Primordial Era: A Counterattack Against Hongjun Daozu at the Start

Zhou Yi gazed at the swirling clouds and mist of Taiqing Realm, his fingertips brushing against the jade pendant at his waist as he murmured.

The reason why the Great Master Miaole brought him to see the Sage seemed to be nothing more than a discussion of the six realms of reincarnation. But that was the Taiqing Sage who ruled the Heavenly Dao. The Sage could change the fate of heaven and earth with a snap of his fingers. Why would he do something pointless?

The lingering sandalwood incense in the Jade Purity Hall seemed to still be on the tip of his nose as Zhou Yi stroked the Reincarnation Stone given to him by the Ancestral Witch of Thick Earth in his sleeve.

When the sage mentioned that "there should be a perfect way for the soul to return to its proper place," he clearly saw the Taiji diagram on the table rotate half a breath faster.

This Dao Ancestor, seated outside the Thirty-Three Heavens, has probably already seen through the secret of the Ancestral Witch transforming herself into reincarnation.

"Quietness and inaction are nothing but reflections in a water mirror." Zhou Yi stepped onto the cloud steps and descended to the lower realm, his sleeves fluttering in the strong wind.

People only see the serene appearance of the Supreme Sage, who lowers his eyes to observe the Dao, but they don't know that when the Chaos Green Lotus appeared in the world, this Dao Ancestor was the first to tear through the void and take action.

Now that the merit of the Six Paths of Reincarnation is about to be completed, the Yin-Yang Pisces are likely to stir up trouble again.

The moment Zhou Yi stepped into human territory, the communication jade slip at his waist glowed with golden light. The instant Zhou Yi crushed the jade slip, he heard the cold laughter of the Ancestral Witch Yu Qiang, filled with icy shards: "Those two bald monks' disciples and their followers have built three hundred and sixty-five merit lotus platforms outside the Well of Reincarnation."

At the entrance to the Six Paths of Reincarnation, the sound of chanting resounded through the heavens. Eight hundred Western believers formed an array and chanted scriptures, while the illusory image of a golden lotus carried countless wronged souls straight into the cycle of reincarnation.

The leading healer, holding the Seven Treasures Tree, solemnly explained to the surrounding witches, "The cruel punishments of hell are against the harmony of heaven. We are willing to use our hundred years of cultivation to help the departed souls eliminate their karma."

Ksitigarbha rode the divine beast Di Ting slowly towards them, with the red lotus of karmic fire blooming and withering endlessly beneath his feet: "For every 100,000 wronged souls I deliver, the resentment in the Well of Reincarnation diminishes by one percent."

With a wave of his hand, the ghosts who were about to suffer the torment of mountains of knives and seas of fire transformed into streams of light and entered the human realm, causing the heavens and earth to shower down strands of golden rain of merit.

The Wheel of Reincarnation in the Thick Earth Hall suddenly trembled, and the totems of the twelve ancestral witches lit up one after another.

Yu Qiang looked at the Western followers shrouded in golden clouds of merit and slammed his Xuanbing Scepter heavily on the ground: "They certainly know how to exploit loopholes in the Heavenly Dao!"

The frost spread along the ground, but was melted away by the gentle Buddhist light when it touched the Golden Lotus Formation.

Blood mist churned at the entrance to the Six Paths of Reincarnation. Yu Qiang, the Ancestral Witch, trampled bones barefoot, angrily tugging at Zhou Yi's sleeve: "Those bald monks chant sutras at the gate every day; my ears are practically calloused!"

The illusory image of the twelve-petaled golden lotus flickered on the banks of the Blood River. This time, the disciples of the Western Sect had learned their lesson. They sat cross-legged three zhang outside the boundary of the Yellow Springs, chanting scriptures without crossing the boundary or stopping.

The first two times the other party crossed the boundary and entered, the Wu tribe seized the opportunity to teach them a lesson, but this time it was like an iron fist hitting cotton.

Zhou Yi, his fingertips entwined with the illusory image of the Book of Life and Death, laughed and said, "They are stealing merit."

Each time a wandering soul is transformed, heaven and earth send down golden dust of merit, as faint as fireflies. It may seem insignificant, but with millions of wandering souls surging out of the Blood Sea every day, it accumulates into immense fortune over the years.

"I will now overturn their lotus throne!" The ancestral witch Yu Qiang's body was covered in frost and malevolent energy.

"Wait a minute," Zhou Yi raised his hand to stop them, "They'd love for us to make a move."

Beneath Maitreya's robe, a seven-jeweled tree was hidden, and the Medicine Master wore a guiding banner at his waist, clearly waiting for the Wu tribe to break the rules first.

A projection of the Six Paths of Reincarnation appeared in Zhou Yi's palm: "Tomorrow you will lead three thousand witch soldiers to the Blood Sea..." Before he could finish speaking, Yu Qiang had already started counting on his fingers: "The first team will break the ice, the second team..."

"Stop!" Zhou Yi was both amused and exasperated. He suddenly realized that the Ancestral Witches were always straightforward, so he quickly changed his words: "You just need to have the witch soldiers sing the 'Witch God's Battle Song'." As he spoke, he made a hand seal and conjured up a scene of earth-shattering battle dance.

Yu Qiang's eyes lit up: "This is good!" He turned around and transformed into the true form of the Hundred-Foot Ancestral Witch, with the Nine Netherworld Cold Wind carrying the battle song rushing towards the sea of ​​blood.

The next day, the chanting of the Western Sect disciples was dispersed by the war roar of the Witch Clan, and the wandering souls they were trying to save broke free from the Buddha's light. The golden lotus phantom of the guiding saint swayed precariously in the evil aura.

A bluish-gray mist rose from the underworld, and the wailing of countless souls echoed from the depths of the vortex of reincarnation.

Zhou Yi's fingertips traced the Taotie pattern on the bronze sword hilt, while his black battle robe fluttered in the cold wind.

His gaze pierced through the thick fog, fixing on the barrier where chanting of Buddhist sutras lingered.

The illusory image of the twelve-petaled lotus platform swirled at the feet of Ksitigarbha, while the Vajra Formation formed by eight hundred monks was performing a ritual to deliver the souls of the deceased.

Whenever the Rebirth Mantra emanates golden light, the souls lingering on the banks of the River of Oblivion shed their scarlet aura and transform into specks of fireflies, disappearing into the cycle of reincarnation.

The newly initiated novices could not hide their joy, and the merit marks between their eyebrows were solidifying at a visible speed.

"Ksitigarbha, at this speed..." Before the Arhat holding the Vajra could finish speaking, the entire underworld suddenly trembled violently.

The River of Oblivion flowed backwards, and tens of thousands of bull-headed ghost soldiers emerged from the blood river, the clanging of black iron chains shattering the peaceful chanting.

The nine-ringed staff in Ksitigarbha's hand emitted a clear, resonant sound. Gazing at the chaotic vortex at the core of Samsara, he murmured, "So, it's finally time to reveal our trump card?"

The golden threads on the kasaya flickered with the fluctuations of spiritual energy, and the phantom of the Six Paths Treasure Wheel slowly rotated behind him.

As night fell and darkness descended, the disciples of the Western Cult had already laid a net of heaven and earth outside the six realms of reincarnation.

Their "golden cicada shedding its shell" technique, practiced day and night, has reached perfection. They can instantly transform into a severely injured victim as soon as the witch clan makes the slightest move.

These celestial cultivators were quite particular about the angle of their fall; when they landed on their backs, they should raise three inches of dust, and when they rolled to their sides, their hair ornaments should be crooked but not fall off.

Even the wailing tones are divided into seven levels and twelve tones to ensure that they can evoke compassion without losing the demeanor of immortals.

The clanging of iron chains echoed from deep within the local government compound, and the fingertips of the leading disciple, Yuanjue, trembled slightly.

The three hundred disciples simultaneously unleashed their protective golden light, but concentrated all their magical power on the Yongquan acupoints on the soles of their feet, waiting for the combined force of the Wu Clan's fists to send them flying nine zhang away.

Unexpectedly, the Ox-Headed and Horse-Face Yin Soldiers marched out in formation, bypassing the cultivators like a watershed.

The black iron chains whipped up a chilling wind, rushing straight towards the wandering, lonely ghosts behind them.

Mingxin, the junior disciple in the front row, had already struck the pose of Xi Shi holding her heart, but now he stood frozen in place, looking like an unfinished clay sculpture.

"This...this is different from what we agreed on!" Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva suddenly stopped holding the prayer beads, and fine sweat seeped from his palms.

The Ox-Headed Ghost Messenger unfurled his soul-snatching rope, and with a strike of his mourning staff, countless wandering souls turned into wisps of green smoke and disappeared into the soul-guiding banner.

In his haste, Senior Brother Yuanjue stepped forward and shouted, "What do you intend to do?"

Before he could finish speaking, the Horse-Faced Underworld General turned around, revealing his gleaming white fangs: "Serving in the Underworld, apprehending wandering souls is our duty. But you immortals, setting up this formation here, are you perhaps trying to obstruct the official business of the Underworld?"

The Western believers looked at each other, their carefully prepared accusations still tucked in their sleeves, the lyrics of their tearful drama stuck in their throats.

In the rear formation, the three hundred sets of "severely injured makeup" looked particularly comical at this moment, with some people still having cinnabar on their foreheads and others still having fresh bloodstains on their clothes.