Chapter Ninety-Seven: Surviving the Heavenly Tribulation

Unlike the previous time he entered his true form, Zhou Bai felt as if all the power within him was under his complete control, the flow of yin energy circulating smoothly. Though it lacked the cataclysmic force of his true form running wild, this power was wholly his own.

The only issue was that he couldn’t yet withdraw from the skeletal Dharma form, indicating that only after overcoming the final heavenly tribulation would he truly master his true form.

The injuries of the Ghost Tree and the Salty Fish stabilized simultaneously; even the thunder embedded in their wounds dissipated considerably. Zhou Bai and these two were bound by fate—what benefited one benefited all, and what harmed one harmed all.

Boom!

Zhou Bai looked up at the dark clouds above. Deep purple lightning crackled within, growing increasingly terrifying.

He removed the Tang Dao sword from his side—the blade etched with lightning patterns, already saturated to its limit. If not for the sword’s intent suppressing the tribulation lightning, it would have long since shattered into fragments.

Zhou Bai threw the sword toward Hou Daoist. Its sword intent had already been released; he no longer needed it. Besides, the final heavenly tribulation might be too much for the Tang Dao to withstand.

Hou Daoist hurriedly caught the blade. The moment his hand touched it, a surge of lightning pierced into his body, causing his yin energy to spiral out of control. Frightened, he quickly dropped the sword to the ground.

At that moment, the tribulation’s gathering was complete. A bolt of purple lightning struck down from the storm clouds, this time maintaining its form rather than transforming into an electric serpent.

Zhou Bai faced the lightning head-on without a trace of fear. A thin mist of yin energy enveloped him, while demonic aura shimmered on his skin.

As the lightning struck him, it engulfed the entire burial ground.

Hou Daoist saw the lingering power of the lightning rushing toward him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he grabbed the Tang Dao and, with Wen Meng, retreated dozens of meters into the forest, finally reaching a place where the tribulation’s might was barely perceptible.

The thunderstorm lasted a full ten minutes before gradually subsiding, with white smoke rising from the heat and dissipating into the air.

The deafening thunder ceased, leaving only profound silence.

The burial ground no longer exuded its former aura of swirling yin energy; the earth was scorched black.

Yet yin veins were still yin veins—so long as their source remained, the yin energy would eventually reconvene with time.

At that moment, a figure emerged from the white smoke and approached Hou Daoist and the others, causing them both to tense.

The figure soon became clear—white smoke wrapped around his body, which still bore the skeletal form. His empty, flesh-and-blood eyes seemed to possess the power to ensnare souls.

Wen Meng’s expression was uncertain—he couldn’t say for sure whether Zhou Bai had passed the tribulation. If not, he might lose consciousness again or turn into a demon.

Hou Daoist was much calmer, fueled by an inexplicable confidence in Zhou Bai, which in turn quelled his own fears about his tribulation.

Sure enough, as Zhou Bai drew nearer, his skeletal body gradually sprouted flesh, and after the tribulation’s refining, he grew notably taller—almost two meters.

He searched briefly in the forest on the outskirts of the burial ground, finding a butcher’s knife and a set of clothes on a tree branch, which he swiftly donned.

Hou Daoist and Wen Meng approached. Zhou Bai accepted the Tang Dao, first tucking it at his waist before drawing it in one swift motion.

The blade gleamed brightly, covered in intricate lightning patterns, appearing extraordinarily mystical.

Yet Zhou Bai knew this was because the Tang Dao had not yet fully absorbed the tribulation’s lightning. Over time, the sword’s power would settle again.

“How do you feel, Zhou Bai?” Wen Meng asked with concern.

“Hahaha, not bad. I’ve taken another step on the path of cultivation—feeling great all over.”

Zhou Bai finally understood the greatest difference of the true form. Within his Nirvana Palace sat a miniature version of the skeletal Dharma body in meditation.

Above it floated the Lingyun Dao Pearl, radiating bursts of spiritual light.

No wonder, upon reaching the true form, alien divine powers began to erode the three souls and seven spirits—indeed, they had taken permanent residence in the Nirvana Palace, constantly influencing his soul and spirit.

The little Ghost Tree and Salty Fish had been retracted into Zhou Bai’s dantian. They had been gravely wounded this time, nearly on the brink of death, but the tribulation had refined their foundations, which had been forcibly enhanced by the system, to a polished state.

Still, their injuries required time to heal gradually, especially the Ghost Tree, whose branches could only regrow slowly.

In contrast, Salty Fish’s wounds were not as severe as they appeared. After all, it was a Huailong; even as a mere semblance, its tough skin and flesh remained intact.

Night had fallen deeply. The three decided not to delay further. After returning the stone tablet to its original place, they set off toward Hangdu, followed at a distance by the officials who had blocked the roads.

Hou Daoist wore a complex expression, sighing, “So this is the true form? No wonder the Underworld Registry is formidable. I’ve only known you a short while, yet you’ve risen from a mortal to such cultivation…”

He deeply understood the pressure of advancing cultivation. Since the land turned barren, his yin energy had been increasing ceaselessly.

Even if Hou Daoist didn’t aim to master the true form, his innate ghost weapon would continue absorbing yin energy. Over time, the yin energy would become complete, bringing immense pressure.

Wen Meng nodded knowingly and said, “You’ll get used to it. But in the Underworld Registry, there are methods to suppress your innate ghost weapon’s absorption of yin energy if you want to seek them out.”

He smiled wryly, “If your innate ghost weapon was forged from external materials, you could do as I did—use a spiritual array to prevent contact between the weapon and yin energy, thus slowing your cultivation’s rapid rise.”

Zhou Bai glanced at him in surprise. No wonder people like Lin Danian and Yu Jun, younger than Wen Meng, had cultivation levels surpassing his.

Yet this was understandable; not everyone had the mindset to strive for mastery over their true form.

Hou Daoist said nothing more. Though he was fearful of death, if preserving his life meant severing his cultivation path, he knew he could never do it.

They chatted idly on the way back, and by the time they returned to their residence in Hangdu, dawn was breaking.

Zhou Bai did not rest but stood in the courtyard, repeatedly communicating with the skeletal Dharma true form within his Nirvana Palace to improve his control over it.

More importantly, he sought to discover the purpose of the Lingyun Dao Pearl’s divine power. If he could suppress the true form so it wouldn’t affect his three souls and seven spirits, ascending to the true soul stage would become much easier.

Before his joy in mastering the true form could last long, Lin Chong and Wang Yuanfang arrived with news—the clues about the paintings and calligraphy had been found.