Chapter 149

The young novice couldn't possibly hold back Elder Chen Chengbi.

A soft force shoved all the Western monks onto their backs, none injured; the old man kicked open the locked door, took three steps at a time, reached out, yanked off the living Buddha's bedding, and hauled up the old monk lying on the wooden bed.

He dragged him outside.

The old monk swayed in the wind, his face expressionless, as if life held no meaning.

Chen Chengbi comforted him: "At your realm, you don't need sleep."

The old monk cursed:

"No food, no drink, no sleep—I'd rather be dead."

"Buddhist asceticism and seated meditation never demanded monks give up sleep."

"Old madman, you—you—you're even crueler than those bastards."

Chen Chengbi burst into loud laughter, ignoring him entirely; he gripped Li Guanyi in his left hand, tucked the big monk under his right arm, and strode forward. The rolling mountains beneath his feet became flat plains; wind surged around him, and in barely a dozen breaths, Li Guanyi was carried to the peak of the range.

There lay a flat expanse, as if cleaved by sword qi.

Upon it stood a pavilion, a single structure with a base of solid blue stone and sturdy timber—though not large, such a thing atop such a height was absurd.

Chen Chengbi set down the old monk and the boy.

The old monk looked at Li Guanyi and said: "You didn't sleep either?"

Li Guanyi grinned and nodded.

The old monk sighed.

"We're truly unlucky, running into this old madman," Chen Chengbi said. "What madman? Didn't you once swing someone alive into a rock and crush them to death? Aren't you the madman?"

The old monk, gentle-eyed and kind-faced, replied: "I merely sent them to meet the Buddha."

"The Buddha will forgive me."

"But whether the Buddha will forgive those beast-like humanoids—I don't know."

Chen Chengbi pointed at him and laughed; the old monk rubbed his bald head and smiled: "A man like me, having lived this life, has no regrets. When I die, I'll surely reach the Western Pure Land. Chen Chengbi, don't slander me."

Chen Chengbi paid no mind to such talk; he simply recounted the duel.

For this matter, Chen Chengbi saw only that Xu Huiyang's realm was one level higher than Li Guanyi's.

He'd been trained since childhood by the greatest sword masters of the realm, and was older than Li Guanyi. Chen Chengbi wasn't worried Li Guanyi would lose—he worried Li Guanyi wouldn't get to fight Xu Huiyang properly, wouldn't get to fight beautifully, satisfyingly.

Don't lose right at the start.

But the old monk saw it: this was a power struggle between the imperial relatives and the Crown Prince's faction, even spilling into the Jianghu—many martial artists had come. This battle would surely spread beyond these mountains. The old monk recalled his youth, smiled, and scolded Chen Chengbi:

"Fine, fine—they've got their generals, and you drag along an old monk?"

The old monk shook his head, plucked a branch, and said: "Though I don't understand sword techniques, the heights of martial arts all converge. In this life, I've seen many famed swordsmen streak across the Jianghu like meteors—I'll imitate one."

"They've also summoned a general. If it's about connections and karmic ties, the young layman and I are bound."

"I want to see whether you can truly sever those tangled ropes."

The old monk smiled, raised the branch, and casually attacked Li Guanyi.

Just one strike—but as if all heaven and earth gathered toward it. Li Guanyi's pupils contracted; he leapt back hard, his back against the cliff. Chen Chengbi had chosen this place to replace a training ground's boundaries. The old man pulled a blunt battle halberd from nowhere and tossed it to Li Guanyi.

Li Guanyi said, "Forgive me," and charged with the halberd.

The living Buddha held his speed at the Third Recluse.

Li Guanyi had not opened his Eye Acupoint.

His eyes could only see afterimages—that's why Second Recluse warriors struggled against Third Recluse ones: the opponent moved too fast; even tracing the attack's path was nearly impossible. Perhaps ordinary Third Recluse cultivators, who only chased Break Through the Realm and neglected the acupoints, could be matched by a Second Recluse.

But Xu Huiyang was different.

He was among the strongest in the Third Recluse.

Yet Li Guanyi had been tempered by Xue Shen's training. Though he could only see the branch's afterimage, he anticipated its path and struck instantly—the sheer power of his body made the halberd fly fast, tearing the air with a deep, muffled roar.

The halberd struck the branch precisely.

But the branch trembled slightly, and the halberd was knocked aside. Chen Chengbi clapped and laughed in praise; the living Buddha nodded in surprise, then attacked again. Li Guanyi swung the halberd like a dragon or tiger; though his eyes saw only afterimages, he anticipated and struck early, blocking the branch's path.

Chen Chengbi kept praising: "Good, good, good."

"Fascinating, fascinating—I'll join too!"

He casually grasped empty air; qi coalesced into a sword, and he lunged forward. Li Guanyi's pressure surged—he shifted from the central stance to the Ten-Sided Ambush stance, a lower-level halberd technique: defending the gate while hiding subtle variations.

Xue Shen's evaluation: Master this stance, and all others bow before it.

He fought two at once; pressure mounted. Li Guanyi said: "Old man, I'm fighting the master—you interfering is too much."

Chen Chengbi only laughed: "Fascinating, fascinating!"

Li Guanyi's fighting spirit ignited; he roared, gripped the halberd with both hands, and shattered it with a violent tremor—unleashing his ultimate technique, exploding with dragon-tiger force. The Xue family's Rolling Waves surged forth. Chen Chengbi yelped and leapt back; the Living Buddha also withdrew.

Chen Chengbi kept saying: "Good, good."

The living Buddha said gently: "Such martial techniques must have been taught by a master. That young Sword Saint may not surpass you in sword skill—but his inner qi is stronger. So, young friend, you have one flaw."

"And this flaw is also your strength."

"Your physique."

"Your physique lets you endure his onslaught—but it's still insufficient to directly withstand a full realm's internal qi suppression during direct clashes. That's likely why this old madman brought you to me. But perhaps you'll be disappointed."

The living Buddha released his grip and casually stuck the branch back into the tree.

The branch regrew instantly, leaves lush and green as before.

In dozens, perhaps hundreds, of clashes against Li Guanyi's wrought-iron halberd, the branch remained supple, untouched by even a single scratch—such mastery, effortless and light, surpassed even mountain-moving power.

The old monk motioned for Li Guanyi and Chen Chengbi to sit.

From his sleeve, he pulled out a teapot and brewed tea casually: "My sect's practice is the Sutra of the Strong Man Moving Mountains—a crude method requiring Buddhist nature and time. Entry is easy—anyone can gain dozens of jin in strength."

"But reaching a level worthy of battle takes over a decade."

"Old madman, to forge the glazed body you speak of, you need at least thirty years of bitter cultivation and chanting."

"Cramming at the last minute? The Buddha will probably just kick you."

"This can't be rushed."

Li Guanyi stared at the Living Buddha.

For some reason, Chen Chengbi and Chen Qingyan's Martial Path Realms were also high, yet they had not condensed a Dharma Form, while the Living Buddha radiated the aura of a golden Buddha; when the bronze tripod neared the Living Buddha, it had already begun accumulating Jade Liquid—this was the third time he had drawn close to the Living Buddha.

The Jade Liquid was nearly full.

Chen Chengbi, growing weary, said bluntly: "Since we've come all this way, just teach it already."

The Living Buddha looked at him, smiled, and nodded, then began expounding the Dharma of the Sutra of the Strong Man Who Moves Mountains—he did not start with the sutra text itself. Chen Chengbi asked why he wasn't beginning with the sutra, and the old monk replied: "Wu Gong is contained within Buddhist Dharma, but do not cultivate it through the sutras."

"If you speak of sutras and Dharma, it is like pointing at the moon with a finger."

Li Guanyi said: "Pointing at the moon?"

The old monk said: "Yes. The sutra is the finger; pointing at the moon, we hope all beings see the moon. The sutra's function is to indicate the moon, yet many cling only to the sutra—isn't that like staring only at the finger and not the moon?"

"What's there to admire in the old monk's hand? It's wrinkled and aged—the moon is the truth."

"When moonlight falls into a person's eyes, that is Buddhist Dharma."

"Yet many cling only to the sutra, clinging only to that finger."

"If I now remove the sutra and simply tell you to look at the moon—isn't that better?"

"The key to this sutra lies in the Strong Man; fundamentally, it seems to have arisen from ancient Western Buddhist legends fused with the Chinese tale of Yu Gong Moving Mountains—essentially, a man faces a mountain he cannot pass, and gods or Buddhas move it."

"In intent, it is merely a Hinayana teaching."

"But if I regard myself as the Strong Man, and all obstacles before me—even mountains—must be moved with unwavering persistence, that becomes a greater intent. Come…"

The old monk spoke as if expounding Dharma in the Western lands.

He spoke at length, in meticulous detail, sharing all his insights and understanding of this sutra with the young man from the Central Lands. Li Guanyi closed his eyes, internally observing, using this Wu Gong to temper his body—his physique was already extremely strong.

But as he completed one cycle, he suddenly sensed something wrong.

A warm current suddenly leaked from his muscles and bones.

The Buddha-light shone brilliantly, warmly.

Li Guanyi suddenly froze—he remembered what Master Siming had said: three hundred years ago, the dominant power, Tuyuhun, had crushed the Buddhist kingdom and melted its relics into Jin Yin. That meant Li Guanyi's physique itself contained a portion derived from the Buddhist sect.

The Xuanguan ancestral orifice in his brow suddenly felt stagnant and pierced with pain.

It was like when Princess Chen Qingyan had condensed ice into needles, slowly approaching.

Li Guanyi sensed something amiss and snapped his eyes open.

The mountain was still the same, the pavilion still the same—but Chen Chengbi and the old monk were gone. Yet without them, the place was not quiet or empty.

Li Guanyi looked up and saw one monk after another seated atop the mountain.

Dense and countless.

He looked up—and saw the sun had become a bald head.

Li Guanyi's lips twitched.

He knew he'd been tricked by a bald monk.

Judging from the reaction in his Xuanguan ancestral orifice, it seemed the spiritual essence of the Western generations of Living Buddhas, embedded in the relics, had remained within his physique after he used Wang Yin to temper his body. These essences should have slowly faded—but had been awakened by Buddhist cultivation methods.

Such a thing—no Living Buddha of any generation, no Master Siming, no Tuyuhun—

Not even the ancient Buddhist masters could have imagined.

No one had foreseen that someone who had melted relics and cultivated them would also practice Buddhist Wu Gong. Li Guanyi knew this was likely his consciousness sea; the lingering intentions of these Living Buddhas here were no trivial matter. The generations of Living Buddhas opened their eyes.

One, curious and gentle, asked: "Young layman, why are you here?"

"Why do we see you? Our relics…"

"Huh? Teacher, how are you here too?"

"And Ancestor?"

This Living Buddha's lingering consciousness, unaware of which generation he belonged to, stared in shock.

He suddenly felt something and looked at Li Guanyi, saying:

"Our relics… were fused?"

Li Guanyi felt like delivering news of death; he could only say:

"The Western Buddhist kingdom is gone. I obtained them by chance."

The old monk fell silent, then sighed gently and smiled: "So it is… gone. Yet all things, all dharmas, return to impermanence. Nothing endures eternally—that is the true law. Even the Buddha entered Nirvana; how much less a Buddhist kingdom?"

"Thank you, young friend, for informing us of this."

"The fall of the Buddhist kingdom proves the correctness of the Dharma."

Suddenly, a loud laugh rang out: "Hahahaha! Finally gone!"

"Good riddance!"

"The Buddhist kingdom won't fall? Then the Dharma won't shine!"

One generation of Living Buddha had gone mad with this sentiment.

Another monk sighed gently:

"Cause and effect—my lingering power, layman, use it as you will."

"Let the Dharma illuminate and save all beings."

Yet another monk spoke coldly: "Cultivating Buddhism, the Dao, the mind, the self—the monk's qi returns to heaven and earth. You must cultivate yourself—that is the true path. The Dharma saving all beings?"

"Beings who wait for the Buddha to save them are unworthy of salvation."

"Only self-rescue, self-liberation—that is the Dharma."

Several generations of Living Buddhas began arguing. Li Guanyi pressed his brow, knowing none who reached the end and burned relics were simple—but then a discordant voice spoke:

"What Living Buddha? The young lady is far prettier. The truth of Dharma is impermanence—I was born a man, so why can't I practice joyful Zen?"

"It would be better if the Buddha Land had perished; if it hadn't, I'd still have to wear a headcloth every day just to see Miss. The Buddha Land's rules should have been buried in a coffin long ago—but alas, I'm already in one myself…"

The numerous spectral echoes of past living Buddhas from the Buddha Land, who had just been arguing, froze.

Then they all turned to look at a particularly handsome living Buddha of a certain generation.

So they raised their Zen staffs and bowls, surrounded that Living Buddha, and began punching and kicking him outright—some even from that generation whose master had directly kicked off his sandals and swung them like clubs; the Living Buddha hugged his head and screamed: "I've already burned out my sarira! I've already burned out my sarira!"

"Even the Buddha thinks I'm not wrong—otherwise how could I have sarira?"

"You've all broken no precepts—how do you know whether you're truly observing them, or merely never encountered this world? Without entering the world, how can you transcend it?"

"Miss is fragrant… soft…"

Boom!

A certain generation of living Buddha wiped his bloodstained bowl, expressionless:

"Even the Buddha has gone blind."

The past living Buddhas, one on each side, lifted up the beaten, unworthy living Buddha; their expressions softened as they turned to Li Guanyi and said: "We never imagined that after death, we'd still have such an opportunity—our vital energy must be returned to heaven and earth."

"The human world is a sea of suffering; coming is like going, going is like coming."

The young living Buddha, battered and bruised, also smiled: "How can sentient beings with emotion endure emotionless separation? The Dharma must not be a path of coldness."

They clasped their hands together, their expressions gentle and composed, slowly fading—yet more and more Living Buddhas opened their eyes, their gazes cold and stern: "What evil obstacle dares violate the dignity of the Buddha's teachings!"

"One Dharma, yet a hundred thousand sentient beings."

Li Guanyi sighed and shouted:

"Venerable Masters, you should proceed to rebirth in the Tathagata."

After those few special living Buddhas, these countless past rulers of the Western Regions merely regarded him with indifference: "I am the Buddha in this world. I am the Tathagata."

"You have dwelled long among sentient beings—you have karmic ties with our Buddha."

"Your body is our temple."

Voices layered upon voices, growing vast and majestic, like the Buddha himself speaking from a great hall—though countless figures stood there, it sounded as if only one voice spoke, as if the very place were transforming into a great Buddha hall.

Li Guanyi lowered his gaze and said: "Three."

The living Buddhas rose, as if preparing to strike; Li Guanyi said: "Two."

The spectral remnants of past living Buddhas drew near, dense as a swarm; the boy's right hand fell, fingers spread—black-red aura erupted, coalesced; Li Guanyi swept his hand, and a weapon slashed through the air with a brutal, piercing whistle.

The foremost living Buddha's spiritual perception was severed, dissolving into pure vital energy that fell.

It was swallowed by the bronze cauldron.

A weapon pressed against the ground within that spiritual perception.

A roar like a tiger's shattered the chanting.

Divine Weapon: Bai Hu Roaring Heaven Battle Spear.

The aura was grim and real; Li Guanyi lifted the battle spear, and behind him, Bai Hu slowly stepped forward, gazing at the past living Buddhas—his expression calm, radiating killing intent:

"Unbecoming, Venerable Master."

Outside, the old Monk and Chen Chengbi immediately noticed Li Guanyi's anomaly.

They circled the boy, stunned.

Chen Chengbi said: "How does this boy have the aura of the Buddha's teachings? Does he have sarira on him?"

The old living Buddha replied:

"Not quite—it feels more like sarira was ground to powder, then he bathed in it."

Just as they were about to awaken him, the old Monk's gaze froze—he saw the boy lowering his gaze.

A faint Buddhist light flowed and ignited across his body.

On his skin, a lustrous, glassy radiance shimmered.

The living Buddha's expression tightened slightly:

"Huh?!!"