Chapter Thirty-Seven: The External Aspect of Bodhi

If you want a car to run, you need gasoline; if you want a horse to gallop, it must eat grass. For every mile you travel, you must prepare accordingly.

Given Mingzhen’s true abilities, being able to summon six streams of energy was already quite impressive—enough to astonish anyone who witnessed it, for it surpassed what should have been possible for him. Yet even with these six streams, Mingzhen held not the slightest confidence in defeating Zhou Yi. Feeling the Daoist intent gradually thickening around Zhou Yi, Mingzhen knew there was no path left for retreat.

Events had unfolded in ways he’d never expected. Mingzhen couldn’t fathom how things had come to such a pass. What he thought would be an easy victory had turned into a desperate battle for survival. In fact, he could no longer even say with certainty that the life to be lost at the end of this struggle would be his opponent’s and not his own.

He had believed that, having obtained the Bodhi True Will Banner before setting out, he would be invincible in the Innate Realm—unless he encountered another bearer of an immortal relic, none would be his match. He never imagined that, brimming with youthful pride and ambition, all his plans would amount to nothing more than idle dreams.

Instead, not only had he failed to achieve his anticipated supremacy, but he was now blocked on his path by two children who had not even reached the Innate Realm, leaving him neither able to advance nor retreat. At this, a trace of sorrow flickered in Mingzhen’s eyes. What grievous sin had he committed to end up here?

Boom!

The force surrounding Zhou Yi grew ever more imposing. Mingzhen seemed to see the shadow of a great mountain slowly taking form behind Zhou Yi, exuding an overwhelming and weighty intent.

Boom!

Song Hai was not idle either. His hand rested on his sword hilt, his aura held in check but ready to burst forth. Within him, the profound mysteries of the Reliant Mountain Sword Style moved like mountains, and his gaze was fixed, unblinking, on Mingzhen.

“Hai, stand down!” Zhou Yi, sensing the rising force of the sword intent around Song Hai, spoke in a grave tone.

Hearing this, a flash of unwillingness crossed Song Hai’s eyes. But after seeing the seriousness in Zhou Yi’s expression, he slowly released his grip on the hilt and stepped lightly backward.

“There’s no other way!” The heaviness in Mingzhen’s eyes deepened, tinged now with blood—a sign he was truly about to risk everything. He could feel it: Zhou Yi’s aura had solidified, growing ever more vast, to the point that even the Bodhi True Will Banner could no longer restrain it.

Mingzhen could summon at most six streams of energy now; any more would further injure his spirit, requiring a long time to recover.

But at this moment, what he was about to attempt was not to summon one or two more streams, but to leap past the first threshold altogether, reaching the second—manifesting a form from energy, condensing his vital essence into an outward avatar.

Within the Bodhi True Will Banner, the difference between the path of energy streams and that of an avatar was as great as that between a bicycle and an airplane. The gulf was vast, and naturally, the energy required was immense.

If he were to remain at the first threshold, even pushing himself a few extra times would simply require a period of rest—perhaps months, or at worst, years. But to leap directly to forming an avatar was another matter entirely. Even if he had the energy to succeed, he would be crippled once the battle was over. Unless he encountered some great fortune, his life as a cultivator would effectively be over.

“Why go to such lengths?” Outside the inn, Daoist Qiufeng shook his head, his eyes tinged with pity as he looked at Mingzhen.

“Indeed,” sighed Huang Yue, thinking of the consequences of Mingzhen exceeding his limits to use the avatar path. All this for a single Autumn Leaf Ganoderma? Was it worth risking everything—his life, his future? Even if he succeeded and obtained the prize, the wounds would be so grave that not even the Autumn Leaf Ganoderma could heal him. In fact, the injuries might be so severe that his body could not even withstand the herb’s effects, and in the end, all his efforts would merely benefit someone else.

Why, then, persist?

“He’s truly riding a tiger and cannot dismount,” the two mused, having already foreseen the answer. Their gazes upon Mingzhen were filled with deeper regret.

Thunder rumbled, long and unceasing.

Mingzhen’s eyes burned with rage and sorrow. He stared at Zhou Yi with murderous intent, and in that instant, every part of his body—bones, blood, inner force, skin—erupted, roaring like thunder.

The small banner in his hand seemed rooted there, immovable. From the moment Mingzhen conceived this plan and began its execution, the once-harmless little banner transformed into a monster—a ravenous demon, greedily drawing out every drop of strength from his body, turning blood, bone, muscle, inner force—everything—into raw energy.

Mingzhen’s body shriveled at a speed visible to the naked eye, collapsing like a balloon whose valve had been yanked out and left in the sun—deflating rapidly.

In contrast, the little banner in his hand surged with power. Its energy poured into the six streams before him, and an immense field, invisible but palpable, manifested around them.

With this support, the six streams of energy began to shift. Amidst swirling mist, they swayed up and down, left and right, before gradually settling into shapes.

The two lower streams twisted, then solidified into the form of legs.

The central stream, symmetrical from top to bottom and side to side, took on the shape of a torso.

The two side streams, surging and full, became arms.

The uppermost stream, formless and pure, rose above, protruding on either side, a structured rise and fall at the front, resembling the head of a six-yang colossus.

“Aaah!” As energy was drained from his body, the agony Mingzhen felt was no less than being sliced to pieces—perhaps even worse. His eyes bulged, cheeks hollowed, his frame withered to skin and bones, a living skeleton draped in flesh, more ghoul than man. With a sudden shout, he summoned every last ounce of strength to shake the Bodhi True Will Banner in his hands.

Boom!

Thunder roared once more. In Mingzhen’s crazed gaze, the small banner began to move, albeit slowly. As it did, the limbs and head, previously separate, gradually merged with the torso.

Witnessing this, Zhou Yi’s expression grew ever more grave. From the moment Mingzhen started to wield the banner, Zhou Yi sensed mortal danger. He had intended to break Mingzhen’s concentration but found himself ensnared. By the time he’d gathered enough strength to break free, it was already too late.

In Zhou Yi’s silent gaze, Mingzhen’s actions finally drew to a close. The six streams of energy merged into a towering green humanoid just over two meters tall, enveloping Mingzhen completely. His withered, skeletal body vanished into the avatar.

Zhou Yi’s heart was heavy. His fingers, gripping the hilt of his blade, tightened in an instant. The invisible pressure around him shattered like paper the moment his hand clenched, scattering to nothing.