Chapter 440: Another Xuanzang

"Daoist elder, where are we now?"

Xuanzang looked around; bathed in the cold moonlight, he saw only a vague forest surrounding him, and the mountain wind passed through the trees, emitting a whimpering sound.

The grass beneath his feet was soft and damp, and the air was filled with the scent of vegetation and earth, seemingly... no different from an ordinary mountain night.

But he knew in his heart that the fleeting sense of crossing realms he had just felt was no illusion; this place was certainly extraordinary.

The Daoist merely gave an unfathomable smile; under the moonlight, the smile seemed somewhat mysterious:

"Dharma Master, don't be impatient; stay calm and unhurried. In a moment, there will be something for you to see. Just... after you see it, I hope you won't be so frightened that your legs go weak and you lose the dignity of a monk."

He paused, looked into Xuanzang's eyes, and asked, "Are you ready?"

Upon hearing this, Xuanzang felt a chill in his heart.

With those words, the scene he was about to witness was surely far from ordinary, perhaps... extremely terrifying!

He dared not delay; he immediately closed his eyes and silently recited the Heart Sutra, trying to steady his mind.

He recited it three times in a row, then took several deep breaths of the icy night air, feeling his mind settle a bit, and only then slowly opened his eyes and nodded toward the Daoist:

"Alright. Daoist elder, you may proceed."

"Hmm." The Daoist nodded, extended his right index and middle fingers, joining them into a sword gesture, and a faint, barely perceptible glimmer of light emanated from his fingertips.

He raised his hand and lightly brushed over Xuanzang's tightly closed eyes.

Xuanzang felt a trace of coolness on his eyelids, as if a clear spring were flowing over them. Following the instruction, he slowly opened his eyes.

In an instant, the world became completely different before his eyes!

It was not merely a matter of darkness being dispelled.

Everything within his sight appeared as if bathed in the brightest daylight, every detail fully revealed!

He could even clearly see the veins on a leaf hundreds of meters away, the spots on the carapace of a beetle napping in a tree trunk crack, and the minuscule dust particles floating in the air!

This 'microscopic clarity' made him feel somewhat uneasy.

"What is this..."

"Just a little trick to let the Dharma Master see more clearly," the Daoist's voice sounded at the right moment, interrupting his astonishment.

Then the Daoist raised his hand and pointed toward a direction deep within the dense forest:

"Dharma Master, look over there."

Xuanzang obeyed, focusing his newly empowered 'Dharma Eyes' along the indicated direction, piercing through the layers of trees and gazing into the distance.

At first, it was just denser, more sinister forest.

But soon, the outline of an extremely vast, treacherous mountain range came into view.

Between the peaks, massive, unnaturally formed caves and nests were faintly visible, with demonic aura soaring skyward; even from a great distance, one could feel the heart‑pounding ferocity, bloodiness, and... despair!

As his gaze pierced the pervasive demonic mist, the scene beneath the mountains unfolded before him piece by piece—

It was nothing like mountains or rocks!

Everywhere his eyes fell, the hills were piled high with countless white bones! Human skeletons!

Some were weathered and yellowed, mingling with soil and sand; some still clung to partially decayed flesh and clothing, exuding a foul stench; others, the skulls' eye sockets gazed hollowly at the sky, jaws agape as if silently howling!

The sheer number of skeletons covered the entire valley, filling ravines, and even on several sheer cliffs one could see discarded, broken limbs wedged in the rock fissures!

Among the bones lay tattered clothing, rusted farm tools, children's toys, shattered household items... silently telling of their owners' former lives and the sudden horror.

The whole region was dead and stagnant, showing no sign of life.

Only some carrion vultures and demonic crows, emitting chilling cries, circled the mountain of corpses and sea of bones, pecking at the remaining rotting flesh!

The air itself seemed solidified, thick with an unbreakable blend of blood, corpse stench, and vengeful aura, forming a vivid picture of a human hell.

Xuanzang suddenly widened his eyes, his pupils contracting sharply, as if all the blood in his body froze at that moment!

He opened his mouth wide, yet no sound emerged.

The horrific scene before him, beyond any imagination, was like the sharpest ice spear, piercing all his mental defenses and shattering his prior understanding of 'demons causing havoc'!

This is no longer 'causing havoc'; this is complete... nation‑eradicating extinction! It is a demonic realm that devours everything!

He stood rigid there, his face as pale as paper, his gaze hollow, his Soul seemingly truly drawn away and crushed by the scene, leaving only an empty shell.

In his ears seemed to rise countless anguished wails of wronged souls, and before him countless twisted, suffering faces flashed.

He had practiced Buddhism for years, believing himself accustomed to life and death, his heart full of compassion, yet had he ever seen or imagined such a purgatorial scene?

Unclear how long passed—perhaps an instant, perhaps a century—the Daoist's voice finally drifted from far away, gently slipping into his almost deaf ears:

"This place is called Shitouling; originally, there was also a Shitou Kingdom."

"Since three demonic beings of transcendent power arrived, they seized the mountains as kings, demarcated the land as a nation... the locals, from nobles to merchants, from the elderly to infants in swaddling clothes... were completely devoured by them."

The Daoist paused, as if giving Xuanzang time to digest the information, then continued:

"What you see before you, Dharma Master, is the scene of the Shitou Kingdom's countless citizens turned into skeletal remains."

"Dharma Master... would you like to know the origins of those three demonic beings?"

Xuanzang shuddered all over, his hollow gaze struggling to turn, then slowly focused on the Daoist's face.

His lips trembled, showing no color at all, and he forced, with great effort, a few syllables from his throat:

"Could it be... again... my Buddhist Sect...?"

His voice was filled with a fear that even he could not believe, and a premonition of despair.

"Indeed," the Daoist nodded. Those light words fell into Xuanzang's ears, yet felt as if they turned into tens of thousands of pounds, pressing him nearly to kneel.

"One is a green‑furred lion monster, the mount of Manjushri Bodhisattva."

"One is a yellow‑toothed old elephant, the mount of Samantabhadra Bodhisattva."

The Daoist's voice rose no pitch, yet each word cut to the heart,

"And another is a golden‑winged great roc."

"It and the Buddha Mother Peacock, the Great Bright King, were born of the same mother. The Peacock once, atop a snow‑capped mountain, swallowed the Tathagata Buddha; the Buddha broke its back and emerged, and the Buddhas, noting its 'nurturing' merit, honored it as a Buddha Mother."

Therefore, this Golden-winged Roc, when you add it up… is the Tathagata Buddha's 'relative'.

He tilted his head slightly, looking into Xuanzang's eyes:

Dharma Master, do you think that these three demons have committed boundless slaughter here, exterminating an entire nation's living beings, turning Lion Camel Ridge into a ghost realm… is it that the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas of the Buddhist Sect truly do not know? Or… they know but pretend not to see, unwilling to intervene? Or perhaps…

Is this… the Buddhist Sect deliberately tolerating it?

Xuanzang listened, feeling the world spin and hearing a buzzing in his ears.

He opened his mouth several times, trying to refute, to argue, to find a reason for the supreme holy ground of the Buddhist Sect in his heart.

He wanted to say, "A Bodhisattva's mount descended to the mortal realm without permission; the Bodhisattva might not know," or "The Buddha's relatives may be lax in discipline," or "The Buddhist Sect is vast, inevitably some oversights"…

But looking at the mountain of corpses and sea of bones before him, hearing the suffocating backdrop of the three demons, every pale, feeble excuse got stuck in his throat, not a single word could be uttered.

Any reason, before this infernal reality, seemed so laughable, so hypocritical, so… trivial!

In the end, he simply let out a deep sigh: "Alas!"

Amitabha Buddha… this humble monk vowed to travel west, enduring hardships, seeking only to obtain the true scriptures, to liberate all beings, to relieve their suffering… but now, seeing this… is the humble monk at fault? What use are these scriptures? To save beings… also to harm!

He recalled Sun Wukong's fierce, enmity‑driven, immensely powerful figure, and his own repeated restraints on him out of "compassion",

If… if the humble monk possessed Wukong's demon‑subduing powers, perhaps… alas!

The unfinished words were deep helplessness and self‑rebuke.

The Daoist listened to his reply, then continued, "Dharma Master, they often say that the Fake Monkey King is the Great Sage's 'dual heart', formed from his own lingering thoughts and obsessions."

"They say that a practitioner whose heart harbors a 'dual heart' cannot discern true nature; thus the quest for scriptures cannot proceed."

The Daoist's tone shifted, his gaze blazing, looking at Xuanzang:

But in my view, Dharma Master, you… need to see through precisely your own 'dual heart'.

Xuanzang pressed his lips together, "Daoist, are you saying… the humble monk will later encounter a 'self'? Like Wukong?"

"No, no, no." The Daoist shook his head, raised his hand and pointed at Xuanzang's chest:

"What I mean is, Dharma Master, you yourself are the 'dual heart' right now."

"I know another story of a 'Dharma Master Xuanzang', whose experiences differ quite a bit from yours."

"Dharma Master… would you like to hear?"

Xuanzang's mind was a tangled mess now; though he did not grasp the Daoist's deep meaning, he still nodded, "Please speak, Daoist."

The Daoist stood with his hands behind him, gazing toward the distant land once called Lion Camel Kingdom, now covered with corpses and bones, as if rewinding time:

"That other Xuanzang had none of the good fortune you enjoy, Dharma Master."

"He never formed a brotherhood with the reigning Son of Heaven, and when he submitted a petition to seek the western teachings, all he received was a rejection letter."

"But his resolve was set; taking advantage of a nationwide famine, when the court allowed the people to follow the harvest for food, he slipped into a fleeing refugee convoy, alone, and quietly left Chang'an."

The Daoist's words slowly unfurled another historical scroll:

"He journeyed westward without powerful disciples to protect him, without a Dragon Horse to ride, and without any travel passes."

"Crossing Yumen Pass, he alone traversed the endless Gobi desert 'Moheyan Cliff', five days and four nights without a drop of water."

"Passing through the Western Regions' kingdoms, some kings treated him kindly and funded his expenses; some local officials blocked him, even intending harm; he was once robbed by bandits, nearly killed; he was imprisoned for refusing to abandon his faith; and he fell gravely ill from the long trek and unfamiliar climate, on the brink of death."

"After passing Gaochang, where the king treated him generously, he fasted to declare his resolve because he would not stay; he crossed snow‑capped mountains, where the cold wind cut like a knife, freezing his companions to death."

"He roamed the nations of Tianzhu, studying there for years, visiting eminent monks, delving deeply into the Dharma, debating heterodoxists, and his fame rose like a magpie."

"Finally, he carried hundreds of Sanskrit Scrolls, trekked across mountains and wilderness for seventeen years, and returned to Chang'an............"

The Daoist finished, withdrew his gaze, and looked again at the still‑dazed Xuanzang:

"That Xuanzang had no brocade kasaya, no Nine‑ring Tin Staff, no imperial brother title, and no three powerful disciples at his side."

"Every step he took was by himself; every hardship he endured was truly real; every scripture he obtained..."

"Dharma Master," the Daoist's gaze seemed to pierce Xuanzang's flesh, looking straight into his soul:

"Do you think, you and he, who holds the true heart of the scripture quest? Who… might be the one arranged, protected, and 'tested'… dual heart?"

Xuanzang felt as if struck by lightning, his body frozen on the spot.

The other "self" story, like the clearest mirror, suddenly reflected his entire journey's "ease" and "abnormality".

The emperor's generous treatment, the disciples' powers, the Bodhisattvas' "care", even the "tribulations" seemed staged dramas… compared with that lone Xuanzang who crossed death's abyss relying solely on faith and his own feet.

All that he now experienced suddenly seemed so… illusory, so… passive, even so… unreal!

Deep shame surged like a tide to his heart.

"Humble monk, ashamed."

"Dharma Master, there is still redemption." The Daoist smiled faintly, speaking under his gaze:

"Do you wish to be a puppet who only follows orders, moving step by step, or…"

"A person who truly can transmit the essence of the Dharma to the world and liberate beings?"

Xuanzang thrust his head up sharply, with no hesitation left in his eyes, resolutely declaring:

"Of course the latter!"

"Very well." The Daoist's smile deepened, he reached into his robes, produced two seemingly ordinary books, handed them to Xuanzang, "Since that's so, these two books are yours, Dharma Master, study them carefully."

Xuanzang took them with both hands, the pages warm to the touch.

"Then, Dharma Master, may we meet again!" The Daoist laughed heartily, flicked his sleeve, turned, and prepared to leave.

"Wait, Daoist!" Xuanzang hurriedly asked, "I have not yet inquired your honorable surname!"

In the night wind drifted two characters:

"Yu Lin."

As the words faded, the Daoist's figure dissolved like blue smoke into the night, vanished without a trace.

Xuanzang only saw a faint flicker before his eyes; when he focused again, the campfire still crackled, and the Dragon Horse hissed softly nearby.

He remained seated where he was, as if he had never left.

Only the two solid books in his hand prove that what just happened was not a dream.

He lowers his head, by the firelight, and sees the title clearly.

Mahayana Dao Method

Supreme Buddha Dharma

"Yu Lin…" Xuan Zang murmurs the name, a flash of enlightenment lighting his eyes:

"I, a humble monk, understand."

He says no more, sits cross‑legged, and by the dancing firelight gently opens to the first page.

There is no Buddha light soaring to the heavens, no exotic fragrance filling the air.

Only plain text, yet like a clear spring flowing into the heart; like a sharp sword cleaving through illusion.

He reads extremely slowly, extremely attentively.

At times he furrows his brow in deep thought, at times he nods in sudden comprehension.

Gradually, in the void behind him, faint light and shadow begin to brew.

The light and shadow swirl, slowly outlining the silhouette of a Buddha statue.

The statue's face is vague, not any known Buddha or bodhisattva… it vaguely resembles Xuan Zang himself!

The statue is silent; only the campfire crackles, reflecting the monk and the figure behind him… "My Heart".

The night is still long.

The path has already quietly turned beneath his feet.

Until the moment of dawn.

From above the sky comes a clear voice:

"Master! Lao Sun is back!"