Chapter 331: Buddhist He Xin Tong, Divine Sword Slays Demons, Strike!

He Xin Tong?

Lady Gongsun Gongsun Huai Zhi and Shi Dalin looked at this burly monk, unable to connect such an ethereal technique with a brute who routinely swung his massive iron staff and smashed others' skulls to pulp.

The monk said: "Though I cultivate a hardened body, I do understand a little of this He Xin Tong method. Please guard me, Master of Wudao Sect—your Yuan Shen, condensed into a Dharma Form, will not dissipate for a time."

"I shall duel with his soul."

He casually plunged the iron staff that had shattered Ji Zongcheng's skull into the ground, clasped his hands together, chanted a Buddhist mantra, then sat cross-legged, his face radiating fearless compassion. His Yuan Shen stirred, faintly manifesting the power of a Dharma Form.

Master Siming stroked his beard: "Buddhist He Xin Tong uses one's own heart as water, reflecting the opponent's mind and will, leaving traces to discern what one wishes to know. Yet such a technique is not simple."

He frowned, staring at the monk whose arm muscles bulged nearly as large as his head, muttering: "Strange—this technique, even within Buddhist circles, requires decades of arduous cultivation by elderly masters to achieve. How can you, so young, possess it?"

Monk Thirteen laughed heartily: "Don't underestimate our awakening and Buddhist heart!"

Master Siming chuckled: "Now you're giving me a lesson."

"Still, it's a method. That Mo Sect formation is tied to Yao Guang, and though the fisher possesses great array expertise, at this moment he hesitates—just like any ordinary father, unable to strike."

"Let's see what this little monk can do."

"Boy, order your people to withdraw."

Concerned for the great formation and Yao Guang, Li Guanyi immediately ordered Lady Gongsun Gongsun Huai Zhi and others to step back. The Whale Fisher arrived, swept his sleeve, and instantly erected a protective array around the area.

The monk chanted the Heart Sutra for a while.

His clear mind touched Ji Zongcheng's heart.

Ji Zongcheng's soul had not yet perished; others' wills were firm, leaving him powerless—only to fade silently into heaven and earth. But Monk Thirteen deliberately opened his own Yuan Shen's inner realm.

Ji Zongcheng, with no other choice, launched his Dharma Form–condensed Yuan Shen into the monk's mind. This technique, passed down through generations in the Western Regions' Living Buddha lineage, is the foundation of unextinguished will.

Ji Zongcheng discovered that within Thirteen's inner realm lay only a clear, lake-like expanse.

Vast and boundless, it held no Vajras, Bodhisattvas, or beast Dharma Forms forged by martial cultivators—only a single lake, Murong Qiushui, and in the heavens, a voice echoed:

"Amitabha. You've come."

Ji Zongcheng saw the qi of heaven and earth condense into a colossal monk, muscular and bald, hanging in midair, radiating boundless light.

It was Monk Thirteen.

In his hand, he held a large teapot, steam hissing from its spout.

Ji Zongcheng realized the so-called Pinghu was, in truth, a gigantic teacup. Before he could react, boiling tea from the pot surged down toward him from within the monk's inner realm.

Within his Yuan Shen, Ji Zongcheng's lingering will burned in unbearable agony.

The surrounding void trembled as Monk Thirteen solemnly asked:

"Have you let go?!"

Ji Zongcheng: "????"

His lingering will screamed: "Let go your damn self!!!"

Monk Thirteen spoke slowly: "Seems you haven't let go."

"Add more!"

Fire and Lei Ting erupted from the teapot, crashing down. Ji Zongcheng writhed in agony within the teacup, the monk's voice echoing endlessly—【Why won't you let go? Why won't you let go?】!

Outside, Li Guanyi watched the monk seated cross-legged, his face serene with compassion.

Li Guanyi asked: "Is Buddhist He Xin Tong truly this mysterious?"

The Whale Fisher replied: "If it were true He Xin Tong, yes—it would be wondrous. But why does this boy's method feel off?"

Master Siming crouched before the monk, tapped his Xuan Gui, which spun once, shrank into a tiny turtle, and darted into Monk Thirteen's third eye. The old Xuan Gui peeked inside, then grinned crookedly.

Lightning struck. Fire burned. Swords pierced. Staves beat.

Ji Zongcheng's lingering thought was beaten nearly to shreds.

Yet it still struggled fiercely.

Suddenly, it unleashed all its power, attempting to flee from Monk Thirteen's inner realm. The Ming Wang formed from Xie Liu flew far beyond sight—Ji Zongcheng's thought, forged by Western Buddhist arts, nearly vanished.

Yet at last he glimpsed the edge of the monk's mind—like colossal pillars holding up the sky.

Ji Zongcheng rejoiced—he could finally break free—until the pillars swayed and scooped him up.

Those pillars were, in truth, Monk Thirteen's fingers.

Ji Zongcheng finally went mad. He unleashed every profound martial art he knew, pouring out every technique he possessed, shouting: "What do you want?!" The monk asked him what he wished to know, and Ji Zongcheng answered everything.

He was already dead—now only a single thought.

Unable to endure this torment, he longed only for swift death.

Under such conditions, whenever Monk Thirteen asked a question, Ji Zongcheng's fleeting thought involuntarily recalled memories, reflected upon the monk's lake-like mind, laid bare for the monk to see.

Finally, Ji Zongcheng spoke everything—his clinging attachments dissolved entirely.

He felt overwhelming exhaustion, staggered, and sat down.

The thunder, the earthfire, all strange phenomena vanished. Only wind stirred the lotus pond. He sat there, pale-faced, before a tall, solemn monk—the only disciple of the Central Plains' Living Buddha, holding a teapot.

Ji Zongcheng held a teacup. Monk Thirteen raised one hand before his chest and poured tea for him. Ji Zongcheng stared blankly, lost in thought, as the monk's calm voice asked:

"No attachment, no change. All forms are illusions."

"Master, you are dead. Will you not let go?"

Ji Zongcheng whispered: "Let go..."

He watched the tea overflow, scalding his fingers with searing pain—and finally, a profound awakening dawned. Tears streamed down his face: "So this is it... my entire life was but a hollow dream..."

"Better to let go."

Master Siming and the old Xuan Gui witnessed this, stunned.

They had never imagined this coarse monk possessed such profound Buddhist insight.

They had assumed he merely beat the opponent's final soul into madness to extract information—but they had not anticipated this transformation.

Ji Zongcheng showed signs of being liberated from his lingering resentments.

A look of relief appeared on his face; just as Master Siming was moved by the thought that this was a true monk, Ji Zongcheng set down his cup, his expression one of release—when suddenly, a howl echoed.

Just as Ji Zongcheng was about to let go of his final thought, Monk Thirteen swung his long staff, shattering Ji Zongcheng's soul utterly, completely, into smoke and dust—even a Master-level cultivator of the Western Buddha Realm could not sustain it.

"Relief? Letting go..."

"Too bad. Such a demon as you is unworthy of relief."

"Only by killing you in the instant before relief, will you know the pain of that instant—and only then may you atone."

The monk raised one hand vertically before his chest.

The Living Buddha guided him for a long time, yet he never let go.

It was not that he could not—he simply chose not to let go.

His gaze fell, and within this spiritual form, the monk's face broke into a simple, earnest smile as he spoke to the old Turtle and Master Siming: "Elder Ones, would you care to take a sip of this humble monk's tea?"

"The tea cup holds the cosmos; within a single drop of water, one may see three thousand worlds and the hearts of mortals."

"Elder Ones, it seems you have not let go either."

Master Siming grinned crookedly: "The old scholar's monk has found a worthy successor."

The monk replied: "I walk no path he walked—how could I be his successor?"

"Just as I could never become the successor to this Turtle Elder, nor serve as Master Siming's flesh shield."

"All living beings, all spirits, are unique."

"Who is whose successor?"

"If I am the successor of all Buddhas, then the Buddhas are unworthy."

"If the Buddhas are my successors, then I am less than all sentient beings."

In an instant, the Ta Xin Tong illusion dissolved. Master Siming and the old Turtle watched as the monk slowly opened his eyes, radiating ease and composure—then his face lit again with that free-spirited smile, and he cried out in joy: "Amitabha! Ta Xin Tong is complete!"

"Bring me paper and ink."

Li Guanyi promptly brought him paper and ink.

The great monk dipped his brush in ink and wrote at length—first drawing the original formation diagram; this great monk possessed exquisite skill in fine-line brushwork—he had once specialized in detailed ink painting during his time in the Academy.

He had once painted for others in exams, exchanging it for silver to sustain his life.

Now, drawing the formation diagram, he did so in one unbroken stroke.

Then he meticulously drew out every Wu Gong of Ji Zongcheng's Western Buddhist lineage.

"Brother Li must face the Mo Sect—knowing their Wu Gong is always better."

He finished writing in one breath; the Whale Fisher picked up the formation diagram and his face lit with joy: "You bald monk—do you truly understand Ta Xin Tong?!"

"Good, good, good—with this diagram, we can break the formation."

The great monk gave a simple smile, hesitated slightly, then said:

"Earlier, within Ji Zongcheng's soul, I asked him many questions to reflect his true heart and the most vivid memories—saw some scenes, the weight of which even one who turned from Buddha to demon could not forget."

"That silver-haired Miss—was she not originally born with white hair?"

The Whale Fisher asked: "What did you see?"

Monk Thirteen clasped his hands together, his face filled with compassion: "I saw that among the seven emotions and six desires she lost, pain and joy were not among them. Her hair was originally pale white, inherited from her parents' bloodline."

"Like a child who resembles their father in some ways, their mother in others."

"But I saw Ji Zongcheng himself abduct her."

"A woman of extraordinary beauty cared for her, feeding her celestial treasures and terrestrial gems to strengthen her foundation, doting on her deeply, spending every day by her side, always calling her his own daughter—everyone around knew he regarded the girl as his precious jewel."

"Then, using the secret method of the Western Buddhist sect—the Rebirth Lotus Pool—he extracted half her bloodline, stripped half her bones, and drained her marrow."

"Through such nurturing, he forcibly purified her bloodline to resemble that of this Elder."

"Like washing tendons and refining marrow—excruciatingly painful, yet brutally cruel."

"Even Ji Zongcheng could not bear to watch."

"He said: 'Better to kill her outright—why inflict such torment?'"

"But the woman replied: 'I would rather my child live, even if she suffers.'"

"Ji Zongcheng was seized by profound dread—he could not forget the woman's expression for over a decade; this humble monk glimpsed a fragment of it just now—deeply tender, maternal, filled with pain; all these emotions arose from the heart, and under Ta Xin Tong, there can be no falsehood."

"Yet, though she loved, her actions were decisive."

"She held affection for the girl—but human nature is not simple; perhaps something else mattered more than this innate maternal love, overshadowing it."

"Her ruthlessness surpassed even Ji Zongcheng's."

"Unending agony, blood extraction unceasing—until her bloodline was purified, her white hair turned silver as the starlight of Tianhe; then, her seven emotions and six desires were stripped away, artificially crafting a bloodline akin to the legendary Wu Dao—the Reincarnated Soul Child."

"The method is cruel. This humble monk cannot conceal it."

Monk Thirteen raised one hand vertically before his chest, his right hand gripping his heavy staff:

"I know these words are cruel—some might choose to hide them."

"But monks do not lie."

"To conceal such things is delusion; to speak them plainly is true compassion."

The Whale Fisher's aura surged violently.

Li Guanyi's eyes lowered slightly.

Half her bloodline and marrow extracted alive...

In Li Guanyi's heart, murderous intent stirred.

The Whale Fisher's expression turned icy, yet grew eerily calm and detached—he would only break the formation, restore part of Yao Guang's emotional capacity. Li Guanyi personally escorted Monk Thirteen to his quarters and saw to his care.

He saw the silver-haired girl quietly reading, her silver hair beautiful.

There was little emotional fluctuation in her eyes.

She was one without father or mother.

Only now, belatedly, did Li Guanyi understand what Yao Guang's calm words had truly meant.

While the Whale Fisher broke the formation, Li Guanyi was elsewhere, refining and destroying those Gongyang Suxiang and the human destiny qi. Nangong Wumeng successfully retrieved all the Gongyang Suxiang and their previous luggage.

She even got lost due to a sudden surge of sandstorm and stumbled upon a small chest of treasure secretly buried by the city's nobles—this tiny chest was worth more than all the goods they had carried before combined.

Li Guanyi couldn't help but marvel: these nobles were truly cunning.

Too bad. Too bad.

What use is cunning?

A clever rabbit has three burrows, but it cannot defy fate!

With Wumeng in hand, what is this so-called fate of poverty?

At that moment, Li Guanyi felt refreshed and clear-headed.

But soon, to mobilize the people to rebuild the city walls, this small chest of treasure began vanishing at a visible rate; Li Guanyi's heart ached, yet he himself had led the troops to break down these very walls.

How satisfying, how utterly exhilarating it had been to break them.

Now it was just as agonizing.

His head buzzed.

Soon, this small chest of treasure was preemptively allocated to various budgets, leaving almost nothing behind; Changsun Wuchou took it and, while the city's fall had not yet spread and surrounding city-states had not yet blockaded Nicheng, swiftly exchanged the treasure for supplies.

As for why they did not use gold or silver: first, counting gold and silver was tedious; second, this small chest of treasure was easier to carry—there was no other choice.

Immediately, Li Guanyi sat here, in the treasure vault, surrounded only by Gongyang Suxiang.

Human destiny qi coiled around them; Li Guanyi extended his hand.

Within him, the Nine Provinces Cauldron roared incessantly.

The golden Wang Yin, its handle shaped like a fierce tiger, rested in Li Guanyi's palm; ripples spread across its surface, glowing golden, the tiger's roar growing louder, until it suddenly opened its mouth—the surrounding Gongyang Suxiang trembled violently.

Li Guanyi's eyes shimmered with threads of golden light; he could see with his own eyes the flames of human destiny qi, swirling, burning, flowing like a hundred rivers returning to the sea into the golden Wang Yin, then through the tiger-shaped Wang Yin, surging into the Nine Provinces Cauldron.

Within Li Guanyi, the Nine Provinces Cauldron glowed brilliantly.

The Mo Sect's corrupted human destiny qi surged into the cauldron, then shattered under its righteous, majestic aura, utterly burned, transformed into golden flames—one-third of the Mo Sect's centuries-long accumulation was consumed and converted at an astonishing speed.

The glow upon the tiger-shaped golden Wang Yin grew even more radiant.

Li Guanyi's killing intent stirred quietly; seizing this moment of refining the Mo Sect's human destiny qi, as he had twice before, he reversed the human destiny qi, tracing the Mo Sect's connection, attempting to locate the other portion.

The Nine Provinces Cauldron hummed; the golden Wang Yin's light flowed.

In an instant, his spirit changed—he sensed something.

At that moment, Ji Zongcheng died, Nicheng fell, and news of the loss—including one-third of the stored human destiny qi and much treasure—was delivered by secret letter to a distant place: the Mo Sect's main headquarters.

Xiao Yuxue, the Mo Sect's leader, read the incoming intelligence scroll, her face darkening with sorrow. She told those around her: "Ji Zongcheng, the Guardian Heavenly King, has passed away. He provoked one of the Four Legends of the Jianghu. The report says the Array Master personally set up a great formation, enveloping the entire Nicheng."

"The Heavenly King fought fiercely and died heroically."

The Mo Sect's senior leaders fell silent.

Array Master.

The Four Legends.

That name, which had haunted the Mo Sect for over a decade, now truly appeared—and it struck terror. Xiao Yuxue arranged numerous changes within the Mo Sect. As Elder Wu Xuefei stepped back, a thought flashed through her mind.

"... Ji Zongcheng was a remnant disciple of the Western Regions' Buddhist sect. After breaking away from the pure Buddhist lineage, our Holy Sect, to expand, absorbed countless sects that emerged in this chaotic age. Ji Zongcheng had always resented this."

"He never accepted that a young woman should hold the position of Sect Leader—he was the head of the faction most hostile to the Sect Leader. And now, precisely when Ji Zongcheng's branch was in charge of Nicheng, he provoked the Whale Fisher."

"Ji Zongcheng is dead."

"The Holy Sect's power has weakened, yet the Sect Leader's control within the sect has strengthened. This... provoked the Whale Fisher to kill Ji Zongcheng's branch—could it have been the Sect Leader's doing...?"

Wu Xuefei instinctively glanced at Xiao Yuxue.

Her face revealed no ripple.

She withdrew her gaze.

As an elder originally from the Western Regions' shamanistic cult, later absorbed by the Mo Sect, she had always been cautious, fearing entanglement in any trouble—now, she stayed silent.

"Elder Wu Xuefei, wait."

Xiao Yuxue called out to Wu Xuefei as everyone else left; the latter paused, turned, and bowed respectfully: "Sect Leader."

"Still calling me Sect Leader? Our Holy Sect has just lost another great general—we're growing more unstable by the day. Who knows when my title as Sect Leader will become nothing but empty words."

Xiao Yuxue's face showed a trace of weariness. "Come with me for a walk."

Wu Xuefei dared not refuse.

Xiao Yuxue rubbed her temples, drank tea, and walked with Wu Xuefei toward the Mo Sect's secret grounds. A string of bells hung at her waist; with each step, they chimed clearly. Wu Xuefei noticed the silver bells.

These silver bells were Xiao Yuxue's personal item. In the ten years Wu Xuefei had been in the Mo Sect, she often saw Xiao Yuxue staring blankly at them alone—only then did Xiao Yuxue lose her usual calm composure.

Sometimes she even wept, throwing the bells away.

Then, after a while, she would quietly pick them back up.

Xiao Yuxue smiled: "Elder Wu Xuefei is interested in Central Plains artifacts?"

Wu Xuefei replied: "I only admired the craftsmanship. I didn't realize they were from the Central Plains."

Xiao Yuxue said: "This is similar to a longevity lock—I brought it from the Central Plains, hoping it would protect my child from all misfortune."

Wu Xuefei said: "Your daughter..."

She stopped herself immediately.

Xiao Yuxue remained silent for a long while, then said: "She is my flesh and blood—but no longer mine, perhaps... After all, I was the one who harmed her. My heart aches with guilt."

Her voice paused. "But this was my choice."

"I cannot blame anyone else."

"In this chaotic world, who has no excuse?"

"In famine years in the Central Plains, parents trade children to eat—does that mean they don't love their daughters? Precisely because they love them, because they grieve, they cannot bear to eat their own child."

"But they wanted to live, so they traded their own children for others' to eat."

"And when eating other people's children, thinking of their own child in the stew, they would ache with grief—each time they bit into the bone, they unconsciously used only three-tenths of their strength, leaving many marks behind."

Elder Wu Xuefei did not press further.

This example gave her, an elder born of the western frontier's native shamanic religion, a sense of quietness hiding a demonic taint.

Xiao Yuxue took Elder Wu Xuefei to a Mystical Realm—a corridor—and whispered, "Ahead lies the remaining human destiny qi. Human destiny qi is vast and unfathomable; part of what our Holy Sect once hoarded has already been destroyed. What remains is even purer."

"And even more vital."

"It is the foundation of our Holy Sect."

"I regard you as my most reliable person. Now that the world is changing, you must guard this place. If our plan fails, you must utterly detonate this stream of human destiny qi…"

Elder Wu Xuefei's heart jolted.

Xiao Yuxue said, "We originally relied on the Tuyuhun to achieve great things. But the Tuyuhun perished two years ago, and we naturally merged with the Tangut state. I now know our earlier failure came from attempting to shatter the Tuyuhun's national destiny."

"In the past, when the Tuyuhun flourished, so did we."

"When the Tuyuhun declined, we declined."

"Not anymore."

"I have found a way to link our Holy Sect's destiny qi to the Tangut state's dragon vein… Only through shared glory and shared ruin can our Holy Sect's destiny qi fully transform into majestic royal destiny qi."

"Even if our generation fails to make our Holy Sect and the Tangut state succeed, this time, using the Tuyuhun dragon vein, we have caused our Holy Sect's qi to swallow the dragon whole—fully transformed. One day, our descendants will fulfill our lifelong wish."

"To transform our Holy Sect into a state—not to linger in the Jianghu."

"To contend with the heroes of the world…"

"As for the Buddhist sects, the western Buddhist sects are confined to sutras and scriptures—their hearts are narrow. The tribal Wang Hou are indecisive—all are but dust and sand. Though they dwell in the Jianghu, they must still treat the world as a chessboard."

"I have already entered the game—how could I spare a daughter?"

"Even so, I still feel sorrow in my heart."

"That's all."

Elder Wu Xuefei said nothing. Xiao Yuxue's expression was calm as she reached out and touched the Gongyang Suxiang. A thread of majestic human destiny qi already clung to the statue. When Xiao Yuxue's fingers brushed it—shhhhh—

The human destiny qi on the statue, like flame, truly swelled outward.

It truly became a sea of fire.

Xiao Yuxue recoiled sharply; her silver bells rang. She saw a figure step forth, sleeves swirling.

It was Li Guanyi!

Li Guanyi held the Wang Yin, and for the third time, he wielded human destiny qi as before.

"So you're here."

Li Guanyi spoke, then immediately pressed his hand to his waist.

A piercing wail erupted.

Chixiao—

Draw the sword!

The divine blade, arrogant and brutal, slashed violently toward the woman's neck!

SLASH!!!

?? Third day of barely controlling my schedule

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