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

Ye Qingfeng did not retreat further.

He raised his right hand, and the Autumn Water Sword on the ground flew into the air with a clang and landed in his palm.

The sword was a deep blue, gleaming faintly in the dimly lit corridor.

He stood there with his sword, watching the giant Buddha statue draw ever closer.

Three zhang (approximately 10 meters).

Two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters).

One and a half feet.

The Buddha raised its four arms.

Ye Qingfeng made a move.

He flashed, shrinking the distance to an inch, and instantly appeared beside the Buddha. His Autumn Water Sword swept horizontally, a beam of sword light slashing towards its torso!

The sword flashed and pierced flesh with a muffled "thud," cutting a three-foot-long wound.

Dark red blood gushed out, splattering onto the sword and making a "sizzling" sound—the blood was corrosive!

Ye Qingfeng frowned, channeling his Qi into the sword to disperse the blood.

He looked at the wound.

It has already begun to heal.

Flesh buds emerged, intertwined, and filled the wound—three breaths later, the wound disappeared.

The Buddha's arm was already smashing down on him!

Ye Qingfeng dodged to the side and unleashed another sword strike!

The sword struck its arm, cutting a gash about an inch deep.

Similarly, the two breaths healed.

Another strike!

Healed again!

He unleashed thirteen sword strikes in succession, each striking a different spot, and each wound healed within three breaths.

The wounds healed faster and faster, until eventually, they closed up as soon as the sword was removed.

Ye Qingfeng sheathed his sword and retreated, landing back in the same spot.

He looked at the large Buddha statue with a solemn expression.

This thing is practically immortal.

Ordinary swords and knives cannot harm it, nor can the Samadhi Fire burn it; its wounds heal incredibly quickly.

Moreover, that viscous substance can corrode magical artifacts, extinguish true fire, and even penetrate the skin—

He didn't make another move; he just stared at it.

The Buddha statue was also staring at him.

That smiling face remained compassionate, yet tears of blood still flowed.

It did not attack again, but simply stood there, its twenty-odd arms slowly swinging, the eyes in its palms turning together.

The man and the monster stood facing each other, three zhang apart.

......

Outside the corridor, Lü Yang carried Shen Zhaoyue and stumbled as they ran out.

Shen Zhaoyue was covered in blood, had several broken ribs, couldn't lift her left arm, and her consciousness fluctuated between being clear and confused.

She leaned against Lü Yang's chest, mumbling something indistinctly.

"No...don't go back...that thing..."

Lü Yang did not answer.

He gritted his teeth and ran as fast as he could.

He didn't know if the immortal master could deal with that thing, but he knew that staying would only be a burden.

The immortal master told him to take people out, so he took people out.

As I rushed out of the temple gate, the night wind rushed towards me.

Lu Yang placed Shen Zhaoyue on the stone steps outside the door and glanced back at the depths of the temple.

A muffled thud could be faintly heard from there, along with some eerie sound, like countless mouths groaning simultaneously.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh.

-

In the corridor, Ye Qingfeng and the Buddha statue remained locked in a standoff.

The monster didn't seem to be in a hurry.

It simply stood there, looking at him with the eyes in those palms, and with that smiling face dripping with blood and tears.

Ye Qingfeng's mind raced.

What exactly is this thing?

It was formed from the flesh and blood of more than twenty monks, but it was clearly not a simple superposition of those monks.

Those monks were parasitized by it during their lives, and after they died, their flesh and blood returned to their original bodies, thus condensing into this form.

where does it come from

The altar underground?

Huiming was merely a vessel, as were those monks.

This monster is the true form, or rather, a part of the true form.

How big is its body?

Ye Qingfeng didn't know.

But he knew that what he was dealing with was not something he could easily handle.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

In the sea of ​​consciousness, that illusory sun rose, casting down its bright light.

This is the pure Yang sword intent that Lü Yang gave him. It can not only slay inner demons, but also provide his swordsmanship with greater destructive power.

He began to think about another problem.

Why can't this thing be killed?

It's not because of its recovery ability—no matter how fast it recovers, there's always a limit.

The real problem is that none of his current methods can truly harm its essence.

The Samadhi True Fire burns away evil spirits, but the viscous substance on its body can extinguish the fire.

The sword cuts through flesh and blood, but its flesh and blood can regenerate infinitely.

Sword control and shrinking distance are merely auxiliary techniques.

He thought his attack methods were sufficient, but before long, he encountered a monster that he could not defeat.

He opened his eyes and looked at the flesh-and-blood Buddha that was still standing in the same place.

Since one sword cannot destroy it, why not imitate the previous thousand or ten thousand swords?

However, there is still a problem: there are no swords here at all.

But soon, Ye Qingfeng laughed. With Lü Yang here, what was there to be afraid of?

Thinking of this, he smiled calmly.

The sound pierced through layers of walls, through the deep night, and through Lü Yang's overwhelming fear and anxiety, reaching his ears clearly:

"evil creature--"

His voice was clear and melodious, like a crane's cry in the sky, carrying a sense of transcendent composure and calmness.

"Your physical body is indestructible and can be completely healed; ordinary sword techniques cannot kill you—"

He paused for a moment.

"Then let's test this sword of mine."

Another meal.

Then, the voice rose, like metal striking stone, each word crystal clear:

"This humble Taoist priest possesses a sword—"

"It can transform into three thousand!"

"After three thousand—"

"Reincarnate into three thousand!"

"Three thousand, three thousand, and three thousand again—"

"A volley of swords!"

"cut!"

Lu Yang stood outside the temple, and the memory of the flesh-and-blood Buddha filled him with dread.

However, judging from the immortal master's calm demeanor, he must be confident, otherwise he wouldn't have let me leave first.

At that moment, the clear and melodious voice of the immortal master rang out in the temple, and Lü Yang felt his blood rushing to his head.

One sword transforms into three thousand—what a magnificent sword technique! The immortal master is indeed formidable!

Inside the temple.

When Ye Qingfeng shouted out that long string of words, he himself felt that he was being a bit too pretentious.

What can be transformed into three thousand? After three thousand, it transforms into three thousand again, three thousand, three thousand, and three thousand again.

This is clearly a direct copy of the Buddhist concept of "three thousand great chiliocosms" to describe the number of sword lights.

But no way.

He needed to convince Lü Yang that he could transform into three thousand with a single sword strike.

The best way to make people believe is to speak as if it were true.

In his eyes, I am now omnipotent.

So he stood before that flesh-and-blood Buddha, facing those twenty-odd waving arms.

Facing that compassionate smile stained with blood and tears, he calmly and clearly recited the words.

After shouting the last word "slash," he immediately felt that the sword in his hand was different.

Lü Yang believed it!

The boy outside heard him shouting and believed him.

Trust completely and without reservation.

Or rather, they never doubted that he couldn't do anything.

He raised his head and looked at the flesh-and-blood Buddha.

The Buddha still stands there, its smiling face still compassionate, and its tears of blood still flowing.

Those arms were still swinging, and those eyes were still fixed on him.

Ye Qingfeng raised his hand.

He swung his sword.

The first sword.

With a single swing of the sword, a flash of light appeared.

That sword light wasn't a single beam, but rather—

Countless paths!