Chapter 390: The False Buddha's March

The withered monk, the monster clad in the Tathagata's skin, stepped forward.

He then left the ruins of the Purple Cloud Palace.

When he reappeared, he was already in a brand-new world.

This was a fantastical civilization that had just ignited magical flames.

On the floating islands, elves chanted verses of nature.

Atop the towering spire, a human mage eagerly controlled the first thread of arcane fire.

In the underground cavern, dwarves hammered runic anvils, producing clear ringing sounds.

The whole world brimmed with a nascent, vigorous, upward joy.

The monk hovered above the high heavens, looking down upon all this.

In his eyes, there was no desire for destruction, nor ambition for conquest.

Only a thick, inseparable compassion.

Like an elder watching a group of clueless children playing happily in a mud pit.

He did not unleash thunderbolts, nor release plague.

He simply sat cross-legged, slowly.

At the zenith of this world's firmament, he closed his eyes and pressed his palms together.

Then he began to chant.

"The sea of suffering is boundless; turning back is the shore."

"Existence is Yuanzu."

"Struggling only adds karmic obstacles."

"Only stillness is supreme bliss."

"Only emptiness is the return home."

His voice was not loud.

It was gentle, like a lover's whisper, like a mother's lullaby.

This voice contained no power of any law, nor carried any supernatural abilities.

It, like the gentlest poison, directly acted upon the Línghún depths of every Living Being!

At first.

The elves on the floating islands heard this voice and showed confused expressions.

"What voice? It's so beautiful..."

The mage in the high tower furrowed his brows.

"Who is interfering with my casting?"

The dwarves underground irritably shook their big beards.

"Where did this noise come from!"

But soon.

Their expressions changed.

The elves' singing stopped.

He put down his harp, and the confusion on his face was slowly replaced by an expression of relief and tranquility.

He suddenly felt that guarding this forest was so exhausting.

Day after day, year after year, what meaning is there?

The mage extinguished the arcane flame at his fingertips.

He stared at his hands, roughened from years of magical study, and the struggle on his face gradually eased.

He suddenly felt that the pursuit of truth led to utter emptiness.

Even if one spent a lifetime and became a god, what then?

The dwarf put down his war hammer.

He gazed at the molten iron glowing red in the furnace, and the fervor in his eyes cooled bit by bit.

He suddenly felt that forging more divine weapons was merely for more slaughter.

How boring.

From kings to beggars.

From the strong to the weak.

From Intelligent Lifeforms to wild beasts of mountain and field.

Any being with thought, upon hearing this 'gospel,' felt a flicker of fatigue stirred from the depths of their heart.

Yes.

Living is so tiresome.

Love and hatred, grudges, are so tiresome.

Birth, aging, sickness, death are so tiresome.

Since the end of everything is emptiness.

Then why not embrace it now?

"So... it's like this..."

A white-haired human king set down his scepter, his face showing a childlike pure, enlightened smile.

He took the hand of the queen beside him.

And his queen likewise returned to him the same tranquil smile.

They walked out together from the splendid palace.

On the street.

The knight lowered his sword.

The merchant threw away his money bag.

The farmer threw away his plow.

They held hands, and on their faces all bore that same happy, relieved smile.

The whole world seemed to turn into a grand celebration welcoming death!

They began to sing.

Singing the beauty of "stillness".

Singing the tranquility of "void".

In the melodious song, they one after another, their bodies slowly stiffened, losing all vital signs.

But the smiles on their faces were forever solidified.

The whole world, in the song, fell into deathly silence.

It turned into a huge tomb composed of countless tiny statues.

……

And in another, more distant star field.

That head, composed of countless demon god corpses and the resentment of the "failed Sun Wukong", stitched together into a sutured monster, displayed another, utterly different, "death art".

It descended upon a federal capital star, technologically highly advanced and already embarked on interstellar navigation.

Facing the star‑annihilating cannon array capable of evaporating stars.

It did not dodge.

It merely opened that mouth, composed of countless wailing faces, the abyss giant mouth!

Then it emitted a sound, purely composed of "resentment" and "unwillingness", a mental roar!

This roar directly destroyed the entire federation's central intelligence!

Next second.

Its massive body, like an out‑of‑control horror planet covered in flesh and bone, slammed into that city of metal and glass!

It did not simply destroy.

That was a more cruel desecration!

It extended countless tentacles made of demon god arms and broken divine weapons.

It seized a fleeing starship and a ground‑based skyscraper, forcibly kneading them together!

The metal's wail mingled with the building's collapse.

It then extended another hand, grabbing tens of thousands of screaming federal citizens fleeing.

Like kneading dough, it fused their flesh, the warship's shattered armor, and the building's crushed concrete together in the most savage, brutal way, "suturing" them!

Warship and flesh.

Building and bone.

Technology and wail.

This prosperous capital star became a huge "suturing" factory.

And that monster was the craziest artisan!

Soon.

One after another, twisted, bizarre, yet emitting a terrifying power that makes the heart race, the "suturing fleet" was born.

Some warships had a bow that was a huge dragon head still wailing.

Some warships' armor grew dense human arms.

Some warships' thrusters spewed not plasma flame but the vengeful curse of hundreds of millions of living beings!

This fleet exists not for conquest.

Not for occupation.

Their sole purpose is to sail toward more distant starry skies.

To spread the most direct, most primitive, most pure fear!

Within the Wanshen Fenchang.

Yao, via the vast perception network of the "Dream Ark", witnessed all this.

She saw that the magical world, in the song, happily died.

She saw that the interstellar federation, in the wailing, was transformed into a living nightmare.

There are also countless civilizations, in various ways, heading toward their end.

She gazed at those beautiful, infinite‑possibility civilizations, like splendid scrolls, before her eyes mercilessly smeared into a sheet of ash.

Her body trembled.

Her lips lost color.

Finally, she painfully closed her eyes, tears sliding down the corners.

She could not bear to look any longer.

Too cruel.

"What are they... doing?"

Yao's voice, with a hint of sob, filled with incomprehensible confusion.

"How... how is this different from destruction?"

What answered her was Sun Wukong's ice‑cold voice, without a trace of warmth.

He still stood there, like a stone statue, gazing at that expanse of 'Blank'.

But his aura had changed.

His previous madness and ferocity had vanished.

In its place was a kind of absolute calm, as if even his soul had been frozen.

"No."

"There is a difference."

Sun Wukong spoke slowly, his voice hoarse.

"Destruction brings anger, hatred, and even more resistance."

He paused, each word seeming to be squeezed out with difficulty from the frozen Abyss.

"What they want..."

"Is to have everyone willingly, from the heart, acknowledge..."

"To live..."

"Itself is a mistake."