623: Chapter 622: The Kill of Consciousness 2 623: Chapter 622: The Kill of Consciousness 2 Hou Niao was montarily stunned.
Of course, he knew Hei San, for they shared a particularly unique story.
Now that Hei San had co to repay a debt of gratitude, it seed reasonable.
But he didn’t understand what the point of struggling so desperately was.
Could one truly escape under the gaze of such a public assembly?
Completely overwheld by the specter of death on the execution ground, he couldn’t fathom the intricacies of the situation.
Before death, even the frailest straw becos sothing to grasp without hesitation, never letting go.
He faintly felt that his life shouldn’t just end so abruptly, yet he didn’t know what he could do to have a new beginning.
Escape was his only hope now.
He had a new understanding of the law; he once thought he could face life and death with equanimity, that taking responsibility for one’s actions was the perseverance of a lawman.
But faced with the imdiacy of death, the so-called law he adhered to was rely a face-saving facade.
He was not a man who upheld the law; rather, he wished to be one who wielded it.
All these thoughts streaked through his mind in a flash, and in the blink of an eye, the cannons fired—their turn had co.
The Death Token on his back was rudely snatched off, thrown to the ground, and he could feel the blinding cold glare of the executioner’s broadsword reflected by the sunlight…
Then, the blade fell!
He felt a shock through every pore in his body, hanging by a thread between life and death, imnse fear completely overshadowing his physical sensations.
When the blade fell, he didn’t know whether it had rely cut the ropes or his head.
He didn’t know, and all that mattered was a strong desire to live, nothing could stop his yearning for life!
At least, the ropes that bound his body were now gone.
Realizing this, he sprang up wildly, running out of the Execution Ground with no regard for the layers of onlookers surrounding him, nor for the shouting and scolding of the soldiers.
It was unclear whether his ferocious face scared the crowd or if the people of Fufeng felt guilty toward the once Criminal Investigation official.
A gap opened within the crowd, allowing him to run straight out, not looking back, flustered and indiscriminate in his escape.
Aside from the wind rushing past his ears as he ran, he heard nothing else; he just ran with single-minded determination, across streets, through the city gates, swimming across rivers, and climbing over hills…
He didn’t dare look back!
Not until he could no longer hear the pursuers shouting behind him, not until he was so exhausted he could no longer run, did he find himself trapped within the intricate Water System of Anhe—in an unnad river.
He tried to swim to the other side but lost his last ounce of strength in the water.
Where was this place?
He didn’t know.
As the river carried him up and down, drifting toward the unknown.
In his dimming consciousness, he felt a dark-prowed boat drawing near.
Soone prodded him with a pole, and a crisp voice rang out,
“Sister, there’s a dead man here.
Hmm, looks like he’s not completely dead?”
Another gentle voice said, “Little sister, don’t poke around with the pole.
We fisherfolk don’t do such things; if he’s alive, we’ll save him, if he’s dead, we’ll bury him.
That’s all there is to it.”
Hou Niao felt himself return to life, being pulled from the water.
A bowl of ginger sugar water brought him back to life.
The story that followed was no different from the tales in storybooks and operas—two fisherwon who lived on the water, relying on each other for a living, and a Criminal Investigation official in distress.
Everything happened naturally…
On that small river’s boat under a dark awning, a new man took up residence.
Nets were set at sunrise, and at sunset, they docked.
A husband with two wives, they lived in mutual respect.
Although life was not affluent, it was filled with joy, for it was simple and devoid of impractical dreams.
Hou Niao took delight in it, as if he had completely forgotten why he was here, or his past identity and dreams.
In this simple life, he found himself anew.
After all, it is but one life, why should one push oneself to the brink of despair?
Upon realizing that his adherence to righteousness was nothing more than an empty desire, he began to shield his heart, attempting to escape through this ordinary life.
…The black Daoist stood atop the wall; the raft hovered just above his head, a re stone’s throw away.
This was his Illusion Killing Skill, silent and deadly, aid at both body and soul.
In his Black Illusion Technique, this was a classic move, the Mind Beheading Skill.
It involved using the environnt, mories, heart demons, obsessions, and various negative emotions to draw the opponent into a deathtrap.
In the end, the one to act is the one trapped in the illusion.
In this process, the most taboo thing is for the caster to intervene with external forces, such as if he now casts a spell to attack directly, it would destroy the carefully crafted killing scene, allow the opponent to awaken, and thus lose the killing opportunity, while suffering a great backlash himself.
He had successfully steered the illusion in the most favorable direction, allowing the Sword Cultivator to be imrsed in a non-existent past.
Then, at the ripe mont, make a sudden reversal that would make the Sword Cultivator doubt his own existence.
This is the power of the Mind Beheading Skill.
Such a killing technique’s greatest advantage is that it kills invisibly; there is no escape or place to hide.
It prevents the battle from affecting a wide area and attracting unwanted trouble, and it prevents the Sword Cultivator, known for being slippery, from using his escape skills.
To his knowledge, facing the Sword Cultivator head-on would be difficult without alerting North An and its lineage to achieve his goal quietly.
On the city walls, the mysterious Daoist and the floating raft, under his deliberate concealnt, seed enshrouded in a layer of fog, undetectable to anyone.
Fufeng City, after all, was never a place where cultivation thrived.
After ensuring the safety of his surroundings, and that the three people on the raft were all imrsed in his illusion, linking the three closely together through a clever thod, this was the secret of the Black Illusion Technique, the pinnacle of his insights from hundreds of years of cultivation.
Now, he was ready to close the net.
His consciousness slowly infiltrated, silently observing the three fishern’s lives.
Even though it was born from a re thought, everything was vividly lifelike.
He had to go in for the finish, but he could not do so with his actual body.
Reality and illusion did not mix; a rash intrusion would disrupt the ntal balance of the illusion space.
Like a sandcastle, to integrate, you must first beco sand.
The black Daoist checked once more that everything was normal, that the three people within the illusion were not aware of their predicant, but rather fully enjoying their life on the river.
Now is the ti; shattering it all isn’t difficult, demanding only the collapse of a fundantal belief.
The black Daoist’s consciousness rged within, and gradually, he too beca part of the Illusion Space, indistinguishable from the rest.
Ti passed, year after year, ti flowed like water, washing away traces until nothing was left.
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