Song Jing's heart tightened, and his expression turned as serious as stone. He had suspected something was wrong with the aura of the city, but he didn't expect Song Wanníng to feel the same rot beneath the surface so clearly.
"If that's really the case…" his voice trailed off.
This city had become a ghost town. But wasn't this a Buddhist domain, a place of sanctuary? Buddhist cultivators usually focus on the accumulation of merits and the preservation of life; they wouldn't slaughter an entire city, would they? If they did, the karmic consequences would be immense, a spiritual weight that would crush any hope of further ascension.
Curiosity piqued, the two moved forward with even more caution, their footsteps light on the cobblestones. Fewer cultivators appeared as they went deeper toward the center, and every person they saw wore the same vacant, glassy expression. No matter how the two tried to speak or catch their attention, there was no response at all; the people just shuffled past like dolls on strings. Song Wanníng scanned the surroundings while keeping a careful eye on Song Jing's reactions. Her brow never relaxed, her fingers remaining white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword.
After passing roughly half the city, they stopped at the foot of a jagged mountain. At the center of Fanyin City wasn't a pavilion or a soaring tower, but this tall peak, atop which stood a dazzling temple. Its golden and jade-colored structure radiated a peculiar, shimmering aura even from afar, though it felt more like a warning than a welcome.
"That's Fanjue Temple," Song Jing said, pointing at the structure silhouetted against the sky. A cold glint flashed in his eyes. If the city itself was off, this temple could be completely compromised too.
"Let's go take a look," Song Wanníng said. Her expression was calm, but her vigilance was at its peak as she stepped onto the first mountain stair.
As they climbed the steep path, the Fanyin energy grew stronger, pulsing through the air like a physical heartbeat. Her merit energy swirled rapidly within her sea of consciousness, forming a shimmering barrier that shielded her completely from the invasive chants. Song Jing wasn't so lucky. A sharp pain pierced his head, and his face went pale instantly as he stumbled. Even blocking his hearing with spiritual energy didn't help; the sound seemed to resonate through his very bones. Song Wanníng glanced at him and grabbed his arm. Immediately, the Fanyin receded under her protective merit energy, and Song Jing's mind cleared. The pain vanished as if it had never been there.
"Thanks!" he said gratefully, his breathing ragged.
"No need." Song Wanníng smiled and continued pulling him up the mountain step by step.
A quarter of an hour later, they reached the front of the temple. At the gate, several monks were sweeping the courtyard with rhythmic, mechanical motions. A closer look revealed their eyes were hollow pits, completely unresponsive to their environment. As soon as the two approached the threshold, the monks stiffened. They spun around in unison and began swinging their heavy brooms at them like staves.
Her eyes darkened, and she slashed her sword toward them. Song Jing immediately attacked too, and spells of light flew around the temple entrance. The brooms scraped the stone tiles with a harsh, grating sound, and yellow-brown patterns instantly lit up across the courtyard, weaving over the ground like living vines.
A crushing, oppressive force descended from the temple eaves. The ground beneath Song Wanníng and Song Jing became like sticky mud; it pulled at them with tremendous force while space itself seemed to thicken, making every movement slow and labored.
Two monks flicked their wrists, lifting their brooms high. Countless glowing yellow-brown dust particles shot out, writhing toward Song Wanníng and Song Jing. Touching them wouldn't just increase the restraint on their bodies; it would also corrode their spiritual energy.
"Hmph!" Song Jing snorted, his gaze like lightning. At the precise moment the dust strands reached him, he released his fingers from his bowstring. A sharp twang rang out. The green arrow split mid-flight into dozens of shards, each trailing a pale blue flame.
The arrows whirled rapidly around Song Wanníng and Song Jing, cutting through the dust threads with deadly precision. The green arrows clashed with the yellow-brown strands, sparking a relentless hiss like rain hitting a hot stove.
She acted too. She didn't try to escape the ground's restraining force by jumping. Instead, she lightly tapped her sword at the empty space in front of her. A near-invisible bubble of accelerated time instantly formed around the sword tip. She spun her wrist, slicing her sword in a mystic arc. The micro time-space vortex created by the hyper-accelerated dust swirled with terrifying suction, just covering the two monks about to strike again.
The monks froze, forcing their brooms into the ground to resist the vortex. Yellow light flared as they struggled against the pull of the distorted space.
Song Jing's eyes blazed with precision as he nocked another arrow, aiming at the trapped monks. But the other two monks reacted quickly. They saw their companions in danger and abandoned the ground lock they were maintaining. They raised their brooms to slam them down together.
A thick wall of yellow light, carved with ancient Buddhist runes, sprang up between them; it emanated an indestructible, rock-like aura. They swept their brooms again, sending serpentine strands of yellow energy along the ground straight toward Song Wanníng's back.
The two-pronged assault blocked Song Jing's deadly arrow and targeted Song Wanníng from behind. She seemed to have anticipated it. A cold smile curled her lips, and at the moment the energy reached her, she vanished. In the next instant, she reappeared directly behind the monks attempting to ambush her. She didn't swing her sword but plunged it deep into the stone ground.
A complex vortex of time and space runes enveloped her and the two monks. Inside that small radius, time froze completely, and space locked solid. The monks were frozen mid-motion, their expressions, their robes, and the flowing yellow energy all preserved as if they were encased in amber.
Two soft piercing sounds rang out as Song Jing shot two green arrows, piercing the monks' shoulder blades with pinpoint accuracy. The arrows unleashed destructive light that disrupted their spiritual energy from within.
Song Wanníng narrowed her eyes, withdrew her sword, and the time-space field collapsed. The monks regained mobility, but their shoulders were grievously injured, and their spiritual energy was in total chaos. They staggered backward, their broom energy gone, utterly powerless to continue the fight.
They used the same coordinated tactics on the remaining monks, taking them down together in a flurry of sparks and steel. Once all the monks were down, they finally lowered their guard. Song Wanníng stood with her sword, her cold eyes scanning the remaining forms on the ground. Only the sound of the wind rustling the nearby bamboo leaves remained.
Song Jing stepped forward, examining the fallen monks. He pushed one aside with the tip of his bow and froze. Those who had appeared normal and muscular just moments ago were now completely decayed. Their energy had vanished with their defeat, leaving nothing but mummified corpses, their skin stretched tight over bone like parched leather.
His heart skipped a beat. He straightened his back, eyes alert, and began scanning the surrounding temple structures for any further sign of movement.