042 Turmoil Rises Again (6)

Page 1 of 3

Nuoluo sat leisurely by the stream, savoring the rare tranquility. In her mind, she recalled the wonderful times she had lived through. Those gentle, heartwarming scenes bestowed upon her the most beautiful memories. In her reminiscence, the people were happy—living beneath radiant sunshine, a land full of vitality, bustling with activity everywhere. Scenes of toiling in the fields, people relishing the fruits of their hard work. She watched it all with a smile.

All these blissful moments converged into a magnificent tapestry. This was what she had achieved after countless tribulations, ever since she took charge of the mortal realm. She had tirelessly created a world fit for human life, transforming what was once a barren land strewn with corpses into something completely new.

Since there was currently no way to break the illusion, she let herself recall those beautiful memories while waiting.

In stark contrast to Nuoluo’s calm was the restless spirit by her side. He lacked her serenity; in fact, he could scarcely believe his own eyes—she showed not the slightest sign of anxiety. This was the second layer of the illusion, and the most perilous one. Every extra moment spent here increased the danger.

The illusion would conjure the scenes most desired in one’s mind, luring the victim step by step into utter indulgence, unable to extricate themselves. The places with water, such as the stream before them, were the most dangerous of all.

The beautiful scenery, beneath its brilliant surface, concealed deadly intent. The spirit could even smell the killing aura creeping closer—an aura with which he was all too familiar.

He couldn’t understand Nuoluo’s actions. If she hadn’t noticed the danger in the stream, why would she risk herself? If she had, why did she do nothing at all?

Bound by Nuoluo’s power, he couldn’t break free or leave.

The breeze still stirred, soft yet carrying an invisible malice, circling slowly around Nuoluo.

The spirit sensed it keenly; his eyes widened until they nearly fell from their sockets, twisting his expression into something grotesque.

What surprised him was that Nuoluo seemed utterly oblivious. Had she really failed to notice?

If she got struck by the attack, could he escape? His expression shifted again and again.

Nuoluo, who feigned ignorance, had already seen through every change in the spirit’s demeanor, even catching the schadenfreude glinting on his face. She felt the killing aura, relentless and closing in on her.

Yet Nuoluo remained unchanged. Suddenly, her thoughts drifted to Sunset Mountain, to blazing flames.

As if responding to her, a wave of scorching heat swept in from the illusion’s distance. The master of this place could indeed sense her thoughts.

The burning fire was something the spirit could not endure. He remembered the searing heat of the Flame Sword, the soul-consuming agony. Although he had escaped once, he never wished to experience it again.

He edged away, trying to retreat from the fire’s reach. Though his movements were minuscule, they were all he could manage.

Page 2 of 3

The spirit was tense, Nuoluo completely at ease—a scene of strange contrast.

At last, the killing aura enveloped Nuoluo entirely. The spirit watched her unchanged expression and sneered inwardly; his opportunity had come at last. He imagined her impending doom with relish.

In a flash, the scenery shifted. A fierce, biting wind swept in, laden with an even sharper, deadlier intent.

The once-clear stream turned turbid, thick as mist.

Still, Nuoluo did not move, as though she had vanished into a dream, leaving only a phantom behind.

The spirit sneered—he had waited for this moment, when Nuoluo's soul would finally shatter, allowing him to feast.

Suddenly, Nuoluo vanished without a trace.

The spirit could not believe his eyes—she had disappeared right in front of him. Since meeting Nuoluo, his world had been utterly transformed; impossible things occurred again and again, far beyond what he could endure.

Within the illusion, a hand appeared—sudden, furious, its fingers stabbing toward the spirit. Terror-stricken, his first thought was, "It's over!" The second, "Where is she?" Then darkness closed in.

Nuoluo reappeared the instant the spirit was taken away, standing exactly where the stream had been. Now, a bottomless black abyss yawned there, icy gales pouring endlessly from its depths.

This abyss must lead somewhere truly terrifying, for the spirit had dreaded its very presence. But what place was it? Suddenly, a vision of a flower surfaced in Nuoluo’s mind—the strange violet blossom she had seen in the Underworld’s barrier.

She was seized by a feeling utterly new to her: agonized struggle, desperate cries, endless weeping. A torrent of unthinkable thoughts flooded her heart. She was filled with despair, as though doomed never to find peace in the darkness. Countless scenes of brutal carnage, endless suffering, and unbearable burdens of life flashed before her.

She stepped back, wanting nothing more than to escape. This was her first encounter with the illusory Nether Abyss—even though it was only an illusion, the agony was unparalleled. She never imagined that, years later, her own bloodline would endure the real Nether Abyss through countless reincarnations.

Nuoluo tore her gaze from the black abyss, that overwhelming chasm, and looked at the now-unrecognizable illusion.

Everything that had just occurred remained vivid in her memory. When the killing aura closed in, she remembered the dream conjured at the River of Three Crossings. She had hidden her thoughts, knowing the master of the illusion could sense any change in her mind. No matter what she thought, he would know.

So Nuoluo simply thought nothing at all, waiting for events to unfold. At last, the illusion’s master, unable to stand the long calm, made his move. The moment the killing intent appeared, she seized the opportunity and unleashed all her power in that fleeting instant.

She conjured a dream—a dream strong enough to resist the illusion itself, merging her entire essence into it.

Within the dream, she saw everything. She saw the spirit’s disbelief, his terror at the hand’s appearance, his despair as he was taken away.

The master of the illusion finally revealed himself, his rage palpable. Her sudden disappearance had driven him to fury; it was clear from the way he seized the spirit, wishing he could crush him with his bare hands.

Page 3 of 3

Now Nuoluo had found the way to break the barrier. This was a world built from the mind—an illusion that shifted with every thought.

The Underworld was the spirits’ domain, saturated with death; this illusion was no different. No matter how it changed, it could not conceal its aura of death. Earlier, the illusion had mimicked the mortal realm with uncanny accuracy, but there was one thing it could never replicate:

The true power of life—the warmth of vitality. This was something the Underworld could never possess. No matter how the illusion changed, its barriers would always be cold, merciless. Any appearance of life, no matter how disguised, would still carry the chill unique to death.

Perhaps this was something the master of the illusion had not foreseen.

The only force that could counter death was the force of life. Only by clinging to hope—hope for life—could one shatter this illusion.

From the moment Nuoluo reappeared in the realm, the master seemed to give up trying to decipher her thoughts; he preferred simply to annihilate her.

No matter what scene rose in Nuoluo’s mind, the illusion remained unmoved.

Yet perhaps he remembered the power Nuoluo’s dream had unleashed. For a time, only the wind broke the silence, each side waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Nuoluo stayed still; so did the master of the illusion. Both waited.

Though she was trapped, Nuoluo’s strength was enough to stall every attack, buying herself precious time. Seizing the opportunity, she gathered her spiritual power anew, intensifying the might of her conjured dream.

There exists, in the shadows, a force that seems insignificant, yet at a crucial moment, can unleash unimaginable power. The Lord of Dreams could not have predicted that his scheme—trying to ensnare Nuoluo in the Nightmare Realm—would instead backfire, binding himself.

It was in the Nightmare Realm that Nuoluo miraculously learned to shape dreams. Now, the strength of her conjured dreams was no longer beneath that of the Dream Lord himself.

It was this precious stroke of fortune that allowed Nuoluo’s dream to resist the overwhelming illusion. Without it, she would have long since fallen into the illusory Nether Abyss.

Nuoluo watched the illusion for any change, sensing the murderous intent coalescing once more—this time many times greater than before.

In this battle of unequal strength, Nuoluo, by her own power, had miraculously reversed her predicament.

Far away, in the world beneath the Underworld Palace, a pair of eyes watched her every move—the master of the illusion himself. He could scarcely believe that, within his illusion, a dream of power rivaling the Dream Lord’s had appeared.

How had she managed this? But for that dream, he could have trapped her in the Nether Abyss at the very first attempt. Now, all he could do was wait for the right moment, for her strength far exceeded his expectations.