Chapter 316

Chapter 316: My Head, Return

For Zhang Yang, advancing his soul power martial arts techniques had become relatively easy. His foundation in the Saintly Path had grown remarkably deep, and through his experiences across past and present lives, even the slightest brush with immortal thunder brought him unimaginable benefits.

His Slaughter Thunder Saint Power had neared a level of Great Perfection not seen since Eternal Night. As a result, other soul power martial arts techniques only needed the right opportunity to break through naturally.

The Soul Binding Power easily transcended into Quasi-Holy Power, and then once again broke through, allowing him to attain an initial understanding of the Soul Binding Saint Power.

At this point, he had mastered four major holy power martial arts techniques.

Particularly because of the unique nature of the Soul Binding Saint Power, it promised great benefits for him moving forward.

Zhang Yang exhaled a breath of stale air.

The Soul Binding Flower gradually vanished into the vast river.

The Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals continued its silent journey.

Yaoruoxian also sighed softly. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. No one knew exactly what insights she had gained, but it was clear that both she and Zhang Yang had reaped astonishing rewards during their journey through the Abyss of the Buried Immortals.

Jin Zhihong, Nie Bahuang, the moon-returning dragon, and Liu Yuewu could not hide their envy and jealousy.

The disparity was simply too obvious.

What had terrified and rendered them helpless had been transformed into an opportunity by others.

Though all of them were considered geniuses, the gap between them now felt like the distance between heaven and earth.

The moon-returning dragon asked softly, "Brother Zhang, may I ask you something?"

"What is it?" Zhang Yang replied.

"Are there many Battle God-level geniuses in the Southern Region like you and the Beast Girl?" The moon-returning dragon looked at him with a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and complex emotion.

Zhang Yang chuckled. "In the vast world of the five regions, they’re generally comparable. Though occasional disparities exist, it’s hard to make clear distinctions. Prince, you worry too much. I suspect the Western Desert is also full of geniuses. Who knows, perhaps in the future, saints will be everywhere."

The moon-returning dragon and Liu Yuewu frowned slightly at his words.

Even Jin Zhihong and Nie Bahuang, who were nearby, looked puzzled.

Saints everywhere?

What does that even mean?

Have saints become so common in your eyes?

In contrast, Yaoruoxian’s expression showed a flash of realization. She thought of Zhang Yang’s ultimate goal: to break through the Eternal Night. If that came to pass, then perhaps the immortal path would reopen, and saints would indeed become widespread. She murmured to herself, “Everyone like dragons, and saints. He really thinks that way.”

She found the idea bizarre, even childish and laughable.

Yet at the same time, the notion felt vast and inspiring, stirring the imagination.

What kind of heart could establish such a grand ambition?

The Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals fell into silence once more after hearing the words “saints everywhere.”

Indeed, whether it was the moon-returning dragon as a prince or Jin Zhihong as the new emperor’s elder brother of the Taixu Dynasty, they all carried a deeply rooted reverence for saints. Even though no saints were currently present, they still felt inexplicably disturbed, as if being watched, afraid of being noticed by the saints themselves.

Seeing their reactions, Zhang Yang couldn’t help but sigh.

Back at the Green Sparrow Palace, under the lead of Xue Feishuang, Yuluan had personally slain the saint Lie Qianlong, an event of tremendous significance.

Lie Qianlong, trembling and desperate to survive, had cast aside all dignity in a last-ditch attempt to threaten them. But this act shattered the younger generation’s belief in the Vast Forest that saints were untouchable, supreme beings.

Only then could a mindset of fearlessness be born.

And only through fearlessness could one walk the path of sainthood and gaze toward the immortal path.

By now, the vast world had been unknowingly, or perhaps deliberately brainwashed, losing all hope for the immortal path. What remained was only a hollow longing for the path of sainthood.

If this continued, who knew how many generations would pass before people completely forgot the existence of the immortal path?

If nothing of the immortals remained, then everything before Eternal Night would become no more than dust—fragments of history, never to be spoken of again.

That, perhaps, was the most terrifying aspect of Eternal Night.

Deep within, Zhang Yang’s determination to break the Eternal Night only grew stronger.

The silence lasted for only half a day.

Then, a chilling sensation crept into the hearts of all six present.

A martial artist’s instinct sharpened by countless brushes with death, naturally alerted them to imminent danger once they reached a high enough level.

They stood up simultaneously and looked ahead.

In the vast River of Death, a figure slowly walked toward them.

He walked upon the water.

Brimming with life, he exuded no trace of death.

Clad in a monk’s robe, hands pressed together at his chest, the sight of him stunned all six. It reminded them of the flourishing era before Eternal Night—when Buddhist practices still thrived. Now, there were no longer any Buddhist cultivators left in this vast world.

But what sent a chill down their spines was… he had no head.

The headless monk walked steadily across the River of Death.

A haunting Buddhist chant resonated from within him.

"My head, return!"

"My head, return!"

"My head, return!"

The first voice came from the headless monk himself.

The second echoed like a chorus from the River of Death itself.

And the third came from the enormous Saintly Skull looming ahead of the Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals, causing it to tremble slightly.

A strong sense of unease clawed at everyone’s hearts.

"Who knows what that headless monk truly is?"

At that moment, everyone set aside their personal grievances, sensing that something dreadful was about to occur.

Jin Zhihong whispered, "I’ve never heard of this. I’ve read accounts from three survivors of the Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals, and none of them mentioned a headless monk."

Nie Bahuang shook his head in agreement.

The moon-returning dragon spoke gravely, "I’ve gone through four different accounts, and there was no mention of anything like this."

Liu Yuewu also shook her head, her expression tense.

Zhang Yang turned to look at Yaoruoxian.

Her delicate face had taken on a serious expression, and she, too, shook her head calmly.

Clearly, none of them had ever encountered this headless monk in any known records of the Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals.

"Crack!"

A harsh, cracking sound suddenly echoed through the air.

The group snapped to alertness and scanned their surroundings.

To their shock, the Saintly Skull at the bow of the ship had begun to glow faintly, as if responding to the call of the headless monk—summoning it to awaken and come closer.

A deep unease settled over the six of them.

"The Saintly Skull is said to be the guiding light of the Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals. If we lose it, the ship might drift endlessly, and we’ll be stranded forever on the River of Death!" Jin Zhihong exclaimed in alarm.

The moon-returning dragon growled, "I’ve heard that too. That skull is likely the ship’s greatest source of protection. We absolutely cannot let it be taken."

They tried to unleash their holy might, channel their holy power, and even activate their holy weapons—but to their astonishment, they found themselves completely bound to the ship. They couldn’t even approach the Saintly Skull, much less protect it.

Despair began to rise among them.

Zhang Yang felt a flicker of stirring deep within himself, but it quickly settled back down. His fearless nature made it difficult for him to be easily shaken. After a quick assessment, he understood the truth: the limitations of their current realm made it nearly impossible to influence the ship directly.

But surrendering without resistance was not his way.

Since they couldn’t affect the ship, he turned his attention to the headless monk instead.

He unleashed his Consummate Slaughter Thunder Saint Power, summoning the power of Slaughter Sacred Thunder and igniting the lightning of life—all of it converging within him. With a fierce roar, he released a voice like divine thunder on a clear day.

"Headless monk, you once were a Buddha—how can you disgrace yourself by trying to steal a Saint’s skull for your own? Are you not afraid of being mocked by the immortals and Buddhas alike?"

His voice rang with vitality and power, aimed at disrupting the headless monk’s chant.

But the monk remained unmoved, still calling out:

"My head, return!"

He spoke once—then two echoes followed.

In the stillness of the River of Death, it sounded eerily haunting.

Seeing this, the moon-returning dragon, Jin Zhihong, Nie Bahuang, Liu Yuewu, and even Yaoruoxian joined Zhang Yang, raising their voices together. Whether or not it worked, they had to try—anything to stop the monk from taking the Saintly Skull.

Yet the headless monk still showed no response.

At that moment, a radiant holy light surrounded Yaoruoxian. Her exquisite face seemed to glow with pure light, and her untainted crimson lips parted slightly, releasing a Holy Voice.

It was soft, ethereal, and enchanting—captivating the hearts and souls of all who heard it.

Zhang Yang instantly recognized it. It was the Soul-Calling Holy Voice, a technique she had derived from the Soul Binding Flower.

Though it finally seemed to stir the headless monk, he still continued his eerie chant.

Zhang Yang narrowed his gaze, his mind conjuring a vision of the Dim Light of Death, its faint flame flickering within the realm of the dead.

He focused and summoned that flame.

The Dim Light illuminated his bloodline, invigorated his spirit, and surged into his throat. With renewed force, he let out another thunderous shout, directing it at the pure and enigmatic monk.

This time, the River of Death erupted with a surge of immense power. A suffocating aura of death enveloped the surroundings, and the headless monk finally paused. Then slowly turned and began walking toward the Ghost Ship of the Buried Immortals.