After the devastating rampage of Jiuying, the walls of Bianjing were completely unrecognizable, with only half of the charred and cracked bricks and stones left, like an old and scarred giant, standing alone and helpless in the ruins. The biting cold wind was like a ferocious beast, howling over the ruins, wantonly rolling up the broken flags and burnt ashes. Those broken flags, which once symbolized the glory and majesty of Bianjing, can only flutter helplessly in the wind, whirling, as if whimpering, and as if telling the glory of the past and the desolation of today. Lin Feng, a warrior who had experienced hardships, carried a small bronze coffin on his back and walked slowly and heavily along the moat. The surface of the coffin was condensed with tiny ice crystals, which flickered faintly in the dim light. The light seemed to be the last trace of warmth left by Lin Wanqiu's dragon soul, and it was also the only comfort in Lin Feng's heart. His eyes were tightly covered by a faded and worn cloth strip. Every step he took, he had to rely on the broken sword in his hand to carefully explore the way. His cloth shoes stepped on the rubble on the ground, making a crisp and lonely crisp sound. In this dead and silent city like a tomb, it seemed particularly clear, as if it was a sad song played by fate in these ruins.
"The Netherworld rift is still expanding." The residual soul of the mirror spirit, like a ghost, whispered in the fragments of the phaseless mirror. The sound seemed to be a whimper from the deepest part of the endless abyss, full of despair and fear. When Lin Feng heard this, his steps suddenly stopped, and he subconsciously raised his head and looked to the northwest. There, the sky showed an extremely strange purple-black color, as if cursed by evil forces. The space at the edge of the rift was like boiling asphalt, constantly twisting and rolling, making people feel cold. Through the twisted space, the vague outline of a glass-colored city wall could be vaguely seen. The flags hanging on the towers danced in the wind, rustling, and the unknown runes embroidered on the flags exuded a mysterious and dangerous atmosphere, as if silently announcing that a greater crisis was about to come.
In this suffocating atmosphere, the air suddenly became bone-chillingly cold, as if entering an ice cellar in an instant. A sword light, like a brilliant Milky Way hanging down from the sky, instantly fell on the crack with the force of thunder. This sword light was so powerful that it froze the crack within a radius of 100 miles in just a moment. The originally raging wind and snow, under this powerful sword light, seemed to be cast under a spell of immobilization and suddenly stopped. Crystal clear ice crystals, along the edge of the crack, like spreading vines, grew and spread rapidly, as if being sewn up little by little by a pair of invisible but extremely dexterous needles and threads. A monk in white, stepping on this dazzling sword light, slowly fell like a god descending from the sky. His sleeves were embroidered with exquisite flowing cloud patterns, which fluttered gently in the cold wind, adding a bit of extraordinary temperament. The talisman sword in his hand was still dripping with dark blue frost flowers, which emitted bursts of chilliness, as if they could freeze a person's soul.
"How dare a mortal like an ant deal with the Netherworld rift without authorization?" The monk in white looked down at the ruins of Bianjing from a high position, his eyes full of arrogance and disdain, his voice so cold that it seemed to freeze everything, "Such a disaster can only be properly handled by Kunlun Ruins." After saying that, he waved his hand and a talisman flew out of his hand, drawing a strange arc in the air. The talisman instantly turned into several thick chains, like a group of ferocious pythons, entwined around the edge of the rift, as if to completely bind this terrible rift.
When Lin Feng heard this, he was filled with anger and unwillingness. He subconsciously tightened the coffin on his back, as if it was his last protection. The remnant of the mirror spirit screamed in his ear like a mad beast: "Don't believe him! Kunlun Ruins has always regarded the human world as straw dogs. They will never have any good intentions!" Lin Feng remained silent, but slowly turned around, ready to continue on the unknown journey. However, the white-robed monk appeared in front of him like a ghost. The talisman sword in his hand flashed with cold light and was already against his throat. The cold sword tip slightly stung his skin. "You want to escape with the fragments of the dragon spirit? Humph, do you know that this is the key to open the rift?" The white-robed monk said coldly, with a threatening tone in his tone.
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"She is not the key." Lin Feng's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper, and every word seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of his heart, "She did it to seal the Nine Infants." Before he finished speaking, he suddenly turned sideways and swung the broken sword in his hand with a resolute gesture. Although he was blind and his eyes were dark, he relied on his tenacious will and hatred for the enemy to accurately pierce the opponent's wrist. Seeing this, the white-robed monk raised his mouth slightly, revealing a hint of sneer, and lightly tapped the sword in his hand. An ice wall instantly rose from the ground, shaking Lin Feng's broken sword heavily to the ground.
At this extremely tense moment, the frightened cries of the people suddenly came from afar. Lin Feng's heart suddenly tightened. He realized that although Jiuying had been sealed, there were still some innocent people who survived in the city. He was extremely anxious and subconsciously groped to pick up the broken sword to protect those poor people. However, the white-robed monk had no intention of letting him go. He gently raised Lin Feng's chin with the talisman sword, with a mocking smile on his face, and said coldly: "Hand over the fragments of the dragon horn, maybe I will be merciful and leave these ants a way out."
"If you dare to hurt them." Blood oozed from Lin Feng's cloth strips. Those were the hard-to-heal scars left by his overuse of the Wuxiang Mirror. At this moment, his anger reached its peak. He suddenly stretched out his hand to tear off the cloth covering his eyes, revealing his gray and dull eyes. In his eyes, the last glimmer of the mirror spirit flickered. In that glimmer, there burned endless hatred, as if it could turn everything in front of him into ashes. The monk in white was slightly stunned when he saw this scene. He had never thought that this blind mortal could have such strong hatred in his eyes. This hatred was like a blazing fire, which made him feel a chill he had never felt before.
Just as the two were deadlocked, a dull and shocking roar suddenly came from the depths of the rift, as if it was the roar of a sleeping giant before waking up. The outline of the glazed city wall became clearer and clearer in the roar, and the runes on the tower began to flash a strange red light, which seemed to be the color of blood, making people shudder. The white-robed monk's face suddenly changed, and a trace of panic flashed in his eyes. He hurriedly retracted the rune sword, thinking to himself: It seems that this netherworld rift is far more complicated than imagined, and there must be a hidden story behind it. Then, he waved his sleeves and set up a powerful barrier, covering Bianjing, and said coldly: "Remember, from today on, Bianjing is under the jurisdiction of Kunlunxu. If you dare to interfere in this matter again, you will be killed without mercy." After that, he turned into a sword light and disappeared into the sky in an instant.
When the wind and snow gradually subsided, the world seemed to have returned to peace. Lin Feng fumbled to pick up the broken sword. The remnant spirit of the mirror spirit whispered in his ear with a hint of sarcasm: "The real calamity has just begun. Do you think Jiuying is the end? The masters of those Liuli City are more terrifying than the ancient beasts." Lin Feng did not respond, but tightly grasped the coffin on his back. The coffin carried the deep friendship and endless memories between him and Lin Wanqiu. He took a deep breath and continued to move forward. Every step he took was firm and heavy, as if he was measuring the endless distance between himself and his fate.
The afterglow of the setting sun, like a golden veil, sprinkled on the ruins. Lin Feng's shadow was stretched very long, slowly overlapping with the afterimage of the blood moon rising from the ruins. The cracks in the northwest were still emitting a low hum, as if telling the world's uneasiness and crisis. And the people of Bianjing, under the seemingly powerful barrier of Kunlun Ruins, welcomed the first night of their survival.
