Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sword Recognition Transforms into Sword

  Green Cloud Valley

  The grand gate of Yanluo Temple swung open, with wailing ghosts and howling wolves. A pale ghostly fire flickered in the doorway, as an ancient aura churned and flowed, like a ferocious beast reborn from ancient times, ready to pounce on its chosen prey.

  "Jiufeng disciples enter hell!"

  Ming Bing Dao Ren drank loudly, his voice like thunder, causing the winds and clouds of the entire Qing Yun Valley to change and transform.

  Eight people stepped into the void, their feet bare and unsoiled. They stood before the seventeen generations of Taoist practitioners, and walked towards the white ghostly flames.

  Lei Gong burst into laughter, his strides were like a dragon's, he walked at the end, and a layer of silver-white lightning gradually spread over his body. The lightning was like a snake, and the air around him twisted almost completely within a radius of several meters.

  Eight people entered the Yama Temple, swallowed by layers of ghost fire. After that, all seventeen generations of disciples finally stepped in one by one. Each person was solemn and serious, as if facing a great enemy. Apparently, the situation inside the Yama Temple was not simple.

  Two people approached the threshold of Yanluo Temple, and many disciples whispered among themselves.

  "Jian Feng had long since fallen, yet relying on that inferior swordsmanship, he actually came to participate in the small competition."

  "That's quite arrogant, but I've heard that you've only been practicing for less than a year. Your swordsmanship is still shallow, what can you possibly achieve?"

  "Bo Shixiong and the others still have some weight, I think that legend is just a legend."

  Congenitally strong sword body, after passing through the ninefold mysterious thunder tribulation, the life essence reached an astonishing level. Even if he didn't use his sword sense, within a hundred feet in all directions, there was no sound that could escape Qitian's ears.

  He slightly furrowed his brow and had already arrived in front of Yanluo Temple.

  The dark and gloomy Yama Temple seems to swallow one's soul, and this is only when standing at the gate. It's hard to imagine what kind of great terror lies within once you step inside.

  Yanluo Temple, 18th level of hell, the orthodox sects of the underworld verify their Dao heart with it, some are unbelievable, and no one knows what the reason is.

  Under the gaze of all, the two people looked at each other and stepped into the ghost fire together.

  Jiufang Cloud Platform, the fairy mist is lingering. On top of the cloud platform, at this moment, apart from the nine peak masters, there are only less than a few hundred sixteen-generation disciples and a handful of elderly elders left.

  Ming Bing Dao Ren sat cross-legged, in front of him on the cloud table were several jade bowls and plates. The jade bowls were empty, but on the jade plates were a few green spiritual fruits, each emitting spiritual energy and containing rich life essence.

  "A hundred years of green clouds and fruit, Ming Bing invites all the masters and brothers to enjoy it. Seeing Master Brother, you have prepared your purple bamboo wine, today is indeed ready with wine bowls."

  "Senior Brother is being polite."

  Ming Jian saw the Taoist lightly laugh, his right hand flipped over, and a white jade gourd suddenly appeared in his hand. He tossed his sleeve, and the white jade gourd floated in mid-air, as if there was a sword energy competing with each other, revealing a thread of sharp aura.

  Nine purple bamboo brews crystal clear as jade, with spiritual energy surging on the surface. Purple gas is steaming, and the nine wine springs span across the sky. With spiritual energy sprinkling down, not a few of the sixteen generations of disciples took a deep breath, feeling their minds calm and their spirits steady, their internal energy circulating faster by a fraction.

  On the cloud platform, Ming Bingdao's face showed a look of surprise: "Five hundred years of purple bamboo wine, Shidi loves wine like his life, this time, it's rare to be so generous."

  The other seven masters of the Cloud Platform all had unusual expressions on their faces, but no one spoke up.

  He took a sip of the purple bamboo wine and laughed: "I wonder what everyone thinks, in this 17th generation, can make a name for themselves in the Yama Temple."

  Li Yangfeng smiled and said, "Three years ago in the small competition, the title of First Place was taken by Shangmen Shixiong Feng from Qingtian. In Yanluo Temple, he went through three layers of hell and stopped at the fourth layer, Niejing Hell. This time, I think he can get through the fourth layer and the fifth layer, Zhēnglóng Hell, it's hard to stop him."

  Ming Bingdao smiled lightly and didn't speak, instead looking at the master of Purple Thunder Peak and saying: "Ming Lei Shidi, what do you think?"

  Zi Lei Peak's main body was slender, with purple hair cascading down like a waterfall. Thin threads of purple lightning coiled around him, and the surrounding immortal mist clung to his body, but was blocked by the purple lightning. He sat cross-legged at the edge of the cloud, and Ming Bing asked him a question. After a moment's hesitation, he opened his mouth and said: "Each of the eight veins has its own strengths, and it is impossible for Ming Lei to make a clear judgment."

  Ming Jian saw the Taoist slightly frowning, Lianhua Peak's Yun Tai, Lianhua Peak's master wore a long white skirt, with an air of solemnity. Her eyes sparkled like electricity, and her words were sharp as awns. At this moment, she suddenly spoke out.

  "I think Jianfeng and his partner can enter the top ten."

  Several of the peak masters furrowed their brows and remained silent. On several cloud platforms, some 16th generation disciples subtly shook their heads, not taking it seriously.

  The sword peak has not fallen, and it has already become a foregone conclusion. This is the proof of the endless years of the Eastern Land's ancient era. Even if there is a pre-heavenly sword body, it cannot be reversed. The heavenly punishment thunderbolt is fundamentally impossible to avoid, and it also requires astonishing spiritual stones. In nine out of ten cases, one will die under the thunderbolt, or the spiritual stone will be cut off, and they will die a natural death.

  This is a nearly extinct sword path, even if there is vitality, it is extremely small, and no one can last long, not even the ancestor of Jianfeng or the mysterious swordsman.

  "Step on the blue sky, second layer of hell of scissors!"

  Sixteen generations of disciples shouted in unison, and from the seventeenth generation onwards, as everyone entered the Yama Temple, on the top of the Jiufeng Cloud Platform, a number of black jade plaques suddenly appeared out of thin air, with eighteen blood marks branded on each plaque.

  At this moment, on the cloud platform of Qingyun Peak, the jade plaque with the true name of Tianqing imprinted on it had a blood stain that was full and round, emitting a faint bloody glow. A second blood stain also appeared, giving off a faint light.

  Yanluo Temple

  Stepping into this legendary land, the Yama Temple is vast and boundless. The people who originally entered with Yun Fei, such as Cloud Flying, have all disappeared without a trace. The dark earth was like treading on ice, a chill that pierced to the bone rushed into his body.

  He let out a cold snort, and the First Heaven Sword's edge surged with energy. The majestic life force churned within his body, as if waves crashed inside him, instantly dispersing the invading chill that vanished without a trace.

  There were mournful cries and wails, eerie and desolate, with a ghostly atmosphere that made one's hair stand on end.

  The chill was dispelled, and the earth transformed as a massive underground prison materialized.

  A ghostly head was born with a pair of horns, its face ferocious and terrifying. Its entire body was covered in black scales, a pair of eyes gleaming with blood light, the mouth dripping with blood, and at first glance, it seemed to have no tongue.

  On the iron pillars of the dungeon, countless people were bound above, their mouths propped open with iron clips, and dark, cold ghosts hooked onto their tongues, pulling them out inch by inch. Blood gushed out, gathering on the ground into a river of blood, from which emerged wails and howls, and a fierce aura burst forth.

  "You will enter the Tongue-Pulling Hell and suffer the torture of having your tongue pulled out!"

  There was a strange noise between heaven and earth. In front of Qi Tian, everything became a blur, and when he opened his eyes again, he found himself bound to an iron pillar.

  Under the iron pillar there was a fierce flame, the iron pillar was scorching hot, and the Taoist robe instantly had the appearance of burning.

  "You will enter the Tongue-Pulling Hell and suffer the torture of having your tongue pulled out!"

  Another ghostly soldier let out a shrill whistle, his hand holding an iron pike that shone with cold light, thrusting it towards Qi Tian's lips.

  His face turned cold, he took a deep breath, and Qitian's eyes suddenly shot out dazzling sword light, cutting off the iron sign in the ghost soldier's hand, shattering it and sending it flying.

  "I have been upright and unrepentant to this day, with a clear conscience. Even if Yanluo were in the world of the living, he could not condemn me. You little demon, how dare you interrogate me!"

  Surging life energy, sharp aura like a stormy wave crashing against the shore, iron chains on his body cracking inch by inch, falling from the sky to the ground, sword pointing at the brow, the thick and heavy sword consciousness gushing out, condensing into a golden jade-colored recognition sword.

  The sword's consciousness solidifies, cutting through the void and the false. These ghostly soldiers are not very powerful, at most equivalent to the 72nd level of the Daoist cultivation of the "Round and Full" method. They can only suppress humans by relying on the vast and majestic aura of the first layer of the Tongue-Pulling Hell and the ghostly energy. However, a Daoist cultivator with a slightly weaker foundation may still be suppressed. But for someone like Qi Tian, who has treaded through 49 layers of heaven in the Sword-Burying Pool and has had 4,900 swords weighing upon him without fear, how could this bit of evil aura and ghostly energy possibly shake his mind?

  Golden jade-colored sword, cutting down the mountain with a single slash, every sword that falls is like an ancient mountain moving. In these eighteen layers of hell, there are endless possibilities. Before Qitian's sword, the shadow of an ancient mountain appears, and dozens of ghostly soldiers turn to dust under one sword, the ground prison collapses, and the sky falls into the earth.

  The majestic life energy in the body roared, and with a raised head, a black prison gate appeared on the crumbling dungeon, emitting a chilling grinding sound. (Sword Ancestor has been collecting for nearly 4,000 years now, if only one-tenth of book friends vote every day, Sword Ancestor can also shine brightly, summoning everyone in ten steps, wake up! Sword Ancestor needs you, the glory of swordsmanship needs you!)