A Pawn's Passage

Dragon qi was a variant of earth qi, fused with fragments of faith and incense power. When a nation prospered and peace prevailed, the people had faith in the sovereign, so incense power could be gathered easily, hence an intense dragon qi. But when a nation declined and chaos reigned, the people’s faith in the sovereign would waver, hence a weakened dragon qi.

This showed how the people’s faith could affect dragon qi.

At the founding of a dynasty, the people’s hearts were tempered through countless deaths. The killing aura was strong due to the mountains of corpses, seas of blood that dyed the lands red.

In an age of peace, the people’s spirits soared. Dragon qi then becomes abundant and righteous, like the Confucian righteous qi. With such immense energy, one could build strong formations to guard the imperial city, keeping even Immortals from entering.

At the end of a dynasty, the people fell into chaos. Dragon qi would decay rapidly and turn into a poison more lethal than even the Xiaoyao Six Void Tribulations. Only a First-Tribulation Immortal’s indestructible golden body could withstand this corrupted dragon qi, suppressing the decay but not dissolving it completely.

When the Holy Xuan once battled the last Grand Libationer of the Confucian School, the latter wielded corrupted dragon qi as his weapon, inflicting grievous wounds upon the former.

However, corrupted dragon qi was rare. One must wait for the dying twilight of a dynasty to find it. Corrupted dragon qi had not been seen since then. Moreover, with the weakening of the Dragon Veins, the might of dragon qi became increasingly weaker with every generation.

The decline of the Central Dragon and the death of the Northern Dragon had nothing to do with dwindling faith. The root problem was in the earth qi itself. The world grew increasingly solid and real, which hardened earth qi, causing it to stagnate into a dead pool. This was how both the Central and Northern Dragons would perish, turning lifeless and stiff.

A Heavenly Tribulation would not befall pocket realms due to earth qi, allowing one to avoid a tribulation. Similarly, incense power protected divine kingdoms from a heavenly tribulation. Dragon qi was a combination of both, so it could also shield against tribulation for a short time. However, its core was still earth qi, ever flowing and shifting, like a rapid river. Even Immortals could not wield dragon qi for long and could only harness it briefly. Thus, it was simply unrealistic to linger in the mortal world by relying on dragon qi.

However, there was one method that allowed one to gather dragon qi through formations. The most famous examples were the formations in the Imperial Capital and the Wuxing Mountain. Once the formation was complete, one would be able to evade a heavenly tribulation as long as one stayed within bounds. But such a state was similar to being confined within a pocket realm or a divine kingdom. It was a self-made prison with too many limits. It would be better to cultivate the Godly Immortal path or merge one’s essence with the pocket realm rather than chase the volatile and sensitive dragon qi.

Moreover, as the end of the era approached, dragon qi would ultimately vanish. Pocket realms and divine kingdoms would fall to the mortal plane.

That was why the three Deputy Grand Masters no longer sought to pass a heavenly tribulation because it simply was not worth it with the end of the era approaching.

The same principle applied to Godly Immortals. A vessel infused with dragon qi could allow a Godly Immortal to descend and manifest its full power, but not for long. Thus, after the creation of this red-robed Bodhisattva, it was sealed away to prevent the dragon qi from dissipating, making it indistinguishable from an ordinary statue.

The moment the red-robed Bodhisattva awakened, dragon qi began to surge, which dissolved the crimson robe, revealing the statue beneath. Streaks of blood trickled down the body and merged into the lake beneath the feet. In the blink of an eye, the entire lake had turned a deep red.

The red-robed Bodhisattva now stood upon a lake of blood, just as the King of the Yu Kingdom had seen in his dream.

Next would be an inverted black mountain hanging above.

The dome above the Bodhisattva’s head was gone, replaced by surging crimson clouds, blazing like flames, merging into a boundless sea of fire.

Centered around the red-robed Bodhisattva, the fiery clouds spun into a vast vortex that engulfed the entire underground hall. At its core, the peak of an inverted black mountain slowly emerged.

Ordinary mountains had peaks pointing toward the heavens, but this one hung upside down. At first, it was small, but it grew exponentially.

This crimson lake and inverted black mountain matched the Yu King’s dream in every detail.

At this sight, Great Sage Lan finally recognized the true identity of the being before him—Wu Luo, one of the Eleven Great Witches, the last leader of Ancient Wuism, the Goddess of the Lingshan Witch Cult, and one of the Three Great Ancient Immortals.

She had once betrayed and slain Wu Xian, and then she died at the hands of the Ancestral Heavenly Preceptor. But after rising from the dead, she wreaked havoc upon Kunlun Paradise, crushed the flying ship, and struck down the Yinglong Warship. She was the bane of the Daoist Order.

Though the Daoist Order once dispatched a Great Sage and two first-rank Spirit Guards armed with the Grand Master’s immortal object—Moral Sovereign—to invade Wu Luo’s divine kingdom and wound her grievously, she was a Godly Immortal who had to endure three stages of death to truly perish. Thus, this injury meant little to her. As long as she had enough divine power, such wounds were just passing inconveniences.

At this moment, Wu Luo had fully recovered, restored to her peak.

If the red-robed Bodhisattva was truly Wu Luo, then the black mountain above her was Lingshan, though not the real one. The true Lingshan Mountain had nearly been destroyed in her war against the Ancestral Heavenly Preceptor. This one was a reconstruction within her divine kingdom, a manifestation similar to a Spiritual Statue, using divine power to create an illusory form.

As long as her divine kingdom endured, so too would this phantom mountain. If her divine kingdom collapsed, the mountain would vanish with it. But the true Lingshan would still remain even after the death of all Eleven Great Witches.

The sea of flame was none other than the Red Lotus Karmic Fire.

Great Sage Lan gazed into the sea of fire and saw countless visions.

A tall ritual platform, priests wearing masks, and a forest of long blades—the scene resembled an execution ground.

The sacrificial offerings were bound in chains and led up to the platform. They also wore masks, but unlike the priests’ masks, theirs bore expressions of humiliation and submission.

Warriors escorted the captives to the center of the platform and forced them to their knees. Then, the priests began to circle them, dancing, chanting, and praying in rhythmic unison.

Ancient instruments began to play in accompaniment.

Moments later, the gathered worshippers joined in prayer.

When the ritual was complete, the priests drew their long blades to slice open abdomens and hearts with practiced precision.

Throughout the process, the sacrifices did not resist, like cattle awaiting slaughter. Not even a single cry escaped their lips.

The onlookers erupted into cheers.

One by one, the souls were devoured by an unseen power, while the flowing blood quickly lost all vitality, turning into filth.

Deep within the primitive temple was an altar, and at its core was a towering statue of a woman facing south with her back to the north. She held a bone staff, upon which a black serpent coiled, its forked tongue flickering.

Countless priests knelt reverently before the statue.

Suddenly, the statue on the altar stirred to life. An endless chorus of ancient, obscure voices echoed through the ages and arrived in the present, like the cries of countless souls or a collective chant.

A black mountain loomed behind the divine statue, its slopes crawling with indistinct, writhing silhouettes.

A dense black mist spread outward, shrouding the temple in a chilling, unnatural haze.

The kneeling priests trembled with ecstasy and awe, prostrating fully in worship.

Strictly speaking, this was not an illusion but the collective memory of countless souls that were long dead.

The Ancient Immortals did not merely harvest incense power. They fueled their recovery through blood sacrifice, striving ever toward a higher peak.

When True Lord Siming descended upon Jinling Prefecture, it was accompanied by a massive blood sacrifice. Had he succeeded, he might not have been able to ascend with his divine kingdom, but he could likely have departed the mortal realm, just as Izanami and True Lord Taiyin once did.

However, even True Lord Siming understood such a feat was near impossible. He was merely taking advantage of the chaos to seize whatever was available.

Wu Luo, an ancient goddess born of the primordial Wuist Sect, was most accustomed to blood sacrifices. The number of blood sacrifices she received rivaled even those of True Lord Siming, who presided over life and death itself. But such sacrifices gathered immeasurable resentment, transforming into what the Buddhists called karmic fire. Thus, Wu Luo bore the most intense karmic fire.

These karmic fires were a double-edged sword. They ceaselessly scorched Wu Luo’s golden body, undermined the foundation of her divine kingdom, and drained her divine power. At the same time, they served as her most formidable weapon.

Wu Luo extended a single finger toward Great Sage Lan. A crimson lotus made of flames bloomed, a dazzling and mesmerizing sight.

This fire could be deadlier than Izanagi’s demonic fire, yet it could also burn weaker than the common solar flames.

The key lay in how much fuel it was fed. Karmic fire fed upon karmic sin. If one did not bear a karmic burden, the fire would be short-lived. But if one harbored monstrous sin, the fire would burn endlessly. The outer flame would ignite the inner flame, burning both flesh and spirit, rising through the crown of the head and descending to the center of one’s feet. All internal organs would turn to ash, and the three Dantians would decay.

Every act of killing forged a karmic debt, which would turn into karmic fire, clinging to the soul forever.

Ordinarily, it posed little threat. Just as the Daoist Order had countless flaws yet still endured, most of these troubles lay buried and unseen beneath calm waters, almost as if they never existed. But once outside pressure exposed these flaws, chaos would erupt within the Daoist Order.

Karmic force had the same principle. As long as it did not accumulate beyond a threshold, it would remain dormant. One could live and die and even ascend without ever noticing it. But if it were deliberately ignited, it would become a catastrophe, causing a loss of cultivation at the very least. Worst of all, it was tenacious. It could only be slowed, suppressed, or sealed away, then painstakingly unraveled, strand by strand. It was extremely troublesome.

Of course, Great Sage Lan bore a karmic burden. After all, he was the Great Sage of the Poluo Daoist Mansion and commander of all military affairs in the region. So how could one who commanded armies not bear the sin of bloodshed?

If such karmic fire were to touch him and ignite his inner karmic force, the outcome would be unimaginable.

Thus, Great Sage Lan did not hesitate for an instant. His first instinct was to retreat swiftly, ensuring not even a lick of that karmic fire could touch him.