801: Chapter 801 Lu Xueqi and Biyao (180)

But at this moment, they were all alive, all laughing, all drinking, all forcefully and wantonly enjoying this moment of being alive.

Su Han suddenly remembered that battlefield in the Buddhist Realm illusion. Corpses littered the field, blood flowed like rivers, and the sky was dark red.

He had killed ten thousand people in there. What expressions did those ten thousand people have when they died? Were there any who, like the people here in the Martial Arts Arena right now, had once laughed heartily, gotten drunk, or danced the yangge? When did the light of those people go out?

He looked down at the clear wine in his cup, suddenly lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Shen Qingdai had walked up beside him at some point, also holding a cup of wine, her cheeks slightly flushed, clearly having already had some to drink.

Su Han glanced at her: "Thinking about those Cultivators who died at the hands of the Evil Creature."

Shen Qingdai's smile faded a little. She was silent for a moment, then took a sip of wine: "I had a friend who died too. The one who was standing on my left that day, the one who used twin blades. Do you remember?"

Su Han remembered. That Cultivator using twin blades had charged to the very front, only to be wrapped up by the Evil Creature's tentacles and smashed against the cliff wall, losing her breath on the spot. By the time he arrived, he had only seen a blurred mess of flesh and blood and a blade broken into two pieces.

"I remember."

"Her name was A-Jiu. A Loose Cultivator, who entered the profession three years earlier than me. She was the one who took me into the Jianghu in the beginning." Shen Qingdai's voice was very calm, but the fingers holding the wine cup were slightly white. "After the battle that day, I searched the ground for a long time and found a piece of her hilt. I kept it, intending to build a cenotaph for her in the future."

Su Han didn't know what to say. He was usually not very good at comforting people, and at this moment, facing Shen Qingdai's calm profile and her white-knuckled fingers, he felt his words were even more pale and powerless. He thought for a moment and handed over the wine in his hand: "Drink this one of mine. It's sweeter; it's peach blossom wine."

Shen Qingdai glanced at him, took the cup, and took a sip, the corners of her mouth curving: "It is quite sweet. Did you brew it?"

"The flowers on that peach tree behind the mountain bloomed a lot this year. I collected some to steep in wine."

"You know how to brew wine?"

"I don't. I just steeped it randomly. As long as it doesn't kill anyone."

Shen Qingdai finally laughed, the shell of calmness cracking open to reveal the true expression beneath—it was tired, it was bitter, but it was also warm. She finished the peach blossom wine, returned the empty cup to Su Han, and let out a long sigh of relief: "Senior Brother Su, thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for pouring me a cup of wine."

Su Han put the empty cup away and stood side by side with Shen Qingdai at the edge of the Martial Arts Arena, watching the lively scene together. The light of the torches shone on the two of them, casting two long shadows on the ground. Those two shadows were very close, so close that they were almost overlapping, but neither of them deliberately moved closer to the other; they just stood side by side naturally, each looking in their own direction.

The banquet lasted until late at night. Finally, the Sect Master couldn't hold on anymore and was helped back to the sleeping quarters; next was the Red-Robed Elder, who slid under the table halfway through drinking and started snoring; then it was the Fairy in green from Penglai Island, who, with a flushed face, lost a drinking contest to a few male Cultivators and left, flicking her sleeves in a huff. The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving only messy cups and plates and gradually extinguishing torches on the Martial Arts Arena, along with a few Cultivators who had drunk too much and couldn't walk, lying sprawled on the benches.

Su Han did not leave. He helped the fat chef from the kitchen clean up the bowls and plates. The drunk chef patted his shoulder and said "Good child, good child," almost knocking over a stack of plates. He helped the fat chef back to his room, gathered the scattered meditation cushions on the Martial Arts Arena, and finally sat alone on the empty steps, looking at the scattered lights in the village at the foot of the mountain in the distance.

In the second half of the night, a wind picked up, making the red lanterns rattle. Su Han was sitting there when he suddenly felt the Bodhi bead on his wrist heat up slightly. He looked down and saw the amber bead glowing with a soft golden light in the dark night, as if someone had lit a small lamp on his wrist.

"Buddha?" He called out subconsciously, then laughed at himself—the Lingshan illusion had passed for three months; how could the Buddha still be here? But the Bodhi bead was indeed glowing. That light was warm, spreading from his wrist to his palm, then flowing from his palm through his entire body.

He closed his eyes to feel that warmth. It was not as surging and powerful as it was during the great battle against the Evil Creature, but rather fine and continuous, seeping into every pore like spring rain moistening everything. His consciousness sank down along that warmth, sinking to a very deep place, sinking to the bottom of his Dantian Qi Sea. There, he saw something different.

The Qi Sea was originally a pool of clear True Qi, like a mirror reflecting the sky. But at this moment, in the depths of the Dantian that Su Han "saw," that pool of True Qi had turned into liquid light—golden, silver, and cyan rays of light intertwined, like three different colors of honey poured into the same jar. At first glance, they were separate, but looking closely, they were slowly fusing. At the edges of the Fusion, extremely tiny points of light were constantly generated and dissipating, like countless fireflies flickering at the bottom of the jar.

This was the reason for his self-increasing cultivation. The three types of power released new energy during the process of Fusion, which was purer and deeper than any of his previous Cultivation methods. More importantly, that fused power carried a strange "activity"—it seemed to be alive, having its own will; it would actively flow to the clogged places in his Meridians, automatically repair subtle hidden injuries, and surge up from the depths of the Dantian to nourish his limbs when he was exhausted.

Su Han opened his eyes. Moonlight spilled onto the empty Martial Arts Arena, and dew hung on the tips of the green grass growing in the cracks of the stone slabs. He extended his right index finger and lightly tapped the stone step in front of him—a golden speck of light the size of a sesame seed lit up at his fingertip. The speck of light fell onto the stone surface like a drop of water falling into a pan of hot oil, "popping" open into a small golden flower the size of a fingernail. The petals were clearly visible, the stamen stood trembling, and it emitted a faint scent of sandalwood.

"..." Su Han stared at that golden flower for a long time, then reached out to touch it—the flower was real, had texture, had warmth, and there was even a bit of morning dew-like moisture on the petals. He gently pinched it, and the golden flower turned into fine specks of light and dissipated in the night wind; nothing was left on the stone steps.

He realized belatedly: his cultivation might not just be as simple as "increasing."

After that night, Su Han began to systematically "explore" this new mass of power within his body. He discovered that the Fusion of the three types of light was not uniform—sometimes the golden color had the upper hand, and the power leaned towards purification and protection; sometimes the silver color had the upper hand, and the power leaned towards sharpness and penetration; sometimes the cyan color had the upper hand, and the power leaned towards vitality and nourishment. And he could fine-tune the ratio of the three types of light through his will to achieve different effects.

What surprised him even more was that this mass of power seemed to be directly linked to his "intentions." (End of chapter)