After the illusion disappeared, Zhang Ling's consciousness, materialized as an ethereal body, found itself in a vast, white space, devoid of anything.
Simultaneously, his physical body outside witnessed the scene on the ancient painting transform into a blank white canvas.
Zhang Ling stared at the scene expressionlessly, a hint of doubt creeping in. Could this fourth painting be over so easily? His intuition told him it couldn't be that simple.
He directed his consciousness to explore the blank space within the painting. Before long, subtle changes began to occur. Faint white mist rose from the nothingness, seemingly ordinary, but a scan with his divine sense revealed flickering lights and shadows within, forming numerous figures.
The first figure he recognized was his grandfather as a child, but it vanished in a flash. Then, villagers from Qing Tian Village appeared in the mist, followed by the bandits who had slaughtered them.
Knowing these were mere illusions, Zhang Ling paid them little attention. He continued to traverse this strange space, and soon, he heard whooshing sounds from ahead.
Through the swirling mist, a thick, azure vine lashed out.
Zhang Ling scoffed, his consciousness transforming into a flying sword, instantly slicing the vine to pieces. Simultaneously, a figure behind the vine was cleaved in two by the sword light.
The figure screamed and collapsed to the ground.
Zhang Ling's expression darkened as he glanced down, for the figure was none other than himself.
An exact replica of himself had been slain by the sword light, a gruesome sight. The figure's left arm was outstretched, a thick vine sprouting from it. The face was identical to his own, and the vine confirmed it, though it was not the current him.
Zhang Ling snorted, "Another illusion?" He stepped over the corpse and continued forward.
As the mist churned, the faint white gradually turned crimson, and the surrounding temperature rose significantly.
Looking around, the environment had transformed into a region resembling a lava field.
Fiery clouds billowed, filled with shadowy figures, conjuring a multitude of illusions, both human and demonic.
The illusion had shifted once more. Zhang Ling glanced around and recognized it as the Burning Flame Valley, the first secret realm he had entered during his Qi Refinement stage.
The figures and demonic beasts that appeared were, of course, mere phantoms conjured by the illusion. His expression remained calm as he ignored these phantoms, continuing his composed advance.
These phantoms did not attack him, but merely appeared and disappeared repeatedly. Zhang Ling recognized most of them, all echoes of his past experiences.
Suddenly, another figure launched an attack. He simply waved his hand, and two streaks of sword light eliminated the attacker. Upon closer inspection, the figure's appearance was once again identical to his own.
"Hmph, this is getting interesting," Zhang Ling chuckled before continuing onward.
The constantly vanishing and reappearing illusions were clearly derived from his own experiences. This ancient painting was indeed peculiar, capable of conjuring illusions based on a cultivator's memories.
However, such tricks held little sway over a Golden Core cultivator like him.
Cultivators who reached such heights possessed unwavering resolve, not easily swayed by simple illusions.
For a long time, Zhang Ling traversed illusion after illusion. The figures conjured included both the dangers he had faced and the moments of elation he experienced upon breaking through cultivation realms.
The illusion continued to evolve, conjuring familiar faces: Old Man Mu, Mu Xiaoyan, his master Wei Shen, even Dongfang Ya, the red-umbrella teenager from the Ghost King Sect, and the people and events he had witnessed in the Flowing Cloud Sea.
Some of these people had been kind to him, some were mere acquaintances, and some had become his enemies. Many had died by his hand, while others he had only met once, not even knowing their names.
These figures stirred a sense of gain and loss in Zhang Ling's heart. However, he remained aware of his presence within the illusion. These were merely experiences from his cultivation journey, fleeting figures in his life.
Having witnessed countless illusions, Zhang Ling's heart had become like still water, offering a faint smile to faces both familiar and strange.
However, in each illusion, someone attacked him, and it was always himself. As the number of illusions he experienced increased, the strength of the attacking selves also grew.
This situation caused Zhang Ling to frown slightly, a faint suspicion forming in his mind.
Just then, the clouds ahead churned, and another figure appeared, offering him an eerie smile before launching several flying swords.
Zhang Ling's consciousness reacted swiftly. With a thought, flying swords materialized around him, intercepting the incoming attacks.
After a series of clanging sounds, the numerous swords clashed in mid-air, creating a temporary stalemate.
Looking closely, the figure opposite him was, of course, himself. However, his strength was around the early Golden Core stage, seemingly representing his realm when he had just broken through.
Unwilling to be outdone, Zhang Ling's consciousness transformed into a cloud of yellow sand, trapping the opponent within.
Simultaneously, his physical body outside released several strands of divine sense into the painting. These strands instantly transformed into several flying swords, merging into a dull gray giant sword, which shattered the identical figure in the blink of an eye.
His consciousness then reformed into a human shape and continued forward.
Zhang Ling's suspicion grew stronger. If he was correct, this was the trial of the fourth painting. He would likely face a figure with the same strength as himself.
Himself against himself.
Zhang Ling found it somewhat bizarre, yet also felt a strange anticipation. Soon after killing two more figures, the illusion within the painting shifted again. He scanned it briefly, paused, and gave a strange chuckle.
The scene depicted by the painting had transformed into a stone chamber.
The stone chamber was simply furnished, with only a stone table and chairs, and a small stone bed. A man dressed in black sat cross-legged on the bed, seemingly meditating, but his eyes were fixed ahead, as if looking beyond the painting.
"Looks like my guess was right."
Zhang Ling muttered to himself, then closed his eyes, withdrew his divine sense from the painting, and quietly sat down to meditate.
Although he had experienced numerous illusions, the time that had passed was not long, roughly the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. However, the consumption of his divine sense was significant, as if he had just fought a major battle.
The scene depicted by the painting was now identical to the stone chamber he was in, and the figure sitting cross-legged on the painting was naturally himself.
The next challenge would be facing his current self, and facing it in a state of depleted divine sense would likely lead to a crushing defeat. He naturally needed to recover his divine sense.
Thus, a full three hours passed before Zhang Ling reopened his eyes. His divine sense had returned to its peak.
Taking a deep breath, he released all of his divine sense, once again transforming into a gray ethereal shadow and entering the ancient painting.
The scene in the painting suddenly gained another figure, standing face to face with the one already there.
The figure in the painting reacted instantly, launching an attack. With a flick of his wrist, several flying swords shot out first.
Zhang Ling dared not be careless, quickly using his divine sense to conjure several flying swords to block them head-on. However, the conjured swords were dull gray and somewhat blurry. He seemed more like an ethereal shadow, while the figure opposite him seemed more real.
This was because his body was formed from the condensation of divine sense, more like a soul body.
While releasing the flying swords, the illusionary figure's hand flashed with azure light, and the Two Elements Gourd was summoned. A large amount of Heavenly Star Sand spewed out, condensing into giant sand spheres that attacked. At the same time, a green light flashed from his hand and disappeared.
This made Zhang Ling curse inwardly. This illusionary figure was truly identical to him, possessing not only the same strength and attack methods, but also able to use the same natal magic treasures, and even conjuring the ancient treasures he usually used.
With a thought, Zhang Ling also used his divine sense to conjure a large amount of Heavenly Star Sand.
However, instead of using it to attack, he controlled the sand to flow rapidly, turning into quicksand that enveloped him.
As soon as he finished, numerous sand spheres crashed into it, creating a huge collision sound. At the same time, a green light flashed and directly penetrated the layer of defense.
Just as it was about to attack his consciousness, Zhang Ling waved his left hand, and his left arm instantly twisted, transforming into a black vine, which directly knocked the green light away with a clear bang.
But at the same time, he heard a bell ringing in his ear. Zhang Ling trembled, knowing that the illusionary figure had used the Bronze Bell ancient treasure. He quickly guarded his mind, resisting the ringing.
However, his consciousness was still disturbed, shaking slightly. Fortunately, he had defended in advance, so the impact was not severe. He instantly recovered and retreated several feet to the side.
The position he had been standing in was now filled with the sound of wind, and several flying swords rushed over. If he had stayed in place, he would have been cut by these flying swords.
The ringing sound released by the Bronze Bell ancient treasure mainly impacted the cultivator's soul. Without defense, it would cause a brief moment of distraction, creating an opportunity. This type of sonic attack was difficult to imitate, similar to mental techniques.
He had long seen that although the figure in the painting looked more real, it was actually an illusion condensed from a spiritual body. It was reasonable to be able to imitate this type of attack.
While dodging the attack, a black stone mirror appeared in the illusionary figure's hand. The mirror surface reflected light, and eight black light mirrors appeared, instantly enveloping Zhang Ling.
Seeing this scene, Zhang Ling's mouth twitched a few times, and he was surprised. Could this ancient treasure also be conjured?
The eight light mirrors trapped him and shot out black electric lights similar to lightning, densely surrounding him.
But Zhang Ling relaxed after sensing it. These black arcs of electricity hit his body, causing a tingling sensation, but they were definitely not Water Astral Divine Lightning.
It seemed that the illusionary figure in the painting could not conjure every attack.
With a slight thought, rays of gray light swords appeared in front of him, quickly combining to form a huge gray light.
At the same time, the illusionary figure used the same attack. The seven flying swords in front of him lit up with azure light, combining to form a ten-foot-long azure light sword.
The azure sword light and the gray sword light slashed together, erupting in an ear-splitting roar.
Zhang Ling's face darkened, and he immediately sensed that the gray sword light was being suppressed by the azure sword light. He quickly mobilized all of his divine sense to increase the power of the sword light, but it was still not enough, and he could only barely resist.
He cursed inwardly, realizing that he was being suppressed by the illusionary figure and was at a disadvantage.
At this time, he was still trapped in place by the eight light mirrors, and countless electric lights were hitting him. Although these electric lights did not have the corrosive power of Water Astral Divine Lightning, they were comparable to ordinary lightning attacks. Moreover, their power was constantly overlapping and increasing.
Zhang Ling felt that he could not hold on any longer. He could only use part of his divine sense to conjure a large amount of quicksand to cover his whole body and resist.
It seemed that he was using Heavenly Star Sand to resist, but in reality, the attacks he was using now, whether it was the sword light or the Heavenly Star Sand, were all conjured from divine sense. In the end, he was still using divine sense to defend and attack.
Although divine sense was incredibly useful, the attack power of directly conjured attacks seemed powerful, but they were somewhat superficial. Naturally, they did not have as many methods as the illusionary figure used.
Moreover, he could not use ancient treasures or other means in the ancient painting.
Even if he used divine sense to conjure similar attacks, it was just that the type of attack was different. He was still using divine sense to attack, and there was no change in essence.
But the illusionary figure in the painting was different. Although it was not a real person, the means it conjured were much more skillful than his. The power of the conjured ancient treasures even had a bit of reality.
Seeing that the gray sword light was about to be extinguished by the azure sword light.
A bronze ancient lamp suddenly appeared in his hand, and a ball of essence blood entered it. The ancient lamp lit up with a gray-green flame.
Instantly, Zhang Ling felt his soul full, and his divine sense power increased by more than double. He quickly mobilized the increased divine sense and poured it all into the ancient painting.
The consciousness in the painting suddenly became much more solid, and the conjured gray sword light suddenly increased greatly. The situation immediately reversed, and the gray sword light flashed, extinguishing the azure sword light and directly slashing on the illusionary figure.
After the sword light, the numerous attacks were also annihilated.
The illusionary figure also suddenly became illusory, and with a bang, it exploded into spots of starlight and was directly dissipated.
Zhang Ling coughed a few times before letting out a long sigh, wiped the false sweat from his head, and relaxed. He quickly withdrew his divine sense and looked at the bronze ancient lamp in his hand with a smile.
With his own divine sense strength alone, he might not be able to defeat the illusionary figure in the painting.
But the bronze ancient lamp, this strange treasure, could enhance his soul in a short time, greatly increasing his divine sense power. This was what allowed the battle to be reversed.
Zhang Ling rubbed his somewhat swollen head, calmed his mind, and looked at the ancient painting again.
At this moment, the scene on it had changed again. Divine sense swept over it, and a piece of information entered his mind. After digesting this information, he called out the name of the painting.
"Refining God Diagram!"
