He walked on the long central axis path in the front hall of the Tiangong, and every brick and stone under his feet was splendid, tick like thin ice, reflecting his figure.
Benedict. Benedict. Benedict.
Step by step, the sound of empty footsteps echoed lonely in the hall.
But the ink burning is not lonely. He is not alone. He is standing in the middle of the trail of the front hall of the Confucianism Gate, which can't see the end. There are people on both sides, men, women, old, young, one by one. different faces.
He stood in the middle, it seemed like a small city, and on his left, the corpse of the Confucianism Sect, those people who were sorry for Xu Shuanglin, all became despicable people, were Ling Chi, were torn apart, and executed with various criminal laws. And then resurrected, resurrected and executed. On the other side, singing and dancing are peaceful, and they are free and happy.
He even saw Luo Xianxian, it should not be the real soul, but the appearance of other corpses made of illusions, controlled by Heizi, just like those Jiaomen in Jin Chengchi.
Luo Xian's hair was rolled up in a bun, and she was with her husband Chen Bohuan at the moment, and the two of them looked at ease and leisure.
He also saw Chen Yuanwai's youngest daughter, who was sitting beside his brother and sister-in-law, talking to them with a smile. Luo Xianxian, on the other hand, snuggled up to Chen Bohuan, and when she heard something interesting, she covered her mouth with her sleeves, and smiled with her eyebrows bent.
This kind of scene is beautiful and dreamy, but it can be seen that the ink is burning behind the cold.
He was pacing in this long aisle. It was half hell and half heaven. Good and evil were clearly divided. He was laughing on the left, and moaning on the right.
He walked forward, as if walking through water and fire, light and shadow. He looked to the left, and a hundred butterflies were flying in a dazzling array of flowers. While reading a book leisurely, some people are reciting poems and fu, children are laughing, and women are drunk and taking care of their clothes.
He looked to the right, the cauldron was boiling hot, the oil was cooked on the hot fire, the twisting flesh was poured with boiling oil, the tongue was pierced through the heart, people cursed each other, bit each other, and the eyes flashed with a beast-like cold light .
He also saw the former abbot of Wubei Temple, the old monk who planned the shady scene of the Lingshan Conference. He was surrounded by three people, each holding a small rusty stew knife in his hand, cutting his Face, legs, and Xiongtai, knife after knife, the flesh that was cut off quickly recovered, so the cycle began again and again, the old monk kept screaming, but all he made was a roar of unknown meaning—his rumored tongue had long since recovered. Was abruptly torn off.
The more the ink burned, the more shuddered.
He didn't even want to look to both sides, crying, laughing, angry, happy.
There is a woman on the left reading softly: "Life and death, lonely and cold life. There are lovers who can't call their lovers..."
On the right is a woman being bitten by a vicious dog and screaming.
Half of his peripheral vision saw light, and half saw darkness. These light and darkness are so absolute, just like chess pieces on a chessboard.
Mo Ran only felt a splitting headache.
He stood in the middle, he simply stopped, closed his eyes, and did not want to see this scene of Jiutian and Purgatory blending.
He stayed where he was, waiting for the larger troops, who were not as fast as him, to catch up.
"The fallen leaves are frightened by the dream, and the fragrant dust is red when walking leisurely..."
"No! Stop doing this to me! Please! Help me... help me..."
But the voices on both sides were incessant, like arrowheads, penetrating into the wood for three points.
He heard Luo Xianxian say to her husband gently: "Chen Lang, the orange blossoms in the courtyard are all blooming. I'll show you, okay?"
He heard the former head of Jiangdongtang, Qin Shi, laughing like crazy: "Adultery? Hahahaha, yes, I am adultery with Nangong Liu! I am a slut, a prostitute, I am A slut, poisonous woman - I killed my husband, I want to be the head - ha ha ha ha, you all come to see my true face, see me as an ugly bitch, ahahahaha..."
Everything is gathered together.
The living, the dead.
Real or fantasy
Black or white, good or evil
The sounds around him gradually became like the tides, and he seemed to see two giant dragons bursting out of the water, and the moonlight illuminated their cold and moist scales.
Are those two dragons
No, those are his two souls.
The fight began again, roaring and spit out the dragon's breath, biting and colliding together.
The earth shakes.
Mo Ran couldn't stand this crazy noise. He covered his ears, but he still couldn't block the two messy voices. Finally, he couldn't bear it. He wanted to raise his hand and drop the curse of silence.
He opened his eyes suddenly.
The surrounding scene disappeared.
The ink burns in horror.
He froze in place - what happened? Why did the surrounding scene disappear
where is he
Why is there a blackness everywhere, an endless blackness...
Is it the illusion created by Xu Shuanglin
The ink burned and looked around, there was nothing, and it was dark.
He took a few steps and called tentatively, "Master?"
"Xue Meng?"
"Is anyone here?"
No one answered him, black, deadly black.
Rao has seen countless storms, such darkness is still terrifying, he walked forward, goosebumps on his arms, he walked forward...
Suddenly, he saw a faint white light lit up far ahead, which seemed to be the exit.
He went to that place.
Suddenly there were figures around, and the faces were not so clear, but when he heard the babble of those people, he knelt down to him like a tide.
Those people chanted, their voices were low, and the rumbles converged into a river—
"Congratulations to the Emperor Stepping Immortal, and the longevity is equal to the sky."
Step on the Immortal Emperor
no no!
He flinched, he trembled, he shuddered, and he ran forward with all his strength, but it seemed that thousands of hands were coming from all directions to grab him.
"His Majesty-"
"Treading Immortal Junze is forever."
"The longevity is endless, and the fortune is not immortal."
The ink burned was actually forced to be a little crazy. He tried his best to break away the invisible hands. He ran towards the light: "No, it's not me... Go away... Go away!"
"Treading Xianjun..."
But those voices were like shadows, lingering, and Mo Ran began to feel that Xu Shuanglin had trapped the ghosts and evil spirits of the ghost world. At this moment, they all came out to arrest him, the escaped ghost.
"Why do you want to leave, Your Majesty?"
"Emperor, emperor..."
The ink burned and staggered under his feet. His eyes were shining with blazing light. He wanted to leave, but all the resentful spirits were trapping him. He was forced to be trapped. , suddenly drew his sword and slammed it, slicing those phantoms into shattered darkness.
His face was like a wolf and a leopard, almost hideous.
"Go away!!" he shouted, "Go away for this seat! Go away!"
The voice fell, and his face was miserable.
He heard someone muttering and snickering around him: "This seat?"
"He said this seat... yes... he was talking about this seat..."
"Emperor, where did we go wrong? You should know who you are and where you came from. You can't escape."
The ink burned back with the sword and shook his head: "No, no... not like this..."
The black smoke that was chopped up by him gathered and formed again, and a vague shadow fell down in front of him and approached him step by step.
The shadow said softly, "Why not?"
"I'm not Stepping Xianjun!"
"Why don't you step on the Immortal Monarch?" The voice was ethereal and soft, like the thin smoke rising from the light gauze curtain in summer, "Of course you are, the injustice has the debt and the owner, only you, you can't escape... "
"But it's over!" Mo Ran stared at the black shadow, "It's over! Stepping Xianjun has already died in front of the Tongtian Tower, and he has nothing to do with me when he entered the grave! I just... I just... "
The shadow smiled softly, as delicate as a stamen: "What are you just?"
Ink burning: "..."
"You're just a returned soul?" it asked, "Just a body with a memory? Are you just an innocent life living in the shadow of Treading Immortal Monarch? Or... are you just a dream?"
If it was said that it was still anger and fear, as soon as this sentence came out, the emotions of the ink burned like ice, and the blood all over the body was frozen.
He was almost dazed and didn't react. He murmured and wanted to speak, but he couldn't utter a complete sentence for a long time. Then he opened his mouth and his voice was astringent. After hollowing out the throat, only one broken word was dug out: "… Dream?"
"You always feel that you have been reborn, but who can say for sure? Is what you think must be true? Is it you or me at this moment?" The vague smoke surrounded him, gathering more and more Clearly, "You said you died under the Tongtian Tower, but you are standing here alive now... Are you really dead?"
The ink burned and stared at the cloud of black smoke.
He no longer trembled, he only felt cold, like falling into an ice cave, stepping into the abyss.
So cold.
Is he really dead
The coldness of Wushan Hall seemed to be still immersed in the bone marrow, and the flames of the ten major sects uprising were like a long snake hissing and winding from the foot of the mountain to bite off his neck.
Xue Meng seemed to be standing in front of him just now, with nothing, with tears in his eyes, and he said: "Ink burning, return my master to me."
Is he really dead
He remembered that he had taken poison, and the poison pierced his heart and lungs. He staggered to the front of the Tower of Babel, and with the last of his strength, he climbed into the dug tomb and lay in the coffin.
Begonia blossoms are very gentle, faint and fragrant, and the sky is light and cloudy and shadows linger.
He closes his eyes...
"Then you open your eyes. You're back when you were sixteen, back when everything was still salvageable, right?"
That black image could see through his heart, whispering with a low smile.
"You are back, the peak of life and death has not been destroyed, although the Confucianism door has turned into scorched earth for the second time, but you did not do it, Ye Wangxi did not die, neither did Shi Mingjing, you saw your own mind clearly, you fell in love with Chu Wanning, you became Master Mo and he finally accepted you. You thought you were free. Now you are the leader of the rebel army, the leader of the Qingzheng Taoist, and a generation of young heroes on the mountain who want to arrest the bully leader Xu Shuanglin—"
Almost dead.
The blood vessels of the ink-burning neck are surging suddenly, along with the intense heartbeat.
The shadow had no face, but it was staring at him, and he knew it was staring at him.
"You think beautiful."
The cold sword pierced the heart, and the fangs pierced the neck.
Mo Ran can hear the despair spreading in his body, and the toxin spreads in general, just like the deadly poison he took at the age of thirty-two, spreading... immersed in the liver and gallbladder... immersed in the heart...
"You are not reborn at all, you are all dead, everyone is dead, Xue Meng is still alive but he hates you very much." The shadow said, "Now you wake up, open your eyes, step Xianjun, you, Still the Lord of Darkness."
"No..." Mo Ran heard someone talking, the sound was so weak and broken, it seemed to be defeated countless times and then glued together, and then he was surprised to find that the person who said this sound was actually himself, "No of… "
He drove the courage in every inch of his bones and every drop of blood, and he opened his eyes, and there was a rush of madness in his eyes—
"You lied! Impossible! Impossible!!"
He gathered his sword and slashed, panting furiously.
The black smoke dissipated again.
But its voice did not fade away, it was smiling in a low voice: "Liar? But Your Majesty, why don't you look down, what exactly is it in your hand?"
The author has something to say: These days will be quite busy, there will be meetings, and there will be no reply or editor to say anything. Sorry, in short, the manuscript has been stored for seven days, and it should be enough to last until I can rest after finishing work. ~Every day, the manuscripts are published regularly. If it is not swiped at ten o'clock, it is Jinjiang's drawing. Just swipe it a few more times.