Chapter Ninety-Three: The Astonishing Effect of the Mist

Ming Qing swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down before shouting back, “It... this place only allows entry... no exit!”

No matter how terrified he was, he was not alone now. He might die, but the others in the monastery... the best outcome was still that a few more of them should live.

At the thought, Ming Qing gave a bitter smile to himself. Facing an opponent who might even possess false-immortal strength, who would dare claim he could survive?

Then suddenly, a flash of insight struck him. False-immortal strength—his monastery had one too. Realizing this, Ming Qing bellowed again, almost roaring, “Quick, go ask the Patriarch!”

“The Patriarch?” Hearing him, all the senior abbots were stunned. Had things already become so dire?

It had only just begun, and not much time had passed. Was it really appropriate to summon the Patriarch so soon?

“Ask the Patriarch!” Just as the senior abbots were still reeling, the monastery head lowered his gaze in thought for a moment, then lifted his head with a solemn expression and made the final decision.

The others were startled again. They turned to look at him, and when they saw the grave look on his face, their hearts sank. Their expressions turned solemn as they bowed their heads and pressed their palms together.

“Yes.”

With that, the monastery head took the lead and headed toward the place where the Patriarch was in secluded cultivation, with the senior abbots following behind.

...

After voicing his thoughts aloud, Ming Qing had no other options. Standing in the mist, retreat was impossible, so he could only press forward.

Since he had already notified the monastery, what happened next was beyond his control.

He drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. Since the monastery’s affairs were no longer something he could intervene in, then what remained was his own matter. The worry in Ming Qing’s eyes faded away.

He was forty-three this year, already at the peak of the middle Heavenly Human stage. Beyond that lay the Heavenly Human peak, and after that, the false-immortal realm.

But despite being considered a genius himself, he was certain he could reach the Heavenly Human peak. As for false-immortal... that was nothing but a dream.

Not a single shred of confidence.

Now, although he faced an existence that might be false-immortal and therefore extremely dangerous, was this not also an opportunity?

False-immortal was simply too elusive. Even for disciples of major sects like them, even with a false-immortal Patriarch in the sect, it still remained distant and indistinct.

A Patriarch was a Patriarch, not a teacher. He would not give painstaking instruction at every turn. At most, one could watch from afar, or ask a question or two, and even such an opportunity was precious.

Most importantly, even if he were given this chance and asked one or two questions, for Ming Qing it would still be a drop in the bucket.

False-immortal could not be explained clearly by one question, or even a few.

If it were really that simple, then false-immortal would not be a legend.

Now, an opportunity stood right before him. Though it might cost him his life, he had no other choice, did he?

There was no problem one could imagine that would be deeper than personally facing a false-immortal legend.

“Perhaps this is my destiny,” Ming Qing told himself.

“Let’s go.” Having made up his mind, Ming Qing stepped forward. He wanted to sense some of the mysteries of false-immortal in this mist of false-immortal strength, for the sake of his future cultivation.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Suddenly, Ming Qing’s expression changed. After taking three steps, he abruptly discovered that the mist, which had previously become intangible again as he moved forward, had suddenly gained a tangible presence.

To put it simply, as he advanced, some nameless pressure suddenly descended upon him. With every step forward, the pressure increased, and the effort required to move also grew much greater.

“What is this?” Ming Qing wondered. Feeling the sudden burden upon him, he could not help but stop and lower his head in thought.

“Could it be!”

Soon, Ming Qing came to more or less a conclusion. After all, he was not foolish; the signs were already obvious.

“This mist should allow entry only, not retreat.”

“And with every step forward, these seemingly harmless wisps of fog will immediately generate immense pressure, forcing down on the one advancing. Unless one can withstand it, in the end one will be left...”

Ming Qing’s expression changed dramatically. He realized that these mists were not merely harmless—they were a disaster. Once someone entered, they could forget about getting out. The only option was to keep moving forward.

And with every additional step, the pressure would grow greater still. Unless one’s strength surpassed the upper limit of the mist, eventually there would come a moment when one could no longer move. At that point...

“Unable to move, transformed into a statue!”

Ming Qing forced out the words with a grim face, and his heart turned cold. This was trouble—big trouble.

“Where exactly did this mist come from?” At this point, Ming Qing no longer thought about his own future. Having understood the mist’s true purpose, his entire mind was consumed by anxiety.

This mist had come too suddenly, and its effect was far too shocking. If it truly continued as it was, then in the end every monk in the entire Bodhi Monastery would be frozen by this mist and turned into statues.

What troubled Ming Qing most was that the mist was not still. As time passed, it was spreading outward at an astonishing speed, and since they were all on the mountain, there was nowhere to retreat unless one could fly. In the end, they would all be covered by the mist, and everyone would be forced into it.

“Now we can only hope the Patriarch can break this mist. Otherwise, perhaps there will be no Bodhi Monastery from this day on.” Ming Qing felt a trace of sorrow. After pondering it in his mind, the conclusion he reached only deepened that desolation, filling his heart with an indescribable mood.

“Even though I know this is impossible, I still want to try.” After a moment, a thread of determination suddenly rose from within Ming Qing’s sorrowful gaze. Looking at the mist before him, he said, “I want to see what the source of this mist really is.”

...

In a small pavilion among the mountains, Zhou Yi and Song Hai stood facing each other. On the stone table between them lay a transparent chessboard, and each held black or white pieces as they played... Gomoku.

Just as Ming Qing entered the mist, Zhou Yi, who was playing, suddenly turned his head to glance at the mountains. His gaze seemed able to pierce the fog and see Ming Qing frowning within it. He smiled faintly, let Ming Qing pass from his thoughts, and looked instead toward the peak where a crowd of bald heads had gathered.

After a moment of contemplation, Zhou Yi’s mind stirred, and the mist’s spreading speed immediately slowed considerably.

“If it’s too fast, it won’t be fun. This way is more interesting.” With a smile, Zhou Yi turned back and began to think hard over the black piece in his hand.

Song Hai seemed to sense something. He turned to look at the mountain, shook his head, then looked back at Zhou Yi, who was racking his brain for his next move, and smiled very happily.

I already have three threes. I refuse to believe you can still win.