After the monk's departure, no one spoke. The group moved along the road lined with dead trees, each lost in their own thoughts.
The air was thin, carrying a chill that seeped into the bones—but it wasn't the cold that caused the shiver Zhang yong felt.
He walked at the front, stepping calmly, his gaze cold. A decision had already taken root deep within him.
But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was whether he was satisfied with it.
The first and last cause of heart demons was dissatisfaction and regret.
Zhang yong did not have the luxury of hesitation—or rather, he did not have the time for it. Not now. Not later. Not ever.
Within moments, the group accelerated to their peak speed for nearly half an hour. Zhang yong's eyes sharpened, and a shadow appeared ahead.
A green robe. Long black hair. An arrogant bearing.
Mao Zedong.
Mao Zedong did not move. He stood in the middle of the road as if waiting for them, arms clasped behind his back, a cold expression resting on his features.
"I haven't seen you in a while, Zhang yong. So you survived."
Zhang yong raised his hand, and instantly a sword appeared in his grasp. "I don't have time for your—"
Before he could finish, a wave of energy rippled through his body. Wu Ruxian and Long Youliang were blasted backward, and in that same instant, a shallow cut appeared on Zhang yong's cheek.
His eyes narrowed—then widened abruptly.
"You broke through to the Venerable Realm? Is this a joke?"
"A joke?" Mao Zedong tilted his head slightly. "While you were staying with two beauties, I was polishing my skills slowly. This barrier I created will allow me to deal with you personally."
He slowly raised his right hand. With a simple movement of his fingers, ten massive shadows emerged, shrouded in thick Death Qi.
As Zhang yong focused, their forms became clear.
Gorillas.
Savage bodies covered in coarse dark-gray fur, red eyes brimming with killing intent. Each emitted a low growl. The faint tremor that followed was enough to prove their danger.
Mao Zedong did not move. "Each of them has submitted to me completely. Gorillas raised in a Fifth-Grade Land of Death. Let me see you resist!"
With a gesture, the gorillas shot toward him like arrows.
Zhang yong pressed against the ground and launched forward to meet them.
His sword cut through the air fluidly. The first gorilla approached, massive as a carriage, raising its heavy arm to crush him in one strike. He did not slow down.
He stepped aside, bypassed the enormous arm, and leapt—leaving behind a long gash stretching from its waist to its throat.
The beast did not fall immediately, but its steps faltered as thick black blood poured from its wound.
The others gave him no rest. Two charged from the sides, a third leapt from above.
Zhang yong lifted his sword with one hand, and in the other ignited the Great Sun Flame.
The air's chill transformed into blazing heat. A massive wave of fire exploded toward the gorilla descending from above, burning its fur as it let out a sharp scream.
The two from the sides attacked next. Zhang yong bent low, sweeping his blade upward to sever the tendons behind one's knee, then rolled across the ground and slipped past.
"Their attacks are coordinated…" he muttered, leaping backward as the remaining three repositioned.
They were not mindless beasts. Under Mao Zedong's control, they were like trained soldiers—perhaps even surpassing them in obedience.
Mao Zedong's breakthrough had enhanced his enslavement abilities.
Suddenly, Mao Zedong raised a steel flute. A faint glow emanated from its holes, making the air grow heavy.
He placed it to his lips and blew a short breath.
No sound came out—but Zhang yong felt something change.
A faint howl escaped the injured gorillas. The one whose fur had burned stopped screaming. The black blood from the other's wound began to dry. Severed tendons tightened and reattached.
"They're being healed?" Zhang yong murmured calmly.
Mao Zedong chuckled lightly. "Not just healing. Regeneration. Unification. No fear, no hesitation. The perfect pawns."
He played a long note. The gorillas' forms changed.
Their skin peeled back, revealing thicker dark muscle beneath. Their teeth grew longer and sharper. Black symbols began to surface across their bodies.
Zhang yong did not wait.
In an instant, Death Qi erupted from him, his aura deepening and growing denser.
"Death Qi?!" Mao Zedong muttered, then waved his hand while playing a chaotic melody.
The gorillas charged again—stronger, more organized.
One attacked from the front, another from above, four sealed off escape routes in a circle, the rest positioned behind as a second wave.
Zhang yong surged forward without hesitation, twisting his sword and lowering his body nearly to the ground as he thrust toward a gorilla's throat.
The beast blocked the blade with its hardened arm.
Despite the block, Death Qi surged from the sword tip, piercing the tough hide.
The gorilla's body trembled. Zhang yong seized the opening, kicking its chest with full force, sending it crashing into a dead tree behind it.
But there was no time to breathe.
Another gorilla appeared from the right, its massive arm swinging horizontally toward his waist. He leapt over it—only for another to descend from above, slamming him into the ground.
The earth shook violently. Dust billowed everywhere.
The gorilla that pinned him began smashing his body into the ground repeatedly, each blow shattering the soil and forming small craters. The sound of bones under pressure echoed.
Suddenly, the gorilla froze. It lifted its head as if sensing something strange.
Then, without warning, a terrifying wave of Death Qi exploded from beneath it.
Its body was blasted backward as Zhang yong rose from under it, covered in dust and blood—but his eyes gleamed fiercely.
His right arm was injured, yet his hand still gripped the sword tightly.
"Painful…" he muttered, spitting blood. "But not enough."
"It seems the sword doesn't suit me after all."
He returned the sword to storage and stood calmly.
Mao Zedong watched with narrowed eyes. "Still standing?"
He raised the flute and played again.
The gorillas moved as if their souls had ignited, leaping with unnatural agility, charging at twice their former speed.
Zhang yong did not move.
He stood still, head slightly lowered, white hair fluttering in the cold wind, red eyes staring ahead.
The Great Sun and the Desolate Moon ignited in his palms as he prepared to clash.
The ground exploded beneath the charging gorillas. At the moment the first reached him, a spiraling explosion of intertwined solar and lunar flames burst forth.
The blast struck its chest, tearing through flesh and muscle, hurling it away into a tree trunk that shattered like a twig.
The others did not stop. Two attacked from the sides, one from behind. Mao Zedong's melody intensified their Death Qi.
Zhang yong rose into the air, releasing fireballs in every direction. Flaming spheres rained down, burning fur and flesh—but none fell completely.
Regeneration made them difficult to defeat. He had to eliminate the flute.
Landing smoothly, he unleashed a surge of Death Qi that swept the field, then suddenly dashed straight toward Mao Zedong instead of the gorillas.
Mao Zedong smirked. "Now you realize you should target me? Too late."
The gorillas formed a defensive chain and roared collectively, charging like a moving wall of stone.
But Zhang yong did not retreat.
"This is what I wanted… gather in one place."
He rose slowly, flames igniting from the heart of the sky itself. Ash and embers scattered as radiant light dominated the world.
"The ultimate movement of the Great Sun Flame — Sacred Blaze."
The holy projectile shot forward at immense speed, colliding with the first gorilla and exploding violently, shredding flesh and entrails in a storm of flame and ash.
The impact spread to the others, but some diverted under Mao Zedong's interference through his flute techniques. It wasn't enough to finish them entirely.
Zhang yong slammed his foot down. Death Qi erupted. Killing intent burst from his eyes.
He began punching.
The first strike exploded a gorilla's chest from within.
The second shattered another's jaw.
The third pierced straight through a body—his fist emerging from its back before he withdrew it, leaving it to collapse in a heap of charred flesh.
"This isn't human…" Mao Zedong muttered.
But he changed melodies again—deeper, darker.
Suddenly Zhang yong spat blood. His ears began bleeding, his face turning pale.
"What…?!"
Mao Zedong smiled coldly. "Because of this flute, everyone thought I belonged to the enslavement path. True, I mastered some of it. But my true path… is the Path of Sound."
The melody pierced into Zhang yong's ears. He staggered. His knees bent.
A surviving gorilla approached and struck his shoulder.
He rolled across the dirt, breathing heavily.
"Let's make you lose your hearing first."
The melody sharpened like a blade. Blood burst from Zhang yong's ears. His eardrums had ruptured.
"Next… I'll take your sense of touch."
Zhang yong gritted his teeth, channeling his remaining Death Qi toward his sensory centers.
Normally, he could strike fracture points to break any beast—but that required balanced senses. Now he had lost hearing and touch.
A gorilla's fist struck his chest, sending him flying into a tree. A rib cracked.
"Ah…" His mouth opened, but no sound came.
His hearing was gone. And now, gradually, so was his sense of feeling. His limbs grew heavy. His fingers barely moved