The shattering of one's mental spirit is not inherently harmful or damaging in itself. It's akin to a fright to the soul—something that cannot be recovered from in a short while. During this period, one's thoughts, divine sense, and consciousness are all affected and become extremely fragile. If one were to circulate spiritual power or employ supernatural abilities at such a time, there would be a danger of qi deviation. A single misstep could lead to a severe backlash.
The opulent, luxurious hall was now utterly silent.
All seven or eight hundred people present, every single one of them, lay collapsed on the ground like limp mud.
Those with weaker cultivation levels looked dazed and confused, utterly bewildered, having no idea what had just happened.
Those with stronger cultivation, once their consciousness returned, were gripped by a profound terror, as if they had suffered a cataclysmic disaster, trembling with fear.
Only two people in the entire hall remained standing.
One of them was Fei Kui.
From beginning to end, Fei Kui had stood by the table, bowing slightly, head lowered, holding a wine jug, ready to pour at any moment. He looked like a loyal servant, as if the events unfolding here had nothing to do with him. His only task was to serve the Young Lord well, to be a competent servant.
Apart from Fei Kui, the other person still standing was Gu Qingfeng.
He was still clad in a pristine white robe, unadorned by any patterns or embellishments, white as snow, forming a stark contrast with his ink-black hair that cascaded like a waterfall.
He stood there, hands clasped behind his back.
Like a solitary peak standing between heaven and earth.
He was still himself.
But not the self from before.
The previous him was playful, carefree, unrestrained, like an unprincipled wastrel.
The current him was solitary, cold, silent, domineering and peerless, awe-inspiring without showing anger, like a sovereign overlooking the world.
The previous him looked frail and weak, as if on his last legs, devoid of any vitality.
The current him was still frail and weak, still like twilight—but not the twilight of dusk; rather, it was the twilight of a sun that had fallen, lacking vitality, possessing only an aura of decline, an endless aura of decline.
Silence.
Boundless silence.
Stillness.
Also boundless stillness.
Opposite him, Wei Lao sat slumped on the ground.
At this moment, he looked utterly defeated, collapsed on the floor, unable to move. He could only barely support his upper body with his arms, as if all the essence, energy, and spirit had been drained from his body. His head hung low, not daring to utter a single word.
Wei Lao had cultivated for several thousand years. His cultivation level had been earned step by step through bitter struggle. He didn't know how much sweat he had shed, how much blood he had lost, how many injuries he had suffered to reach his current level. Back in the Ancient Era, he had been a notable Earth Immortal in this part of the world. However, over the millennia, having seen too many people die on the path to immortality, he had grown indifferent to many things. That was why he had chosen to work as a steward in the mountain villa.
To be fair, Wei Lao was a veteran of countless battles. He had experienced many scenes, big and small, and had encountered all sorts of strange and unusual people.
But he had never been as disgraced, as panicked, or as terrified as he was today.
He couldn't understand how a person with no cultivation, no destiny, neither a reincarnated expert nor a heaven-blessed true fate, nor even an immortal or demon—how such a person, without using any spiritual power or any supernatural ability, could shatter his proud mental spirit with a single, pure roar.
He also couldn't understand how someone who had seemed like a carefree wastrel just moments ago could suddenly become so terrifying.
It was truly terrifying.
Even though Gu Qingfeng standing before him hadn't spoken a single word, hadn't revealed any killing intent, nor exerted any imposing pressure, Wei Lao still felt a deep-seated fear.
It was the fear of a sun falling, of twilight descending.
It was also the fear of boundless silent stillness.
Feeling this fear enveloping him, Wei Lao dared not move, dared not speak, even dared not breathe.
Opposite him, Gu Qingfeng glanced at the people collapsed on the ground, but only for a moment. Then he shook his head and sat back down in his chair. At the same time, Fei Kui beside him immediately picked up the wine jug and carefully poured a cup, handing it over.
For some reason, when Gu Qingfeng sat down, the fear of the falling sun, the descending twilight, and the boundless silent stillness that had enveloped Wei Lao gradually faded.
At this, Wei Lao felt as if a great burden had been lifted. He could no longer hold on and collapsed completely onto the ground, breathing heavily. However, just then, Gu Qingfeng's voice suddenly rang out.
"Well? How does it feel?"
The voice was no longer vast, its power no longer rolling like thunder. Yet, as it entered Wei Lao's ears, it made him feel as if he had fallen into a mountain of knives and a sea of fire. From his skin and membranes to his meridians, blood, and even his Violet Palace, there was an indescribable discomfort that tormented him unbearably.
"This old... no..." When Wei Lao spoke, his voice was not only weak but also hoarse. After uttering two words, he hurriedly corrected himself, "This... this humble one..." It seemed Wei Lao was truly frightened, no longer daring to refer to himself as 'this old one,' humbly calling himself 'this humble one' instead.
"Look up."
Wei Lao raised his head in terror. His aged face was already deathly pale. When his eyes met Gu Qingfeng's gaze, it felt like falling into an endless abyss, making his soul feel as if it were suffocating. He hurriedly lowered his head again.
"I ask you, is this lord's mind currently unsound?"
Gu Qingfeng's voice came, making Wei Lao feel like crying but having no tears, wishing he were dead.
"Look at you, you're not young anymore. You've probably been cultivating for a long time, right? Don't you even have that bit of fucking discernment? And you still have the fucking nerve to say this lord's mind is unsound? What the hell? Have you lived all these years in vain?"
"This humble one... this humble one was wrong... I was blind, I offended you, Young Lord..." Having cultivated for thousands of years, what Wei Lao felt most deeply was that one should discard so-called pride. Admitting one's mistakes when wrong is not shameful. Before the strong, one must always understand the meaning of humility.
Gu Qingfeng didn't look at him. He raised his cup and drank. "I'm asking you, do you know this lord's identity?"
"Young Lord's surname is Gu, given name..." At this point, Wei Lao suddenly stopped, not daring to continue. Because he suddenly remembered that Gu Qingfeng had killed dozens of Immortal Court nobles in the Great Northwest. If this were exposed, the consequences would be severe. He did not want to be the one to personally reveal Gu Qingfeng's identity.
Moreover, he didn't think that was the meaning behind Gu Qingfeng's question. Recalling how Gu Qingfeng had earlier claimed to be the Chixiao Monarch and said he would use today's events to let others know of this monarch's existence—though Wei Lao didn't know why he would do this, he didn't dare to think too much about it now and hurriedly responded.
"Young Lord's surname is Gu, given name Tianlang, Daoist title Chixiao... is... is the Chixiao Monarch."
"Very good. Not bad. You old fellow are still somewhat sensible."