"He was definitely doing it on purpose! Definitely!" Gnashing his teeth, the Buddha Child fled through the murky shadows. The wounds across his body were coated in a dim yellow glow, showing no sign of recovery whatsoever.
The complete Sword of Ten Thousand Generations and Autumns possessed terrifying might; any part of the body severed by it was truly gone. What was more, Wei Yuan had taken an extra precaution by refining the severed parts directly into sarira, making restoration utterly impossible.
The Pure Land possessed a method for lotus body reconstruction, which could use lotus roots from the Merit Pool to repair the physical form. However, a newly grown body required cultivating all over again. Thus, this battle had essentially sheared away thirty percent of the little monk's strength.
One must not belittle this thirty percent. This loss dropped the little monk from the immortal realm back into the mortal world. Formerly invincible in the Scenery Command realm, he now might not even be a match for Bao Yun or Ji Liuli, who had only recently entered Scenery Command.
Soon, a quaint, weathered little temple appeared before him. There was no telling how long it had stood there—its walls were peeling and mottled, gnarls of withered trees grew wild around it, and a few motionless jackdaws perched upon the eaves. The wooden door was choked with withered moss that formed crusty scars; the door knocker was rusted and coated in a layer of pale dust, as if untouched for a century. Instead of pushing the door open, he knocked.
Moments later, the temple door creaked slowly open to reveal a novice monk. Though dressed in a novice's robes, his face was furrowed with deep ravines of wrinkles, making him appear at least several centuries old. A pungent, decaying stench of age wafted forth.
He looked the little monk up and down, his gaze lingering pointedly on the hollow expanse between his legs before asking, "From where has the patron come?"
The word "patron" clearly startled the little monk, but suppressing his displeasure, he continued, "This poor monk comes from the Pure Land. I wish to see Patriarch Zuowang."
"There is no Patriarch Zuowang here. Please leave."
With that, the old novice slammed the temple door shut with a loud bang.
The little monk was stunned at first, then flared into fury. He hammered violently on the door and roared, "Open up! I want to see Patriarch Zuowang! I know he is inside!"
The old novice's voice came through, dripping with impatience. "The Patriarch said he isn't here!"
The little monk narrowed his eyes. "I will decide that only after I see him!"
The old novice scoffed, his tone sinister. "Out of the question!"
"Who says so?"
"I say so!" the old novice declared as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Infuriated to the point of laughter, the little monk snapped, "You are nothing more than a gatekeeper! How dare you obstruct me? Do you know who I am?"
The old novice sneered. "Why should I care who you are? Even if the King of Heaven himself showed up, if I say you can't enter, then you can't! Unless you get the Patriarch to give the word."
The little monk grew even more furious. "I cannot even see the Patriarch, so how can I get him to give the word?"
The old novice shrugged. "What does that have to do with me?"
The little monk was so enraged he was practically roaring. "I am a sutra-hearing disciple seated before the Great Sun Tathagata! Treating me like this means you hold no respect for the Buddha!"
Invoking the Buddha's name proved effective after all. A clear voice finally drifted from within the temple: "Let him in."
The old novice finally stepped aside. As the little monk brushed past him, the old monk added flatly, "With a body like that, what an embarrassment to the Buddha..."
Suppressing the urge to strike, the little monk entered the main hall. The temple was small, its main hall no larger than the reception hall of an ordinary home. A shrine in the center held a Buddha statue with a high forehead and pendulous ears, distinct from the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas enshrined in ordinary temples.
At the sight of this statue, a sudden shiver ran down the little monk's spine, and his demeanor became far more respectful.
Before the Buddha sat a young monk, turning through the pages of a yellowed ancient scripture beside him.
He lifted his head slightly, glanced at the little monk, and said, "So you still recognize this Buddha. I thought that after ingratiating yourself with the Great Sun Tathagata, you no longer held any regard for other Buddhas."
The little monk hurriedly said, "Lord Yinmotuoluo Buddha attained the Dao beyond the heavens, ranking as a Buddha on equal footing with the Great Sun Tathagata. What merit or ability do I possess to dare disrespect the Lord Buddha?"
The young monk nodded slightly. "Though you only came here because you were driven into a corner, since you invoked the name of the Great Sun Tathagata, I naturally must intervene. But what happened to your lower half? Why was it cut off?"
The little monk replied, "Wei Yuan did it to vent his personal grudge, deliberately humiliating and torturing me."
The young monk's face darkened. "The Sword of Ten Thousand Generations and Autumns severs time and severs karma. Without preceding cause, why would he cut you there? Do you take me for someone who does not know the one who created that sword?"
Startled, the little monk dared not conceal the truth. He could only confess, "Originally, I captured a woman tied by karma to Wei Yuan, one who usually calls him father. I intended to bring her to Esoteric Buddhism and have those Joy Buddhas and Blissful Wisdom Consorts process her into a flesh puppet. That way, her soul would be imprisoned, forced to watch forever in full consciousness as her physical body was manipulated at will. Only then could I vent the resentment in my heart."
The young monk's expression softened slightly. "If Esoteric Buddhism was to act on your behalf and it could clear your Dao heart, that would have been acceptable. Very well, I shall share some news with you. As you should know, the forces backing Wei Yuan are formidable as well."
The little monk gritted his teeth. "His momentum is rising now, so naturally many opportunistic sycophants flock to curry favor with him."
The young monk said placidly, "Wei Yuan offered tremendous benefits and made threats backed by Dao oaths. With what meager ties you have before the Great Sun Tathagata, they can no longer protect you. However, the Lord of the Sword of Ten Thousand Generations and Autumns did send word that he wished to protect you. His words still carry some weight with me."
The little monk let out a long breath of relief and fell to the ground, kowtowing. "I beg the Patriarch to save my life!"
The young monk picked up a wooden fish mallet and lightly tapped the little monk's head. With a crisp thud, the skull cracked wide open, exposing the brains within!
Amidst excruciating agony, the little monk barely managed to lift his head, peering through blood-blurred vision at the young monk. By now, the young monk's features had turned grotesque and savage, four fangs jutting from his mouth.
With great difficulty, the little monk stammered, "Why...? Didn't the Sword Lord want to... protect me?"
The young monk's fangs grew even longer as he raised the wooden fish mallet once more. "The Sword Lord wanted to protect you, but someone else sent word to kill you. And with me, that person's words carry more weight."
"Who?"
The young monk brought the mallet down, shattering the little monk's head into pieces. Looking down at the ground strewn with brains and bloody filth, he said, "...The True Dragon."
***
At the foot of Spirit Mountain, a naked little monk rose from a somewhat turbid pool of water. He looked around in a daze, when a sudden, searing pain tore through the top of his head. He shrieked, clutching his head with both hands as he rolled wildly across the ground.
Fortunately, the excruciating pain faded quickly. Touching his head and finding it intact, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. Bit by bit, his memories came flooding back, and his expression grew increasingly grim. When he looked down at the pool of water beneath his feet, his scowl deepened further.
Spirit Mountain possessed multiple merit rebirth pools; generally, the higher one's cultivation and the greater one's merit, the higher the pool in which one was reborn. The pool he had reincarnated into was below the mountainside, and its waters were murky, meaning his newly formed dharma body would undoubtedly be riddled with flaws.
As the scene before his death gradually returned to him, the little monk shuddered, knowing he could never return to that place.
Although he hadn't heard the young monk's final words, hearing them or not made little difference. That person's background was bound to be even greater than the Sword Lord's. Against such an existence, let alone a mere sutra-hearing disciple, not even a direct disciple of the Tathagata could stand.
He stood for a brief moment. Then his expression abruptly shifted, and his figure vanished as he exited the Pure Land.
Just as he departed, a piercing gaze descended from the heights of Spirit Mountain, lingering upon the pool for a moment before slowly moving away.
In the mountain forests outside the Pure Land, the little monk sprinted like the wind, cursing furiously as he ran while calculating in his heart what other places might offer a temporary hiding spot.
High in the azure expanse of Qingming, Wei Yuan said to Fei Yutong, "Killing him ourselves wouldn't be striking at his heart. Having his own people from the Pure Land—the very ones he sought refuge with—kill him, now that is striking at the heart."
Chapter 1417