Chapter 131: Is Song Yan Dead?

The hairpin artifact flowed back into Shen Huai’s hand. She picked it up, tore off the shattered, graying talisman attached to it, and tossed it aside.

"Shen Huai! What are you doing!"

Xu Ziqing was furious at the scene unfolding before him. In full view of everyone, a disciple of the Xuanyuan Sect had taken the initiative to attack and kill a disciple of the Dongyuan Sect. This was enough to incite a conflict between the two sects. Faced with the questioning of the Dongyuan Sect elder, Shen Huai lowered her eyes, turning a deaf ear to his words. She had no reason or standing to defy Shen Yu’s orders, so there was no need to hesitate or deliberate on the instructions he had conveyed.

Song Yan was already standing at the very center of the Avici Hell. The moment the talisman treasure was destroyed, he felt the true, terrifying power of the artifact more viscerally than ever. Without its protection, the sky-filling ghosts appeared seamless in Song Yan’s eyes.

"It’s over."

With demonic sounds buzzing in his ears and dizzying, treacherous illusions before his eyes, his stamina was spent, his spiritual energy was exhausted, and even his sword aura was nearly depleted. He managed to condense one final sliver of sword aura to slash through the surrounding ghosts, but the dense, ink-black palms in the darkness clung to him like bone-deep rot. They climbed up his legs, scaled his torso, and pressed against his shoulders.

In the distance, Shen Huai sneered and stopped looking at him. "You are all mere ants on a platter, drifting with the tide. To survive is already a stroke of immense luck; why struggle so pointlessly?"

*Hum—*

In an instant, Song Yan was dragged into the reflection of hell by countless black hands and vanished.

He was dead. In another moment, his remains would surface, becoming part of the mountain of bones beneath Jin Tianya’s feet. The onlookers felt differently about this. To the demons of the Corpse Pit and the Yellow Springs Path, it was of no consequence; after all, he was a man destined to die. But for the cultivators of the Six Sects, it was entirely different.

"Old Song!" Li Qingfeng’s eyes were bloodshot with rage.

Xu Ziqing immediately demanded, "Shen Yu! Shen Huai has killed an inner sect disciple of my sect, and everyone here has witnessed it! You had better give my sect an explanation."

The members of the Sheyang Sect also looked toward Shen Yu.

"An explanation?" Shen Yu chuckled softly. Only when Song Yan was dragged into the reflection of hell did he truly feel at ease. He did not know why he, a cultivator at the late stage of Foundation Establishment, had feared that a mere Qi Refining stage cultivator might ruin his plans. Now that the ink treasure was within his grasp, he had no intention of keeping up any pretenses.

"Song Yan was overestimating his abilities, vainly attempting to approach the spirit within the painting and claim the evil treasure for himself," Shen Yu sneered. "My disciple, Shen Huai, was merely preventing him from straying onto a misguided path. Is there a problem with that?"

Pure nonsense, speaking without restraint! Very well, very well... Xu Ziqing’s expression turned grim to the extreme. At this moment, Li Qingfeng was still in danger, but Xu Ziqing had already begun to calculate how he would kill when the time came. The cultivators and elders of the other sects remained silent; they preferred not to get involved in the feuds between these two sects. Cong Yuzhen looked toward the spot where Song Yan had vanished, feeling a pang of regret. He was an interesting person; it was a pity he had died just like that.

On the mountain of bones, Jin Tianya suddenly burst into laughter. "Hahahaha... So-called righteous cultivators, killing their own kind without hesitation just for a 'treasure,' hahahaha! How is that any different from a demonic cultivator!"

Shen Yu ignored the mockery and continued to accelerate the refinement process. It was already sixty or seventy percent complete. "Heh, the treasures of the world belong to those capable of taking them. Once I refine this painting spirit, I wonder if you will still be able to say such things."

***

The moment he sank into the reflection of hell, it felt like falling from the clouds. The viscous ink brought with it a bone-piercing chill that overflowed through his seven orifices, seeping through his skin and meridians into his dantian. His spiritual energy and sword aura felt locked away. Song Yan had become completely like an ordinary person.

Looking at the scene before him, a chill seized his heart. On the mountain of blades, sharp edges were slowly and cruelly slicing at something. In the boiling oil cauldron, severed limbs struggled to reach out and grab his ankles. Tongue-ripping, the Mirror of Retribution, the Blood Pool, the blades and saws... Under the Avici, the eighteen levels of hell were unfolding before his eyes!

The terror in Song Yan’s heart grew, and the surrounding ink became increasingly dense. Countless human faces flickered within it. At one moment, the sky-filling ghosts surged like ink clouds, pouncing upon him in unison, shrieking as they tore at his flesh and blood.

What is the most terrifying thing in this world? The answer to this question was likely different for everyone. Everyone feared different things. But there was one thing that the vast majority feared: death. Especially when you lose all means of resistance, forced to watch as your own body is eaten away bit by bit by vengeful ghosts, eventually falling into the Avici Hell.

This was not only the pain of the flesh, but also a devastating destruction of his mental fortitude. Each of the tortures before him flickered between reality and illusion, the excruciating pain washing over Song Yan’s remaining consciousness like a tide. The ink began to follow his meridians, eroding his dantian and staining his spiritual energy with filth, then spreading from the inside out. Song Yan’s skin began to crack, revealing the wriggling black meridians beneath. It was as if he were turning into a smear of ink within the painting of hell, a vengeful ghost himself.

Had it been any other cultivator, they might have already lost their sanity upon being dragged into this reflection of hell. However, the Dao-Suppressing Sword Mansion trembled violently, and the small sword formed by his Dao Heart suddenly erupted with a clear light. This allowed Song Yan to grasp a sliver of clarity amidst the chaos.

"Heh..." Song Yan gave a bitter laugh. "Even so, what can I do..."

With his cultivation entirely lost, he could only allow the layers of ghosts within hell to devour him bit by bit. He could not even protect himself, let alone escape. A deep despair rose from the bottom of his heart, and with it, his Dao Heart dimmed.

"There is no way."

"Now, the only hope is to pray that the elders outside the realm can refine this treasure map as quickly as possible." But that would surely take at least the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn. And the person most likely to be the first to refine the Avici was none other than the Xuanyuan Sect’s Shen Yu.

"I fear I cannot escape death today..."

The pain radiating from every inch of his body began to fade, because Song Yan was gradually losing his ability to feel it. He was left only with his slowly dimming consciousness. His eyelids were heavy, his gaze lowered. He closed his eyes, and the scenes of his life began to play back like a revolving lantern. From the little medicine boy in Shiliang Town, to an outer sect disciple of the immortal sect, to his current late-stage Qi Refining status—looking at the world of immortality, although he was but an ant, his life could barely be called spectacular to a mortal.

Until, in the midst of the darkness, a mocking voice echoed in his ears. It was the last thing he had heard before being dragged into the reflection of hell:

"Ants on a platter, to survive is already a stroke of luck; why struggle so pointlessly!"