Chapter 202 — Sky

But it did not appear that Jin Pingyue had broken through the white light's suppression—on the contrary, her face was very grim. The eerie white lights, already scattered into countless points, flew apart and then gathered together again, forming a massive wall of white light. In that instant, like a blazing wall of radiance, it charged at Ming Li's figure from behind with the speed of a raging tide.

Before the wave of light even reached him, Ming Li's breath caught, and his body, hurtling through the air, staggered—proof of the light-wave's dreadful power. If it struck him, he might well be crushed to powder.

Yet Ming Li's expression did not change; he seemed not to regard that deadly white tide behind him at all, and rushed all the faster toward the pale hand. But swift as he was, the wave of light was truly like lightning and thunder, surging from far to near, a raging tide already at his back, and it looked about to swallow his figure whole.

From afar, Jin Pingyue could not help but cry out.

And in the darkness, that pale hand seemed to tremble slightly as well.

At that very moment, Ming Li's left hand suddenly reached backward: thumb tucked tight against the palm, middle finger half-curled, three fingers standing straight and firm as a mountain—forming, unmistakably, the orthodox Buddhist Vajra seal. As his palm slowly pushed forward, his bearing was solemn and majestic, almost giving the impression of a mountain's weight. The force of that push was none other than the power with which the Buddha himself, in his great compassion, had moved mountains by his great divine power!

In the place of silence, thunder crashed!

In the darkness, great light blazed forth!

In an instant, solemn golden light blazed from his palm, and a Buddhist mantra flashed past. The raging wall of light came roaring in and slammed squarely against the hand sealed in the mudra.

"Boom!"

The sound was like a meteor crashing to earth, rumbling away and on without end. Strange lights flared throughout the cavern, brilliance dazzling in every hue, as though countless colored eyes had all opened at once, flashing and sparkling, breathtaking to behold.

The white wall of light burst apart and scattered like a rain of meteors.

Only the darkness before him remained as it had always been!

Ming Li had reached the hand.

He reached out—his right hand—to seize that hand.

The pale hand turned over and, far from retreating, its five fingers suddenly curved into a claw and met him in midair. Ming Li's right hand flashed aside in an instant, evading those fingertips sharp as knives, and grabbed for the pale wrist.

The mysterious figure's palm flipped and slipped away in the barest instant of an opening; instead, fingers pressed together like a blade, it slashed at the base of Ming Li's right palm. In a heartbeat, the two hands in midair were flickering to and fro swift as lightning and bright as light, every move a lethal strike of the utmost ferocity—yet each was evaded by the opponent, and what came back in return was an even more vicious counterattack.

Yet in that flash of lightning and spark of flint, not a sound remained; two people dueling to such a degree that life and death seemed to hang on a single breath, and yet their palms had never once touched.

Until at last the meteor rain of light behind them came fully crashing down, and darkness suddenly descended once more, smothering every glimmer of light.

Only then, deep within the darkness, did a faint, soft sound suddenly arise.

"Pa..."

The sound was crisp yet low, drifting out faint and distant, without the slightest killing intent—like the sound of two hands gently clapping together, as we once did in childhood.

And then, all fell into silence.

Seized—that hand.

Grasped—that hand.

What he felt was no killing intent, no demonic power, but only softness and tenderness.

It was as if suddenly heaven and earth spun round, and flying over ten thousand ranges of mountains and waters, the blue seas and azure skies had all been gathered into an embrace. Those gentle figures, one after another, were all at his side, never having left.

Just like that, a lifetime of joy, joy for a lifetime, carefree and wandering he passed it by...

Was this not a realm of immortals? Was this truly life?

From now on, let him be drunk, never to wake—would that not be better?

The dim,幽 dark seemed to be tempting someone as well?

But he suddenly flung his eyes open in the darkness, eyes like blood, and howled toward the heavens!

That palm gave a violent shudder and recoiled backward. Ming Li's whole body blazed with blue light, and in an instant Shihun appeared in his hand; the dark crimson blood-luster on the Blood-Devouring Pearl at its tip all lit up, demonic qi surging, and he thrust it into the deepest part of that darkness.

Without a sound, without a whisper!

Yet that space suddenly congealed; the whole of the darkness hardened as if into unbreakable rock—but Shihun was blunt and edgeless, and somehow the barrier condensed from the strongest demonic power had no effect on it at all, and Shihun pierced through it like splitting bamboo.

At last someone gave a faint, angry snort, and the dark barrier dispersed in an instant; a figure flew back a full zhang, evading Shihun's surging, irresistible demonic thrust.

In the blink of an eye, Ming Li's form had already pressed close like a shadow. The mysterious figure's surrounding black shadow did not disperse, nor did he show any sign of panic; he extended another hand—this time with the five fingers closed into a fist that looked quite delicate—and struck at Ming Li.

Ming Li's expression shifted slightly, his form abruptly halting; with a faint frown, the blood-red light in his eyes suddenly scattered entirely, and even Shihun vanished from his hand in an instant.

He flung his chest wide, raised both hands, and faced that seemingly plain, delicate fist, slowly tracing downward through the empty air—solemn as a mountain, drifting yet like flowing water. After a moment, a soft, clear light arose, and between his two arms, in midair, a taiji diagram slowly took shape.

The Taiji Profound Clarity Way.

The fist struck; a single punch landed squarely at the center of the taiji diagram, and it slowly sank in, denting the diagram inward.

Ming Li's face paled slightly, and for that instant his breathing seemed to halt as well. But a moment later, the taiji diagram in midair began slowly to rotate, and the place dented by the fist, though taut, did not break; on the contrary, as the rotation gradually quickened, the immense demonic power contained in that silence was dissolved, bit by bit, by the supple strength of this supreme Daoist true art.

The taiji diagram spun faster and faster, and the hand began slowly to tremble with it. The mysterious figure ahead snorted again, but this time the sound carried a trace of pain—clearly the counter-shock of the Taiji Profound Clarity Way was no small thing either.

"Hou!..."

With a low cry, the taiji diagram scattered, and that fair hand withdrew back into the darkness, and for a moment there seemed to be a kind of calm.

Suddenly Ming Li sprang up, and the deep darkness ahead seemed utterly unable to stop him; it was as though even in the darkness he had a pair of eyes hidden in his heart, slowly making out the road ahead.

The mysterious figure in the darkness was retreating, his form swift, yet Ming Li pursued relentlessly. Within this ancient cavern, in the deepest darkness, the two flew ever faster, transforming into two swift bolts of lightning in the dark, flashing toward the deepest recesses of the cave.

This flight seemed, too, without end; the darkness ahead came clawing and lunging like a snarling beast, then in an instant fell behind, while farther still countless unknown darknesses waited. The fierce wind struck his face like a blade—in that instant of lightning and flint, might you think of someone?