Junior Sister is skilled in subduing demons.

Chapter 198 Snow Lion and Mysterious Monk

The wind at the foot of the sacred mountain carried ice shards, feeling like countless tiny knives scraping against my face.

As soon as Shen Anzhi stepped onto the frozen lakeshore, a tearing pain suddenly shot through her chest, as if an invisible hand had gripped her internal organs. She staggered and grabbed Ge Wensong's arm, his fingertips as cold as ice.

"Wen Song, I... spiritual power..." Before he could finish speaking, the spiritual power in his dantian receded like a flood bursting its banks, and even the demon-refining gourd at his waist became heavy, almost too heavy to hold.

Ge Wensong quickly pulled her halfway into his arms, his sword flashing as it was drawn, the cold light cleaving through the thick fog: "Sister Anzhi, step back, I'll take care of you." The divine tortoise had said that snow lions guarded the foot of the sacred mountain; these were not ordinary beasts, but legends passed down for thousands of years on the snowy plateau.

Legend has it that the snow lion is the embodiment of the soul of the snow mountain. Each one has lived for over a hundred years, its mane can freeze into frost, and its claws can tear through fine steel. Generations of them have guarded the entrance to the sacred mountain's spiritual vein.

A moment later, a deep roar rolled from the depths of the snow-capped mountains, like a boulder rolling over ice. It was a pure white lion, nearly twice the size of an ordinary male lion.

Legend has it that the snow lion's claws can easily dig through millennia-old frozen rocks and even shatter a cultivator's protective spiritual power.

“Roar…” The snow lion roared again, this time with a clear warning in its voice.

Its front paws slammed into the ground, and with a "crack," five deep grooves were carved into the half-foot-thick frozen soil and the rocks underneath. Gravel mixed with ice shards flew out and hit Ge Wensong's sword with a crackling sound.

Ge Wensong pulled Anzhi even closer behind him, his sword blade pointing diagonally at the ground: "Sister Anzhi, stay put." He lightly touched the ground with his toes, his figure shooting out like an arrow, his long sword swirling into a dazzling sword flower, heading straight for the snow lion's face.

This sword strike used the "Chasing Stars" technique from the Shu Mountain Sword Art, so fast that it left only a blur. However, the snow lion seemed to have anticipated it, dodging the attack with a slight tilt of its head, while its long tail swept across like a steel whip.

"Watch out!" An Zhi cried out in alarm. He tried to activate the Demon Refining Gourd but found that his spiritual power was completely depleted. He could only watch helplessly as the snow lion's tail swept across Ge Wensong's shoulder.

Ge Wensong groaned, staggered back several steps, and a trace of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Wen Song!"

"It's nothing." Ge Wensong wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes shone with an astonishing light: "Sister Anzhi, this beast does have some ability." He suddenly remembered the eighteen Buddhist beads that the monk Tongda had given him, and quickly took them off and put them on his wrist.

As soon as the sandalwood beads came into contact with the chill emanating from the snow lion, they emitted a faint golden light—that was the purifying power of Buddhism, which had a natural restraint on demonic beasts.

The snow lion seemed wary of the Buddha's light; a hint of vigilance flashed in its amber eyes, and its movements slowed by a fraction.

Just then, a loud "boom" came from afar, as if a snow mountain had collapsed. The two looked up and saw dark clouds surging in from behind the snow mountain. The clouds were as black as ink, but their edges glowed with an eerie red light. The figures of demonic soldiers could be vaguely seen moving among the clouds, their weapons reflecting an eerie light.

Even more frightening was that the snow underfoot was melting at a visible speed, and the meltwater was forming muddy streams that flowed down the mountain with a rusty, fishy smell.

“It’s the demon soldiers…” Anzhi’s heart sank to the bottom: “They really found the sacred mountain.” The snow lion suddenly turned and roared at the dark clouds, this time its roar was filled with rage, and the icicles on its mane trembled. It looked at Ge Wensong, who was paralyzed on the ground, then looked in the direction from which the dark clouds had come, and finally turned and ran towards the mountainside. After running a few steps, it stopped and looked back at Anzhi.

Shen Anzhi suddenly realized that this snow lion was not just a simple ferocious beast; it knew how to distinguish between good and evil and who the real threat was.

The two followed the snow lion up the mountainside, and the higher they went, the purer the air became. After walking for about an hour, they saw a figure on a platform covered with prayer flags.

It was a monk, wearing a faded red robe, kneeling with his back to them before a huge black rock. His posture was peculiar; it wasn't the usual kneeling with hands clasped in prayer, but rather he was supporting himself on one hand while turning a polished prayer wheel in the other, muttering incantations in a voice barely audible.

Prayer flags fluttered behind him, red, yellow, and blue, like countless butterflies in the wind and snow. They were woven from yak wool, a unique material from the Tibetan Plateau, and printed with the six-syllable mantra, which is said to ward off evil spirits.

"Master!" Shen Anzhi exclaimed hurriedly, his voice trembling with excitement, "We have come to see the monks of the sacred mountain, to retrieve the Demon-Slaying Sword to exorcise demons in Qiang City!"

The monk did not turn around immediately, but the sound of the prayer wheel turning stopped.

After a long while, the monk slowly turned around. His robe collar was embroidered with a faded lotus totem, which was the symbol of the oldest sect in the snowy region, the "Pure Lotus Sect." Legend has it that the monks of this sect could communicate with the sacred mountain and had guarded the secret of the demon-slaying sword for generations.

"The Demon-Slaying Sword..." the monk began, his voice hoarse as if two stones were rubbing together, "Not just anyone can wield it." He shook his head, said nothing more, and got up to walk towards a higher place.

Anzhi noticed a deep scar on the back of his hand that was spinning the prayer wheel, as if it had been cut by some sharp weapon. The shape of the scar was somewhat similar to the outline of a snow lion's paw.

The two spent the night in a stone cave in the corner of the platform.

The next morning, Anzhi was awakened by a pungent smell of blood. She stepped out of the cave and saw the monk lying in the snow, a black demonic arrow embedded in his chest, its shaft wreathed in eerie green magic. His eyes remained open, gazing in the direction of the sacred mountain, as if waiting for something.

"Master!" Anzhi rushed over and helped him up, only to find that his body was already cold.

Upon seeing Anzhi, the monk suddenly revealed a faint smile, as if relieved, yet also filled with pity: "Sin... in the end, cannot be escaped..." He raised his hand and pointed down the mountain: "Godslaying..."

His fingers were withered and thin, with black soil embedded in his fingernails—traces of years of farming on the sacred mountain. The monks of the Pure Lotus Sect never rely on incense offerings, but instead make a living by cultivating barley, a specialty of the snowy plateau.

"Do you know him?" Anzhi pressed.

The monk didn't answer directly, but instead turned the prayer wheel on his wrist, the two sides clinking together with a crisp sound: "Twenty years ago... he was just a child... he followed me before this black stone... and studied scriptures for three months..." His voice trailed off, "...it was my fault for not teaching him well... I didn't teach him well..."

Anzhi then noticed that the black stone was covered with dense Sanskrit characters, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be scriptures that encouraged people to do good.

The snow lion was squatting beside the black stone. It nuzzled the monk's corpse with its head, then suddenly turned around and revealed its white fangs in the direction from which the black clouds had come.