Amidst the raging primordial forces of earth, fire, water, and wind, Meng Qi could only vaguely glimpse the auspicious cloud surrounded by eerie glows and golden lanterns, with everything else obscured from view.
When he withdrew his gaze, he faintly sensed the Primordial Heavenly Venerable glancing at him—his gaze devoid of sorrow or joy.
After a long wait with no further changes, Meng Qi imprinted his mark upon this moment, completing his journey through time. He had pushed his existence within the Netherworld back to the dawn of creation, becoming an ancient being who had witnessed the entirety of the Netherworld’s history—a true primordial entity!
Of course, his consciousness was not like that of a true Nirvana-level being, who existed beyond the river of time, capable of being present in every moment of the past simultaneously. He could only shift between the imprints he left in history, which had little practical impact but was fundamentally different—one of the distinctions between the false and the true, between relying on the Netherworld and his own abilities.
Rather than returning directly to the present moment, Meng Qi searched through the history of the Netherworld and descended upon a certain era.
According to what Gu Xiaosang had said before her temporary departure, if he could traverse the past, he must come and see “Him”!
The murky yellow waters of the River of Forgetfulness surged relentlessly, brimming with the essence of death and corruption. Countless vengeful spirits and malevolent ghosts floated within its waves, dragging down anything that passed through, seeking to strip them of memory and spirit, trapping them forever in the river’s depths.
This stretch of the river had no banks of silt, flanked instead by jagged, towering mountains that loomed like monstrous beasts lurking in the gloom. At this moment, a gaunt, compassionate monk, standing ten feet tall with eyes brimming with wisdom, walked steadily along the cliff’s edge, enduring the bone-scraping winds, blood-freezing cold, and the pervasive aura of corruption without pause or sign of suffering.
Meng Qi manifested beside him, silently following for a few steps before suddenly speaking in a low voice:
“World-Honored One.”
This monk was none other than the Buddha of Spiritual Mountain, the one who once measured the depths of the Netherworld, the master of the Saha World, one of the two supreme beings who had transcended—unknowable, indescribable!
After the fall of the Nirvana-level beings, only their imprints remained in the past to maintain the flow of history. But what of the Buddha of Spiritual Mountain, who had glimpsed the Fruit of Dao? Would his imprint differ from those of the fallen Nirvana beings?
This was why Gu Xiaosang had insisted Meng Qi come to see the Buddha’s “imprint”—to uncover secrets that might aid his own ascension to Nirvana!
The Buddha pressed his palms together, his expression unchanging, showing no reaction to Meng Qi’s presence or words, as if nothing existed beyond his mind, beyond his body—utterly indifferent.
Meng Qi clasped his hands behind his back, his dark robes flapping wildly in the howling winds above the River of Forgetfulness. He continued walking alongside the Buddha, speaking as if to himself:
“I once journeyed to Spiritual Mountain, following the river beside Lingyun Crossing all the way to the rear peak. There, I saw the shed husk of the Golden Cicada and entered the place where the Supreme True Buddha was sealed…”
He recounted his experiences traversing Spiritual Mountain in detail, as if seeking the Buddha’s guidance.
Yet the Buddha remained unmoved, more like an imprint than even the subdued imprint of Ananda.
Turning his head, Meng Qi gave the Buddha a deep look before ceasing his words. His body dissipated like mist, vanishing from the scene.
The winds howled, the river churned, and the Buddha walked on, step by step, as if traversing the ages.
Suddenly, an almost imperceptible crack appeared at the back of his skull, rapidly expanding like shedding skin. From within emerged a new figure—still ten feet tall, gaunt, compassionate, and wise—but this one paused briefly, glancing back at where Meng Qi had disappeared. His lips parted, revealing forty gleaming Buddha teeth!
The shed outer shell crumbled into shards of glazed light, falling into the River of Forgetfulness and vanishing without a trace.
—
Shifting his will once more, Meng Qi still did not return to the present but instead arrived nearly two hundred years earlier, appearing beside a rift connecting the Netherworld to the real world.
Beyond the churning black mist of the rift stood a towering, sinister peak—the Heavenly Pillar Mountain of the Western Continent in the Journey to the West world, the domain of the Undying Demonic God!
Through the rift, Meng Qi faintly glimpsed a tomb chamber within the mountain, illuminated by eternal lamps but devoid of a coffin. Instead, there was a bed of black ice and clouds, upon which sat the Undying Demonic God, shrouded in a dark robe.
Opposite him stood a tall, golden-skinned man of martial bearing—a figure all too familiar to Meng Qi.
This was his own “Indestructible Dao Body” incarnation from the past, visiting the Undying Demonic God to inquire about the descendants of Wuzhuang Temple!
“Should I address you as Samantabhadra Bodhisattva or Avalokiteshvara?” the incarnation asked solemnly.
At that moment, the Undying Demonic God suddenly turned his gaze toward the Netherworld rift beneath the mountain and said gravely, “Which demon god dares eavesdrop?”
Meng Qi sighed but did not answer directly. Instead, he asked, “When you fled Spiritual Mountain, what did you see that made you too afraid to leave this world or return to the Pure Land?”
His “Indestructible Dao Body” incarnation stood dumbfounded, as its past consciousness had already been transferred into the Netherworld, leaving only an imprint behind.
The Undying Demonic God fell silent for a long moment before replying, “I do not remember. Which demon god are you?”
“Which one?” Meng Qi chuckled. “The one standing right before you.”
“You—” The Undying Demonic God’s emotions visibly stirred with shock before realization dawned. “This is no longer the present moment. You’ve attained Nirvana and traveled back… No, you’re a pseudo-Nirvana, achieved through the Eight-Nine Arcane Art.”
“Since you know I’ve attained pseudo-Nirvana and am a true disciple of the Jade Void, why hold back?” Meng Qi said calmly.
The Undying Demonic God hesitated before asking, “Why not ask me in the present? Have I already perished by then?”
“No,” Meng Qi replied succinctly. “You’ll understand why in time.”
Relieved, the Undying Demonic God sighed deeply. “When I seized a sliver of hope and fled Spiritual Mountain, I noticed two things. First, at the moment of the Buddhas’ fall, there was a powerful surge of energy from the rear peak—one filled with ecstasy, and… it bore an uncanny resemblance to the Buddha’s aura…”
“The Supreme True Buddha, the product of the Buddha’s subtraction of emptiness. I’ve encountered it in the future,” Meng Qi said impassively.
“The Supreme True Buddha…” The Undying Demonic God murmured. “So that’s it.”
After a pause, he continued, “At the same moment, the Ancient Buddha of Bodhi intervened to block the Sage of Demons—neither too early nor too late, perfectly timed to prevent Ananda from reversing the grand formation while ensuring the Sage couldn’t save the other Great Sages. It was as if he wanted her Five Virtues body tainted by the Netherworld. Then, Amitabha descended.”
“No wonder the Great Sage Equaling Heaven called out ‘Teacher’ back then. No wonder you dared not return to the Buddhist Pure Land,” Meng Qi remarked with a tinge of melancholy.
Seeing that the Undying Demonic God had nothing more to reveal, Meng Qi left his imprint and returned to the present, allowing history to unfold as it should.
—
Seated atop a dark peak, Meng Qi opened his eyes. Simultaneously, the Undying Demonic God in the Journey to the West world shuddered as a previously nonexistent memory surfaced in his mind.
The figure from the Netherworld rift was vividly clear, their conversation echoing endlessly—a mark left by Meng Qi’s journey through time.
“I’ll understand why in time…” the Undying Demonic God whispered to himself.
—
“Su Meng!”
The Buddha of the Present World let out a pained groan as the Sanskrit character on his brow blazed brightly. Layers of swastika symbols erupted with glazed pure light, manifesting divine palm techniques to resist the encroaching mass of flesh. He leaped into the Western Paradise.
Before fully entering, the mass of flesh suddenly fell away, lifeless and inert, decaying into mud.
“This is Su Meng’s own flesh, refined from the remnants of the Eastern Emperor…” The Buddha of the Present World no longer seemed angered, his demeanor serene.
With a Nirvana-level being overseeing the world, a mere mass of flesh could not truly harm him—it was merely a nuisance, a means to test the waters for future moves.
High atop the Fusang Ancient Tree, the Green Emperor sighed as he witnessed this.
The “message” Su Meng intended to convey was clear.
Through this act, Meng Qi had laid bare the current state of affairs: against the alliance of the Buddhist sect and the Old Mother of No Birth, with the Demon Emperor’s wavering stance, he and the Heavenly Lord of Virtue were at a severe disadvantage. More critically, as the newest Nirvana-level being, his own forces were still underdeveloped—only the Nine Spirits Sage and the Moonlight Bodhisattva were currently noteworthy.
The implicit message was unmistakable: he urgently needed an ally—a Nirvana-level ally, one representing the might of the Jade Void Palace!
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