Chapter 89: Mochi Is Dead

The Demon Lord of the Demon God Temple sighed: “Though he was killed by overconfidence, the one who killed him was a great being from the Creator’s world—I believe the Master, even in the afterlife, would rest easy.”

Just as the Demon Lord of the Demon God Temple was about to say more.

“Since they’re not beings from that side, then forget it—Amitabha.”

Accompanied by the ancient, weary whisper of the old monk echoing into the Void Demon Realm.

BOOM!

A world-shaking roar echoed, and the Void Demon Realm trembled.

Boundless divine light erupted, as if the heavens had exploded.

The next instant.

Before the eyes of hundreds of millions in the Void Demon Realm, the colossal Buddha hand meant to annihilate the realm dissolved.

Seeing this, the Demon Lord and his followers exhaled in relief—no longer trembling with dread. It seemed the elegant figure’s words had reached the attacker, and he intended to cease.

At that very moment.

High above the nine heavens, Cimu, whose demeanor was as refined as a celestial noble, smiled faintly.

That smile melted ice and snow, made a hundred flowers blush with shame, and could drive thousands of maidens into rapt obsession.

He took a step—each step birthed a world—and in an instant crossed the entire Void Demon Realm, appearing before the shattered space of Hōrin Mountain.

“Kūkai, with your abilities, you should easily have noticed: though these beings’ auras are from that side, they are exceedingly weak—there must be something amiss. Why rush to annihilate the realm in anger without deeper inquiry? This is unlike you.”

With a light sweep of his hand, heaven and earth shuddered.

Endless demonic radiance blazed brilliantly, filling every inch of sky and earth around Hōrin Mountain, as if time reversed—images rewound—the shattered space mended itself, fragments of light reassembling to fill the cracks.

In the blink of an eye, the shattered space vanished entirely, restored to Hōrin Mountain—every blade of grass, every tree, even the dewdrops clinging to the grass leaves, identical to how they had been before the destruction, glistening and crystal-clear.

Plip.

A dewdrop fell, splashing into tiny, sparkling droplets.

All was renewed. The only difference now: the mud pool vortex was gone; the passage from the Void Demon Realm to this world no longer existed. At least for now, the Void Demon Realm could not cross over unless it forged a new channel.

Throughout, Cimu never once glanced at the Void Demon Realm—from the moment he left until he healed the space and sealed the passage—as if these events were but a single ripple in his endless river of existence, utterly insignificant.

Director Takahashi, the Prime Minister, and all others, forgetting their earlier regret over the inability to explore the Void Demon Realm to strengthen their nation, all leaned in, ears straining.

They heard clearly: Master Kūkai’s destruction of the Void Demon Realm had hidden depths—it was not as simple as it seemed.

Think about it.

Master Kūkai could resurrect the dead and erase a realm with a flick of his wrist—he must have sensed the difference between the six-eyed demon and those from that side.

A long sigh.

Master Kūkai clasped his hands together, his eternal, solemn countenance now tinged with sorrow. Though he still appeared serene, though no one knew why he grieved, that immense, overwhelming grief pierced deeply—making noses sting, compelling tears to well up, urging sobs to burst forth.

The sky grew hazy, as if some great sorrow had occurred, silently causing all mortals to weep, making heaven and earth mourn.

“Mochi is dead.”

His voice, ancient and weary, heavy with sorrow.

At the sound, Cimu, who had been walking toward Master Kūkai, paused slightly. Then, in his eyes—where countless stars seemed to be born and swirl—there flickered a moment of realization.

His lips parted gently.

As always, elegant. As always, noble in posture. As always, refined like a celestial gentleman.

“Condolences.”

At that moment, Cimu looked at Master Kūkai.

“If destroying the Void Demon Realm would ease your heart, then the Void Demon Realm is yours to erase.”

The shattered space had not yet fully healed—his words reached the great powers of the Void Demon Realm.

Their livers trembled, their souls shook.

The Void Demon Realm’s great ones were terrified—their flushed faces turned ashen again; their hearts, just lowered, leapt back up, threatening to burst from their throats.

The Demon Lord of the Demon God Temple wanted to cry.

Great master, how could you do this? One moment you saved us, saying these were the Creator’s experimental subjects, not to be harmed—you stood so resolute, ready to fight the Buddha hand—then the next, you offer the world you saved to be destroyed by the Buddha hand?

The Demon Lord knew the Creator held immense weight in Cimu’s heart. Shouldn’t something of the Creator be protected? How could he turn on it so suddenly?

His change of heart was faster than flipping a page.

At this moment, the Demon Lord of the Demon God Temple longed to roar: “My lord! Don’t abandon us! We’re experimental subjects—we’re still useful!!”

Never before had he so willingly accepted his identity as an experimental subject.

In fact, the Void Demon Realm’s great ones desperately wished they were experimental subjects.

There was no other way. Only the identity of “experimental subject” could save them now. Only by clinging to it could Cimu spare them.

Faced with death, labels like “inferior,” “mongrel,” “lab rat”—none mattered. What mattered was the truth: it was delicious!

To survive, this identity was noble!

Besides, if one thought about it, being an experimental subject wasn’t so bad. They were created by the Creator—whose power shook heaven and earth. That meant a close connection to him, a colossal backer, a mountain of protection. Once they stepped beyond this world, others might learn their origin and fear them for it.

Thinking this, the Void Demon Realm’s beings felt a strange pride.

Experimental subjects are the best!

I am an experimental subject—I take pride in being a mongrel!

Unfortunately, their cries were destined to go unheard by Cimu—or rather, he simply didn’t care to listen. He turned to Master Kūkai and spoke softly.

“Don’t worry. Though he was selfish, he would gladly let the Void Demon Realm serve as Mochi’s funeral offering. The Void Demon Realm should feel honored.”

His tone was light, calm as still water.

Yet his words chilled every soul, raising the hairs on their skin.

It was an entire world! A realm teeming with billions of beings—disposed of as casually as if brushing away dust.

To sacrifice billions for one man’s burial—just imagining it terrified countless souls, leaving them trembling with dread.

“Could Cimu have also been to China with Master Kūkai? This method of burying the living—wasn’t that Qin Shi Huang’s style…?”

The Prime Minister’s scalp prickled.

Director Takahashi didn’t even notice the hot ash falling onto his hand. He asked Professor Nakata cautiously:

“Professor Nakata, who is Mochi? Why did Cimu yield to him, willing to sacrifice the Tun ’s experimental subjects as a funeral offering?”

After a moment, Professor Nakata snapped back to awareness.

“Mochi is Master Mochi. I mentioned before: Master Kūkai traveled to China during the Heian period with the Japanese envoys, bringing back many Buddhist scriptures that profoundly shaped Japanese Buddhism.”

But he didn’t go alone. One other went with him.”

That man was Master Mochi—a monk equal in renown to Master Kūkai.”

……