Chapter 64: Water-Land Dharma Assembly

Shili Yangliu Di, Lintai County.

Chen Zhao leapt from the bow of the boat.

Before him, the streets were thick with cooking smoke—fishermen, immortals, porters...... shadows flickered across the cobblestones.

Where immortals and mortals met, there was always bustle.

He and Jiang Yanqiu had already disguised themselves and blended into the crowd without notice.

It was Chen Qingmeng who stood out.

He simply smeared soot across his face and hurried toward the county seat.

Before he'd taken two steps, two steel blades pressed against his throat.

This place was truly strange—those two clearly wore the attire of constables, yet they were Qi Refining Third Layer, unknown whether they were immortal-appointed officials or mortals who had attained the Dao.

"Stop! State your name."

"I'm just a fisherman who came here to cast nets; my boat's damaged, so I'm seeking shore to rest—forgive me, I didn't know......"

The two constables glanced at Chen Qingmeng.

What a black-faced, ring-eyed rascal! His nets are torn, yet his boat is intact—clearly up to no good!

Then......

Then they let him pass.

"You three picked a good time—right before the Water-Land Dharma Assembly begins. The Dharma Master said, regardless of good or evil, all may pass."

Both men clasped one hand in prayer, chanted a Buddhist mantra, and praised the Dharma Master's boundless merit.

But their accent was so thick—"Nan mo e mi tuo fo"—Jiang Yanqiu nearly choked laughing.

This Dharma Master must have come from the west.

The two glared at her fiercely, yet still raised their blades and allowed Chen Zhao and the others into the city.

Chen Zhao walked and looked around, his expression turning peculiar.

Logically, the Water-Land Dharma Assembly—a major Buddhist event—should involve fasting and worship.

Yet every street was lined with stoves, pots boiling with fish and meat, fragrant mist rising, making him wonder if this Dharma Master was a lecherous monk.

A few steps further, a wine flag blocked their path, bearing ten bold characters:

"Wine and meat pass through the intestines; the Buddha remains in the heart."

Wonderful—now it's the Dragon-Subduing Arhat incarnate!

Chen Zhao's shoulders shook; he was barely holding back laughter.

"Comrade, you seem so delighted—my daughter is also hungry. Shall we dine here?"

Jiang Yanqiu tilted her head with a smile, propping her cheek as if pondering.

Hungry?

All three were beyond Qi Refining First Layer—none had any appetite left. This woman was plainly making it up.

Still, it was a chance to inquire about the county's recent changes and the disappearance of Yan Shimei.

Chen Zhao was about to agree.

"Comrade, as Chief Alchemist of Juxian Pavilion and a member of the Chen clan, won't you fulfill your duty as host?"

"?"

Chen Zhao shot her a glare.

He quickly pulled his half-in step back from the tavern.

"You dare ask me to treat you—aren't you afraid someone'll write another Jiangjia Shennü Lu?"

"I'll have you tonsured soon—still worried about gossip?"

Jiang Yanqiu glanced downward and giggled.

It wasn't about making him a monk—it was about sending him to the palace.

Chen Qingmeng was anxious, but couldn't outmaneuver them, so he volunteered to pay, urging them to eat their fill and hurry to find the missing person.

The tavern was crowded; waiters shouted out dish names, bringing platter after platter.

When they reached the trio's table, it was a dish of Spirit Fish sashimi.

A single Spirit Fish was thinly sliced into delicate pieces—no further preparation, translucent and tender, flavorful even without seasoning.

Even Chen Zhao, born into nobility, had never tasted such luxury.

After all, one dish cost twenty Low-grade Spirit Stones—commoners couldn't afford it; it was said to be a medicinal dish to guide Immortal Seedlings in drawing in Qi.

"Waiter! Another dish! Bring a bigger one!"

Jiang Yanqiu hadn't eaten two bites before slapping the table and demanding more—clearly aiming to fleece Chen Qingmeng.

The waiter, spotting a fat lamb, shouted even louder.

Not long after.

The waiter approached the table with an apologetic expression, stammering:

"Honored guests, the fish we just served was the largest we had. The next larger one is reserved for the Dharma Assembly as an offering to the Dharma Master. Please forgive us."

Chen Zhao raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued.

"If the Dharma Master worships the Buddha, why kill?"

"Sir, you don't understand—it's called sacrificing the small life for the greater good. When the Dharma Master bestows blessings, all in the city will bathe in Buddha's light."

The waiter clasped one hand in reverence, face filled with piety.

Chen Zhao remained utterly baffled.

What does the fate of one Spirit Fish have to do with blessings or curses?

Moreover, both major families here are from Tiankui Sect—how could they harbor such devout believers?

"Young brother, do you know where the Dharma assembly is held?"

"Luoyan Dock, Tingxiang Water Pavilion."

The waiter wore an air of solemn dignity, his face radiating compassion.

Luoyan Dock—wasn't that where Young Sister Yan went missing? Could she be one of the offerings for this Dharma assembly?

"How strange—a mere serving boy possesses such an aura, yet he's plainly a mortal."

Chen Zhao frowned and looked down at the small emerald stone in Chen Qingmeng's hand.

This object, crafted by Chen Qingmeng, could sense the state of its soulmate; now its color grew ever dimmer, signaling dire peril.

But the sect had issued strict orders: do not alert the enemy.

The three could only squeeze through the crowd and ascend the long embankment.

The path was narrow, flanked on both sides by willow trees, yet a central passage had to be left clear for monks and nuns to pass.

"Little anger, little delusion—thoughts unobstructed, you may reach Pure Land."

Four female cultivators dressed as nuns carried a gilded palanquin, tender green willow branches tucked behind their ears, faces expressionless, chanting in unison.

No sooner had the chant ended than a wooden fish struck from within the palanquin.

Eight crimson curtains hung from the golden palanquin, each inscribed with the Babu Foming Jing; they rippled with the sway of the litter like fluttering wings.

The crowd by the roadside turned their palms upward, bowed their heads, and chanted a Buddha's name in unison, every face glowing with fervor.

Chen Zhao was crushed near the slope's base, water rising to his calves; he stole a glance through the curtain and couldn't help but be startled.

Palanquins like this usually held only statues—yet inside sat a child of twelve or thirteen.

And he was a lowly gray-robed novice!

Yet the crowd remained oblivious, bowing relentlessly.

There was no trace of Spirit Qi disturbance; the two great families watched coldly, doing nothing.

How bizarre!

Chen Zhao stopped a Cultivator devotee and asked, puzzled:

"What divine power does this Dharma Master possess to make you all prostrate before him?"

The man, his bow interrupted, immediately frowned.

But when he saw the Low-grade Spirit Stone in Chen Zhao's hand, his expression changed instantly:

"You foreign Immortal Master don't know—this Dharma Master teaches without discrimination; any devotee who sincerely worships the Buddha receives one scroll of the Lesser Vehicle scripture."

"If you burn incense, bathe, eat Spirit Fish, and devoutly recite this scripture three times, whether or not you possess a Spirit Root, you will draw Spirit Qi into your body at the Water-Land Assembly and ascend to Immortality on the spot."

Jiang Yanqiu let out a soft exclamation, his eyes darting swiftly:

"According to you, when was the last time this Dharma assembly was held?"

"Three months ago."

Chen Zhao's gaze sharpened.

The timing matches the day Young Sister Yan disappeared.

Moreover, without a Spirit Root, one cannot retain Spirit Qi—how could one possibly draw it into the body?

Ascending to heaven in broad daylight is almost certainly an illusion—or paid for by sacrificing a living being.

Could it be...

"Did that filthy novice murder a sect female cultivator?"

Chen Qingmeng could no longer contain himself—he seized the devotee's collar and snarled.

Yet the man did not grow angry; instead, he looked puzzled:

"That novice is indeed a disciple of Banruo Xianmen—but I never said he was the Dharma Master?"

Then,

He turned and pointed—beyond the end of the embankment, a waterside pavilion came into view.

A female cultivator, draped in a kasaya, held a golden staff, serene and tranquil.

"Xiaoqian?"