Chapter 150 — Madness

Ming Li picked up the Soul-Devouring Demon Staff, which had fallen to the ground at some point, looked at it deeply, and once again tucked it back into his sleeve.

Xiao Bai's eye twitched, and she suddenly stepped forward. "Don't imagine that others won't know if you say nothing. The Blood-Devouring Bead's vicious demonic power has already begun to devour you in turn. Over these ten years, your meridians and vital blood have long since turned yin-cold and poisonous from day and night in the company of that vicious thing. You've escaped death by sheer luck now, only because you happen to possess the Mystic Fire Mirror, one of the few treasures in this world that can contend with the Blood-Devouring Bead. But…" Her face seemed somewhat bleak, and even her voice grew weary. "But how many times can you be sure of escaping? Next time—can you escape it then?"

Ming Li had stood there all along, his haggard face showing little expression, listening quietly to Xiao Bai. After a long while he said softly, "I'm not sure. But what else can I do?"

Xiao Bai bit her lip in anger. "Don't play the fool with me—could you not know? There is only one way now: cast that evil thing away at once, then take the Mystic Fire Mirror to a place of utmost yang and use the earth-fire to drive the Mystic Fire Mirror's pure yang into your body. That is your only chance to live!"

Ming Li looked at Xiao Bai for a long time, then suddenly smiled, and in that smile there was something unaccountably innocent, like the simple Qingyun youth of ten distant years ago.

Then he slowly turned, and as though all strength had left him, made his way along the wall, supporting himself with one hand. Little Grey at once ran to his master, and with two or three bounds leaped onto Ming Li's shoulder.

Xiao Bai stared blankly at that receding back, so resolute and yet so plainly fragile, then suddenly called out loudly, "You want to die, don't you? In your heart that's exactly what you want, isn't it?"

Ming Li's steps paused, but he did not turn back, nor did he speak. After a moment he walked on.

Xiao Bai's voice rang out loudly behind him: "You want to die? Don't dream of it! You still owe debts to so many people in this world that you haven't paid—and you think you can just end it all with death? Impossible! You won't listen to me, is that it? Fine, you're so formidable. Then I'll go myself—I'll go find the true formula of the 'Eight Fiends Mystic Fire Formation' and let you save yourself. Mark my words: Bi Li is still lying in the Cold Ice Stone Chamber, and until she wakes, even death is not yours to choose!…"

"Not yours to choose, not yours to choose, not yours to choose…" The echoes drifted faintly from the depths of the long passage. Ming Li's face was ashen. He slowly straightened, but in the end he never once turned back to look.

Dense forest, secluded valley—the morning in Viper Valley had once been a quiet and peaceful place, but at this moment the earth was trembling, and the stench of blood grew heavier and heavier. The countless vipers that had gathered and writhed at the valley's edge had suddenly vanished, as though they sensed something faintly, and all these creatures had hidden themselves away.

A black pall of smoke and dust appeared in the distance beyond the valley and came surging swiftly toward Viper Valley. A thick, choking stench filled the air, and a roaring that grew ever louder slowly gathered into a single mountain-toppling, sea-overturning howl!

Closer and closer!

"ROAAARRRRR…"

They were countless monsters, like malevolent ghosts and vengeful spirits charging up from the Nine Hells, blood-red eyes and sharp fangs, their shrill roars rushing at one head-on. All manner of grotesque beasts and demons converged into an irresistible, surging torrent, and before that ferocious flood no one could stand or survive. Even the forest trees on either side of the road were swiftly swallowed by the torrent amid the earth-shaking roar.

Without hesitation, without pause, the flood plunged straight into Viper Valley, like black tidewater pouring in an instant into a green ocean. In every corner of the forest, vipers were flung up in terror, struggling in despair within the torrent, and without exception drowned in an instant. Even the forest's highly poisonous colored mist could not stop the dreadful flood of beast-demons. The dozen or so at the very front fell dead, but countless more trampled their companions' corpses and charged on irresistibly, and the mighty gale scattered the colored poison mist in a twinkling, sending it drifting up over the canopy.

Within the black torrent of beast-demons, four or five powerful beasts, their bodies tens of times larger than ordinary monsters, led their underlings on, talons bared and fangs gnashing. And at the mouth of Viper Valley, still more monsters kept pouring in without end.

The whole of Viper Valley seemed to be shuddering now. Everything looked like the end of the world.

At the other end of Viper Valley, the Nether King stood on high ground and drew a deep breath. Though he had already witnessed the ferocity of the beast-demons, the sight before him still made his expression change. He steadied himself, brooded a moment, then looked toward the forest north of Viper Valley. Beneath the morning sun, something in that forest glinted faintly.

A cold smile slowly rose at the corner of the Nether King's mouth: one day, all of you will know who it is that prevails in the end.

He roared it in his heart, and the look on his face gradually hardened. Bi Li was gone—then let the world make up for it!

He turned slowly. In the dense forest behind him stood the disciples of the Nether King Sect, packed so thickly they filled the woods, their fighting spirit high. The Nether King gazed at the men before him, and countless eyes were fixed upon his face.

At that moment, who could know what was in his heart?

The arm rose slowly, seeming to grow heavy. The distant roars and the frightened cries that gradually rose seemed to carry even here. The Nether King's expression shifted once more, and then he brought the raised arm heavily down.

The arm was a blade, a keen edge slashing at the world, cutting the last warmth of feeling, tearing to shreds the dreams that once had been. The sound that arm drew from the wind was like the crack of bone driven into a chest!

Behind his towering figure, countless men raised a hot-blooded battle cry and surged down the mountain with blades held high, robes flying, a keen wind whistling past, the forest trees swaying and shaking as though dancing wildly in answer. The Nether King stood amid the tide of humanity like hard, cold rock, unmoving. He turned to look toward the northern forest, and there too the woods stirred, and the commotion slowly spread.

The Nether King laughed—there amid the sea of men marching to their deaths he suddenly threw back his head and laughed wildly, and the laughter was so harsh on the ear that none dared ask him a single word. Only the morning sun, just risen, still carried its faint warmth as it rushed down upon this mad mortal world!

Seven days later, entrusted by Zhenren Daoyan, the Venerable Pucheng, Yun Yifeng, and other leaders of the orthodox path, a party of orthodox disciples set out from Canglan Mountain and arrived in the southwestern lands. Because the matter was of great consequence, all three great sects had sent their most capable disciples, and as though by coincidence, these people had long known one another.