Chapter 337: Jin Chan Zi, Will You Lose Again This Time? (Requesting Moon

The Thirty-Three Heavens, Daichi Heaven, Doulao Palace.

Inside the solemn hall, an old man clad in white Daoist robes sat cross-legged upon the dais, eyes closed, radiating no aura of power whatsoever—only serene stillness, as if merely an ordinary, aging Daoist.

But clearly, this was impossible.

After all, no ordinary old Daoist could appear in the Thirty-Three Heavens, standing above all immortals and gods, let alone sit upon the main seat of Doulao Palace.

Tai Shang Lao Jun, the eldest of the Three Pure Ones in Daoist scriptures, an incarnation of Taiqing Daode Tianzun.

Yet since this is the Black Myth world, the exact relationship between the two remains uncertain.

But without doubt, Tai Shang Lao Jun was a ceiling-tier existence in this world, reaching T0 level in both power and status—even the nominal leader of the Heavenly Court, Yu Huang Da Tianzun, treated him with utmost respect, daring not the slightest negligence.

And if one followed the lore of Black Myth’s predecessor, Battle God, Tai Shang Lao Jun was the true mastermind behind all conspiracies, the de facto ruler of the Heavenly Court.

The Jade Emperor was merely a puppet he placed on display—his prestige was immense; in the theories of many Black Myth players, he was worthy of being the final boss of a DLC or sequel.

Of course, all this was still future talk, set aside for now.

“Hmm?”

Suddenly, Tai Shang Lao Jun, seated upon his mat, furrowed his brow, raised his left hand to calculate, then whispered incantations, as if attempting to recall something—but after a long while, nothing happened.

“Truly a variable. He has severed my connection to the Golden Hoop Ring. Is it due to his own uniqueness, or did the bald monks of the Western Heaven intervene secretly?”

Tai Shang Lao Jun murmured to himself, a faint, nearly imperceptible gleam flashing in his bright eyes.

“Very well. I shall see just how far you can go this time—whether you can finally end this endless cycle...”

As he spoke, his voice faded into silence; he closed his eyes once more, and Doulao Palace sank back into stillness, unchanged as ever, as if eternal.

…

South Sea, Luojia Mountain.

In the purple bamboo grove, the being revered by mortals as the Great Compassion Guanyin Bodhisattva sat barefoot by a pond, hair loose, scattering fish food infused with faint spiritual essence, amusing a few golden carp.

At that moment, a beautiful girl with two dragon horns on her forehead ran up, stopping about a zhang away, her voice tinged with worry:

“Bodhisattva, the golden hoop left by Hong Haier on Luojia Mountain—his aura has vanished!”

“Is that so?”

Guanyin Bodhisattva paused her scattering of fish food, then sighed: “Foolish child. Unlike that black bear, who feigned ignorance but was truly shrewd, he could not escape this calamity.”

The dragon maiden beside her lowered her eyes, hiding the sorrow within.

She had served alongside Hong Haier under Guanyin for centuries, their bond deep; learning of her old companion’s death, she could not help but grieve, even feeling the sorrow of a rabbit’s death and a fox’s fear.

After all, she was of the dragon clan, having once faced a situation similar to Hong Haier’s.

The difference was, she and her elders chose to kneel, while Hong Haier chose revenge—and ended up as he did.

“Thus, the Mandate-Bearer has now gathered all five roots.”

Guanyin’s voice sounded again, tone enigmatic.

“Next, he will return to Huaguo Mountain. The Heavenly Court and Ling Shan will soon act.”

“...Bodhisattva, can the Great Sage truly be revived?”

The dragon maiden bit her lip, hesitated, then could not help asking.

“Perhaps. But whether the revived will be the Great Sage Sun Wukong—or the Battle Victory Buddha Sun Wukong—depends on the monkey’s own choice.”

Guanyin said softly, suddenly recalling the day she had given the Tightening Spell to Tang Xuanzang, sighing inwardly.

“Jin Chan Zi, will you lose again this time?”

…

Western Ling Shan, Pure Land!

Amidst a sky of radiant auroras, a magnificent pagoda floated midair; flanking its grand gate, countless Buddhist soldiers and novice monks stood guard, radiating an indescribable solemn majesty.

Undoubtedly, this was the famed Daliyin Temple—the sacred seat of the Western Heaven’s master, the Buddha.

Yet if a being of great spiritual power arrived here, they would sense an unsettling dissonance permeating the air, everywhere, beneath the temple’s radiant exterior.

As if behind light always lurked a darker terror, chilling to contemplate.

The camera passed through the gate.

Inside Daliyin Temple, countless lotus thrones lined both sides; Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and Arhats sat in serene stillness, listening to the Buddha’s teachings.

They dared not doze off—Jin Chan Zi’s fate was a warning; all knew the abbot of Ling Shan held grudges.

Aside from a few special Bodhisattvas and Buddhas, anyone who even nodded off was punished with ten lifetimes of reincarnation, euphemistically called “cultivation”—but after ten lifetimes, who that person truly was became unclear to all.

Thus, the teaching lasted three months; the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas endured their drowsiness, pretending to have gained insight.

Some smiled faintly, some held flowers in silence, some wore sorrowful faces, some glared fiercely—countless expressions, too numerous to detail.

The Buddha, seeing this, smiled in satisfaction, about to continue preaching for another year or more—when suddenly he frowned, subtly forming a hand seal, and halted his teaching.

The Buddhist disciples, secretly relieved, turned their eyes toward him.

“Venerable Buddha, why have you ceased your teaching?”

Ananda, the Buddha’s disciple, asked.

“The Mandate-Bearer has gathered all five roots of that monkey. Without incident, the end of this cycle is finally approaching.”

The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas were startled; they knew well the Mandate-Bearer’s purpose: a plan to revive Sun Wukong.

The Western Heaven needed Sun Wukong to return to the Buddhist fold, to become the Battle Victory Buddha again, restoring Ling Shan’s prestige; the Eastern Heaven, meanwhile, sought to eliminate this fierce general and weaken Buddhist influence, thus constantly obstructing the Mandate-Bearer’s progress in gathering the roots.

For this, the Eastern and Western Heavens had clashed countless times, causing many so-called Mandate-Bearers to perish mid-journey—most never even left Heifeng Mountain.

Over time, both the Buddhist and Heavenly Courts grew indifferent, merely assigning a few key figures to monitor, reporting only if something unusual occurred.

Who could have imagined that after merely three months of teaching, the Mandate-Bearer nearly completed the quest? A most unexpected joy.

Thinking of this, the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas began calculating, seeking to learn what the Mandate-Bearer had endured these past months—only to find the heavenly fate utterly obscured, past and future both veiled, realizing the gravity of the matter.

“Venerable Buddha, who has obscured the heavenly fate?”

The Buddha shook his head, scanning the assembly, noticing Guanyin had not joined this Dharma gathering, then turned to a handsome man with a hooked nose, and said calmly:

“Yun Cheng Wan Li Peng.”

(End of Chapter)