Master is Also Running Away from Marriage Today (Transmigration) - Chapter 61

The place where Bodhi Crossing was located towered thousands of feet high, shrouded in mist and clouds. No one knew the origin of the fog in the mountains, but when touched, it left fine droplets clinging to one’s hands. What astonished Mu Ling even more was that even a cultivator’s spiritual sense couldn’t penetrate this mist.

The mist carried a faint, refreshing fragrance of lotus flowers, evoking involuntary thoughts of the vast, misty landscapes of Jiangnan. Strangely, however, not a single lotus plant could be found throughout all of Bodhi Crossing.

Dark cultivators swarmed in like a black tide, swiftly occupying the entire mountain. Yet, after scouring every inch of the peak, they found no trace of anyone in Bodhi Crossing. The mountain seemed completely deserted.

Yan Qi hovered midair on her sword, narrowing her eyes at the increasingly dense fog below.

The dark cultivators on the ground meticulously combed through the mountain when suddenly a sharp scream tore through the ranks. Mu Ling turned to see a horrifying spray of blood: one of the dark cultivators stood rigid, his sword slashing across his own throat.

The corpse lay stiff on the ground, a bizarre smile frozen on its face; mocking yet fearful, sending chills down the spine.

Even after so many years in the cultivation world, Mu Ling still couldn’t face sudden death with composure.

She shivered, unable to look away, when a soft, satin-like mermaid silk coiled around her neck, gently covering her eyes.

The familiar scent of the silk enveloped her, and Mu Ling froze, instinctively clutching it.

This very piece of mermaid silk was in Yan Qi’s hands!

Mu Ling had assumed the silk would have been reclaimed by Qingyi Sect after she left.

Yan Qi had forgotten the past. So why would she still keep something that belonged to her?

Mu Ling sniffled, her eyes inexplicably growing warm.

All these years, she had known Yan Qi to be emotionally detached. Someone who either hoarded her feelings or simply didn’t care about others’ perceptions. Mu Ling had never imagined she would become the sole exception in Yan Qi’s world.

She had seen Yan Qi act coquettish, throw childish tantrums, hit rock bottom, and even lose control.

When Yan Qi was Lin Qingge, she had buried all her own preferences to clumsily chase after Mu Ling’s favor, desperate to please.

Since their reunion, though the cunning woman had schemed endlessly, Mu Ling knew she had never allowed anyone else close not even Shuang’er, who had served her for years, could touch her personal belongings. Yet Mu Ling could rumple her flawlessly made bed or braid her hair without a second thought.

Yan Qi had laid her one and only sincere heart before her.

In comparison, Mu Ling had given far too little in this contest of affection.

She took a deep breath, suddenly overcome with an impulse: once the matter at Bodhi Crossing was resolved, she would tell Yan Qi everything.

Yan Qi, unaware of Mu Ling’s thoughts, frowned at the dead cultivator. A thin golden thread appeared in her hand, winding its way into the dark cultivator’s body. Moments later, the thread turned black.

Yan Qi’s brow furrowed slightly.

Although Mu Ling had lost her spiritual power, her basic discernment remained. Seeing this, she also furrowed her brows: in just a short moment, the cultivator’s body had been emptied of his soul.

What exactly had happened?

Yan Qi pursed her lips, the golden threads in her hand suddenly vanishing as she abruptly looked up toward the sky.

Mu Ling followed her gaze and widened her eyes in shock. Unnoticed until now, an enormous barrier had appeared in midair!

Suddenly, a deep and steady voice resonated from all directions around the mountain gate. The tone was calm yet laced with compassion, evoking reverence like the lofty bodhisattvas enshrined in temples: “Young friends who have traveled from afar, we of Putidu must apologize for our inadequate hospitality. Putidu has never sought involvement in worldly affairs, nor do we wish to engage in conflict with any of you. We implore you to depart at once.”

Mu Ling curled her lip.

Had she not known the true nature of Putidu, she might have been fooled. But aware that the cultivation here was built upon the flesh and blood of others, she found Putidu’s sanctimonious words utterly contemptible.

Yan Qi’s lips curved slightly, though her eyes held no mirth. Without speaking, her actions made her stance clear:

The sword in Yan Qi’s hand suddenly flew out and hovered midair.

The flying sword erupted with a dazzling radiance, then multiplied into countless blades. One after another, the swords crashed against the barrier with thunderous force, their relentless assault overwhelming to behold. The sheer intensity of the spiritual power was terrifying even to witness.

Yet, despite such a fearsome onslaught, the barrier remained unshaken, not a single ripple marring its surface. Instead, all the spiritual energy was repelled, exploding upon the ground and carving out massive craters.

Yan Qi’s gaze flickered faintly.

“The sea of suffering has no bounds; repent and the shore is near.” The voice, as if observing Yan Qi’s actions, spoke again with profound pity.

As if to demonstrate its power, several demonic cultivators among the ranks suddenly screamed and drew their swords.

Their eyes glazed over, they unsteadily raised their blades toward their own necks.

Yan Qi narrowed her eyes. Her sword shot forth once more, swiftly circling the ground and knocking the weapons from their hands.

Yet even disarmed, the demonic cultivators stumbled toward the blades of nearby cultivators, seemingly intent on death.

“Countless sorrows plague this mortal world. Before the vast and boundless realm of cultivation, humans are but ants. Rather than clinging to a wretched existence, why not seek liberation early…” The ostensibly compassionate voice shifted its rhetoric, lacing its words with subtle temptation. In moments, the eyes of some weaker-willed cultivators below also glazed over.

In the voice’s narrative, those of low cultivation were unworthy of life, fit only to serve as stepping stones for the stronger, while mortals without cultivation were doomed to be slaves to cultivators.

“Cowards!”

Yan Qi let out a cold laugh, leaping down from the carriage and ducking inside. After casting a Calming Spell on Mu Ling, she retrieved a guqin from her storage pouch.

Despite the tension of the moment, Yan Qi’s posture as she played the guqin appeared utterly relaxed less like a warrior facing an enemy and more like a leisurely traveler strolling through the streets.

She began to play.

The music was resolute and stirring, instantly resonating across all of Putidu. Had she not witnessed it herself, Mu Ling would scarcely have believed such fervent power could emerge from the strings of a guqin.

The voice was disrupted by Mu Ling’s zither music and could no longer continue. Yan Qi also fell silent, holding the zither with her head bowed, plucking the strings absentmindedly. Gradually, the music softened, eventually transforming into a cheerful little tune.

Others might have thought this was the Demon King’s strategy, but only Mu Ling knew the truth. The Demon King, who had been playing seriously just moments ago, suddenly lifted her head and cast a sidelong glance at her. The corners of her lips curled slightly, her eyes shimmering with an enchanting allure, as if carrying the ripples of autumn; stunningly beautiful.

By comparison, Yan Qi seemed more like the bewitching consort from folklore!

Perhaps because she had come to understand her own feelings, Mu Ling muttered under her breath, “Such vain pride,” yet in her heart, she couldn’t deny it. She had been enchanted by this version of Yan Qi once again.

The thought that this lofty, goddess-like woman was her beloved filled Mu Ling with boundless joy.

Yan Qi didn’t notice Mu Ling’s shy yet expectant emotions, her eyes fixed intently on the cultivators below.

Fortunately, the remaining cultivators quickly regained their senses and worked together to knock out the demonic cultivators who had been controlled into seeking death.

But no sooner had one crisis passed than another arose. Several more screams erupted from different directions below.

For a moment, the demonic cultivators fell into terrified silence, each fearing they might be the next victim.

Yan Qi remained still.

She moved to the front of the carriage, sitting where the driver would normally be, her gaze locked onto the crowd below. Mu Ling couldn’t discern what she was thinking but instinctively refrained from disturbing her. After all, this was a critical moment, lives hung in the balance.

As more and more people below fell victim, Mu Ling’s heart leaped into her throat.

Then, suddenly, Yan Qi moved.

She stood up, her robes fluttering in the wind, lips pressed tightly as she shot toward a certain direction.

No one knew how Yan Qi had detected it, but when she reappeared, she was dragging an elderly man by the collar.

The old man was grotesque in appearance. His hair entirely white, his stature short and hunched like a giant toad, his bulging eyes terrifying to behold.

At the sight of him, Mu Ling recalled something she had once read in a book: the cultivation world had a technique called the “Turtle Breath Art.” Those who mastered it were exceptionally skilled in concealment even celestial beings couldn’t track them.

Mu Ling never expected someone in the Bodhi Crossing to have cultivated this technique.

“Let me go!” the old man shrieked, thrashing wildly in Yan Qi’s grip in an attempt to escape until he met her impatient gaze.

Yan Qi’s eyes were like a dark, flowing undercurrent, pulling one in irresistibly, making them wish only to follow her for a lifetime, as if anything she did could be forgiven.

“Is the true form of the Bodhi Crossing at the Yin-Jia position?”

Mu Ling shuddered. Had Yan Qi already deduced the location of the Bodhi Crossing?!

Under Mu Ling’s astonished gaze, the old man’s originally ferocious expression turned blank. Hearing Yan Qi’s question, he took a respectful step back and answered in a mechanical voice, “Exactly so.”

Exactly so?

Mu Ling was stunned by Yan Qi’s ability to control the old man. Only after snapping out of it and glancing at the corpses on the ground did she realize the paths of the suicidal cultivators followed a discernible pattern, and the center of it all was the Yin-Jia position!

Having obtained the answer she sought, Yan Qi narrowed her eyes and soared back into the air on her sword. With a single thrust, she struck at an ordinary-looking stone in the Yin-Jia position.

With a loud crash, it was as if some invisible barrier had suddenly shattered!

The mist dissipated completely, and the remaining demonic cultivators surveyed their surroundings with lingering fear, realizing they had arrived in a new place.

Before them lay an enormous lake. Unexpectedly, its waters were entirely crimson, exuding a strong, metallic stench. At the very center of the lake grew a single massive red lotus, now in full bloom, radiating a sinister and bloody aura.

What the demonic cultivators had encountered earlier was merely an illusion within the formation. Now, before them stood the true “Bodhi Crossing.”