195: Chapter 192 The Ninth Level of the Prison Tower

Upon hearing this, the hearts of Leng Feng and the other four were shaken once again.

They followed Chen Zhiwen's gaze and looked up at the cloudless sky, yet they could see nothing.

That sky was as blue as if it had been washed, so calm that it seemed as if nothing had ever happened.

Yet they knew in their hearts that just a moment ago, a battle between gods and demons had taken place here, one sufficient to be recorded in the history of the Desolate Province.

That cold, ruthless aura, which felt like the will of heaven and earth, had already receded, but the terrifying pressure it left behind remained deeply branded in the depths of their Souls.

"Unwilling to see... such an existence?"

This short sentence, and the information it contained, made the five Great Grandmaster experts feel a chill run down their spines.

They dared not ask further, nor did they dare to think about it.

Some things were already beyond the level they could reach.

"Take care, My Lord. We shall take our leave!" Leng Feng bowed again. After saying this, he stood up straight, gazing at his master with an expression of utmost respect.

Subsequently, Leng Feng turned around and led the other four, all of them transforming into five streaks of light that pierced the horizon like lightning, disappearing into the distant sky in the blink of an eye to convey the news of their master's imminent return to the Great Xuan Dynasty as quickly as possible.

With their departure, the clamor between heaven and earth gradually subsided, and everything returned to tranquility.

Only Chen Zhiwen remained, standing quietly alone on this ancient battlefield. The wild wind blew against his robes, making them flutter with a snapping sound, and his figure was elongated by the afterglow of the setting sun, appearing somewhat lonely.

However, Chen Zhiwen was not affected by this loneliness; he still stood tall with his head held high, gazing at the vast firmament.

His eyes were deep and bright, and in them flickered a light that no one could understand.

After a long while, Chen Zhiwen slowly withdrew his gaze. His movements were elegant and composed, as if time itself were under his control.

Then, he gently reached out his right hand, palm facing upward, as if summoning something.

The moment his palm extended, the space trembled slightly, as if it had been touched by an invisible force.

Immediately following, a simple, ancient miniature pagoda quietly appeared in his palm.

This miniature pagoda was entirely a shade of ancient black, its body carved with exquisite patterns and runes, emitting a mysterious and solemn aura.

This pagoda was pitch black, crafted from an unknown material, and on its body were branded countless ancient and mysterious runes, exuding a heavy aura that seemed to suppress eternity.

It was the prison suppressing pagoda.

The reason Chen Zhiwen did not leave immediately was that he wanted to do something within these remaining three days that he had long wanted to do but had never had the strength to accomplish.

He wanted to ascend to the ninth floor of the prison suppressing pagoda!

His gaze was focused intently on the miniature pagoda in his palm, as if he wanted to see right through it.

Just then, an old and ethereal voice sounded directly in his mind.

"Are you... truly ready?"

It was the pagoda spirit.

Its voice carried a hint of unprecedented solemnity.

"Once you step onto the ninth floor, you will learn the greatest secret of this Desolate Province."

"That secret is enough to overturn your perception, and even... destroy your Dao Heart."

"Throughout history, you are not the only one to have reached this step. Those brilliant and talented individuals were also once like you, high-spirited and confident that they could shoulder everything."

"But when they learned the truth, some had their Dao Heart shattered and became cripples; some fell into despair and took their own lives; and others still... fell into endless madness."

The pagoda spirit's voice was like heavy hammers striking at Chen Zhiwen's spirit.

It was dissuading him, and also warning him.

Upon hearing this, Chen Zhiwen's face showed no change in expression.

He just listened quietly, his eyes, which were like the starry sky, remaining as calm as an ancient well.

He did not answer the pagoda spirit's question.

Because there was no need to answer.

He took a deep breath, his thoughts stirred, and his entire being transformed into a streak of light, resolutely plunging into the prison suppressing pagoda floating in his palm!

...

Inside the prison suppressing pagoda was an independent space.

Stepping into this place again, Chen Zhiwen's feeling was completely different from the past.

The trials of the previous eight floors still held significant pressure for him.

But at this moment, having cultivated three methods, he had stepped into a brand-new Realm, and his strength had undergone an earth-shattering change.

The first floor.

The second floor.

...

The eighth floor.

Chen Zhiwen's figure did not pause in the slightest.

He moved upward all the way, cutting through obstacles like a hot knife through butter.

Those phantom trials that once made him feel troubled were now, before him, as fragile as paper.

Often, just by his gaze, before his Sword Intent even emerged, those phantoms composed of energy could not withstand the domineering aura radiating from him and would instantly collapse, turning into the purest energy and dissipating into the space within the pagoda.

Soon, he arrived at the end of the eighth floor.

Before him was an ancient stone staircase emitting a faint, eerie glow.

This stone staircase led to that mysterious ninth floor, which no one had ever truly managed to penetrate!

Chen Zhiwen's gaze fell upon the stone staircase.

He could feel an invisible barrier shrouding the entrance.

This barrier was not a trial, but a certification of qualification.

Only by truly possessing the strength to touch that secret could one be qualified to step onto this staircase.

Chen Zhiwen did not hesitate; he lifted his foot and took one step onto it.

"Crack..."

The invisible barrier shattered at the sound.

Step by step, he ascended.

Every step felt as if he were treading on the nodes of time, and the light and shadows around him shifted and flowed rapidly.

Finally, when he stepped onto the last step, his vision suddenly opened up.

The scene of the ninth floor entered his eyes.

The moment he saw everything before him, even with Chen Zhiwen's calm-as-an-ancient-well state of mind, he couldn't help but be slightly stunned.

Here, there were no earth-shattering trials as he had imagined.

Nor was there any peerless fiend being suppressed.

There were no Sharp Weapons scattered everywhere, nor were there any Heaven-Defying Cultivation Techniques.

This place... was actually like an ordinary study in the mundane world, with nothing special about it at all.

However, it was precisely this ordinariness that revealed a unique tranquility and peacefulness.

An antique atmosphere permeated the space, as if time had stopped here.

Several bookshelves made of unknown wood stood quietly against the wall, filled with various ancient books that seemed to be silently telling of the vicissitudes of time.

A desk, an inkstone, and a wolf-hair brush—simple and plain.

In the air, the faint fragrance of ink intertwined with the scent of books, like a clear spring, refreshing the heart and mind, causing one's spirit to involuntarily immerse itself and gradually calm down.

And behind that desk sat a figure.

It was a middle-aged man wearing a black long gown; his presence added a touch of scholarly elegance to the entire study.

The man had sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, with a handsome face that was breathtaking, as if he were not a Mortal.

His head of black hair hung down his back like a waterfall, tied loosely behind his head with only a wooden hairpin, making him appear even more casual and free-spirited.

However, what was most striking was the unique temperament he possessed.

There was not the slightest fluctuation of Qi on his body that a Cultivator should have; it was as if he were just a powerless Mortal scholar, concentrating fully on reading the ancient scroll in his hands, immersed in the world of words, free from worldly disputes.