Chapter Sixty-One: The Furious Dugu Ming

“Hahaha, I told you, I would make you die a miserable death, Dugu Ming. So, how does it feel? Beg me! Hahaha! It was your own hand that killed your brothers. Right now, they must be cursing you in agony as they struggle in pain. Hahaha!” Ximen Xiaokun laughed wildly and without restraint.

At that moment, Old Wan was approaching Dugu Ming step by step. His right hand, forming a black tiger’s claw, struck straight for Dugu Ming’s chest. The sharp claw wind stung Dugu Ming’s skin painfully; though he had entered the fourth rank, if such a ruthless strike landed on a vital spot, even if he survived, he would be crippled.

Dugu Ming, meanwhile, stood there with lifeless, vacant eyes, his spirit lost—seemingly oblivious to the abyss of death yawning before him. Ximen Xiaokun’s laughter grew even more reckless as he took in Dugu Ming’s despair, ecstatic at the spectacle, as if already witnessing Dugu Ming’s tragic death here in the Golden Cauldron Pavilion. What now? Dugu Ming was still drowning in sorrow. Was our protagonist truly about to die like this?

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At that moment, a voice echoed within Dugu Ming’s heart, calling out to him, “Dugu Ming—Dugu Ming—”

“Who? Who is calling me?” Dugu Ming found himself lying in a river made entirely of blood, drifting with his eyes closed. Suddenly, upon hearing the voice, he opened his eyes and spoke.

“It is I,” answered a voice, ancient and full of sorrow, as if coming from time immemorial.

“Who are you? Where are you? Show yourself! How do you know my name?” Dugu Ming shouted, looking around at the crimson blood that surrounded him, the air thick with the stench of iron. Yet, strangely, he did not sink into this river of blood, but floated atop it.

“You ask who I am? Very well, I shall tell you: I am you! And you are me!” The voice replied, its tone mocking Dugu Ming’s ignorance.

“You are me?” Dugu Ming came to himself. “You’re lying. I am myself—how could you be me? And what is this ghastly place, overflowing with blood?” Though Dugu Ming was no stranger to blood, soaking in a pool filled with it was nauseating.

“This place? Hahaha! This is your heart. And you, you are me!” The voice laughed loudly. “Do you see? This is your true heart—how bloody it is, isn’t it? Hahaha!”

“What? This is my heart?” Impossible! Dugu Ming thought. He might have been arrogant and even taken lives, but deep down, he considered himself kind. He never harmed unless provoked or forced. He even liked keeping small animals, cherished life, enjoyed gardening and trimming grass. How could his heart be so soaked in blood?

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“Hahaha!” the voice laughed again. “You claim to be kind? Wake up! Do you know how much blood stains your hands? You are the reincarnation of Asura, the rebirth of Deva. You are the sole king of the infinite worlds. All gods and buddhas across the heavens must heed your word; all sentient beings in myriad worlds must obey your will. Hahaha!”

“No, I don’t want to hear this! Who are you, really? Show yourself!” Dugu Ming shouted in disbelief, refusing to accept such tales of Asura or Deva rebirth.

“Where are you? Come out!” Dugu Ming shouted again.

“Hahaha, there’s little time. We will meet again. I told you: I am you, and you are me. Remember, your mission is to kill all who must be killed in this world, and right every injustice. As for other matters, you will come to know them in time.

“I have heard of that so-called Chiyou of your world—he is but a petty underling. In the future, you could crush such beings with a single finger. Your priority now is to raise your strength as quickly as possible. Remember what I say: you are you. Kill those who should be killed, set right what must be set right. The order of this world is yours to decide. Hahaha…” The voice faded, growing ever more distant, as if returning to a far-off future.

“To kill those who must be killed, and set right what must be set right.” The words echoed in Dugu Ming’s mind, brimming with a strange power, as if he had seen them somewhere before—a sense of déjà vu lingering.

---

Suddenly, he was jolted out of that endless sea of blood. The mysterious person’s words still lingered in his ears, their magical influence shifting Dugu Ming’s thoughts. Focusing, he saw the strange scene had vanished. Was it just a dream? he wondered.

Looking again, he saw a fleshy claw reaching for his chest. Instinctively, his body shrank in a way that seemed impossible, narrowly dodging Old Wan’s deadly attack.

How could this be? Old Wan was stunned. He had been moments away from killing Dugu Ming, who had been lost in grief—how had things changed so suddenly? He had no idea that, through misfortune, Dugu Ming had stumbled into the depths of his own heart and encountered another self, gaining this strange fortune.

What’s happening? Dugu Ming himself was thrilled. The Art of Bone Shrinking—this was a feat only possible at the fifth rank! The fourth rank made one’s body as strong as steel, but the fifth allowed one’s bones and muscles to expand or shrink at will, letting him evade attacks in ways no one expected.

Dugu Ming was overjoyed. He had just stepped into the fifth rank, and in a flash, had leapt four full stages, soaring from beginner to the peak and into the next level, faster than a rocket.

His delight fading, Dugu Ming looked at Old Wan and Ximen Xiaokun standing before him. The mysterious stranger’s words echoed again in his ears: “Kill all those who must be killed. Set right all that must be set right.”

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He glared at them, his heart seething with hatred, and roared, “You deserve to die!” His hair practically bristled with fury. Waves of oppressive aura surged from him.

“What’s happening?” Old Wan shielded his eyes, feeling his legs tremble uncontrollably. The aura emanating from Dugu Ming pressed on him like a mountain—he could almost smell death itself. “How can he be so strong? Damn it—Ximen Xiaokun told me this kid was only at the second rank! He’s at least at the fourth!”

I can’t take this. Damn Ximen Xiaokun, I’ll settle accounts with you later. The best plan now is to run!

Old Wan spun around in terror and fled, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll deal with you next time!”

“No, Old Wan, what do you mean? Don’t go! If you leave, what will I do?” Ximen Xiaokun, nearly crushed to his knees by Dugu Ming’s aura, was even weaker than Old Wan and had no hope of resistance. Seeing Old Wan escape, he panicked.

“Trying to run? Die!” Dugu Ming shouted. The thought of Zhang Liming and his companions, their fate still uncertain, filled Dugu Ming’s eyes with bloodshot rage.

In a flash, Dugu Ming caught up with the fleeing Old Wan and struck him in the back with his palm. With a thunderous boom, Old Wan’s body was shattered into countless pieces, his blood turning to a red mist in the air. Just like that, Old Wan died under Dugu Ming’s full-force blow, leaving not even a corpse behind.

Meanwhile, somewhere deep within Dugu Ming’s heart-sea, a strange, white-haired man sat cross-legged, a bizarre crimson-dotted spear and a black, hammer-like weapon strapped across his back. Suddenly, he opened his eyes—eyes completely blood-red, without a trace of white, terrifying to behold. He smiled briefly, then closed his eyes again.

Dugu Ming’s eyes were crimson, his hands and face spattered with Old Wan’s blood. He looked like an executioner, a death god returned from hell, and step by step, he walked toward Ximen Xiaokun.

“You deserve to die,” Dugu Ming said to Ximen Xiaokun.