As soon as Fuxia spoke these words, brilliant golden clouds of dawn illuminated the sky. Peacock-shaped clouds fluttered, golden pools surged, and iridescent rain drizzled down as a Pure Land emerged in the northern sky.
This northern Pure Land was veiled behind a layer of misty clouds. In the indistinct distance stood a colossal golden gate, beside which lay a mountain-sized, one-horned fierce tiger striped entirely in black, sound asleep. Densely packed golden guardians stood upon the clouds in boundless ranks, while millions upon millions of silhouettes raised their heads—some kowtowing, some prostrating, all looking up with fervent anticipation.
The six-armed Vajra Liubai, which had continuously pressed down upon the Huangyuan Pass without the slightest reaction, paused for the first time. As the cry of a peacock drifted from the northern sky, that head—ever wrathful yet ever serene—lifted. Its golden lips parted slightly, and a melodious chanting of sutras rang out.
*Rumble!*
Every cultivator over the lake lowered their gaze and shielded their eyes, not daring to look.
The emergence of all this was like a potent tonic injected into Fuxia’s heart. He snapped his head up, no longer caring about his depleted magic power or the scorching Lihuo flames. The entire Huangyuan Pass shook violently with his motion, as though on the verge of collapsing at any moment.
“They can be saved... Good... Good...”
The old monk was ecstatic, shedding tears of agitation. Gazing at Kongheng with utmost supplication, he pleaded bitterly:
“My Lord, the Shakya Land has manifested! Please become our path’s Manifesting Emperor Kshetra-son, return to the north to subdue demons, sit amid the raining Mandarava flowers, pass through boundless, immeasurable asamkhyeya kalpas, and attain the vast power of an Emperor Kshetra Maha!”
As if echoing his voice, the moment Fuxia's plea left his lips, a resonant chime of bells rang out from the northern golden dawn, tolling nine times in succession.
*Dong... Dong...*
Kongheng gazed into the distance, his pupils reflecting the image of the Pure Land.
He understood that so long as he gave a single nod and gave rise to the slightest thought of purifying the world, the Emperor Kshetra Maha status in the sky would immediately resonate with him. He would become a cultivator like Murong Xia and attain the Stage of Non-Retrogression.
Once the Stage of Non-Retrogression was attained, unless someone could fight their way into the Pure Land and obliterate his wisp of true spirit, he could reincarnate through a hundred lifetimes without diminishing his consciousness, forever enjoying the rank of Maha.
And in this life, he would have no further need to cultivate, having already brought his Master-rank cultivation to absolute perfection. Kongheng was an ancient cultivator whose next step was not Lianmin, but Maha. He needed only to journey north and ascend anew to the Maha seat, becoming one of the peaks of this realm, with even the Dharma Manifestation fruit status visible in the distance.
Yet he merely continued to watch in silence, utterly calm.
Kongheng's own lineage had reached its terminus here, leaving only the pursuit of enlightenment. For countless years, no ancient Shakya cultivator had ever produced a Maha. If he missed this opportunity, there would never again be another lineage devoid of even a single Maha where a Pure Land personally came to receive an outsider.
“Senior, manifesting wrath is not my path.”
Fuxia possessed a Lianmin Dharma Body; his tears transformed into colored glaze within the Lihuo flames, only to be shattered by heavenly light, casting shifting flickers of light and shadow across the old monk's face as he stared blankly at him.
Kongheng looked quietly at Fuxia. The narrow-eyed monk was naturally fair, with bright white teeth and crimson lips; his face now radiated boundless luminescence as he spoke:
“My manifestation is not the manifestation of all sentient beings. I establish no boundless Pure Lands, no terrifying likenesses, no temples of incense, no offerings of monks. All such things are karmic transgressions.
“Cultivators must not be made to believe in me, nor common folk made to worship me. My path seeks liberation; it does not gather souls through Pure Lands.”
Fuxia was struck as if by lightning, deflating and slumping in utter despondency. With the slackening of his intent, the radiance upon his Lianmin Dharma Body grew increasingly dim. His spine slumped forward all at once, pinned down even more firmly.
The old monk remained motionless, raising his head toward the heavens while scorching Lihuo flames swirled around his frame. Fuxia could only mutter sutras under his breath as he watched the golden clouds of dawn fade bit by bit, the colossal tiger swallowed by the mist, and everything come to naught.
Fuxia’s glaring, wrathful expression vanished, replaced by the bitter sorrow of complete desolation. The old monk said softly:
“All along the way, I spoke with sharp, aggressive words, pressing and berating you at every turn, reproaching you with radical, dogmatic doctrine. Yet I could not stir the slightest anger in you. Had there been even a trace of indignance in your heart, the Manifesting Emperor Kshetra-son would have inevitably descended upon you.
“And so I bore down upon you with momentum, intimidated you with my might, and terrified you with the radiance of my Lianmin Dharma Body. Had there been even a shred of fear in you, there would have been no need to nod, no need to come with me—the Manifesting Emperor Kshetra-son would have inevitably descended upon you.
“Seeing that you felt neither anger nor fear, I wept bitter tears, seeking to move you with grief, begging you to spread the teachings to all under heaven and sit amid the raining Mandarava flowers to guide all Shakyas. Had there been even a single stir of longing in your heart, the Manifesting Emperor Kshetra-son would have inevitably descended upon you.”
The luminescence upon Kongheng's face remained undiminished. The surrounding Lihuo flames gradually waned as glaze colors flew out from Fuxia's Dharma Body. The old monk propped up the Bright Pass with a single hand, his magic power circulating. With eyes filled with the hue of colored glaze, he walked straight out of the Lihuo flames.
When a Lianmin Dharma Body truly mobilized, Fuxia did not need so much as a single finger to topple the Huangyuan Pass. The endless Lihuo flames served merely as fuel to him; the more they burned, the more dazzlingly multicolored his body became.
Fuxia whispered, “Yet you remained unmoved.”
The lake fell into dead silence. Fearful gazes fixed upon this Lianmin, yet only Kongheng replied gently, “The esteemed Mahas have tried long before this.”
Kongheng smiled as he looked at him. The old monk unfastened the deep-yellow cassock from his body, folded it neatly, and placed it upon his palm. With his other hand, he rested the pure-white staff atop the cassock.
Having arranged these two items, he suspended them in midair, pressed his palms together, and spoke respectfully:
“Since this old monk came to this demonic land, I never intended to return. I have three treasures to bestow upon the Master.
“The first is the Dark Box Tiger-Striped Cassock. Formed from a horned tiger, its wonders are inscrutable. It can transform into a fierce tiger to be commanded at will and swallow myriad things; ordinary cultivators cannot withstand it.
“The second is the Wondrous White True Jade Demon-Subduing Staff. It is a treasure tool that has quelled countless demons and fiends, imbued with profound fiendish qi soaring to the sky. A single strike can cleave mountains and halt rivers, leaving slain evil creatures daring not to voice a grievance.”
Kongheng frowned, five-colored radiance shifting continuously across his face as he murmured, “These belong to the Northern Demon-Subduing lineage. Kongheng cannot accept them.”
The old monk was exceptionally stubborn and did not acknowledge his refusal in the slightest. Pressing his palms together against his chest, his bare torso glittering with brilliant radiance, he first bowed in homage toward the north. Then, keeping his eyes tightly shut, he said in a deep voice:
“The third is the Northern Demon-Subduing Temple Guardian Glaze Relic.”
His words finally moved Kongheng. Kongheng stepped forward, parting his lips to dissuade him, but no matter how fast he was, he could not outpace a Lianmin.
The moment Fuxia's words fell, a canopy of colored glaze light rose to connect heaven and earth, shooting straight into the vault of heaven. Countless lotus blossoms burst into bloom across the lake’s surface, while pink petals mingled with variegated shards of colored glaze plummeted in a sweeping torrent. The surroundings were engulfed in brilliant luminescence and boundless glowing dawn.
In an instant, Kongheng was submerged in this torrential light. Fuxia was a Lianmin of many years; when he chose to pass into nirvana by his own hand, sutra chants resonated instantly, shattering the prison of the burning house and scattering gold and crimson across the ground.
*Weng... weng... weng...*
Yet the Pure Land that should have arrived to receive him had vanished without a trace long ago. All the radiance and colors converged and condensed, settling entirely upon a single glaze-colored relic.
However gorgeous the illusory colors and however soaring the brilliant light, it lasted for only a single breath. Before it could fully blossom, it was drawn into the relic like a great whale inhaling water, leaving not a trace behind.
The colors between heaven and earth withdrew, leaving only a single relic floating before Kongheng.
The lake fell into an even deeper silence.
This relic was the size of a finger, hovering in midair, pure white and translucent. Rings of iridescent light circled it, conjuring myriad illusions, while the lotus flowers to either side exuded wave upon wave of fragrant aroma.
Kongheng quietly looked at the relic before him, took it into his palm, and put it away. The dark crimson sunset draped over him, and the light above the lake grew strangely dim.
Fuxia’s death was just like that of the twelve Masters shot dead by Li Xuanfeng on the Great River. Aside from the relic, it left behind nothing more than a shower of flower petals and glaze rain, and a few blooming lotuses.
Yet the Pure Land that had been willing to appear and receive Kongheng showed not the slightest reaction to Fuxia’s death—not a speck of golden light, not a single chime of a bell. On the horizon, there was only the hazy red remnants of the setting sun.
Not until Li Ximing flew over on his beam of light did a ray of sky-light drape over Kongheng. The narrow-eyed monk seemed to wake from a dream; the five-colored luminescence flowing across his face receded, and the boundless radiance dimmed.
He returned once more to his original gentle, courteous demeanor, his expression somewhat subdued as he said softly:
“I have caused trouble for you, Ximing.”
“What are you saying?!”
With heavenly light gathered around the Huangyuan Pass, the surrounding cultivators had been unable to see clearly, but Li Ximing had watched everything unfold beside it. His expression was conflicted, his heart filled with deep emotion as he whispered, “Are you well now, Master?”
“There is no great harm,” Kongheng answered with utmost earnestness. Holding the cassock and staff in his hands, he murmured, “Only... my karmic affinity with your noble clan has now run its course.”
Li Ximing had anticipated this long ago. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Kongheng bowed to him and said with guilt in his voice:
“I should have departed when misfortune befell Xijun, but in my self-reproach, I wished to watch over your clan a little longer. Who would have thought that doing so nearly brought catastrophe upon your noble family today? It is truly Kongheng’s fault! Now I have no choice but to depart, to travel throughout the world and verify my Dao.”
“Senior Kongheng...”
Before Li Ximing could say more, the sea of words in his chest was halted in his throat by Kongheng’s smile. He whispered:
“Master, please see my grandfather before departing, if nothing else... You have stayed with my family for so many years... The elders have always held you in deep respect... Zhouwei is still outside... Can you not see him one last time...?”
Kongheng nodded gently. Li Ximing's rambling words bore an uncanny resemblance to Li Xuanxuan's, making the monk’s vision blur.
As he descended toward Mount Qingdu, he glanced back toward the north where Fuxia had bowed before his demise, the relic in his hand growing increasingly burning hot.
The brilliant golden dawn had vanished long ago, and the soaring peacocks were nowhere to be found. Everything that the old monk held dearer than his own life—including the golden pool and the faithful—had vanished like a passing breeze...
Dull gloom hung over the lake, fragments of colored glaze scattered in the water, leaving behind only the gloomy sky and a moribund sun sinking into the clouds.
……
East Sea.
The night was deep. Upon a sea reef stood a palace forged of jet-black darkstone. The palace itself was not grand; its black body blended seamlessly with the reef, facing directly toward the north.
Splashing waves submerged the steps before the palace. A pair of exquisite, glowing-blue boots trod upon the stairs. Their owner had disheveled crimson hair, a golden robe that shimmered like scales, and jade-green eyes gazing into the distance.
Behind this man stood a youth in neat robes and headwear, standing slightly behind him. The man in gold murmured:
“Heyun, that was the Wrathful Eyes Four Demons Emperor Kshetra...”
Dongfang Heyun raised his brows, his eyes likewise gazing toward the distant north. Where peacocks had danced along the horizon, golden pools surged, and a Pure Land had emerged in the sky, Dongfang Heyun bowed and replied:
“Great King, Shakya cultivators gather the multitudes to achieve their Dao. The Maha status is an evolution of a Dharma Manifestation’s fruit status; none beneath an immortal can deceive it.
“Now that the Maha status has responded, seeking to bring the Manifesting Emperor Kshetra-son into the world, even if Wrath possessed a thousand tricks and walked the path of feigning death, It could never achieve this. It must have truly perished.”
If Li Xizhi were here, he would surely recognize that this man in gold was none other than the Dragon King of Muhai from years past, Dongfang Changmu—a son of the Dragon Sovereign, possessing noble status beyond words.
Having heard this, the Violet Palace demon dragon nodded.
Dongfang Heyun continued:
“Back then, Jingzhan was pinned down by the Golden Bridge Lock and slain by True Monarch Shangyuan, so the odds of his survival were minuscule. Whether the Wrathful Eyes Four Demons Emperor Kshetra perished or not was merely incidental... The Six Manifestations still wanted to test the state of the Dharma Manifestation behind the Wrathful lineage.
“Yet seeing how things unfolded today, It wouldn't even budge for meat delivered straight to Its mouth, and even let that ancient Shakya escape. It seems this Dharma Manifestation's condition is truly poor.”
“Not quite,” Dongfang Changmu murmured.
“Neither Luoxia nor the Netherworld showed any reaction, and Jiangnan had little interest as well. I fear they knew all along that the Dharma Manifestation would not respond. The root cause of this matter is simply that as that ancient Shakya's cultivation grew higher, someone became unwilling to let him remain in Jiangnan.
“Meanwhile, those of the Wrathful Manifestation calculated an opportunity and swarmed over like flies scenting blood, making another futile effort to awaken the Dharma Manifestation and coax a Maha into being.”
Dongfang Heyun bowed slightly, adopting an admiring posture as he murmured:
“The Great King speaks with great wisdom.”
Dongfang Changmu murmured:
“After all... times have long since changed. In today's world, Shakya cultivators hold a place of their own, and the myriad cultivators harbor no small wariness toward them. How could they casually allow an ancient Shakya to cultivate in Jiangnan? If he experienced a sudden enlightenment overnight and spontaneously manifested a Shakya land out of thin air that enveloped the entirety of Jiangbei, wouldn't they have to fight yet another war?”
Dongfang Changmu chuckled and said in a low voice:
“In bygone years, the Immortal Dao was complacent, allowing Shakya cultivators to seek the Dao among the various sects. As a result, the Huaqi fruit status was covertly attained by Suxikong, reducing the Twelve Qi by one and making several immortals change countenance... That serves as a cautionary tale from the past!”
“Indeed...” Dongfang Heyun answered respectfully, and Dongfang Changmu then asked in a low voice:
“How did the Fox Kin reply?”
Dongfang Heyun cupped his hands and answered:
“Mount Dali dispatched a Suxin Fox, who has already made contact with His Highness Dingjiao. All is well.”
“Oh, the White Dragon Branch!”
A playful smile surfaced on Dongfang Changmu’s face. He took a pace before the pitch-black hall as the faint rumble of thunder drifted from the clouds. The Violet Palace great demon shook his head slightly:
“It is only natural. After all, Zipei gave the item to Dragon King Beihai...”
Dongfang Changmu waited a moment. At last, a streak of flowing light broke through the void, manifesting in midair as a narrow-eyed woman. Sweeping her gaze over them, she said in a heavy voice:
“Changmu, it is time to depart.”
Dongfang Changmu laughed heartily and waved his hand gently. The Great Void before him tore open with a roar, revealing an expanse of purple connecting heaven and earth, enshrouding the boundless Great Void.
Within this part of the Great Void pulsed countless bolts of lightning, looking as though they would coalesce into a sea. Dongfang Changmu channeled his divine ability to ward off the lightning while casting his gaze toward a pale-purple grotto-heaven in the distance.
Dongfang Changmu asked:
“Are all the people assembled?”
“Naturally,” the dragon woman nodded. “Our methods are not like humankind’s intricate twists and turns—relying on divine abilities to guide things here, laying grand strategic schemes there. Who cares what those cultivators of thunder techniques might do? We simply dispatched several Violet Palace demon kings to round them up.”
She added casually, “In less than a quarter of an hour, every last one was rounded up and thrown into the grotto-heaven together.”
Chapter 676