Chapter 1: Wukong, I Won't Be the Victorious Fighting Buddha!

Holy monk, your previous life was indeed my second disciple, named Golden Cicada Child. Because you did not listen to the Dharma, you slighted my great teaching, therefore I demoted your true spirit, reincarnating you in the Eastern Lands. Now, delighted to take refuge, upholding my Kassapa and relying on my teaching, you took the true scriptures; on the way you subdued demons and quelled monsters with merit, great merit, and were promoted to a high rank and proper fruition—you are the Victorious Fighting Buddha.

Tang Luo: "???"

Sun Wukong: "???"

It seems something is wrong, yet it also seems nothing is wrong.

"Dream?"

The stagnant thoughts began to turn again; Tang Luo's eyelids were extremely heavy, so heavy he could not open them.

At the instant of waking, every part of his body felt intense pain.

It was as if he had been thrown into a mixer and stirred a thousand eight hundred times.

His scattered consciousness, like gathered rain clouds, gradually returned amid the pain.

Tang Luo, male, a typical Earth transmigrator.

The transmigrator—Xuanzang.

Not the Xuanzang of history, but the Tang Monk from Journey to the West, the Tang Xuanzang who says, "I, a poor monk, come from the Eastern Lands of the Great Tang."

At the start of the transmigration, Tang Luo curled up into a ball.

Who is the Tang Monk? In a past life he was Golden Cicada Child, a disciple of the Tathagata.

Would such a transmigrator as me not be slapped to death by the other side as some sort of extradimensional demon?

If possible, Tang Luo hopes to return to secular life.

Unfortunately, the course of events does not follow people's will—at least not Tang Luo's will.

He ultimately still set foot on the road to the Western Heaven to obtain the scriptures.

Then... then he succeeded!

Inside the Great Thunderclap Temple, the Tathagata kindly said that Tang Luo is the reincarnation of Golden Cicada Child, with no problem at all.

Alright, since the Tathagata says so.

Tang Luo then accepted it.

After all, you can't twist your arm thicker than your thigh.

From one angle, since others are capable of killing you outright, why bother toying with you?

Of course, the diligent study and hard training persisted along the way cannot be abandoned midway.

Tang Luo never wins by lying down in his life!

On the westward journey, shouting "Wukong save me" never exceeded eighty times.

Then... there was no afterwards.

Tang Luo's memory stops at a single period of secluded cultivation.

Without warning, his vision turned pitch black, a sudden blow.

It allowed him only time to do one thing before he fell into unconsciousness.

Now that he has awakened, he knows nothing about what the current situation is.

Only two things can be certain.

One, he is badly wounded, very badly—more serious than any injury he suffered on the westward journey.

Two, he has been buried alive.

"Wukong save me" can't be shouted anymore; he can only save himself—dig!

Being buried alive is correct, but the surrounding soil is not very firm, even somewhat soft.

At least he is a man who has trained.

Even if wounded severely, he still has three parts of resolve.

At dawn, the darkest moment.

In the sky, lightning flashed and thunder roared, a violent storm intertwined.

Under the mire of the ground, a hand suddenly stretched out.

Five fingers splayed, aimed at the sky; just then a bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating that hand as pallid as if some dreadful monster were about to be born.

Immediately after.

From the earth a bald head burst out!

"Pah!"

Tang Luo, who had successfully dug himself out, strained to spit, expelling all the dirt from his mouth and nose.

A pouring downpour struck his body.

It did give a feeling of being washed—though the rain wasn't very clean either.

His robes were torn, no longer able to cover his body; soaked by the rain they clung to him, and Tang Luo simply tore them off.

Only a pair of pants remained.

He tilted his head back, opened his mouth, caught a mouthful of rainwater, Tang Luo rinsed twice, slightly clearing the earthy taste in his mouth.

He wiped his face, utterly disregarding the common‑sense warning not to shelter under a tree in a thunderstorm, and walked to a nearby tree.

Around him was a pitch‑black expanse; he could barely tell it was an unnamed wild ridge.

Besides a pair of tattered pants, the only external thing on him was a small jade lotus hanging from his neck.

It was not in full bloom.

Rather, it was closed up, somewhere between a bud and blossoming.

It was strung together with a red thread.

Tang Luo pulled off the jade lotus, placed it in his palm; after a moment it emitted an extremely faint warm glow.

But it lasted less than half a second before vanishing completely.

It's not very lasting.

"It's all used up." Tang Luo muttered.

This item is called the Merit Jade Lotus, a magic treasure given to Tang Luo by Guanyin.

It can condense merit power and has many wonderful uses.

So-called merit power—what exactly is it? It's always been a rather mysterious concept.

It's somewhat like incense or the vows of mortals, but not exactly the same.

Put simply.

Doing good deeds gathers merit power, which can be used to heal wounds and save people, etc.

On the westward journey, Tang Luo accumulated a considerable amount of merit.

However, the merit power in the Merit Jade Lotus is now zero.

Years of accumulation have been exhausted in one go, returning to the state before liberation.

Tang Luo wasn't particularly surprised by this result.

The place where he entered seclusion wasn't here; this is a completely unfamiliar place to Tang Luo.

Whether it was a cataclysmic change of heaven and earth or a spatial transfer.

Both prove the extent of the severe blow he suffered.

If it weren't for using the Merit Jade Lotus at the critical moment, consuming years of accumulated merit power to protect himself, he would certainly be worse off than just a serious injury.

"Anyone there?"

After checking, clearing his throat, Tang Luo shouted loudly.

"Is anyone there?"

"I have taken the scriptures, I have shed blood for the Great Teaching, I have achieved merit—I want to see the Tathagata! I want to see the Tathagata!"

This is typical disrespectful talk toward the Great Teaching.

Whenever Tang Luo said that on Spirit Mountain, one or two bald heads would pop out of the crowd and stare at him sternly.

Those are precept monks—precept monks who can do nothing to Tang Luo.

Sorry, the former Golden Cicada Child, the second disciple of the Tathagata, now the Victorious Fighting Buddha can do as he pleases.

This time, appearing were not the precept monks who could only kill with a glance, but several men in uniforms, resembling disaster‑relief personnel.

They vied with each other to press Tang Luo onto a stretcher.

Throughout the process, Tang Luo did not resist, because he was shocked.

Just as shocked as when he first transmigrated.

His shock was no less than that of the startled passersby in a shock‑flow novel or the "Nani·Eight Possible" enemies of the Saint Seiya.

He seemed to have transmigrated into a modern city?

What's going on?

One day later, Tang Luo wore a cheap dark tracksuit, carrying a few hundred yuan donated by kind people, and set out on the journey home.

It's not just that he transmigrated into a modern city.

After Tang Luo transmigrated into a world filled with gods and buddhas, he suddenly transmigrated back to his hometown, Earth.

The time was two months after his transmigration.

There's actually such an operation?

It's practically an urban cultivation rebirth!

I, Tang Luo, act as I please—why should I explain myself to others?

The Victorious Fighting Buddha must not be insulted!

Is this what life will be like from now on?

Tang Luo's transmigration is somewhat strange; it cannot be called a bodily transmigration or a soul transmigration.

Although many years have passed, he still remembers it clearly.

That year on the Tiantai platform, under clear skies, a thunderbolt struck—though he had never sworn an oath.

Tang Luo's whole body, under the bombardment of lightning, turned into a cluster of condensed light points, or perhaps particles?

Then he transmigrated.

Therefore, although he had transmigrated into the infant Tang Monk's body, after his subsequent growth.

Tang Luo's appearance remained much the same as before his transmigration.

Of course, there were also changes.

The specific changes.

They are enough to make acquaintances astonished, to the degree of "after three days apart, look at him with new eyes," rather than "laughingly asking where the guest comes from."

He has a legal identity, as a miserable victim of a mudslide and landslide disaster.

Wanting to return home early is a basic operation.

After completing temporary boarding procedures at the station, Tang Luo boarded the home‑bound train.

Four hours later, he could truly return home.

Watching the scenery outside the speeding train recede, Tang Luo didn't feel particularly elated.

On the contrary, his face was calm and he seemed somewhat preoccupied.

Although he inexplicably "transmigrated home," many problems followed.

The most important of these is his injury.

Although it shows no outward sign, such a serious injury is not easy to recover from.

Moreover, Tang Luo felt that the vital energy on Earth was extremely thin.

It is impossible to recover through normal cultivation methods.

Even finding all kinds of heavenly treasures and taking them for recovery offers only a slim hope.

Tang Luo did not focus on these two.

Because the Merit Jade Lotus still exists.

Merit power has virtually no offensive attribute, but it is unsurpassable for healing wounds.

In the past Tang Luo had no choice; now he wants to become a Sandalwood Merit Buddha.

Starting today, he will help others for joy and be a good person.

He will no longer casually blast the heads of monsters and evil people.

Wukong, I won't be the Victorious Fighting Buddha anymore!

Just as Tang Luo was about to become a good person—no, a good Buddha—

On the nearby clean, transparent window, a mottled layer mysteriously appeared.

It was as if wind and sun had beaten it for years without ever being washed.

Not only the outside, but the inside too—the carriage began to rapidly deteriorate.

Tang Luo reached out, wiped the window with his palm, and his fingertip was covered in dust.

The dust fell as Tang Luo moved his fingers.

A rustling sound sounded in his ears, very noisy, like demonic music pouring into his ears and invading his mind.

He couldn't make out what was being said; it only made him feel extremely noisy.

Tang Luo turned his head; the passenger who had been sitting beside him had disappeared at some point.

On the seat opposite the aisle, there was likewise no one.

The entire carriage showed the scene of having been abandoned and dilapidated for years.

On the nearby window, after the dust was wiped away, some writing gradually began to appear.

It was as if an invisible hand were writing on it.

At the same time, the rustling sound in his ears became clear.

Soon, a sentence simultaneously appeared before Tang Luo's eyes and in his ears—

Seek out Jack the Ripper.

The inexplicable change, the sudden task—all at once jumped from the urban cultivation set to the infinite flow?

Fortunately, Tang Luo is a man who has seen many big scenes.

He remained composed, cleared his throat, and shouted: 'Is anyone there? I want to see the Thus Come One, I want to see the Buddha!'

Got a problem? Seek the Thus Come One!

"Don't bother seeing him; your Buddha can't save you."

A slightly hoarse voice sounded from behind Tang Luo.