Zombies are one of the ancient creatures of this world.
True zombies are immensely powerful, born from the resentment and misfortune of heaven and earth, neither aging, dying, nor perishing, cast out by the Three Realms of Heaven, Earth, and Man beyond the Six Paths of Reincarnation.
However, Murong Fei and his ilk were not true zombies. At best, they were monsters who had forsaken their souls, pursuing so-called immortality and indestructibility by feeding on blood. Among demons, ghosts, and monsters, they belonged to the blood-fiend category, commonly called the living dead.
"Prepare to die!"
A roar!
Murong Fei glared with crimson eyes, bared his sharp fangs, let out a furious roar, his entire body boiling with bloody mist as he swung both fists in a direct assault.
He might not be a true zombie, but he lived on blood, and his fleshly body was exceptionally robust. Whether in speed or strength, he was far beyond ordinary people.
He was fast, but Gu Qingfeng was faster.
As Murong Fei charged, Gu Qingfeng raised a hand and seized him by the throat, his other palm clamping down on the crown of Murong Fei's head.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three palm strikes fell, and Murong Fei was already a bloody, unrecognizable mess. Simultaneously, the other eight, also boiling with bloody mist, arrived in an instant.
"Scram!"
At that moment, Gu Qingfeng roared angrily. With a shake of his body, a tremor ran through him—Bang!—instantly blasting the eight attackers into a bloody spray of flesh and limbs.
Ah—! Murong Fei, held by the throat by Gu Qingfeng, couldn't move at all. He roared madly, black bloody mist boiling wildly from his body as he howled, "I possess an indestructible body! You can't kill me!
You can't kill me!
—"
"A mere living dead dares to boast of immortality and indestructibility before me!"
Gu Qingfeng, still gripping Murong Fei's throat, raised his arm, fingers splayed. His palm seemed to hold turbid spiritual power mixed with lightning. One palm strike fell, and Murong Fei's legs were shattered to dust.
"Not to mention you're just a living dead monster!
Even if you were a true zombie, if I wished to kill you, you wouldn't live!"
Bang!
Another palm strike.
Murong Fei's arms were shattered to dust.
"Since you so wish to be dead, then be a thorough corpse!"
Bang!
With the third palm strike, Murong Fei's head was utterly pulverized.
Dead.
All dead.
The grand hall, like an ice sculpture, was littered with flesh and severed limbs, black blood flowing on the ground. The vast, majestic remnants of his aura still reverberated within the ice-sculpture-like hall, shaking it incessantly, and shaking True Being Da Qian and True Being Ziyun outside the hall until they collapsed on the ground, faces ashen, hearts trembling, bodies shaking, souls unable to stop their fear.
The two had intended to stay here, watch the situation unfold, and profit from the conflict between others.
Yes.
That's what they had thought. But now, at this moment, they no longer dared to think that way. They only wanted to leave, the farther the better.
They wanted to.
But it was just a wish. Their souls were terrified, their spirits broken, their minds shattered. Their bodies simply couldn't move, lying paralyzed on the ground, not even daring to breathe, not even daring to open their eyes to look.
True Being Da Qian had cultivated for over a thousand years and had witnessed many scenes, large and small. He had experienced bloody scenes like this before, even more gruesome ones. But he still didn't dare to look. It wasn't that he didn't dare to see the bloodshed, but that he didn't dare to look at Gu Qingfeng in that moment.
They hadn't expected, couldn't imagine, that this white-robed man, who appeared clean and tidy on the surface—though not frail, still calm and indifferent—could be so terrifying when he moved.
This terror wasn't a raging terror.
But a silent terror.
From beginning to end, he seemed utterly calm. That cold, stern face, his expression always so placid, devoid of joy or sorrow, anger or rage, devoid of anything, not even a hint of killing intent. As if killing was simply the most ordinary thing to him, incapable of stirring any emotion within him, not even a shred.
Had killing numbed him?
Wei Qing didn't know the answer either, but he could see that Gu Qingfeng had never cared about the life or death of Murong Fei and his men from the start. He didn't care, not in the slightest.
If you watch, he lets you watch.
If you reason, he reasons with you.
If you talk rules, he follows rules with you.
If you scheme, he lets you scheme.
Play whatever schemes and tricks, he lets you play.
Even if you want to act, he lets you act.
But there is one thing you absolutely must not do: harbor killing intent.
Once you harbor killing intent, death is certain.
That was probably his bottom line.
His bottom line was very low, so low that as long as you didn't harbor killing intent, you could do anything.
This was a kind of indifference, a kind of apathy.
Because he truly didn't care about your life or death.
Did he really not care?
Wei Qing might think so. At least, Monk Bu'er didn't believe that was the case.
At this moment, Wei Qing closed his eyes, lowered his head, not daring to look, not daring to speak.
Monk Bu'er also lowered his head, also closed his eyes. The only difference was that he was no longer munching on his delicacies. Instead, he clasped his hands together, as if recalling the scene just now, thinking to himself.
Calm as water, moving as water. His spirit was tranquil, unaffected by anything. Joy was thus, anger was thus, sorrow was thus, grief was thus, killing was thus. His heart was like still water. Such a state of mind could be called the Great Buddha's Unmoving Heart.
Thinking of this, Monk Bu'er couldn't help but take a deep breath and sigh in admiration. Damn impressive!
Opening his eyes, he looked at True Being Da Qian and True Being Ziyun lying paralyzed on the ground, then at Qin Wanli still kneeling inside the hall, and at the flesh and blood belonging to Murong Fei and his men within the hall... gazing...
Recalling, Monk Bu'er seemed to realize something, couldn't help but shudder in fright, his mouth corners twitching twice, a trace of panic in his heart as he murmured.
Three Lives and Three Deaths?
The so-called Three Lives and Three Deaths referred to the fact that anyone before him had three chances to survive. Only three.
The first time, I don't kill you. That is the First Life.
The second time, I still don't kill you. That is the Second Life.
The third time, I likewise don't kill you. That is the Third Life.
But there absolutely must not be a fourth time.
This wasn't tolerance, but a form of respect for life, also called the Three Lives.
The Three Deaths referred to the fact that anyone before him had three chances to die.
The first time, sever both legs first. That is the First Death.
The second time, sever both arms. That is the Second Death.
The third time, sever the head. That is the Third Death.
Monk Bu'er looked at True Being Da Qian and True Being Ziyun lying paralyzed on the ground, at Qin Wanli kneeling inside, and at Mu Yulong in the corner, and muttered, "Three Lives."
Then he looked at the flesh and severed limbs of Murong Fei and his men on the ground and muttered, "Three Deaths."
After muttering this, with a thud, Monk Bu'er seemed unable to stand steady and plopped down on the ground.
Three Lives and Three Deaths...
This damn thing is the Dao of Slaughter!
Only...
Only those who have undergone Demonic Descent would adhere to such a law of slaughter!
No!
Not just those who have undergone Demonic Descent, but those who descended into demonhood through slaughter would adhere to this slaughter law that could be called a heavenly sin.
Descending into demonhood through slaughter...
This was the most extreme demon, the most terrifying demon, hailed as the Demon Among Demons.
How exactly one descended into demonhood through slaughter, Monk Bu'er didn't know. But he knew that once, someone massacred tens of millions of lives and later went mad with demonhood.
Madness with demonhood was one thing; descending into demonhood was another concept entirely.
The gap between the two was like that between a mouse and an elephant. The terror of the latter was far beyond comparison with the former.
Monk Bu'er didn't know how many lives one had to slaughter to descend into demonhood through slaughter.
However, this wasn't what terrified him the most. What truly made his hair stand on end was this:
Undergoing Demonic Descent wasn't terrifying. What was terrifying was those who could emerge from demonhood after descending into it.
Such people could almost no longer be described with words like terrifying or horrifying...
Because they were all masters who mastered slaughter.