Chapter 150: The True Name of the Bronze Tripod

Pure golden glaze body light swirled.

The old monk and Chen Chengbi stared at each other; Chen Chengbi said:

"Didn't you say it would take over a decade?"

The old monk grunted for a long while, then suddenly gasped: "Wrong!"

Chen Chengbi mumbled what could be wrong, then followed the old monk's gaze—and his expression froze. He saw Li Guanyi's glaze body radiating light, and then that thread of qi flowed directly out from his golden skin and jade bones.

It fell to the ground, Buddhist light swirling; the mountain rocks and soil before the boy cracked open.

A seed sprouted, and then the Buddhist light descended, dripping onto that single seed.

The seed sent out a sprout, slowly growing.

The old monk's lip twitched.

His expression was more absurd than when he'd seen Li Guanyi instantly achieve the glaze body.

Chen Chengbi stared, dumbfounded: "What is this?"

The old monk sighed: "... I don't know. It seems some śarīra's Buddhist nature has returned to heaven and earth."

"Then, this young layman—maybe he should truly join our Buddhist order."

Chen Chengbi said: "Don't daydream."

"By the way, should we still wake him up?"

The old monk said: "We must wake him. Though I don't know where all this Buddhist light came from, many of those monks are wooden heads—only know how to chant sutras. If we do nothing, what if they wash his brain clean?"

"Then he'll become nothing but an idiot who only mutters 'Amitabha'—we'd die of anger."

Chen Chengbi said: "Aren't all monks like that?"

The old monk kicked him, eyebrows rising: "Nonsense."

With no outsiders present, the old monk no longer cared—he comfortably scratched his toes and said:

"That thing is a thief monk."

"True Buddhist Dharma must arise from within—a heart seeking knowledge, seeking wisdom."

"Like a man giving birth, a flower blooming—naturally. But if someone hasn't conceived, hasn't cultivated Buddhist nature, and you cut open their belly to pull out blood—that's not learning Buddhism. That's just a wooden donkey mimicking human speech."

Chen Chengbi said: "You're still the same. How did you ever become a Living Buddha?"

The old monk frowned: "If not me, who will descend into hell?"

Chen Chengbi laughed heartily.

The old monk scratched his scalp and said:

"This is simply inappropriate. We must wake him up. The Three Schools and Three Teachings don't transmit Dharma like this."

"The Confucian masters hope you become capable, become talented."

"The Daoist ancestors hope you live freely and carefree."

"The Buddha of the Buddhist school hopes you stay well and aren't deceived."

"But when these three schools grew large, some twisted themselves beyond recognition."

While they pondered how to wake Li Guanyi, Li Guanyi was already charging and battling within his consciousness sea. Others might be unskilled in battle within the mind, but Li Guanyi moved with ease.

The divine spear he conjured in his palm tore and slashed, shattering the shadows of past monks into pure qi; those monks who had achieved great enlightenment, Li Guanyi returned their qi to heaven and earth.

These bastards wouldn't be let off so easily.

One hand wielded the Xue family spear technique, faintly mixed with the essence of countless supreme moves.

Like dry grass and rotten wood—crushed!

Either the Rolling Wave scroll, or the Mountain-Crushing momentum.

Or the tyrant's ultimate strike—reckless, free, fierce and wild.

One by one, Buddhist manifestations fell, until only one old monk remained.

He swept his sleeve with one hand and caught the spear: "The spear tip of Xue Shenjiang..."

"Rolling Wave. I haven't seen it in ages."

The aged monk raised his gaze, calmly saying: "But Xue Shenjiang defeating me doesn't mean you can. Though this is your consciousness sea, what's being tested is martial cultivation accumulation. My understanding of martial Dao far exceeds yours. With this spear, you cannot defeat me."

From his words, he was clearly the former ruler of the Buddhist kingdom, defeated five hundred years ago by Xue Shenjiang. Now he clasped his hands—Buddhist Wu Gong, solemn and weighty—forced the spear back.

In an instant, he drew near.

His expression, his posture—calm, unruffled, the bearing of a master.

The spear was deflected.

Li Guanyi raised his left hand, gripping the spear with both hands. The next moment, the tyrant's aura surged violently. The old monk's face froze. Around them, the landscape had transformed into the tyrant's final battlefield.

The next instant, Li Guanyi became as if possessed by the tyrant—he brought the spear down.

"This isn't... Xue Shenjiang's spear..."

The old monk couldn't block it.

He toppled backward, crashed to the ground, dissolved into swirling Buddhist light and vanished. The boy raised the spear and said:

"This is my consciousness sea—how could you bully me here?"

The residual power of these past monks had gathered within the bronze tripod. The golden Buddhist light within the jade nectar had finally accumulated to fullness. Li Guanyi had planned to simply overturn the bronze tripod, letting the pure nectar flow out—but now he suddenly recognized something familiar.

He had been dragged into this consciousness sea.

The last time Li Guanyi entered his own consciousness...

Was during his entry into the Mystical Realm, guided by Yao Guang to break through.

He had seen the stone statue of the Dharma body, the endless white jade steps leading nowhere. Now, as he scattered the lingering qi of the monks, he saw those same things again.

Wisps of white cloud drifted past; the great sun hung high in the sky; golden light fell upon the white clouds, forming layer upon layer of ripples.

Li Guanyi tightened his grip on the spear. The original mountain landscape shattered into mist, dispersing entirely, revealing beneath his feet a floor of white jade, adorned with boundless intricate patterns.

Four great stone carvings stood around: Bai Hu, Chi Long, Xuan Gui, Qing Luan.

Their divine essence had all ignited.

Li Guanyi took a deep breath, raised his head, and saw the steps, and atop the white jade staircase, the jade throne—he walked slowly toward it, but just as before, when his foot touched the step, the cloud qi shattered, and Li Guanyi's consciousness plunged violently downward.

"Of course, still not enough…"

Li Guanyi sighed.

He was deeply curious about what scenery lay beyond the white jade steps; before him, the bronze tripod dissolved, golden Buddhist light and fortune flowed around his body, just as when he first mastered the Wu Gong passed down by General Yue Qianfeng.

Combined with the lingering Buddhist energy from the Wang Yin of the Tuyuhun, his physical form underwent transformation.

Li Guanyi slowly opened his eyes and saw Chen Chengbi attempting to roll up his sleeves and approach.

He seemed ready to punch him.

The old man swung a palm straight at him.

Li Guanyi's scalp prickled; he instinctively scrambled backward.

"What are you doing, Old Man?!"

"Huh? You're awake?!"

Li Guanyi saw a small tree had appeared before him; Chen Chengbi looked at Li Guanyi, then at the old Monk, who nodded: "No problem. They didn't wash your brain clean like those fools with stones in their skulls."

Chen Chengbi exhaled in relief.

He laughed loudly: "Ha, good, good, good! Come on, kid, let's spar!"

Chen Chengbi stepped forward; Li Guanyi retreated, drawing his battle halberd.

They exchanged blows; the old Monk stood there, left hand hanging, right hand clutching a string of Buddhist beads, gazing at the growing tree before him, eyes soft, gently brushing his palm over its leaves.

The Monk's face radiated warmth and peace.

He whispered softly in his heart:

"Elder Masters, Ancestral Teacher—we meet again."

He stood there, the smiling Monk watching the new sapling.

For a fleeting moment, sixty years vanished: inside the hall, the old Monk watched the young novice.

A breeze blew; the tree swayed slightly.

The old Monk lowered his gaze, his eyes now holding even greater kindness toward Li Guanyi.

He withdrew his hand and said: "As for techniques, we need not worry—you've already developed your physical form, young disciple. But…" His hand moved; the string of Buddhist beads fell beside the pavilion. The old Monk said: "Young disciple. Young disciple."

Li Guanyi and Chen Chengbi halted their sparring.

The old Monk extended a finger toward the pavilion and said gently:

"Young disciple, could you please retrieve those beads for this old Monk?"

It was no difficult task; Li Guanyi naturally agreed and went to pick them up. But the old Monk's move seemed too coincidental—the beads had fallen into a crack. Li Guanyi instinctively reached in, pressing his fingers deeper into the crevice.

A deep, rumbling sound.

Li Guanyi's body shifted slightly; he looked to the side.

He had lifted the entire pavilion three feet with one hand!

Li Guanyi's pupils contracted—he saw the pavilion tilting as if about to topple down the mountain; instantly, he changed his motion from lifting to pressing down, crashing the blue stone foundation hard into the ground, forcing it three inches deep.

Though small, the pavilion was certainly not light.

Chen Chengbi's eyes widened, then he burst into roaring laughter: "Good! Good! Good! Hahaha! You can now press down a galloping horse with one hand—those Tie Futu armored cavalry weigh ten thousand catties, yet you can lift them with both arms!"

"Your inner qi is only one level higher than Third Floor—you're strong because your perception has improved, and your techniques are sharp enough to anticipate. With the gap between Third Heaven and Second Heaven inner qi, no one can suppress your raw strength!"

"It's settled!"

The old man celebrated mid-battle.

Li Guanyi stared at his palm—he never imagined that combining Dragon Tendons and Tiger Marrow with the Glass Body would produce such a massive transformation; without invoking any Dharma Form, merely raw physical power had achieved this.

With a weapon in hand, he could cleave the pavilion apart.

A single punch could shatter blue stone into dust.

But lifting it with one hand was vastly different.

The old Monk said: "Never underestimate your opponent."

"Xu Huiyang is the grandson of the Sword Saint. The Sword Saint's Wu Gong is no weaker than ours—he's been trained since childhood and likely knows countless divine arts and secret techniques. Besides, this is your first real duel with a martial expert—it could directly shape your reputation in the Jianghu."

"We once went through this too."

The old Monk's expression was gentle, as if lost in memory—scenes from the Jianghu: swords clashing, heroes walking the world, young men brimming with spirit—felt as if they had happened yesterday.

The young martial artist, the chanting monk, the soldier poring over military texts, the beautiful and cunning girl, the gentle and refined Daoist priest—they met as youths, lived and died together, bound to one another...

Chen Chengbi leaned against an ancient pine on the mountain and roared with laughter: "Ah yes, yes, yes!"

"I'll remember your nickname 'Black Monk' for life."

"Hahahaha, you were as black as coal!"

The Living Buddha's memories were interrupted.

The old Monk, who had grown up in the Western Regions and traveled to the Central Plains, nearly sold into slavery, replied calmly: "Your nickname 'Mad King' isn't any better."

The old man's lip twitched; the Living Buddha stared at him, expressionless.

Then both old men sighed, as if realizing it was unseemly to dredge up their pasts in front of the younger generation, and let the subject drop.

Sighs of sorrow.

"Of all of us, only Zu Wenyuan had a decent Jianghu nickname."

"Miss Gongsun was good too."

"The Gentleman Without Month—calculates Heaven and Earth."

"Old Zhou had 'Poised to Break the Array'."

"Fuck, who the hell gave me the nickname 'Crazy King'? And you got 'Black Headed Monk'—sounds like some lackey for a young hero, zero class at all." Even though six decades had passed, Chen Chengbi still rambled on about this.

Chen Chengbi patted Li Guanyi on the shoulder, placing great hope in him:

"Make a name for yourself, damn it!!!"

The old monk said gently: "But that young Sword Saint was truly peerless in swordcraft. Among the three supreme swordmasters of the realm, the first was the Master Jiankuang, the second the Sword Saint, and the third was Gongyang Su Wang—each name echoed across their domain, and they clashed often."

"The Sword Saint ranked second."

"Gongyang Su Wang gradually tempered his temper, while the Master Jiankuang's battlefield exploits were legendary."

"The Sword Saint had great hopes for his grandson."

"Xu Huiyang mastered the Sword Saint's sword art, the Imperial Academy's Six Palace Masters' 【Sword Control】, and—most importantly—the direct lineage of Gongyang Su Wang's 【Heart Sword】."

"Among Gongyang Su Wang's disciples, few ever became true swordmasters."

"Confucian standards were too high. Wang Tong studied Gongyang Confucianism and trained at the Imperial Academy, but cultivated Qi without cultivating Confucianism; the Master Jiankuang was tyrannical, and the Murong clan held the Eighteenth City—since that incident, the Master Jiankuang no longer taught disciples."

"The Murong clan no longer produced outstanding swordsmen wandering the Jianghu."

"Xu Huiyang was effectively a disciple jointly nurtured by the second and third greatest swordmasters."

"He carried the swordlineage of the Wudao Sect's Sword Saint, the Imperial Academy, the Daoist sect, and the Confucian school."

"Even though the Master Jiankuang is far away in the Eighteen Southern Provinces, he must still care."

Chen Chengbi also felt uncertain: "There's nothing we can do—if this boy had met you and me earlier, trained for ten years, he wouldn't be worse than Xu Huiyang. But, sigh..."

The old monk said: "Young disciple, remember: the Confucian Heart Sword is a direct inquiry into the heart."

"The Daoist Primordial One is said to be able to sever heads a thousand li away."

"The Sword Control technique must not be underestimated."

Li Guanyi nodded, his curiosity about Xu Huiyang—never drawn his sword—deepening. Born into a great clan, trained by a Grandmaster, instructed by two of the Imperial Academy's Palace Masters—no wonder he made it into the top eight without ever unsheathing.

Yet, the Master Jiankuang, Murong Longtu...

Li Guanyi gripped his weapon, unsure of what emotions stirred within him.

Li Guanyi bid farewell to the two elders and returned to the Xue household just in time for today's first match. Geshu Yin won. Zhou Liu, though brave, wielded his battle spear against Geshu Yin for thirty rounds—but the gap in realm was too vast; his weapon was shattered, his Hukou split open, blood streaming.

Still clutching the broken spear as a weapon, he fought on, exploiting Geshu Yin's overconfidence.

He left a wound on Geshu Yin's face.

Then he was brutally beaten, until exhaustion drained him, his pupils losing focus, nearly unconscious—yet even as he fainted, his grip on the weapon never loosened; he held his body upright, blood flowing down his forehead.

One hand held the broken spear, the other pointed his weapon forward, roaring:

"My grandfather, twenty-two years ago, shattered your Tie Futu with the Break-the-Formation Melody! I am his descendant—I still carry his blood! As long as Central Plains sons live, Tie Futu will never descend!"

The Emperor of Chen's smile slightly faded, as if displeased.

But Geshu Yin bowed deeply in return: "You are the son of General Zhou Lao."

"On the battlefield, I await you to come and settle our lives and deaths."

"Good!"

Zhou Liu laughed loudly, then collapsed and was carried away. The Emperor suppressed his disdain, speaking coldly: "Young fools don't understand the grand tide of the world—they bluster. Your esteemed guest, forgive his insolence."

The Seventh Prince, however, praised him, never sparing admiration even for his enemies:

"The cub of a tiger still roars fiercely—this is the bearing of a great general. The descendant of that Break-the-Formation Son could inherit his grandfather's army. The legend of infantry breaking cavalry—I truly hope we never meet again on the battlefield."

"Congratulations, Your Majesty, on having such loyal subjects of state and family."

The Emperor said nothing.

Li Guanyi watched Zhou Liu, sensing the boys' patriotic aspirations.

When he returned to the Xue household to recuperate, Po Jun came to him: "Time is nearly up, Lord. Tomorrow's two matches are yours against the Sword Saint's grandson, and finally Chen Yuyun will close the event. After the four victors are chosen, rewards will be given."

"That will be the moment when all eyes are upon you."

"Oh, by the way, I've gathered intelligence—you should take a look."

Po Jun handed Li Guanyi many Juan Sect records. Li Guanyi flipped through them: Chen Yuyun's dossier—personality, Wu Gong, habits. On the third page, he froze.

It was the jade disc—Chen Yuyun always claimed it had come with him, just as the Emperor of Ying claimed descent from dragon and phoenix. Many had seen the disc; Po Jun had enlisted someone with perfect recall to sketch it.

Jade disc, Kuilong, cloud-water patterns.

But what others in this world saw as cloud-water patterns, Li Guanyi saw as characters.

【Yu collected the metal of the Nine Provinces, forged the Nine Cauldrons, all used to cook offerings to Heaven and the Spirits, inscribed with their deeds】

Po Jun froze. He saw his lord momentarily stunned, then slowly raise his gaze—within Li Guanyi's hatred for Chen Yuyun, something deeper, purer now mingled.

A resolve to do something at any cost.

This thing, this situation—Li Guanyi and his former-life compatriots would make the same judgment.

This thing must remain in our own hands.

I'd bury it right here before letting it stay in Chen Yuyun's possession.

Especially since this bastard is a thief.

Li Guanyi exhaled, asking: "When do we move?"

Po Jun replied: "Tomorrow night."

"After the grand banquet!"

"Good!"