were also thrown away. Only the chaotic footsteps and terrified screams echoed in the corridor.

Ye Qingfeng stood still and did not give chase.

He looked at Huiming's body and glanced down at the head that had rolled off the ground.

The head's face was frozen, its eyes wide open, its mouth slightly agape, as if it hadn't yet managed to utter a sound.

He let go.

The monk's knife clattered to the ground.

Then he raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers joined together, and a golden-red tip lit up at the fingertips.

Samadhi Fire

It should be burned.

He was about to snap his fingers when he suddenly stopped.

Huiming's body has changed.

The headless body, which had been lying in a pool of blood, suddenly began to convulse.

It wasn't a death convulsion, but rather something wriggling beneath the skin and flesh.

The skin surface swelled up with bumps, like countless insects crawling under the skin, rising and falling in waves.

Ye Qingfeng took a half step back and stared at the corpse.

The convulsions became increasingly violent.

The skin began to crack.

It didn't split open from the wound, but rather split open simultaneously from all parts of the body.

His chest, abdomen, arms, and legs were torn open, the skin and flesh turned inside out, but no blood flowed out.

Only clumps of flesh and blood oozed out from the cracks.

The flesh and blood seemed alive, wriggling and rolling, bright red in color, with undried mucus still on its surface.

They didn't fall to the ground after gushing out of the crack, but floated in mid-air and gathered above the corpse.

A strong stench of blood filled the corridor.

The stench was so pungent it made her want to vomit. Shen Zhaoyue covered her mouth and nose, her stomach churning.

She saw Huiming's body shrivel up.

The skin and flesh withered away inch by inch, and the bones collapsed inch by inch, as if all the moisture had been drained away.

The flesh and blood gushing from his body were coalescing into an ever-growing ball of flesh, tumbling and writhing in mid-air.

A monk screamed, "Abbot! Abbot, he—"

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly started convulsing.

Then came the second, the third, the fourth...

Those monks who hadn't managed to escape fell one by one. Their bodies convulsed, their skin cracked, and blood and flesh gushed from the wounds, flying towards the ball of flesh.

Screams echoed throughout the room.

Some people rolled on the ground, tearing at their skin, trying to stop the things from gushing out. But it was no use; the wounds multiplied, and the flesh and blood gushed out faster and faster.

Someone climbed up the wall, trying to stand up and run, but as soon as he propped himself up, the skin on his leg tore open, and he fell to the ground, unable to get up again.

Some people knelt on the ground, clasped their hands together, and muttered incantations, it was unclear whether they were praying for Buddha's blessing or reciting the Rebirth Mantra.

As he chanted, his face split open, a blood-red gash running from his brow to his chin, flesh gushing out.