Morning light gently reveals itself.
The pale golden sunlight has yet to dispel the mist among the trees, adding a layer of ethereal gauze to the forest.
The birds sing crisply, like the tinkling sound of a mountain stream.
From the distant ancient temple, a faint and solemn chanting can be heard, highlighting the tranquility and serenity of this place.
A young man, naked, appears in the secluded depths of the forest.
He sits upon a massive, smoothly polished stone.
A blue canvas bag is casually tossed aside.
The man’s eyes are slightly closed, his back straight, hands naturally resting on his knees, palms facing upward.
His breathing is long and steady, seemingly rging with the surrounding flora, mountain winds, indistinguishable from them.
A few bold sparrows even hop beside him, tilting their heads to look at him, occasionally pecking at pine nuts under fallen leaves.
Unless one approaches closely, examining carefully.
It would be hard to notice, in this dim morning light in a secluded forest, there is soone sitting naked, ditating.
And he is so naturally integrated into the surrounding environnt.
This is already the third consecutive day Fang Cheng has co to the woods behind Lingquan Temple for his "morning lessons."
During his stay in Wanghu Town, his life has been regular and fulfilling.
In the morning, he spends ti with his family, enjoying the ordinary warmth of daily life.
Also, he stays by their side as much as possible, offering protection, wary of any threats lurking in the shadows targeting his family.
In the afternoon, he goes to the club for a few practice sessions, honing his combat skills and improving Skill Experience.
When night falls and all is silent.
He stays alone in his hotel room, clearing away all distractions, engaging in deep ditation.
Practicing tirelessly through the night until dawn, when the alarm wakes him from ditation.
He then follows his unwavering Physical Training plan.
After the morning exercises, Fang Cheng, drenched in sweat, jogs all the way to the woods behind Lingquan Temple, approximately two kiloters away.
Using the unique environnt here, he continues his ditation practice.
At this mont, beneath Fang Cheng’s seemingly calm exterior.
His consciousness is undergoing a far more intense and dangerous training than physical exercises.
He re-enters that familiar world of darkness.
The dense fog roils like tides, with the Spiritual Fire silently burning in the center of the endless darkness.
The intertwining blue and crimson light, like a bright lighthouse, symbolizes his resilient self-will.
As Fang Cheng’s consciousness deepens its integration with the Golden Benba Bottle’s spirituality, the ditation practice becos increasingly perilous.
Especially in this special environnt adjacent to Lingquan Temple, shrouded in a rich religious atmosphere.
The chanting that cos faintly from afar seems to be magnified innurably by mysterious powers, becoming exceptionally clear.
"Namo! Harata Nayan... tolaya ya... Prajnaparamita..."
The grand and dignified Buddhist sound is no longer an elusive background noise, but has beco a substantial impact, directly penetrating Fang Cheng’s consciousness barrier, fiercely shaking his spirit.
Rather than a sound drifting from the distant temple with the wind, it more resembles a call originating from the depths of the soul.
The inner and outer response makes it clearer and more oppressive, impossible to completely block out.
In a daze, Fang Cheng feels as if countless monks are surrounding him, chanting ancient esoteric scriptures in unison beside his ears.
Every syllable turns into a substantial rune, carrying a strange power, constantly shaking and roaring in his mind.
Not only that, the originally dark Consciousness Space has been stained with a layer of eerie dark gold.
Nurous grotesque Outer Demon Gods and three-headed, six-ard Vajra Guardians appear and disappear within the black billowing mist.
So grin nacingly at Fang Cheng with bloody mouths, while others glare with copper-bell-like angry eyes, emitting deafening roars.
The terrifying illusions and grand chanting intertwine, forming a ntal tornt.
As if trying to forcibly distort Fang Cheng’s cognition, compelling him to abandon himself and entirely adhere to the Buddhist sect.
Furthermore, an enormous Buddha statue, like a towering mountain, descends from the sky, wielding an oppressive force intending to crush that tiny fla.
Fang Cheng is inwardly vigilant, fully aware of what is happening.
This is not rely ordinary distracting thoughts as inner demons.
Rather, it is the remnant of Black Sect beliefs imprinted within the Golden Benba Bottle, resonating strongly with the wish power of Lingquan Temple’s believers, attempting to counterattack Fang Cheng, the "alien" master.
For Fang Cheng, this is both a trendous hazard and a rare opportunity.
If he can successfully overco it, the integration of the Golden Benba Bottle’s spirituality and self-consciousness will inevitably deepen.
At the sa ti, the persistent ntal issues troubling him may also be thoroughly resolved.
The Spiritual Fire quakes violently under this powerful external impact.
The azure glow deep within the fla flickers, seemingly on the verge of extinguishing.
Even the soul feels waves of ripping pain, as if about to be dragged into an endless Hell by these rampant phantoms.
Yet Fang Cheng’s will, tested through countless life-and-death trials, is already as solid as a rock.
In such extre pain, it instead triggers an even stronger fighting spirit and indomitable battle intent!
His consciousness clings tightly to the core of the fla, swiftly operating the Qi Gong Technique.
The crimson True Qi surges like molten lava, rushing from the Dantian straight to the top of the skull, then flooding into the Forehead Ancestral Acupoint.
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