The Three Teachings Converge into One: The Path of the Mortal and the Saintly is the Same

Poetry:

The ink-sea surges, obscuring the holy light; the road to the underworld draws near, chilling the bones.

The red spider lily blooms, weeping blood in vain; a wisp of soul is drawn to the land of the dead.

Su Qingxuan's heart trembled.

He cultivated for a hundred years, and often heard about things in the netherworld.

Knowing that it is the pivot of the cycle of reincarnation in the three realms, its order is strict.

It has its own ironclad rules, and only the deceased souls or specially permitted celestial officials are allowed to enter.

It is strictly forbidden for any living creature to trespass; those who violate this rule will suffer divine retribution.

It even alarmed the Ten Kings of Hell, triggering a conflict between the two realms.

Therefore, he never went there in person, and his understanding of the netherworld was limited.

Most of these come from ancient texts and oral accounts from older cultivators such as Yunmiaozi.

But at this moment, that bloodline connection is so clear, so urgent, so sorrowful.

It carries the most primal, instinctive resonance and grief deep within our blood.

Undeniable and cannot be ignored!

Without further hesitation, he transmitted a message to Yun Miaozi:

"Protect me, I'll be right back."

He then sat cross-legged under the Bodhi tree and gathered all his breath.

Minimize your own presence, spiritual energy fluctuations, and even your life imprint.

The next instant, a wisp of soul light, without substance, form, color, or light, almost nonexistent in the present world, appeared.

Emerging silently from between his brows, it followed that guiding thread.

It disappeared into the void, heading straight for the underworld...

……

Upon entering the Netherworld, a force entirely different from that of the mortal realm and the heavenly realm was immediately apparent.

A chilling, deathly aura that penetrates deep into the soul.

It was like millions of cold, fine needles simultaneously piercing Su Qingxuan's soul.

Before me stretched an endless, churning thick black fog.

Like an inverted sea of ​​ink, thick and oppressive, isolating all light and warmth.

Countless sounds came from the fog, layer upon layer, never ceasing:

A heart-wrenching wail, a roar filled with resentment and bitterness...

A venomous and piercing curse, numb and empty murmurs, a sorrowful and desperate plea...

These sounds intertwined and mingled, forming an eternal dirge backdrop that assaulted the intruder's mind.

Ordinary cultivators would lose their composure and be consumed by negative emotions in no time upon arriving here.

Su Qingxuan had a firm Daoist heart and was protected by the true meaning of the three religions.

The formless and intangible soul light began to circulate faint golden, blue, and white light.

It keeps those pervasive negative emotions and corrosive death energy at bay.

He suppressed all distractions and focused all his attention on the bloodline connection, while trying his best to conceal himself.

There is no sun, no moon, no stars, and no light here.

Only distant, eerie green flames flickered and drifted like ghostly eyes.

A faint, winding, gray path stretched out before them, its end unknown.

The Road to the Underworld!

Along the roadside, blood-red flowers bloomed in abundance, stretching as far as the eye could see.

It stretched all the way into the depths of the black fog.

The petals are slender and silky, swaying gently without any wind.

It exudes a strange, sweet yet rotten aroma.

It is the red spider lily, also known as the Manjusaka.

Flowers bloom without leaves, leaves grow without flowers.

The flowers and leaves will never meet—just as they are separated by life and death!

Su Qingxuan's soul light traveled swiftly along the Yellow Springs Road.

He noticed that within the stamens of each spider lily,

A blurry, distorted face was faintly visible on each one.

Whether sorrow or joy, resentment or anger, infatuation or rage, they are all vividly portrayed...

These are all manifestations of the deepest obsessions and most intense emotions of the deceased souls in their lifetime.

As his divine light swept across, those faces seemed to sense something.

They all turned to him, their empty eye sockets staring at him.

Countless flower branches swayed without wind, as if trying to entwine around it.

Let his presence, that of a "living being," remain forever in this desolate place.

He sped forward, his soul flashing like lightning.

A barely perceptible trace was left across the sea of ​​flowers...

After an unknown amount of time, the sound of rushing water came from ahead.

Like the wailing of ten thousand ghosts, like the weeping of wronged souls.

A vast, pitch-black river stretched out before us.

The river was wide, and the opposite bank was not visible.

The river water was incredibly viscous, flowing slowly and emitting a nauseating, strong fishy odor.

The scene in the river was even more horrifying:

Countless pale, swollen arms struggled to extend above the water.

Waving helplessly.

The mutilated head floated on the water, its empty eye sockets staring at the gray "sky," its mouth opening and closing.

It made gurgling swallowing sounds, as if it were drinking something.

Sometimes, fragmented souls would tumble past.

It was swallowed by the river in an instant, turning into a new vengeful arm.

This river is none other than the River of Oblivion!

—A collection of all the regrets of the people.

On the river, an ancient blue stone arch bridge stands silently.

The bridge was slippery, covered with a dark green that resembled moss...

The stone railings are covered with twisted and bizarre ghostly runes.

It flickered with a faint, eerie light.

This is the Bridge of Helplessness!

—The path that the souls of the dead must take in the cycle of reincarnation.

At the bridgehead, there was a simple thatched shed with a large iron pot placed on the stove.

A pale, eerie fire burned beneath the pot, inside which murky broth churned.

An old woman in gray clothes, hunched over, stood expressionless beside the pot.

Mechanically, they scooped up the soup with wooden spoons and poured it into broken bowls.

Handed to the long line of departed souls.

The departed soul took it, drank it, and the last glimmer of light appeared in its eyes.

The last trace of attachment to the past life faded and disappeared in an instant.

He became dazed and confused, and staggered across the bridge.

They disappeared into the thick fog on the other side of the bridge.

Su Qingxuan's soul light concealed itself in the thick fog beside the bridge, suppressing all fluctuations.

He looked at the two tall ghost guards standing at the bridgehead:

One has the head of a bull and the body of a human.

Clad in tattered iron armor, wielding a rusty steel fork, and exhaling white breath from his nostrils;

One is a horse-faced human.

It drags along a pitch-black chain, at the end of which is a ferocious claw.

His cold gaze swept over the departed souls.

Both possessed a sinister aura and were at the peak of the Celestial Immortal realm.

Moreover, it subtly aligns with the laws of the netherworld, thus greatly increasing its strength in this place.

Su Qingxuan did not want to cause any unnecessary trouble.

He held his breath and focused his mind, suppressing the fluctuations of his soul light to the minimum.

Like a real gust of cold wind, it silently swept past three zhang away from the side of Ox-Head and Horse-Face.

The two ghost messengers seemed to sense something, and the bull-headed ghost messenger twitched his nose.

The chains of the horse-faced ghost messenger rattled softly.

But upon closer inspection, nothing was found.

It was just a passing gust of cold wind from the underworld.

After crossing the Bridge of Helplessness, the scene of the underworld changed once again.

Not only was it desolate and bleak, but it also had a strict order.

In the distance, through the dark mist, the outlines of a continuous series of palaces could be vaguely seen.

All of them are built of huge, dark stones, tall and gloomy, with upturned eaves.

Countless eerie green lanterns hung there, like a thousand ghostly eyes.

They coldly gazed upon this desolate world.

Before each temple, long, winding queues stretched out, where countless souls silently awaited judgment.

The sounds of ghostly messengers shouting and whipping, and the wails and pleas of the dead.

The faint sounds only added to the terror.

……

Su Qingxuan's soul light continued relentlessly, following that increasingly urgent ray.

A growing, heart-pounding pull drives him rapidly toward the depths of the underworld...

He swept past one palace after another:

The first hall is the Hall of King Qin Guang.

In the plaza in front of the palace, a huge "Mirror of Retribution" hangs high.

It is ten zhang high and six zhang wide, with a mirror-like surface as hazy as water.

The spirits of the dead were escorted onto the platform by the ghost messengers, and the mirror surface rippled like water.

It reflects the good and evil of his life in great detail.

Those who do good deeds see a bright and peaceful image in the mirror, and the faces of the deceased show contentment.

The evildoer's evil deeds are reflected in the mirror, and his soul lies limp on the ground, his face ashen.

Once the judgment was made, the virtuous were led to the path of goodness by the ghost messengers.

The wicked were dragged down to the next temple by chains.

The second hall is the Chujiang King's Hall.

It is specifically responsible for punishing crimes such as "injuring human limbs, adultery, theft, and murder".

Before even getting close, one could hear the sounds of whipping and mournful wails coming from inside the palace, sending chills down one's spine.

On the black stone tablet in front of the hall, the punishments for which this hall is located are inscribed in blood-red, ghostly script:

Ice Prison, Blood Pool Prison, Tongue-Pulling Prison...

The very name of the document is enough to send chills down one's spine.

……

Su Qingxuan had no time to look at anything else, nor did he care about anything else.

The grief and despair conveyed by that bloodline grew ever stronger.

Like the last cry of a drowning person, it made him extremely anxious.

He passed through layers of ghostly shadows and over several patrolling squads of fully armored ghostly soldiers.

Arriving at the third hall, deep within the territory of the Song emperor.

This place is far from the main temples and the procession of the dead, and is becoming increasingly remote and desolate.

The black fog was so thick it couldn't be dispersed, like solid ink.

The resentment condensed into damp, cold dewdrops, clinging to the jagged black stones.

Deathly silence is the dominant theme here; even the wails of the ever-present dead souls have faded into the background.

Right in the middle of this desolate land.

One of the prisons was clearly a makeshift, makeshift structure.

It stands alone, its architecture standing out starkly against the surrounding somber and orderly style.

The prison was made of black iron, and the walls were three feet thick.

The surface is covered with densely packed sealing runes.

Those runes are not orthodox Netherworld Soul-Suppressing Runes.

Instead, it exudes an aura of distortion, evil, and greed...

It slowly writhed on the iron wall like a living creature.

It continuously absorbs the sparse soul power around it.

It also isolates all internal and external auras from detection.

The prison was small, no more than three zhang in length and width, and two zhang in height, with no windows.

There was only a heavy iron door with a menacing ghost-head lock hanging on it.

Outside the prison, four "ghost messengers" dressed in black, tight-fitting uniforms, their faces indistinct, stood with their arms crossed.

Along the way, they and Su Qingxuan saw those soldiers in neat armor.

The atmosphere was solemn, but the Yin soldiers were completely different from those in Zhongzheng.

The four men had sinister eyes, even though their faces were blurred like black mist.

You could also feel that cold and cruel gaze.

A faint black aura swirled around them.

The black aura was malevolent, cold, and corrosive.

It is completely out of step with the solemn laws of death in the netherworld.

It's more like...

Demonic energy!

Su Qingxuan's heart sank, and an ominous premonition struck her like ice water.

He approached quietly and attached his soul light to the shadow of a protruding black stone.

He cautiously peered through the crack in the black iron gate, sensing something.

Inside the prison, it was cold and damp, and the air was filled with the stench of decay and despair.

The ground was covered with slippery, bluish-black moss, and in the corners were piles of filthy things whose original appearance was unrecognizable.

There was no light, only the writhing runes on the black iron wall.

It emitted a faint, dark red glow, barely illuminating the scene inside the prison.

In the corner, two aged, ethereal, almost transparent figures were about to disappear.

He was tightly bound by thick, black chains.

The other end of the chain was driven deep into the stone wall behind.

Where the nail was driven in, the stone wall cracked, and a dark red liquid, like congealed blood, seeped out.

The chain was not made of ordinary iron; its surface was covered with twisted, dark red patterns.

It wriggles slightly, like a living thing, with each wriggle.

They forcibly extracted strands of soul power from the bound soul.

It transformed into pure black demonic energy and was absorbed by the chains.

Where the soul power was drained, the soul became even more transparent and trembled in pain.

On the left is an elderly man.

His gray hair and beard were disheveled and plastered to his thin face.

His scholar's robe was already tattered and stained.

Yet, one can still discern its former neatness and integrity.

His face was extremely haggard, with sunken eyes and high cheekbones.

His lips were chapped, oozing a pale golden soul light—

That is the loss of the soul's essence.

Even so, he still tried his best to straighten his back.

That is the Confucian scholar's spirit that runs deep in his bones.

It is the steadfastness of "poverty and lowliness cannot sway me, power and force cannot subdue me".

His eyes, still clear, showed no sign of yielding.

Only deep sorrow and a single, unyielding spark.

Su Qingxuan's soul light trembled violently.

They could barely maintain their stealth.

That old man was none other than his biological father in the mortal realm—

Su Wenyuan!

The father who taught him to write when he was young, telling him that "handwriting reflects one's character and should be neat";

The father who, in his youth, explained "The way of the Great Learning lies in manifesting one's bright virtue" under the lamp;

When he decided to travel far and wide to seek the truth, though reluctant,

Yet, the father still said, "A good man's ambition lies in all directions."

The father whose hair turned white overnight when the news of his "ascension" arrived...

……

Beside Su Wenyi was an old woman.

She nestled weakly beside the old man, her eyes closed.

Its breath was as faint as a candle flickering in the wind, as if it would be completely extinguished at any moment.

Her hair was disheveled, and she was as thin as a rake. Her once plump and kind face was now nothing but skin and bones.

Especially those hands that once gently caressed his cheek.

I sewed winter clothes for him and gave him detailed instructions under the lamp.

"Xuan'er, it's getting cold, put on more clothes." (A hand gesture)

At this moment, the strange magic chains were grinding his skin until it was torn and bleeding.

A faint golden light emanated from the soul.

With each wisp of light that dissipates, her figure becomes a little more blurred.

It was his birth mother—

Liu Shi!

The mother who always saved the best food for him, while she ate coarse grains herself;

The mother who stayed up all night when he was sick, holding his hand and silently shedding tears;

The mother who secretly stuffed all his savings into his luggage when he went on his journey;

The mother who cried for three days and three nights after hearing that he had "ascended to heaven"...

……

How did they get here?

Shouldn't they have already entered the cycle of reincarnation, been reborn, and started a new life?

Based on the merits of the two elders throughout their lives of teaching, educating, doing good deeds and accumulating virtue.

Even if one cannot be born into a wealthy and noble family, one should still live a peaceful and joyful life.

A life blessed with both happiness and longevity is the proper destiny!

Why am I imprisoned here, in this dark and gloomy prison where the sun never shines?

To suffer this torment of having one's soul extracted and refined?!

Boundless anger, excruciating guilt, and heart-wrenching grief.

Like a million red-hot daggers, simultaneously piercing Su Qingxuan's soul.

A century of cultivation has forged a Daoist heart as still as an ancient well and as steadfast as Mount Tai.

It collapsed with a roar at that moment, cracking open with countless fissures.

The spiritual power of the three religions within the soul light went out of control and went berserk due to the violent tremor of the mind.

The oppressive aura of a peak Golden Immortal was about to be revealed.

If leaked, it will surely alarm the entire Netherworld!

Just now.

A large, withered yet steady and powerful hand, exuding a cool and gentle aura.

He gently pressed it onto the black stone to which his soul was attached.

"Hold on!"

It's Yun Miaozi's voice!

Calm, powerful, with a steady strength like a pillar that can stabilize the sea.

It is unknown when, but this elder who protects the way...

It even separated out a wisp of primordial spirit that was more condensed and more concealed.

Following the extremely hidden trace of soul power left by Su Qingxuan.

Silently slipping into the underworld.

Overcoming numerous obstacles, they came to his side at this crucial moment.

The cool, warm sensation emanating from that large hand was like a clear spring.

It was poured onto Su Qingxuan's burning soul.

He suddenly snapped back to his senses and, with immense willpower, suppressed his surging rage.

The boiling murderous intent almost overwhelmed the rational grief.

I suppressed it deep in my heart.

He knew that under the special laws of the Netherworld.

His current wisp of soul light can do nothing...

He gazed deeply, deeply, at his parents in prison.

The film details the tragic state of the two elders and every aspect of the bizarre prison.

The appearance and aura of those four underworld messengers.

The working principle of the magic patterns on the chains.

It's all etched deep into my heart.

Imprinted in the deepest part of the soul...

Then, together with Yun Miaozi's wisp of primordial spirit, they vanished as if they had never existed.

Silently, I withdrew from this heart-wrenching darkness.

Following the path we came from, we return to the celestial realm...

Returning to the original body of Guiyi Academy.

Su Qingxuan opened his eyes; it was midnight.

Tonight, the moonlight is cold and clear, like frost and ice...

It is:

I cannot bear to see my parents locked away in the cold abyss; a hundred years of spiritual foundation have been lost in a single thought.

The moon shines on my return journey, the frost like a sword; I swear I will not return until I have slain Yama, the King of Hell.