To say this ghost was humanoid would be a stretch; at most, it was rudimentary.
It looked more like a conglomerate of arms, roughly aggregated, with grotesque limbs grasping each other, some even crawling freely as if they had their own minds.
Its abdomen had a cluster of palms facing each other, and the sharp nails scraping and knocking together actually produced a human voice.
"A fine offering!"
The sound was like the noise of countless beetle mouthparts rubbing, yet there was a low-frequency tone that made it clear.
Li Dingxun's left eardrum was ruptured, so he could only hear on one side.
"The Great God Xiangxu will be pleased. Among all living beings, such a fearless form is rare in a thousand years."
Black sludge gushed from the 'claw-mouth' on the Hundred-Armed Ghost's chest and abdomen, emitting a strong, putrid stench.
Li Dingxun wanted to say something, but he suddenly realized his throat had been torn.
"Come, be one with us!"
The Hundred-Armed Ghost suddenly leaped into the pool of blood, covering Li Dingxun like a starfish. Its claw-mouth opened, completely devouring Li Dingxun, then it jumped back into the blood pool, disappearing among the bubbles.
...
Death is my friend, and now he cordially invites me to be the master of the realm of nothingness.
Li Dingxun stood in a pitch-black room.
"Do you regret it?" Someone asked him.
Li Dingxun did not answer.
"A newborn calf fears no tiger. Truly bold. Did you think that just because the Dharma King said you were the greatest under heaven, you were truly invincible?"
"You brought this upon yourself!"
Li Dingxun felt the existence of his body.
He couldn't feel it.
And the whispers in the darkness continued to chatter.
"What about your parents? Their son went out once and died?"
"They trusted you. And the night before last, in the Pure Land, you told your mother that everything was fine."
"How sad would they be if they knew?"
"Your life is not your own!"
Li Dingxun frowned and asked, "What do you want to say?"
"Give up..."
Li Dingxun sneered, remaining silent. He thought, 'Let's see if you can keep talking or if I can keep enduring.'
...
If speaking one word took a quarter of a second, then Li Dingxun had listened for one hundred sixty-four thousand eight hundred twenty-one years, seven months, twenty days, eight hours, and three ke.
"You..." The whisper was already trembling, "Aren't you tired of it?"
"Continue, I'm listening."
"Ah—!!!" After a frantic shriek, the whisper fell completely silent.
A wind blew through the darkness, carrying sand that gently collided with Li Dingxun's light, illusory presence, slowly settling.
If eight grains of sand fell per second, then another three hundred twenty-nine thousand five hundred sixty-five years passed, forming a sea of sand that buried Li Dingxun.
And the sea of sand was fine, warm, toasty, with the scent of sunshine, like the delicate white foam of the sea.
The grains of sand turned into water droplets, and Li Dingxun sank into the sea.
Light rose from the surface of the sea.
Li Dingxun couldn't move; he had no body. His existence was merely the shadow puppet of a will.
So he felt the light, the light reflected from the sea surface flickering, grid-like bright waves pushing across Li Dingxun's soul membrane, scorching hot.
The pure water was occupied by tiny blue plants, flowing into Li Dingxun's body.
Complex sensations, beyond human cognitive ability, flooded his mind.
All life, even the most minute existence, they were all one, connected by a common will.
The ocean was drained by the blue plants; now he was buried in a dense network of plants.
Flames ignited, and as everything turned to dust, Li Dingxun was reborn in fire.
...
The blood pool dried up, and an arm reached out, clinging to the edge, then stood up.
"Who am I?"
"Am I Li Dingxun?"
"No..."
The man stood, unconsciously waving his palm. Violent air currents raged, and the grotto trembled and struggled under such pure violence. Countless statues shattered, including the Yaksha.
The Da Zhuo Hand, at the divine first-tier, had become instinct. Every gesture, every movement, was like the embodiment of a natural disaster.
The grotto collapsed, and the man fell into the underground current, disappearing without a trace.
The Blood Roar Holy City, under his lingering power, crumbled with a rustle, emitting the death wail of a giant beast.
...
East Sea.
The Taoist stood at the bow of the ship, gazing at the sea and sky meeting the horizon, that slight curve, glowing, distinguishing the cloudy sky from the murky sea. It was the edge of the world, and in his imagination, there should be a Waterfall there, where the sea and time fell together into nothingness.
This deep and terrifying thought genuinely evoked a sense of dread, yet it also made one irresistibly gaze at the horizon, where there seemed to be a summoning power.
The Taoist fell into contemplation.
"Dinner's ready!"
The Taoist emerged from his contemplation.
"Coming!"
The fisher girl, Fu Xixi, placed a basin of stewed fish on the small square table. There were four dishes in total, and one soup.
The old man sat on the side near the cabin, Fu Xixi sat to his left, the Taoist sat opposite, and a black-clad swordsman sat to his right.
The boat was not large and was somewhat bumpy on the waves, but the old man and Fu Xixi had grown up on the boat, so all their movements were no different from being on land. As for the Taoist and the swordsman, they possessed martial arts and naturally moved steadily.
The Taoist bowed, "May Fu Xixi always remain young and beautiful."
"Haha, you bad Taoist, you only know how to sweet-talk people! I'll definitely stew you someday!"
The old man, on his side, picked up the wine jar and poured wine for the swordsman, "Please."
He savored the aroma of the wine, then drank it all in one gulp. How could ordinary people understand the exhilaration of a drunkard?
At the dinner table, after a few bites, everyone's conversation gradually picked up, and the Taoist and the swordsman began to chat.
"Bai Zimo, can we really find your grandfather's Relics?"
The swordsman spoke softly, "Even if we can't, going out to sea to broaden our horizons is good."
Fu Xixi pretended not to care, but her ears perked up.
The Taoist complained, "My master is going to nag me again. Last night in the Pure Land, he was saying something like, 'We are land Taoists, we can't adapt to the sea,' haha, the old man has cultivated Taoism to the point of senile dementia..."
Fu Xixi struggled to hold back her laughter, while the old man laughed heartily, completely unconcerned.
The swordsman was already immune to such unexciting jokes, not even bothering with a perfunctory response.
"Ah, Mo Yun, tell me more about your grandfather. He witnessed the Buddha's divine palm, you know."
"Many witnessed that scene, and my grandfather wasn't that white-clad swordsman Mo Yun. There's nothing much to say."
"That's still very impressive!"
Bai Zimo took a sip of wine, put down his ceramic bowl, and picked up his chopsticks to find food.
The Taoist pouted, then smiled at Fu Xixi, "Fu Xixi, do you want to know my dream?"
"If you want to say it, your mouth is on your body, I can't stop you."
The Taoist smiled and said to himself, "My dream is to be like my master, to live a lifetime of peace and normalcy."
"Tsk, I don't believe it."
"Why not?"
Fu Xixi looked at the vibrant Taoist and thought, 'Because you are an eagle soaring over the sea; your destiny is to gaze at the vast sky.'
"I won't tell you. It's just a hunch."
Laughter echoed over the sea, then faded into the wind. In the distance, a dark cloud gathered; a storm was coming.
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