The Death Crisis: Nirvana Rebirth

White Tiger Saint Emperor and the Three-Infant Grand Lord fell silent for a long while. Even if they had the intention to destroy Xiao Chen, before the Yellow-Clay Altar they could not act.

At that moment, Keke unfurled Paradise Lost and flew over, startling the gathered cultivators into retreat. By now, everyone in the World of Immortality had come to understand the dread of Paradise Lost.

The little one flew to Xiao Chen’s side, fuming, and stretched out a tiny paw, pointing at the White Tiger Saint Emperor in the sky. It had endured great trials of life and death, and the Tiger Clan was directly responsible. Listening to its muttering, Xiao Chen could not help but smile. The little creature was calling the White Tiger Saint Emperor an old cat and a white cat.

The White Tiger Saint Emperor’s expression did not change. Before departing, he finally said a word to Xiao Chen: “If a half-ancestor falls, you will also meet extinction.”

The Three-Infant Grand Lord leaned on her dragon-headed staff, gave Xiao Chen a deep look, and vanished from the sky without a sound.

“Dong!”

The golden divine bell blazed with dazzling light, illuminating the entire night sky. Its clear, melodious tone spread for over a hundred li. Ye Tian’s face was wooden; without a word, he swiftly disappeared into the distance.

Fang Tianqi, clad in five-colored immortal armor, had a millstone-sized white jade palace slowly rotating above his head, exuding a hazy white mist that made him appear mysterious and unfathomable. At this point, there was no need to hide his strength—he had revealed his supreme treasure, the White Jade Divine Palace.

The surrounding experts waited in silence for his command, ready to strike at Xiao Chen at any moment. But Fang Tianqi was very calm and gave no such order.

Hai Yunxue had already retreated into the distance and hidden behind a group of elder experts. However, the demonic shadows of the Tiger Clan that had been refined and summoned did not withdraw; they still encircled Xiao Chen from afar.

At least half of the ten strongest young cultivators from the Cultivation World were present, but for now, they showed no intention of attacking. Meanwhile, several other peerless young masters—Zhao Zhongyang, Xue Wu, Meng Xi Nie, and Cang Hai—had still not appeared.

Standing atop the Yellow-Clay Altar, Xiao Chen swept his gaze across the crowd. Then he took Keke and flew toward the ancient village. The surrounding Tiger Clan demonic shadows attacked in an instant, swift as lightning and thunder. Rolling demonic mist surged, blood-red lightning tore the sky, and dozens of clawed shadows reached out toward him.

Xiao Chen’s voice rolled like thunder. The Origin Eight-Syllable mantra, “Weng,” was uttered, the heavenly sound surging like a tidal wave over the shadows in the sky. Like sandcastles on a beach, they instantly crumbled and dissolved. The syllable “Weng” represented the power of life and death and was the perfect bane for such shattered souls.

As if passing through an empty field, Xiao Chen broke through the blockade.

Many in the crowd suppressed their impulses, forcibly restraining themselves from any action. The various powerhouses watched helplessly as Xiao Chen entered the ancient village.

Xiao Chen laughed aloud, infuriating the many cultivators outside the village.

In the days that followed, Xiao Chen quietly cultivated his profound arts, occasionally waking to step out of the village and face the various powerhouses without the slightest trace of fear. He seemed like the state of Qin, gazing upon the surrounding kingdoms with a million-strong army; when the nine states attacked Qin at the pass, the people of Qin opened the gates to welcome the enemy, and the nine states’ armies hesitated, not daring to advance.

But Xiao Chen felt he was still not strong enough—far from the level where he could roam the world freely. Without the Yellow-Clay Altar and the ancient village, he would have already lost his life.

His goal was to stand among the strongest in the world without relying on external objects, so that none would dare to oppose him or clash with his might—to be powerful enough to intimidate all directions.

The Heavenly Stele diagrams were the source of his growth. Xiao Chen never forgot this fundamental premise. Naturally, he immersed himself in comprehending the six stele diagrams he had obtained, wanting to master all their mysteries as soon as possible.

Sitting quietly in the center of the ancient village, Xiao Chen manifested the diagrams in his mind. Gradually, they grew larger and filled heaven and earth, as if six worlds revolved around him.

The details of his cultivation surfaced before him, as if he were undergoing the training journey of his past once more. The diagrams were imprinted deep in his soul, and the life essence of his entire body surged like the rolling Yangtze River, unimpeded, rushing toward the vast ocean of his spirit.

A foot to the left of his shoulder, an ancient lamp burned bright and undying, growing ever more dazzling. It seemed to represent his life force, shining brighter as his vitality surged.

Xiao Chen’s heart was utterly tranquil. After entering this state of meditation, he felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. The meridians within his body became like great rivers, channeling endless life potential, as if they wanted to awaken all the sleeping power within the human form.

From afar, in the night sky above the ancient village, it seemed a sun was slowly rising. Divine light pierced the heavens as Xiao Chen and the Yellow-Clay Altar gradually floated into midair.

Life essence flowed from his pores like water, then slowly seeped back in through the major acupoints, circulating without end. The vast, surging life force astonished the crowd outside the village.

Once during this process, Xiao Chen briefly awoke. He sensed that the sixty-one divinely transformed acupoints within his body were like power sources, gushing forth and surging through his five viscera, six bowels, and all four limbs and hundred meridians. Then he fell back into silence.

The Yellow-Clay Altar slowly descended, as immovable as a great rock, and Xiao Chen seemed to have turned to stone.

The hidden life essence exploded, unlocking the treasures within his own body. Xiao Chen might welcome a transformation at any moment—but this also meant a death crisis was imminent.

Xiao Chen was utterly still. The ancient lamp beside him flickered unsteadily, representing the swaying of his life flame. Sometimes it leaped up, blazing so brightly it was hard to look at; other times it nearly went out, its light barely visible.

For an entire month, Xiao Chen was like dead wood, as if he had already passed away. The energy within his body sometimes raged violently, sometimes fell into dead silence, surging wildly. But from the outside, no sign of life remained. He looked like a cultivator who had achieved nirvana and died—the body extinguished like a lamp, become a piece of rotten wood.

The death crisis had descended; all life force was gone. Xiao Chen had entered his most dangerous moment. If he succeeded in breaking through to Nirvana Second Heaven, it would be a complete transformation. But if he failed to pass the ordeal of the death crisis, he would be utterly annihilated—body and soul—and turn into a handful of yellow earth.

Such was the cruelty of reality. Cultivators flew through the sky and moved mountains, appearing glorious, but their earth-shaking power was built upon layer upon layer of tribulation. Most people died along the way, never to glimpse the scenery on the heights of immortality.

Day after day passed, time flowing slowly. Xiao Chen became more and more like a dead man. The internal fluctuations of life gradually weakened; the violently surging life essence nearly stilled. It seemed he was consuming his own vital energy from within. His upright frame began to wither; his skin cracked and dried; his hair fell out. His gaunt, skin-and-bones frame was as terrifying as a skeleton.

Without experiencing the Nirvana realm, one could not imagine the arduous journey within. No one could take a shortcut. Facing the test of death, even a peerless hero could be cast down from the altar in a single day, vanishing into dust.

Half of those outside the village had already left. True powerhouses would not waste their time—only unceasing cultivation could advance. But some still remained, laying siege. Seeing the state of Xiao Chen atop the Yellow-Clay Altar in the village entrance, many sneered. Since ancient times, countless promising experts had died at the Nirvana realm; perhaps this was Xiao Chen’s final destination.

During this time, Yizhen, Liu Mu, Niu Ren, and others had come. Seeing Xiao Chen’s condition, and unable to enter the ancient village, they had to leave for now.

The two little girls fell asleep without any warning. Keke guarded Xiao Chen for over a month, then drowsily closed its eyes as well.

Inside the ancient village, it was deathly silent. Xiao Chen’s flesh and blood were drying up; every day seemed to burn away vast quantities of life essence. Now he was barely recognizable as human. His flesh was shriveled, like the silent bones of the dead. His features could no longer be discerned. He looked simply like a corpse. The ancient lamp had nearly gone out completely; its faint glow was barely visible—only a trace of a spark remained.

Three full months passed. The snow melted, all things revived, and spring arrived.

At that moment, Xiao Chen’s body twitched slightly. A faint fluctuation of energy emanated from within, and the ancient lamp finally showed a tiny spark.

Orioles sang and flew; grass grew. After a spring rain, the scent of earth filled the air, making one feel the vitality of the land. The snowmelt formed small streams that wound past the village. Spring swallows murmured low in the sky, tracing graceful arcs. Everything was full of life.

The power of life was stirring.

In that dead silence, Xiao Chen’s heart gradually produced a faint glimmer of consciousness. He felt as if he had become a small blade of grass, finally surviving the bitter winter and struggling to break through the soil.

Life never ceased; the will to fight never ceased. All was for the sake of living.

Struggling to break through the earth, life was bursting forth in full bloom.

Xiao Chen’s consciousness expanded. His body, which had nearly died, was moistened by trace after trace of the breath of life. It began to tremble.

That blade of grass was Xiao Chen’s will—fighting to break through the surface, growing upward. Tiny waves of life rippled. His withered frame was rekindled by the fire of life. The breath of life, though as fragile as a blade of grass, brought hope of rebirth.

Having passed through the ordeal of death, life continued unceasingly.

The flame of life could set the plains ablaze. The vitality of the grass grew ever stronger, and Xiao Chen’s body was ignited by the breath of life. Life essence gushed forth like spring water.

The small green life stood tall in the wind, growing and transforming. It was no longer a blade of grass but had become a sapling.

The earth returned to spring. The sapling met the wind and rain and transformed into a towering tree. Then, stretching toward the sky, it broke through the clouds and mist, rising between heaven and earth, becoming a giant tree of life.

An unprecedented transformation swept away death and stillness. Xiao Chen had broken through the death crisis. The power of life erupted in full flood; the dead body was rekindled with majestic vitality, and his vital essence flowed like a mighty river.

In a single day, his withered frame surpassed its former peak. Flesh and blood were reborn; his black hair danced as before; his eyes were more brilliant than the stars. It was a true rebirth from the flames.

He advanced irresistibly into Nirvana Second Heaven. His physical body was comparable to the finest refined steel, and his indestructible will was even more unshakable. This was a dual elevation of body and spirit.

The very moment Xiao Chen stood up, heaven and earth trembled. His profound arts resonated with the cosmos; his physical body communed with heaven and earth. Without deliberate effort, he achieved union of heaven and man. Every step he took seemed to embody the subtle principles of the Dao, as if he had merged with the power of the world.

Such divine might was beyond the measure of ghosts and gods. After surviving the second death crisis of the Nirvana realm, another treasure gate within Xiao Chen’s body had been unsealed.

He seemed to have merged into heaven and earth. With one step, he appeared outside the ancient village.

Dozens of cultivators immediately surrounded him—these were the death warriors of the Solar Church, who did not fear death. At the same time, Hu Die Wu waved her hand from the distant sky, and over a dozen Tiger Clan experts broke through the air and charged at Xiao Chen. Their goal was not to kill him but to test his strength.

Xiao Chen was as calm as an ancient well. He walked forward at an easy pace, but the terrifying result came. Several dozens of Solar Church death warriors were instantly thrown several meters into the air by the trembling earth, then torn apart and scattered in the sky. The dozen Tiger Clan experts rushed forward but then seemed to fall into a swamp, struggling desperately in midair, unable to move an inch. Finally, all of them burst apart in the sky.

Xiao Chen truly seemed to have become one with heaven and earth. Every gesture was a sublime principle. He had not even actively attacked, yet the entire world seemed to be under his control.

“Not good!”

The many cultivators besieging the ancient village all fled. Xiao Chen in such a state was not something ordinary people could resist. No one did not cherish their own life.

In the distant sky, Hu Die Wu’s eyes widened in shock. Her beautiful eyes held an expression of utter disbelief. Even if Xiao Chen had successfully passed a death crisis in the Nirvana realm, this was too astonishing.

The strong had withdrawn three months ago, and she had come to test the situation—only to fall into extreme danger. Without a word, she directly unfolded a spatial scroll, intending to escape.

But time seemed to freeze and space seemed to lock. Hu Die Wu was fixed in place, unable to move a muscle. A large hand slowly reached out and grabbed her firmly.

“Ah…” Hu Die Wu screamed in terror.

The huge hand slowly closed, enfolding her within. Then she heard the sound of bones shattering, and soon she could make no more sound.

“Bang!”

Her body shattered. Hu Die Wu was crushed by that giant hand, letting out one final cry of grief before she knew nothing more.