"Really, this young man has been snatched away by the ghost wedding party? The earlier ghost wedding party was a reflection of Xiahou Aotian's inner fears—specifically, one that he had deliberately arranged to bring him?" Zhang Yuanqing stood before the mural, marveling. The most terrifying and enduring illusions are always woven from the deepest fears within the target's psyche. How could Xiahou Aotian, with his broad brow and bright eyes, harbor such a fear of ghost weddings? Not necessarily ghost weddings, but of unhappy marriages—or of a wife as eerie and dreadful as a ghost. Could it be that his parents' own marriage had been unhappy, planting the seeds of his psychological unease from childhood? As he pondered these thoughts, the mural began to shift. Two paper figures stepped forward and pressed down on the bridegroom's head, forcing him to perform the wedding ceremony. Another figure approached and pressed on the bride's shoulders, making her bow and kneel. Suddenly, the bride's head, which had been covered, rolled off and "gurgle-gurgle" rolled to the bridegroom's side. The head was severely decayed—no matter how much white powder was applied, the rotting flesh The bride's eyes were unnaturally pale, fixed straight upon the groom, with two streams of black blood tears flowing down her cheeks. In the painted backdrop, the groom was starting to roll his eyes, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Unwell—he was about to collapse from shock! Seeing this, Zhang Yuanqing quickly picked up his brush and drew streaks of lightning across the mural. Radiant, silver-white bolts of lightning burst forth, sweeping away the lingering spirits and malevolent forces in the hall, leaving only the groom, wide-eyed and trembling, uncertain what had happened. Suddenly, the main hall's doors opened, and a group of paper figures dressed in blood-red wedding attire entered, gently supporting the bride. Her feet, adorned with embroidered shoes, floated without touching the ground. The wedding ceremony began anew. "Forcing the disruption won't save Xue Hou Ao Tian. At best, it will only ease his fears at critical moments," Zhang Yuanqing mused, stroking his chin, his brow furrowed. If the illusion continued to unfold, Xue Hou Ao Tian would either be driven to death by his own terror or fall victim to the ghost bride. The realm of illusion is thus real in its power, though it is false in nature. The illusionist's favorite tactic is to weave the target's inner fears into the fabric of the illusion, silently killing them within it without a sound. At such a time, it is impossible to rely on Xue Hou Ao Tian to overcome his shadows and conquer his fears—after all, if inner fears were so easily surmounted, they would not have become shadows at all. Zhang Yuanqing's mind stirred. Drawing upon his experience with the previous mural, he sketched a simple, minimalist figure—a matchstick man (the bridegroom) —with a brush. As the matchstick man merged into the mural, he transformed into a groom dressed in wedding attire. Since the reality could not be interrupted, the illusionary groom would step in to fulfill the wedding rites instead. Yet, as soon as the new groom appeared, the paper figures in the hall remained motionless, their necks stiffly twisting ninety degrees, their blank, eerie faces fixed in unison upon the false groom. The false groom himself twisted and changed, his form transforming into that of a paper figure, silently joining the ranks. "Refusing to be replaced by the false groom?" Even a ghost bride wouldn't allow a 'supporting character' to claim the spotlight—what about a dragon-ascendant hero! As the top-tier illusionist Zhang Yuanqing interpreted the psychological shifts in Xiahou Aotian, he couldn't help but express his frustration. At the core of illusion weaving lies the art of catering to the target. Understanding the target, grasping their essence, and ultimately overcoming them. Things that fundamentally clash with the target's personality—even when forcibly woven—will inevitably fail. The mural was crafted from Xiahou Aotian's deepest fears; he, as the one breaking through, had to confront both the illusion and himself. In the mural, the bride's head once again tumbled down and rolled before the bridegroom, Xiahou Aotian. Zhang Yuanqing quickly brushed a stroke over the bride's head, transforming it into a veil that concealed the terrifying sight, ensuring the bridegroom wouldn't see it. He smoothed out the most haunting image. "We can't let him remain immersed in this afterlife wedding illusion—let's use fear to overcome fear." Summer Hou had once said that he couldn’t settle the materials borrowed from the family, even after a hundred years. Zhang Yuanqing shifted his approach and began sketching on the mural. A new stick figure was drawn and gradually transformed into the image of the Summer Hou family head. Satisfied, he paused and quietly observed the mural’s evolution. Inside the hall, the Summer Hou family head pulled out a ledger and declared loudly, “Summer Hou Ao Tian, your loan from the family remains unpaid—how did you manage to get married? Unless you repay the debt, you’ll never marry or have children. You’ll simply have to serve the Summer family like a cow or a horse.” The newlywed, who had been trembling with fear, suddenly turned pale as death, no longer resisting, and completed the formal wedding ceremony with the ghost bride. Oh, well, it seems the protagonist’s survival instinct has been completely crushed! Zhang Yuanqing felt a bit embarrassed. “This is going to be quite a challenge!” Unraveling the illusion is no easy feat—it’s like mastering a sword technique. A swordsman who has practiced diligently will clearly outperform a less experienced one. The realm grants the most fundamental gifts, ensuring a solid baseline—what the ceiling ultimately reaches depends entirely on the individual's cultivation. Zhang Yuanqing, having entered the path midway, has only had his phantom god's heart for a few months, and thus, in purely technical matters, falls short of the more seasoned void beings. Of course, with repeated attempts, he will surely succeed in breaking the illusion; however, if he wastes too much time here at Xia Hou Ao Tian, the safety of others will no longer be guaranteed. Should he instead choose to save the others—especially Xia Hou Ao Tian, whose spiritual strength is the weakest—then Xia Hou Ao Tian's chances of survival will likely be slim. After a few seconds of thoughtful consideration, Zhang Yuanqing devised a solution and exhaled a stream of Taiyin energy. His body coalesced like black smoke, leaving only his head solid and real—the Sixth Elder materializing, bowing respectfully. "Master!" Zhang Yuanqing nodded with dignified authority, pointing to the mural before him. "My teammates have fallen into the illusion. The entity weaving this illusion holds an exceptionally high status. I cannot forcibly extract them. I need your assistance to break the illusion." "The Sixth Elder furrowed her brows, saying, 'Master, you hold supreme authority. Even you cannot overcome this, let alone me.' Zhang Yuanqing maintained his dignified posture, stating, 'All I wish to do is hear your opinion.' At once, the Elder understood. The Master was encountering a technical challenge and needed her assistance. She then turned her gaze toward the mural. At that moment, Xia Hou Ao Tian had completed his wedding ceremony and was being led to the back courtyard by the paper figures. The back courtyard was desolate, featuring an old tomb and a newly dug one. The new tomb had just been excavated, with a black coffin placed beside it, its lid open, the interior empty—clearly intended for Xia Hou Ao Tian. Seeing this, the Sixth Elder was astonished, 'Why does he not resist?' The enchanted realm woven from his deepest fears should have been turbulent, yet he remained so calm, allowing the paper figures to proceed unimpeded. Zhang Yuanqing frowned, 'Do not dwell on these details.' "The six elders dared not ask further, speaking swiftly: 'His spiritual body is deeply immersed in the illusion, firmly believing himself to be pursued by ghosts and monsters. In such a case, you must provide subtle cues within the illusion to awaken his sense of self.' Zhang Yuanqing asked immediately, 'How do we awaken his self?' The elder replied: 'The illusion is much like a genuine dream—within a dream, the person's thoughts remain singular, never questioning how strong he truly is; mere malevolent spirits cannot make any impact. Therefore, we must help him remember who he is and how powerful he truly is. Once his sense of self is restored, the illusion will dissolve on its own. As for how to deliver these cues, it depends on his personality, habits, and preferences.' Just now, I manifested the Master of the Xiaohou family and called out his name—'Xiaohou Aotian'—but it proved ineffective!" I didn't even know Xiaohou Aotian's real name... The usual spiritual realm IDs failed to reach him, and his real-life relationships and personal information were completely useless in waking him up. Should I go by his preferences, habits, and personality? Zhang Yuanqing's thoughts raced as he decided to take a gamble. He picked up a brush, sketching sheets of paper money onto the walls, sending them drifting across the desolate rear courtyard, landing on the ground, falling into the coffins, and settling on Xiaohou Aotian and the paper figures. Each sheet bore certain information. At that moment, Xiaohou Aotian had already been laid into the coffin, while a paper figure raised a wooden mallet and nail, piercing through his abdomen and firmly securing him to the coffin. The pain caused Xiaohou Aotian's face to twist, and he struggled desperately, trying to escape, yet was tightly held down by the paper figures. The paper money drifted down upon his face, bearing the words: "I am Xiaohou Aotian, destined to sweep away all enemies in the world." In the mural, his expression clearly stiffened, becoming momentarily stunned. More and more pieces of paper money fell, each bearing a line of characters: "Thirty years the east bank flows, thirty years the west bank rises—do not underestimate the young and poor," "Should Heaven not have born my lord Xiahou Aotian, scholars would have known only endless darkness," "Xiahou Aotian, the Dragon King returns," "How did the protagonist become so strong?" "Even the half-divine elder must bow to me," "It's time to settle accounts—I am Xiahou Aotian." Xiahou Aotian stared at these papers, growing increasingly bewildered, puzzled, and reflective. As the paper figures pinned his limbs in place, preparing to drive the final wooden stake into his chest, the bewilderment and confusion in his eyes vanished. A furnace seal appeared at the center of his brow, and brilliant flames surged forth from his eyes. The surrounding paper figures were instantly ignited, the flames spreading like a tide, engulfing the coffin, the barren land, the graves, and the ancestral home. The murals burst into flames. Then, like ripples spreading across the surface, Xiahou Aotian stepped out from the walls, his head held high, his posture commanding, ex Zhang Yuanqing exhaled a sigh—on the matter of personality, he could think of nothing else. He needed to make Xiahou Aotian, proud and self-obsessed as he was, realize he was the protagonist. If he was the protagonist, how could he be afraid of such a modest celestial marriage ritual? If this didn’t work, Zhang Yuanqing would attempt to lift part of the seal on the Phantom God’s heart, forcibly breaking the illusion. In that case, perhaps the most terrifying threat within the realm wouldn’t be the final boss, but himself. "Hey, you actually emerged from the illusion before me! That makes sense—you’re a dual-classed Sun God and Void Walker." Xiahou Aotian lifted his chin proudly. "Though I’m not particularly skilled in illusions, as the protagonist, what kind of illusion could possibly hold me back?" Zhang Yuanqing replied calmly, "I am Xiahou Aotian, and I shall sweep away all enemies across the world." Xiahou Aotian was momentarily stunned. Zhang Yuanqing glanced at him and added, "Were it not for me, Xiahou Aotian, the scholars would have lived in eternal darkness throughout "Zhang Yuanqing lifted a corner of his mouth: "The illusion I created—was for your sake!" "As for the Master in the illusion?" "He too was an illusion I conjured. Originally, I intended to overwhelm you with massive debts to wake you up and help you grasp what reality truly is. But instead, you simply gave up on survival." Zhang Yuanqing's smile widened. "By the way, you were the first to fall into the illusion—because you were the weakest in cultivation." Zhang Yuanqing didn't press further, deliberately leaving space, and instead said: "Go check on the others. They should be more resilient than you, but we can't delay any longer." He raised the golden flame in his palm and walked it along the wall. Xia Hou Ao Tian looked visibly uncomfortable, murmuring, "Damn it, being made a fool of by Yuanshǐ Tianzun! He's even pressuring me now..." A mental ripple emanated from the black iron ring on his left hand, carrying the spirit of a Qin dynasty physician: "What in the world gives you the impression that you're not a joke?" "... " Xia Hou Ao Tian didn't feel like explaining, so he hurried to catch up. When they reached the third mural, they saw a dark night, with prosperous residential neighborhoods on the outskirts engulfed in flames and thick smoke, their luxurious villas reduced to ruins. A group of assailants with bloodshot eyes and bulging muscles were rampaging through the area, cutting down one life after another, their fresh bodies falling into the blood-soaked ground. Amidst the collapsed ruins, a little girl curled up, trembling, her face streaked with tears, sheltered by the rubble. She was soon found by a bald, sturdy man whose bright red eyes gleamed with malice, smiling grimly at her. Startled, the girl began to run, while the man pursued her relentlessly. She managed to escape the chase and took refuge in another pile of ruins. "Is this exactly how the Chu family was wiped out?" Xue Hou Ao Tian knew the background of the Master of the Cease-All-Combat Palace. Back then, Xue Hou Chi had journeyed all the way to Songhai, determined to kill the Master to avenge her son. Zhang Yuanqing sighed. The Chu family's extinction was her greatest nightmare. It left indelible scars on her young soul—she feared constantly, yet felt she should have shared their fate. She was trapped by her own执念 and fears. If this continues, when her inner fatigue and despair accumulate to a critical point and she loses her desire to survive, the little girl in the illusion will be captured and then killed. "She will eventually be caught," Xiahou Aotian said. Drawing on the lessons from the previous two encounters, Zhang Yuanqing quickly devised a way to break the illusion and sketched a simple, loosely drawn matchstick figure on the mural. The matchstick figure merged with the mural and took on the appearance of Yuan Shi Tian Zun. He walked into the ruins, knelt before the little girl, and spoke gently, "I'll take you away from here." The little girl raised her tear-streaked face, gazing at him in wonder. "Yes!" she nodded, her voice choked with emotion. Zhang Yuanqing took her hand and led her out of the ruins, walking through the battlefield of flames and smoke. The red-eyed warriors surged forward, only to be struck down by lightning and turned to cinders before reaching them. As Zhang Yuanqing and the little girl walked closer through the mural, the girl's gaze grew steadily calm and profound. Ripples spread across the wall, and the Yuan Shi Tian Zun in the painting vanished, replaced by the Master of Zhishi, dressed in a red dress and wearing a silver mask. Thanks to Xiahou Aotian's presence, she merely gazed softly at Zhang Yuanqing without saying a word. Usually, she would seize the opportunity to coo and request kisses and hugs. Now, the three of them had reached the corner of the room, where there were no frescoes, so they turned around and returned, passing by the base and arriving at the other side. They paused before the fourth fresco, which featured a muted, monochromatic tone—lacking vibrant colors. A small colonial-style house stood alone, surrounded by excavated ground, collapsed walls, and stacked bricks. A large excavator was parked in front of the house. Inside, a family of three—two young adults and a young boy—held each other close. The boy’s facial features bore a resemblance to the Magi King. As the excavator’s tracks rolled forward and its bucket struck hard, piercing through the walls and collapsing the load-bearing columns, the colonial house began to tremble and eventually collapsed. The family within clung together, embracing one another. Zhang Yuanqing quickly picked up his pen, erasing the villa and forcefully interrupting. A few seconds later, the villa reappeared, repeating the same scene as before. "So the Magi's parents died in the forced demolition. That explains his deep resentment toward those who dominate and oppress." Xiahou Aotian said. He turned to Zhang Yuanqing and asked, "What should we do now?" "The Magi's situation is somewhat similar to the Palace Master—he longs to share his fate with his parents." After thinking for a few seconds, Zhang Yuanqing repeated his previous technique, sketching out a stick figure. The stick figure transformed into his own form and entered the villa. "Magi King, follow me and cleanse the world—don't waste time here!" the stick figure Zhang Yuanqing declared loudly. The young boy merely glanced at him calmly, remaining tucked in his mother's arms, showing no change. This isn't working? Zhang Yuanqing furrowed his brows. "Can't even awaken him?" Xiahou Aotian remarked, for cleansing the world was the Magi's lifelong aspiration. Zhang Yuanqing thought for a moment, then said, "What the Magician-Eye King truly longed for throughout his life wasn't world purification—though that's what he ultimately chose—rather, justice, justice, justice. It was only because he couldn't achieve it that he decided to cleanse the world." Inspired by the vision from the Master of the Still-Death Palace, Zhang Yuanqing decided to try the path of redemption. He sketched out a team of enforcers on the mural, personally stopping the demolition work in front of the family of three. Yet, a disappointing scene unfolded—the Magician-Eye King, just as before, hid himself in his mother's arms, clutching at her skirt, showing no reaction at all. Even justice was now abandoned? Zhang Yuanqing was first puzzled, then gradually came to understand. The Magician-Eye King deeply doubted the enforcers and the official institutions at a subconscious level—just as Xiahou Aotian, in his own subconscious, refused to allow any secondary character to claim his ghost bride. Zhang Yuanqing had to simultaneously manage the crisis unfolding in the mural and devise a strategy, while Xiahou Aotian and the Master of the Still-Death Palace offered counsel "Indeed, he's a true obsessive—deeply self-destructive, unwilling to accept redemption." Xiahou Aotian remarked. "A stinking stone in the middle of a latrine." Zhi Sha, the Palace Master, furrowed her brow. It wasn't clear how long it had been before the little boy turned around and walked deeper into the mural, his silhouette solitary, like a puppy abandoned by its owner. As the boy moved farther away, the mural faded away. Zhang Yuanqing sighed, "The self-awareness needed to awaken the magical eyes is actually quite simple—just have him witness his parents die right before his eyes." That's exactly how the former King of the Magical Eyes had appeared. At the very moment the villa collapsed, the little boy had passed away. The one who survived was the King of the Magical Eyes, burning with a fierce flame of vengeance. Ripples spread across the wall, and the King of the Magical Eyes, wearing a sports headband, stepped out of the mural. He surveyed the gathered crowd, then looked directly at Zhang Yuanqing, smiling, "Well done." For the first time, Zhang Yuanqing saw beneath that smile—deep-seated pain and sorrow. He didn't respond to the King of the Magical Eyes, simply saying, "Let's go. We need to go rescue Qian Gongzi." As soon as he finished speaking, a calm, composed voice from a distance announced, "I've already come out." The golden flame in Zhang Yuanqing's hands surged with a thunderous roar, illuminating the figure of a white-robed youth some fifteen paces away—handsome and upright, none other than Fu Qingyang. "Brother, you've come out!" Zhang Yuanqing exclaimed with delight. Fu Qingyang is a man who never compromises—neither with his enemies nor with himself. If faced with death or retreat, he would without hesitation raise his sword and strike his adversary. Just as he once pursued his peers of the same age within his family, hurling his wooden sword at the elder family members who stepped forward to intervene and demanded strict punishment, asking them whether they truly wished to die. The money prince has no psychological shadows, for all of them have been cut down and eradicated. Subsequently, the group arrived at the final mural, depicting an elderly woman, her face wan and lying on a bed, poised to pass away at any moment. The old woman strives to remain conscious, refusing to let herself "fall asleep." "Who is this person?" Xiahou Aotian almost didn't recognize her. While everyone else's visions were dramatic and perilous, hers was simple—just one room, one bed, nothing more. "My unremarkable, unfortunate sister-in-training..." Zhang Yuanqing explained with a sigh, "Lady Yin Yao is most afraid of passing away naturally. To achieve immortality, she stole the coffins of the Goddess of San Dao Mountain and, through a secret method, transformed herself into a yin corpse, now resting within the coffin." He thought to himself, "If someone were to draw the Goddess of San Dao Mountain right now, Lady Yin Yao would likely fall dead from sheer shock! "In a way, she's quite similar to Xiahou Aotian," remarked the Master of Zhishi Palace with a teasing tone. She remained in her dazed, stunned posture for a long time before suddenly remembering that she had long since turned into a shade—rising with a grace befitting a much younger woman, not a grandmother at all. The murals automatically dimmed, and Lady Yinyao stepped out from within them. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. At that moment, figures in ink-wash style began to emerge from the walls, holding swords and displaying various postures, much like the sword techniques described in wuxia novels. Zhang Yuancheng and the others merely glanced at them, but immediately felt a sharp pain in their eyes, tears streaming down, and fell to their knees. Only Fu Qingyang kept his head high, gazing at the full wall of sword techniques and said, "These are remarkably refined sword movements. The person who drew them infused their own will into the composition, and that essence has not faded even after all these years." Zhang Yuancheng, now looking down, suddenly understood: "That's why the murals have been corrupted. I always thought so—ordinary murals, even nourished by negative qi, couldn't achieve such extraordinary vitality." Fu Qingyang added, "Yuancheng, take me around and show me the way The two of them walked side by side along the wall, Fu Qingyang observing and speaking as he went. "Master these sword techniques thoroughly, and you'll be able to use them at least up to Level Eight." "Boss, you weren't always eager to learn sword techniques—didn't you used to disdain them, favoring only strikes?" Zhang Yuanqing asked. Fu Qingyang replied solemnly, "My strikes have reached their limit now. The new sword insights I've recently gained come at the cost of burning my life force; I can only use them when absolutely necessary. To advance further, I must broaden my perspective and synthesize techniques from many schools into one cohesive style." As a Level Eight Master, Fu Qingyang had absorbed and memorized all the sword techniques displayed on the wall after just one viewing. After leaving the Zhengqi Hall, they proceeded to the final level of the Nan Yuan. Hopeful that the final challenge would yield the White Emperor's Crown, Zhang Yuanqing silently prayed and then said, "Based on the副本's strength, the final challenge might encounter a Level Nine Master." Yet Fu Qingyang shook his head, "The strength of the realm-losing sovereign's quest is atypical and shouldn't be used as a benchmark. As they spoke, Xue Hou Ao Tian retrieved the drone and conducted his usual inspection. Amid the hum of the propellers, the drone swarm penetrated the invisible membrane and entered the final layer. Three seconds later, Xue Hou Ao Tian opened his eyes, his expression grave: "The drones were destroyed. I saw ghost lights—green ones—everywhere." Beyond that, he found no other clues. "The drones were destroyed instantaneously; I couldn't see the attacker," Xue Hou Ao Tian said, helpless. Attacked right upon entry? Not even given the chance to explore? The others exchanged a glance, their already serious expressions growing more stern. Zhang Yuanqing took out the Little Red Hat and shook off a corpse: "I'll take my turn. The corpse has a higher survival rate than the drones—perhaps I'll be able to spot the enemy." He guided the corpse through the invisible membrane. Perhaps a half-minute later, Zhang Yuanqing's head suddenly snapped back as if struck squarely in the face, his eyeballs bursting in his sockets and spilling two rows of bright red blood.