Chapter 87: The Forbidden Arts of Mount Mao

In an instant, Ma Zhenlei’s footwork shifted, mysterious and unpredictable. In the blink of an eye, he appeared before me.

He struck with his palm, aiming straight for the center of my brow.

A bolt of lightning erupted from his palm. I quickly twisted aside. With a piercing roar, the thunder crashed onto the old willow at the end of the bridge. The tree was thick enough for two men to encircle, yet it shattered into splinters under his single blow, wood chips and broken branches raining down upon the white bridge and the nearby road.

But it was not over.

Ma Zhenlei pressed in again with that uncanny footwork.

Though I was born with an innate spirit, I had only practiced various moves for less than half a month. Aside from the well-mastered Seven Stars Step, I knew little of other techniques. Relying solely on this most basic footwork, it was almost impossible to evade Ma Zhenlei.

Despite my innate spirit power, his shifting steps left me unable to strike or break free from his control.

His movements changed with bewildering speed.

Overwhelmed, I glimpsed five shadowy figures of Ma Zhenlei surrounding me. Each brandished different hand seals and unleashed bolts of thunder at my vital points.

No matter how I shifted, he held my life in his grasp.

Ma Zhenlei’s strength was truly extraordinary—far beyond the likes of Zhang Changlu from Mount Dragon and Tiger. No wonder he dismissed the fact that I had shattered Zhang Changlu’s spirit with a single punch; it was not arrogance but the confidence his own power afforded him.

Unable to dodge, I could only brace myself.

Thunder struck me, heat surging through my body. White scales flashed forth, and in a split-second, they bore the brunt of the blow.

Protecting my vital point with my fists, I let the thunder crash upon me without fear. I surged forward against the current of lightning, aiming a punch at Ma Zhenlei’s face.

He did not flinch, but met my attack head-on.

With a crack like splitting air, tiles beneath our feet flew up and shattered by the dozen. The thunder coursed along my arm, raising every hair, the white scales gleaming. Ma Zhenlei’s eyes widened in surprise, but I pressed on, channeling more power into my fist. A fierce force burst forth, knocking him stumbling back several steps.

Yet his shifting steps quickly steadied him.

“No wonder—you have scale armor to protect you!” Ma Zhenlei observed. He’d noted the scales on my body, but beyond surprise, showed no fear.

Though I had been on the defensive, I’d gleaned something from our clash. I watched his footwork closely; it was elusive, but perhaps within my grasp.

Ma Zhenlei raised his hand and drew a line across each palm with his fingertip. Blood welled up, and he drew a talisman on each hand.

Blood sigils—using his own blood to invoke the Five Thunder Palm Seal.

With a furious shout, crimson lightning coiled around both of his hands. In the next instant, he was upon me: his left hand struck at my chest while his right, fingers pointed, drove a blood-red bolt at my brow.

But I had already studied his first few steps and recognized the pattern. As he attacked, I matched his movements in reverse, shifting just enough to evade the blow to my brow.

In that moment, my innate spirit power gathered in both hands. If I could strike his vital point and shatter his spirit, he would be finished.

I struck, fist driving for his weak spot.

But Ma Zhenlei shifted again, blocking with his arm. I heard the crack of bone, and my punch sent him flying.

He twisted in midair, landing steadily. The crimson lightning in his palm flickered, but his left arm hung limp, useless.

My punch had broken his arm, but not destroyed his spirit.

Ma Zhenlei glanced at his broken arm, then at me. “We both wield spirit power—how did you break my arm?”

I said nothing, striding toward him.

He withdrew the crimson lightning from his palm, a strange, cold smile curling his lips.

“In that case, I won’t hold back!”

He bowed his head. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

When Ma Zhenlei looked up, his eyes were pitch black—no whites at all—wreathed in wisps of shadow. His brows, lips, and fingernails turned black as well, exuding an eerie dark vapor.

This was a forbidden Maoshan technique. To practice it, one needed an “yin-yang body,” which, to speak plainly, meant self-castration. I had not expected Ma Zhenlei, upon reaching Maoshan, to have mastered even this.

The Maoshan forbidden arts had long been condemned, forbidden by generations of sect leaders, and the only surviving scroll was said to be locked in the sect leader’s inner sanctum—all copies destroyed.

It seemed Ma Zhenlei had stolen the secret scroll and cultivated the forbidden art in secret.

Ranked fifth among the ten great Daoist forbidden arts, the Maoshan secret belonged to a class not only reviled, but also extremely potent and difficult to control. Forcing one’s way into the practice without the proper foundation meant certain death.

Yet Ma Zhenlei had mastered it. No wonder even Bai Xiangu, herself a spirit wielder, was no match for him.

Meanwhile, Bai Xiangu and Niu Dahuang, together with the three thousand disciples of the Ghost Path, had already evacuated the townspeople from beneath the altar.

Now, only the Ma family remained.

Of the family’s elders, only Ma Zhenxing sat unmoved; the rest had been slain by Bai Xiangu. For years they’d done evil in Baichiao Town—countless deaths on their hands. Their fate was deserved.

The younger descendants were little more than pampered wastrels who knew no Daoist arts. Terrified by the events on the altar, they had scattered and hidden, trembling in fear.

Ma Zhenlei looked at his broken arm, then infused it with a stream of black mist. With a gentle flex, his limb was restored.

He advanced on me again, the red-black aura in his eyes intensifying.

The wind howled. His black beard and brows were swept away, torn by the red-black currents and scattered as ashes.

My guess had been correct: this was indeed the Maoshan forbidden art.

Seeing this, I drew strength into my legs, clenching both fists. As I charged, I launched them in quick succession—one at his chest, the other at his brow, both targeting his vital points. Even if he blocked, I was resolved to break his arm again.

I would see whether he could protect his heart or his spirit gate!

Both fists landed with a resounding crash. To my surprise, Ma Zhenlei did not even attempt to defend. He let my blows strike his heart and brow.

Any ordinary man would have died instantly—shattered heart, ruptured vital point, spirit destroyed.

Yet Ma Zhenlei did not budge. He did not even take a step back.

My fists felt as if they had struck iron, pain shooting through my hands. White scales sprang up across my knuckles.

“What use is spirit power, what use is scale armor? In my hands, all is as dust!” he declared, raising both hands wreathed in black mist, and clamped down on my shoulders.

Though my scales appeared again, I heard the sickening crack of breaking bones. Both my shoulders were crushed, my arms rendered useless.

Madam Wang rushed over, heedless of danger.

“My child!”

Before she could reach me, a blast of black energy struck her, sending her flying into the river below the altar.

“Grandmother Wang!”

I shouted, struggling to break free from Ma Zhenlei’s grasp, but my arms were ruined, my meridians severed, and I could not resist his strength.

I summoned force from my legs, spinning upward and kicking Ma Zhenlei. He struck my back with his palm, slamming me into the ground as the altar collapsed in a thunderous roar.

I struggled to my feet and looked to the river. Madam Wang had vanished—she must have sunk beneath the white waters.

Ma Zhenlei strode over and seized me by the throat.

He punched my brow. For a moment, I felt nothing—not even pain—my mind scattering.

Dragging me, he stepped onto the white bridge.

“So much for Bai Xiangu’s divinations. Lin Yi, today is not my day to die—it is yours!”

His fist, shrouded in red-black energy, swung at my heart. Powerless to evade or resist, I heard the bridge collapse with a crash.

My mind faded. All I remembered was falling into the white river, shattered stones of the bridge tumbling with me.