Chapter 473: Myriad Paths Submit!

The sole true god of the Three Realms has been born!

The voice that came from the depths of the void has not yet faded.

Bodhi's eyes narrowed, as if recognizing an old acquaintance long unseen.

Sun Wukong gripped his iron staff tightly.

He did not know the voice's owner, but his body reacted before his mind could.

The hairs on his back stood on end.

That aura was far too ancient.

So ancient it felt it shouldn't exist in this age.

But just as Sun Wukong prepared to face it, the distorted void suddenly halted.

The bulging space slowly retracted.

That ancient aura receded like a tide, dissipating strand by strand into the void's end.

Gone?

Sun Wukong froze for a moment, then turned to look at his master.

Bodhi stood still, his narrowed eyes slowly opening, his expression subtle.

It was not a sigh of relief.

Rather, it was as expected.

"Master, what was that thing? Did it run away?"

Bodhi did not answer that question.

The old man simply slipped his hand back into his sleeve, his tone flat as if commenting on nice weather.

"It didn't run. It had seen enough."

Sun Wukong opened his mouth to ask more, but was interrupted by a tremendous rumbling.

The sound came from beneath his feet.

From above his head.

From all directions simultaneously.

Hum.

Not a single one.

It was countless sounds overlapping, forming a roar that made souls resonate.

Sun Wukong lowered his gaze.

The ruins beneath his feet glowed.

Golden light seeped from the cracks in the shattered earth like veins, spreading outward without end.

He lifted his head.

The gray, battle‑torn void in the firmament was healing.

But not returning to its original state.

It was being reshaped.

Golden, purple, cyan, red—countless hued ribbons of light surged from the depths of the void,

intertwining and spiraling into a spectacle a million times grander than the original firmament.

"What is this?"

Sun Wukong asked.

Bodhi's voice came from behind him, carrying a hint of emotion he himself had not noticed.

"The Three Thousand Great Dao."

Sun Wukong turned his head.

"They are acknowledging a master."

As his words fell,

the first strand of light fell from the firmament.

Golden.

Thick as a mountain.

It fell straight down three feet before Bodhi, turning into a winding golden dragon that lowered its head, horns touching the ground.

The second strand of light followed close behind.

Cyan.

The third.

Red.

The fourth, fifth, sixth.

More and more.

Denser and denser.

Like a downpour, they poured from the firmament, striking within a hundred‑zhang radius around Bodhi.

Each strand of light, upon landing, transformed into a different form.

Some became birds.

Some became beasts.

Some became plants and trees.

Some became wind, rain, thunder, and lightning.

But there are no exceptions.

All forms face Bodhi.

Lower the head.

Bend forward.

Submit.

That is the three thousand great Dao expressing reverence to the true master of this universe.

What is the Heavenly Dao established by Hongjun?

What is the Buddha Dharma propagated by the Tathagata?

Before an existence older than the universe itself, those things are no different from children playing house.

The conscious heavenly soldiers and arhats on the ruins watched this scene, their eyes almost popping out.

They have lived tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of years, and have never seen such a scene.

Myriad Dao submit.

Heaven and earth turn their hearts.

This is something even Hongjun could not achieve, according to legend.

Now it happens before an old man wearing a tattered Daoist robe.

The Jade Emperor poked half his head out from behind the broken pillar, glanced at the falling Daoist light filling the sky, then withdrew.

His hand trembled.

His whole body trembled.

He finally understood a fact.

From beginning to end, from the start, they ought not to have provoked this old man.

This is no mere wandering immortal.

This is no mere emanation of Cundi.

This is the true master above the Three Realms, beyond the Heavenly Dao, the source of all dharmas.

The final light fell.

Myriad Dao return to their places.

Around Bodhi formed an ocean of countless Dao incarnations, surrounding him at the center.

The old man stood there with his hands behind his back, giving a disdainful glance at the golden dragon lying at his feet.

"In the way."

"One word."

All the Dao incarnations dispersed at once, turning into sky-filling light dust that merged with heaven and earth, each returning to its place.

But each beam of light left a trace before dissipating.

Imprinted into the underlying fabric of this heaven and earth.

It proclaimed a matter.

From now on, above the Three Realms, there is only one voice.

Sun Wukong watched the whole thing.

He bore the iron staff on his shoulder, his mouth hanging open for a long while.

Even when his master taught him skills on Fangcun Mountain, he had never seen such a spectacle.

Having done all this, Bodhi turned around and looked at his own disciple.

"Monkey."

"Ah? Here here here!"

"This world, from now on, is your stage."

Sun Wukong froze.

"What does that mean?"

Bodhi's tone was very casual, as if speaking of a trivial sesame‑sized matter.

"I'm old and tired. I can't manage it anymore. You tidy up all this chaotic business between heaven and earth."

Sun Wukong's head shook like a rattle drum.

"I won't, I won't, I won't!"

"I don't want to be a true god, nor do I care to sit in that broken Lingxiao treasure hall."

"I just want to return to Flower Fruit Mountain."

"I want to drink with my monkey brothers, soak in the hot springs of the Water Curtain Cave, nibble a couple of peaches, and live comfortably."

Bodhi looked at him.

The old man said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

As if he were smiling.

A faint smile, noticeable only to those who know him well.

"All right."

Bodhi did not insist.

But his hand reached out from his sleeve.

His right index finger lightly pointed in the void.

A water mirror appeared out of thin air in the center of the battlefield.

Enormous.

A radius of a thousand zhang.

Larger than the Heavenly Court's demon-revealing mirror by an unknown factor.

The mirror surface had no image yet, but everyone felt an invisible force pressing their heads, forcibly straightening them toward that water mirror.

No matter if you are lying prone, curled up, playing dead, or hiding.

All were forced to lift their heads.

The Heavenly Soldiers' necks felt as if being choked, forcibly twisted toward the water mirror.

The Arhats' mournful faces were aimed at the mirror surface; they couldn't even close their eyes.

The Tathagata was pulled out of the ruins by a force, his half-swollen face facing the water mirror, unable to move.

The Jade Emperor was even more so dragged out from behind the broken pillar, hanging in midair like cured meat, directly facing the water mirror.

"Look well."

Bodhi's voice was not loud.

But everyone heard it clearly.

"Today I will make clear what happened back then."

Sun Wukong's ears twitched.

He had a premonition.

Master wants to settle old scores.

The water mirror's surface began to ripple.

The image emerged.

A magnificent Da Lei Yin Si.

A Buddha Patriarch holding a golden bowl sat cross-legged on the Liántái.

There were also two monkeys.

Two monkeys identical in appearance.

Kneeling in the center of the main hall.

That was an image from many years ago.

It was the 'True and False Monkey King' incident that changed Sun Wukong's fate.

The image in the water mirror began to flow.

The Tathagata's mouth was moving.

He was speaking.

But this time, the water mirror did not play the grandiose words he spoke back then in the main hall before the myriad Buddhas.

The water mirror played the true words he spoke in the dark, in a corner unseen by anyone, to the Six-Eared Macaque.

The Tathagata saw this scene in the ruins.

On his face swollen like a pig's head, even the remaining color had faded.