"He..."
Sitting buckled into the car, Fang Xiaoxia gripped the door handle tightly, her eyes glued to the youth outside the window. Her heart leapt into her throat.
At some point, the violent downpour had turned viscous and sluggish, clinging together like severed lotus roots still connected by silk threads.
Once the Maserati's roaring engine cut out, the world fell into an eerie silence, leaving only the patter of raindrops striking the dented car roof and the puddles on the road, alongside... the dull, grinding rumbles of those colossal dark silhouettes scraping against concrete whenever they shifted.
Bai Zhou paced not far from the vehicle, holding his saber across his shoulders as he barred the space before the Maserati. The purple-gold gleam of the blade reflected in Fang Xiaoxia's eyes. The torrential rain soon soaked his hair and clothes, yet he seemed entirely oblivious, merely tilting his head slightly to look ahead.
Fang Xiaoxia followed his gaze, and her breath instantly hitched, as if her sanity had been stripped away in the same breath.
As far as her eyes could see, beneath the suspension cables of the expressway's curve, amid the dark curtain of rain, mountain-like colossal black silhouettes stood packed together, their chests visibly rising and falling with faint breaths.
Their outlines flickered in and out of the darkness like ancient terracotta figures—silent, forbidding, towering... Their silhouettes merged within the misty rain into a despair-inducing, pitch-black mountain range, within which pinpricks of dark red light sparked one after another. Those were their eyes. This continuous, murder-laden "mountain range" closed in from all directions, gazing coldly down at Bai Zhou—a man standing alone with blade in hand amid the howling wind and rain, looking exceptionally solitary and slender.
And behind this continuous "mountain range," the "Deformed Child" perched upon a streetlight and the "Painter" concealed in the streetlight's shadow—despite their diminutive statures—exuded an oppressive weight far more suffocating than even those colossal figures.
At this moment, in Fang Xiaoxia's eyes, Bai Zhou resembled the stone monkey in the game who refused to accept his heavenly fate, finally fighting his way alone outside the Southern Heavenly Gate. Yet beneath his feet lay only the cold, shattered tiles before the Lingxiao Palace, while before him stretched a dense, unbroken mass of a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers and generals.
The mountain-like Four Heavenly Kings revealed their massive frames, and ahead of them stood Prince Nezha, Great Deity of the Three Altars, along with a certain three-eyed figure wielding a three-pointed, double-edged blade. Yet there was only one stone monkey. He stood alone against thousands of troops and colossal deities, bearing an aura not a whit inferior to his foes.
Just like right now, where Bai Zhou's smallness confronted absolute grandeur.
Just as he had said—
"The decisive battle is coming."
Yet before the decisive battle arrived, his very first instruction to the girl had been:
"Stay in the car. Don't come out."
His voice had been absurdly calm, yet carried a force that brooked no refusal.
Then he had stepped out alone to face the ambush coming from all directions, as though behind him lay not a helpless girl and a battered Maserati, but a mighty host of thousands of soldiers and horses.
Right then, a sharp pang of pain stabbed through Fang Xiaoxia's brain. In her vision, elongated shadows seemed to surge from every direction, chaotic lines thrashing like mad serpents.
Ancient hieroglyphs and cryptic symbols carved into turtle shells flashed deep within her mind. In a fleeting glimpse, she caught sight of an ancient, rudimentary palace pieced together from clay tablets... Yet how could a palace be rudimentary?
Atop a colossal bronze pillar, an upside-down, crucified figure opened its eyes, locking gazes with Fang Xiaoxia.
—And then everything snapped to an abrupt halt.
Fang Xiaoxia was left sitting dazed in the Maserati's passenger seat, lost in a trance, having no idea what she had just witnessed.
"Indeed, I am [Picasso]."
"'My mother said to me: If you are a soldier, you will become a general. If you are a monk, you will become the Pope... Later, I became a painter, and so I became [Picasso]!'"
Facing Bai Zhou's inquiry, the masked figure in the robe covered in patches of paint slowly extended a hand from beneath his garments, holding a scroll, and unrolled it. He studied the image on the scroll, looking back and forth to compare it against Bai Zhou's features, and then held up the portrait from a distance for Bai Zhou to see. The image could hardly be called realistic; it was simply several triangles and squares pieced together, with a round nose, a pointy head, large eyes, and a crooked mouth, looking more absurd and comical than a child's doodle.
"Is this you?" the masked man asked.
Bai Zhou frowned. "I said, that's not me."
"This is you!" the masked man insisted with utter certainty.
"Bai Zhou... the wanted fugitive who consecutively murdered [Vincent van Gogh], [Edvard Munch], and [Sofonisba Anguissola], and severely wounded [Sandro Botticelli]!"
The masked man's mysterious silhouette stretched out, radiating immense pressure. In the darkness behind him, bizarre splashes of color flickered faintly in and out of view, abstract blocks of color rising, sinking, and vanishing like an old television with poor reception.
"We of the [Fine Arts Society]—have been searching for you for a very long time."
[Sandro Botticelli]?
*Where the hell did this pineapple-grape guy come from to pick a fight? When did I ever severely wound him...?* Bai Zhou muttered inwardly.
Yet he soon recalled the former number-one Painter who had once deployed alongside Anguissola and been blown straight into the ICU atop the skyscraper... That poor bastard whose name Bai Zhou had never known was probably this very "Pineapple Grape."
Still...
"I told you, that really isn't me!" Bai Zhou widened his eyes, glaring from afar at the grotesque figure on the portrait, refusing to admit that this crooked-nosed, cockeyed monstrosity was him.
On the other side, Fang Xiaoxia's ears twitched inside the car. Having eavesdropped the entire time, her eyes gradually went wide.
What did he mean by a wanted fugitive who murdered Van Gogh, Munch, and Anguissola?
The one-eared Van Gogh who painted sunflowers? The Munch holding his face while shrieking and screaming?
They were playing at this scale?
So the Extraordinaries of your occult world are all assassins traveling through history? No wonder ordinary people have never heard of them.
So-called grave robbers... It turns out you guys are historical assassins, hitmen of the chronicles?
Right then, Bai Zhou spoke once more to the robed painter concealed beneath the streetlight:
"Let me add a clarification: those guys were all fakes.
"Otherwise, you make it sound like I'm some artifact-hunting villain roaming through history, an arch-fiend specializing in taking down famous artists." After a brief pause, Bai Zhou thoughtfully tacked on, "—Naturally, the same goes for you. You're a fake, too.
"You slapped together a few triangles and squares and called it a life sketch of someone? The nose isn't a nose and the face isn't a face... and that qualifies you as a painter?" Bai Zhou curled his lip, suddenly feeling that the sketching foundation he had honed by drawing eggs was vastly superior to the man's. "Out of all the fakes from the [Fine Arts Society] I've encountered, you're the least dedicated of the lot!"
"...?"
This was plainly a provocation to the masked man. He gave a low chuckle, though his voice turned cold. "It seems you do not understand art!
"To paint things as I think of them, not as I see them—that is art, that is a painting." The masked man's voice was calm, yet it resonated like rolling thunder, faintly booming with authority like a deity standing in the firmament.
"To tell the truth..."
Crow chimed in at that moment, "From an artistic perspective, among these people from the [Fine Arts Society], the artistic caliber displayed by this man truly is superior.
"To become a [Master Painter], having insufficient foundation in painting is simply impossible..."
"Fine, what you're saying sounds reasonable enough at first glance."
Bai Zhou looked toward [Picasso], giving the saber in his hand a slight shake as his muscles coiled, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
"But the one you drew is supposed to be me. If it looks nothing like me, am I not even allowed to complain?"
Hearing this, [Picasso] seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
Just then, a soft laugh drifted down from atop the dim yellow streetlight above [Picasso]'s head.
"I told you, talking to this guy is unwise..."
Big-mouthed Luo Jiu crossed his arms, pulled back the tongue he had been using to lick the rain, and lowered his head, gazing down from atop the lamppost at Bai Zhou's diminutive figure. "I hear everyone who tries to communicate with him ends up half-dead from rage first, thereby losing the composure necessary for combat.
"—His ability to piss people off far exceeds his skill in battle."
*This big-mouthed bastard caught up fast,* Bai Zhou thought, eyeing Luo Jiu intently as suspicions arose. *Did he take a plane here or something?*
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he indeed spotted a helicopter in the distance, reduced to a speck of light as it swayed away.
Bai Zhou's driving had been fast, but in this complex city... a helicopter could fly in a straight line.
The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
"Frankly speaking, you shouldn't open your mouth either," Bai Zhou said, narrowing his eyes. "Because whenever I look at that face of yours, I can't resist the urge to stomp it into paste."
"My face...?" Luo Jiu froze for a second, then flared up in visible fury.
His mind was like a child's—what people typically called an innocent heart, where joy, anger, sorrow, and delight were entirely unvarnished. Yet rage like this was exceedingly rare. Because this face resembled his father's.
This was his reverse scale.
Whoever touched it had to die!
*Hum—*
Without a word, without a proclamation, boundless Spirit Intent surged, blanketing the sky and the earth, enveloping their surroundings in the blink of an eye.
The world within his sight began to warp and turn gray-white. Colors faded; lines were erased.
Yet Bai Zhou knew that the world itself was not altering—his *perception* was!
This was the suppression exerted by a Titled Extraordinary's "Spirit" over those of lower rank.
*Is it about to start...?*
Watching the world undergo such a massive change, Fang Xiaoxia's heart pounded wildly.
How could that lone youth break out of this predicament?
Judging by their attitudes, the youth was clearly on the disadvantaged side, treated with scorn and contempt.
Was it truly worth it for her sake?
Did she deserve this? How could she deserve someone... fighting with his life on the line for her?
Bai Zhou remained silent, his expression grim.
Yet in truth, his heart was weighed down with worry.
The [Cursebound Colossus] was ready to unlock at any moment.
Tightening his grip on the saber, Bai Zhou sought an opening to unleash the [Nine Basic Slashes].
He still possessed three bottles of burst reagent, which contained knowledge fragments of the [Nine Basic Slashes] capable of briefly providing an extra amplification multiplier when using the technique.
Would that... be enough?
His opponents were two Titled Extraordinaries, plus a horde of giant shadowy monsters resembling the Four Heavenly Kings. The heavenly court dispatching forces to capture the stone monkey amounted to no greater spectacle than this. Yet he, the stone monkey, had yet to obtain his Golden Cudgel, nor did he have an invincible, musclebound psionic archmage in red standing by his side.
He had told Fang Xiaoxia that he would tear through everything with his blade not because he possessed absolute confidence, but because he had no other choice.
Just as a mountain stood before you—if you did not cross it, you could never reach your destination, leaving you no choice but to face it.
It was with this very mindset that Bai Zhou had stepped out of the car.
Frankly, against a single Titled Extraordinary, he might have tried his luck relying on the [Cursebound Colossus] and the burst reagents.
But the others weren't scallions planted in the soil, content to stand by and watch without lifting a finger...
While outwardly maintaining an unruffled front against the twisting world and the treacherous, surging Spirit Intent closing in, Bai Zhou was frantically racking his brains over the trump cards at his disposal, his gaze flickering.
He thought of certain "items" he carried.
Without question, his top priority right now was to escape with Fang Xiaoxia, not to slaughter these people.
That gave him a certain degree of maneuverability...
By now, the Spirit Intent was bearing down like the sky collapsing.
In his perception, the "world" twisted and sprang to life; the asphalt beneath his feet and the suspension cables in the sky all seemed to swing their hips like humans as they strutted toward him, an intensely bizarre and surreal spectacle.
Bai Zhou narrowed his eyes slightly. Under [Picasso]'s cautious, wary gaze, he reached straight for a "burst reagent" and downed it in a single gulp. The spirituality within his body instantly erupted like water splashed into a vat of boiling oil. Bai Zhou's aura skyrocketed furiously, so much so that the hems of his trench coat fluttered despite the absence of wind.
The "gate" within his body was thrown open. As internal and external aligned, razor-sharp saber qi surged around him.
Then, he drew his blade—
*Hum—*
The edge carved a crescent arc through the air.
Sensing the oppressive weight of the Spirit Intent, the Intent Seed within him had long been trembling, seized by an eager desire to test itself.
Bai Zhou gave in to that desire, releasing it purely on instinct.
At this moment, it was like floodwaters bursting through a sluice gate.
Surging battle intent responded in kind, following the path of the blade as an indescribable, unfathomable will of combat blossomed atop the cutting edge.
To hell with your Spirit Intent, to hell with your perception-twisting domain...
Facing the onslaught of bizarre, kaleidoscopic illusions, Bai Zhou did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward.
One stride.
"Slash!"
What manner of slash was this?
A single slash like two hundred and forty-three slashes; two hundred and forty-three slashes like a single slash—ever-shifting, at once immensely complex and utterly simple.
The [Nine Basic Slashes]!
*Rrrrip—*
The sound of a canvas being torn abruptly rang out.
The twisted, animated world in Bai Zhou and Fang Xiaoxia's eyes—
Was shredded apart by a single slash!
"Intent?!"
"Such sharp intent, and a very unique secret technique capable of commanding it!"
Luo Jiu showed visible shock, his eyes blazing.
"To actually breach my Spirit Intent domain at Ring 5... your secret technique is extraordinary. You truly have hidden your depth!
"Those sent to hunt you down before... did not die in vain! They were all deceived by you!"
In Luo Jiu's eyes, Bai Zhou had become a calculating schemer who played the pig to eat the tiger, and deduced from this extraordinary secret technique that Bai Zhou possessed a remarkable background. He naturally could not fathom that, just as the intelligence reports described, Bai Zhou had truly been a mere ordinary person not long ago. Unable to imagine it, he naturally believed it even less.
"However, it ends here."
Luo Jiu sneered and leaped down from the streetlight.
*Boom!*
He slammed onto the ground, landing three meters in front of Bai Zhou. His forked tongue slowly licked his lips, baring grim, menacing teeth like an ancient beast sizing up prey within arm's reach.
Bai Zhou could already feel the mountain-and-sea weight of oppression radiating from his opponent.
"You flea have hopped around long enough." Luo Jiu spread his hands, the air around him gradually distorting. "Time to be crushed to death..."
Just at that moment—
A chilling cold abruptly swept through Bai Zhou's entire body, triggering frantic alarm bells within him.
This freezing sensation felt as though it penetrated straight into his bloodline. It was completely different from what he felt facing these Black Warriors, Picasso, or Luo Jiu—silent yet sudden amid the damp, rainy night.
An unexpected, uninvited guest... had suddenly arrived unannounced.
Bai Zhou realized this immediately.
Luo Jiu clearly noticed as well. He and the masked [Picasso] whipped their heads around in unison, their eyes filled with suspicion and shock.
*Whoosh...*
A gray mist abruptly rolled across the rainy expressway, and within it, a cluster of mysterious, hooded silhouettes appeared in hazy outline. At first, there were only faint, swaying forms deep within the mist, as though the fog itself were roiling to mimic human shapes.
One, two, ten... More and more blurry figures clad in oversized, hooded robes quietly materialized within the mist of the pouring rain. They did not stand upon the pavement; instead, they hovered several inches off the ground, the hems of their robes motionless against the wind and rain, as if they were nothing more than grotesque silhouettes woven from vapor—distant and unreal.
Yet that "distance" lasted for only a single instant.
Without the sound of footsteps, without any visible motion, as if the scene before their eyes had suddenly fast-forwarded a frame, or as if the viewers' focus had been abruptly yanked closer—
Those overlapping, hooded black figures closed in unnoticed, appearing like ghosts flashing into place without leaving a single trace of movement.
"Who goes there!"
Luo Jiu let out a thunderous bellow that exploded like rolling thunder, carrying an overbearing divine majesty.
"Hiding your heads and showing your tails, skulking about... You all deserve to die!"
The newcomers did not reply.
Only a few haughty chuckles drifted from within the gray mist, sounding like spectators stepping onto a stage to toss a few reward coins to the performers with condescending satisfaction... They were supremely superior.
These robed, hooded figures were stooped, their standing postures uniform and rigid.
Their arms hung long at their sides, yet even their fingertips were concealed within wide sleeves, covering them completely like rows of ancient corpses suspended by invisible strings.
Come to think of it, beneath the expressway lay the sea, and beside it stood the mountains, whose slopes were studded with vertical burial coffins containing ancient village corpses from unknown eras... Could these things have crawled out from among them?
The scene was eerily terrifying. Fang Xiaoxia hardly dared to breathe.
A faint scent of rot mingled with a cloying sweetness drifted past, only to vanish an instant later.
"Not talking? Who are you trying to scare?"
Luo Jiu furrowed his brows, quietly stepping beside [Picasso] as his aura began to climb.
His darting gaze first landed on Fang Xiaoxia inside the car, but he quickly shook his head.
Next, Luo Jiu's brutal, dangerous glare fixed onto Bai Zhou, carrying an abrupt tinge of wariness:
"Did they come for you, brat?
"—I knew it! You couldn't possibly be on your own! You must have a faction backing you!"
"..." Bai Zhou blinked twice.
He had a faction backing him?
*How come I didn't know that myself?*
Bai Zhou looked at Luo Jiu, then scrutinized the mysterious, uninvited guests lurking in the gray mist, blinking repeatedly.
The suddenly murky situation kept him from speaking rashly, his heart leaping into his throat.
If these people were also coming for him, he would truly be done for—fortunately, Luo Jiu did not seem to recognize them either.
Yet... who were they? And whom had they come for?
Trapped in dire straits, Bai Zhou naturally would not overlook any sudden variable. He cared far more about those two questions than Luo Jiu did.
"...Something's not right?"
Suddenly, Bai Zhou's brow knitted as he observed.
As if noticing something, he held his breath and quietly lowered his presence, a cold chill running down his spine. For he shockingly realized...
These mysterious, hanged-ghost-like hooded figures, these ancient village corpses that had sprung out of nowhere—the cut of their robes—
Why did they look so much like the garment Wancheng's Great Elder only occasionally and solemnly donned for grand sacrificial rites?!
—Don't tell me Luo Jiu actually hit the mark?
What was this...
Did folks from his "maiden home" show up?
Suspicion and dread warred in Bai Zhou's heart, raising goosebumps all over his skin.
Chapter 183