Chapter 39: Something Is Amiss

"Daoist, don't you feel that something is off?" In the distance, Huang Yue frowned deeply, her eyes flashing with contemplation as she watched Mingzhen's crazed demeanor and asked.

"Indeed, something is wrong," Daoist Qiufeng nodded, his gaze briefly sweeping over Zhou Yi before settling on Mingzhen. He spoke in a low voice, "Although I am not well acquainted with Mingzhen, one must know that in a grand sect like Bodhi Monastery, the disciples number in the thousands. Even among those with innate talents, there are many, yet there are only ten true inheritors. For him to stand out among so many disciples and become a true inheritor, judging by his current behavior, it would be impossible!"

Daoist Qiufeng pondered deeply. The situation was decidedly abnormal. As a true inheritor himself, he understood well the difficulty of attaining such a position—it was like a thousand people competing to cross a single plank, and 'difficult' barely begins to describe it.

A true inheritor represents the sect's very face, acting on behalf of its reputation in the world. Every word and action reflects the sect's style and carries the weight of its thousand-year legacy—no detail can be neglected. Thus, every grand sect, no matter how many secrets it harbors, keeps the selection of true inheritors absolutely clean; no one dares to tamper with this process.

To become a true inheritor, one must not only possess strength but, more importantly, a steadfast heart. If there is the slightest flaw, the position cannot be attained. Take Ruchi, for example—even though he lost, he did so with dignity. Failure is not to be feared; what is truly frightening is refusing to accept it.

Mingzhen's current state clearly shows he cannot accept defeat—wagering his life for the sake of reputation. This is entirely unbecoming of a true inheritor.

"Wait!" While Daoist Qiufeng was lost in thought, Huang Yue was also busy, her brows furrowed as she mentally reviewed everything that had happened, searching for clues. Suddenly, her expression shifted, a flash of insight illuminating her mind, and she exclaimed in surprise.

"What is it?" Daoist Qiufeng was startled by her sudden cry and hurriedly looked at her.

"I think I understand!" Huang Yue's face shifted from shock to bitterness as she slowly turned to Daoist Qiufeng and said, "It seems that it is not only he who has been ensnared—so have we!"

"We?" Daoist Qiufeng echoed in astonishment, then froze, dumbfounded. Huang Yue's words struck like lightning, instantly clearing the fog from his mind and revealing the truth.

He remained dazed for a long time before finally responding, sighing quietly, "Indeed, it’s not just him. We too have been unwittingly ensnared."

"If we were the ones standing there now, I doubt we would fare any better than him."

Huang Yue and Daoist Qiufeng exchanged glances, each seeing the bitterness and shock in the other's eyes.

Both were not evil by nature; to observe events unfold is human nature, nothing wrong with that. But when Mingzhen brought out the small flag, transforming his external appearance, had it been any other day, they would have stepped forward to intervene, even if they did not directly involve themselves. After all, once the external appearance is revealed, things can no longer be controlled.

No matter the outcome, Mingzhen would be ruined. After all, martial sects are like one big family; unless there is a deep-seated hatred, no one wagers their life—most contests end at a point, simply to settle victory or defeat.

The lower ranks may stir trouble, but at the upper echelons, especially among true inheritors—the elite of the sects—they must never be allowed to wear each other down, lest they be unprepared for the centennial calamity of the demon scourge.

Yet, upon realizing this, the two did not step forward to stop it. Instead, they stood calmly aside, watching the situation unfold.

Not only that—they even commented as though it were of no concern.

That was abnormal.

"Who could possibly, without us realizing, influence our emotions so effortlessly?" Huang Yue bowed her head, her eyes filled with dread. The more she thought, the more frightened she became. For someone to affect them so subtly, without their awareness, the power required must be unimaginable.

"Could it be the Demon Clan?" Daoist Qiufeng wondered. Such terrifying ability seemed to belong only to the legendary demons.

Thoughts whirled in their minds, appearing and vanishing, yet even after much consideration, they found no answer. Who was this person? What power did they possess? What was their intention?

They had no idea. Now, they were the fish upon the chopping block—helpless.

For someone to manipulate their emotions so easily, their strength must be fearsome; even killing them would require little effort.

…

Boom!

With a single strike, the blade descended with the weight of a mountain. A great peak seemed to shimmer into existence, carried by the blade, wielding the power of heaven and earth as it cleaved toward the boundless palm prints. Thunderous sounds erupted all around.

Countless palm prints intertwined, surging forward in overwhelming force.

Zhou Yi unleashed his blade, and before it could touch the palm prints, the sheer might carried by those countless imprints shattered his attack—the mountain that had appeared was extinguished in an instant, like a candle flame snuffed out.

Witnessing this, Zhou Yi's expression remained unchanged. He knew well the power of those palm prints; he had not expected his first move to accomplish much. Its instant destruction was within his expectation—it was merely an opening gesture.

Buzz!

He flicked his finger against the blade. The blade sang, its sound swelling to fill the heavens and earth. The once-vanished mountain appeared again with that flick: its slopes steep, forests dense, and countless creatures seemed to run within its depths.

The mountain that reappeared was far clearer than before, as though a real mountain accompanied him, vivid and lifelike, its power multiplied with its clarity.

As the mountain grew clearer, Zhou Yi's eyes reflected the endless palm prints; his face betrayed neither joy nor sorrow.

To cleave a mountain, strength is three parts, skill seven.

Strength channels through the energy gates; skill through the spirit gates. One must seek the mountain's veins, let energy flow like water, exert force, execute skill, and so the mountain splits.

Silently reciting the secret method, Zhou Yi's eyes watched as the endless palm prints vanished, replaced by a towering mountain. Its height unknown, its aura formidable, suffused with murderous intent, seeking prey to devour.

Zhou Yi drew his blade and moved. The tip pointed downward, the hilt to the heavens; seemingly slow, yet swift, raised before his chest. His eyes emptied, revealing within their hollows the silhouette of a majestic peak, its ridges intricately linked and finely detailed.

The illusion became mountain, the veins sought their root, the clouds and streams flowed, pressing ever forward.

"Open!" Suddenly, Zhou Yi shouted, his voice like the first thunder, shaking heaven and earth, and with a forceful motion, he slashed downward.

Boom!

Only a thunderous roar was heard. The countless palm prints before Zhou Yi were obliterated, as though the blade had split Mount Hua, and the mountain collapsed.

Air was forced apart, compressed together into waves of sound, forming visible ripples that spread from the epicenter like those on a lake, expanding outward and fading away.