Inside the Yunyan Pavilion, the rare and eerie confrontation left Changsun Jing, Master Ruyi, and the Western barbarian envoys utterly astonished and stunned. They felt the hall grow significantly darker, with swirling concentric circles of black rippling outward—deep, strange, and dazzling to the eyes, unsettling the mind. At the center of it all were Xiao Meng’s Qingshen Sword and the Living Buddha.
Yet the Living Buddha, unaware of his actions, formed the final seal of the “Great Solar Wheel of Fire”—a feat no living Buddha had achieved in a thousand years. His body radiated a lustrous glow, emitting golden light that illuminated the surroundings, dispelling darkness, bringing forth brightness, purity, and serenity.
He stood there like a Buddha statue, the image of the Tathagata, causing the Western envoy and guards to nearly prostrate themselves in reverence, realizing the Living Buddha had harnessed the power of past incarnations and was about to attain the supreme state.
Faced with this extraordinary scene, Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi, despite their shock, felt a deep concern arise. Could Xiao Meng’s Qingshen Sword withstand the Living Buddha’s ultimate secret technique?
At that moment, they heard a sorrowful sigh, filled with compassion and vastness, as if time and space stretched infinitely. Then they saw Meng Qi raise one hand to the sky and one to the earth, suddenly growing tall and filling their entire vision, like a Buddha in the center of a Pure Land—sacred, compassionate, solemn, pure, and supreme.
This sensation… not only shocked Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi, but even the Western envoys couldn’t help but gape in astonishment, feeling their souls tremble.
Meng Qi stepped forward, opened his mouth, solemn and compassionate:
“Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore!”
His voice thundered like a celestial proclamation, shaking Changsun Jing and the others’ spirits.
Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore… They felt as if struck by a sudden blow, gaining some insight, yet still feeling empty.
During this spiritual confrontation, the Living Buddha’s body, formed from past incarnations, gleamed with a lustrous glow and bore the image of the Tathagata. Yet under the golden form of the colossal Buddha facing him, under the supreme presence of the one pointing to heaven and earth, and under the call for ultimate purity, liberation, and freedom, his spirit wavered. The past-life impressions that had previously overwhelmed him tainted this pure land.
The old man copying scriptures, the elderly woman chanting sutras, the girl beside the ancient lamp, the eagle listening atop the temple roof—all these experiences flooded his senses, deepening his sense of endless suffering. Though his heart leaned toward Buddhism, he remained unable to attain liberation!
Past incarnations, endless suffering—was there truly no escape? Doubt crept into the Living Buddha’s heart, his spiritual clarity faltering further, the brilliance of the Tathagata dimming as he slowly descended.
Just as he reached his limit, the colossal golden Buddha took seven steps in each direction and roared:
“Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore!”
Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore… The Living Buddha trembled, feeling his past incarnations shatter, his mind and soul breaking apart. Before him stood the Yunyan Pavilion, its exotic decorations, and the handsome, dignified young man in green robes.
He delivered another thunderous shout:
“Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore!”
The Living Buddha’s head buzzed. Sitting cross-legged, his voice hoarse and strained, he asked, “Where lies the shore?”
This question seemed to echo the unspoken doubts of the Western envoys, who had been overwhelmed by the repeated proclamations of endless suffering.
Meng Qi lowered his hands to his sides, still compassionate and solemn:
“Not here, not there, not in between. Turn back, and you shall find it.”
“Turn back… only the ‘self’ is supreme…” The Living Buddha seemed to gain insight, suddenly smiling faintly, forming the lotus mudra with his hands, and slowly closing his eyes.
Meng Qi’s aura receded, no longer filling heaven and earth, no longer exuding that solemn sanctity.
One Western guard, seeing the Living Buddha’s life force fading, was both shocked and enraged. Forgetting his earlier reverence, he shouted and lunged forward: “Demon! Think you can escape?”
Suddenly, his eyes froze, his body rooted to the spot. A thin slash appeared on his forehead, blood trickling out, only an inch from cleaving his skull.
How had he been slashed? He hadn’t even sensed the blade!
Where had the sword come from? Where was it now?
Meng Qi sighed, “Take another look at him.”
With that, he turned and walked away, tears streaking his face—tears for the wonder of the spiritual journey, for the vivid sensations of past incarnations, tears that came unbidden.
Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi instinctively looked over and saw the Living Buddha with tears at the corners of his eyes, a faint smile on his face, hands in the lotus mudra, cross-legged in meditation, his skin glowing lustrously. Except for the lack of breath, there was no sign of death.
Had he transcended in his final moments, attaining enlightenment before passing?
Seeing this, the Western envoy knelt, overwhelmed: “This is the true ‘Living Buddha’!”
Dazed, Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi stumbled out of the Yunyan Pavilion, unable to recover their composure.
Had one of the Grand Masters, the Living Buddha, truly passed away?
Had Xiao Meng, the Divine Sword (Qingshen Sword), slain a Grand Master?
Was this all a dream?
Indeed, the sword’s arrival stirs the winds and clouds. So it was in ancient times, and so it is now—perhaps even more terrifying and shocking!
Gradually, Meng Qi regained his composure, his emotions settling. This spiritual journey had refined his mind and soul, benefiting his path toward unity with heaven and his future cultivation.
But why hadn’t he seen Anan?
Was that initial emptiness real, or had some great being deliberately obscured it?
He said nothing, silently walking forward without purpose, while Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi remained immersed in the earlier shock, not daring to interrupt him.
Thus, they walked until evening fell.
Inside the Yuanjue Temple, the Demon Queen, seemingly devout in her prayers, heard rapid footsteps approaching.
“What’s the urgency?” she did not turn around.
The messenger, a high-ranking demon sect member, bore a face of shock and disbelief: “The Living Buddha… the Living Buddha has passed away!”
“What?” Even the Demon Queen, with her profound mental cultivation, was shaken, turning in astonishment.
“The Qingshen Sword entered the Yunyan Pavilion, locked eyes with the Living Buddha for the duration of a cup of tea, as if engaged in a spiritual battle. Then he left, and the Living Buddha passed away on the spot.” The messenger, barely able to contain his emotions, recounted the events clearly.
He no longer dared to call him Xiao Meng.
“His mind and spirit have grown this powerful?” The Demon Queen murmured, then commanded gravely, “Tell me every detail.”
Inside the Council Chamber.
Left Chancellor Wang Derang clutched a secret treasure, murmuring to himself in disbelief. Despite the composure befitting a great Confucian scholar, his voice quivered with shock: “The Qingshen Sword has entered the Yunyan Pavilion, and the Living Buddha has passed away…”
“The Qingshen Sword entered the Yunyan Pavilion, and the Living Buddha passed away…” Elsewhere, the Imperial Preceptor, gazing at the stars, murmured the same words.
…
“Got a place for me to stay tonight?” As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows over the capital, Meng Qi completely shook off the lingering effects of the spiritual journey and casually asked.
Changsun Jing smiled: “I’ve rented a courtyard. I hope the gentleman won’t find it too humble.”
“Then lead the way,” Meng Qi nodded slightly.
Master Ruyi sighed: “Earlier, Master Meng’s words—’Endless is the sea of suffering; turn back, and you shall find the shore’—struck like a thunderclap, granting even this humble monk some insight.”
He seemed eager to seek further Buddhist wisdom.
Though Meng Qi was but a half-hearted monk, having cultivated the “Tathagata Palm” for so long, he had gained some understanding of Buddhist principles. Moreover, Daoist scriptures and martial techniques shared similar paths, ultimately converging. The “Primordial Beginning” within his inner world even carried faint Buddhist overtones. Thus, he replied: “Once one is born from the womb, one is inevitably tainted by the mundane world. This isn’t necessarily evil—it includes knowledge, common sense, and sensory experiences. Though they contain truth, they are limited by physical constraints and can deceive the mind. Without seeing through them, one cannot attain ‘Tathagata.'”
He glanced at Changsun Jing: “This is not merely Buddhist thought. Daoists, martial artists, and Confucians share similar ideas. The great paths always converge.”
“Perhaps only a handful have shattered the void…” Changsun Jing sighed.
As a martial artist, this was his inevitable aspiration.
“The body is a universe, and the world beyond is another universe. Both are profoundly mysterious. Our task is to break the barriers, bringing the inner universe closer to nature. In Daoist terms, this is ‘Man follows Heaven’…” Meng Qi casually explained, “These barriers are both the shackles of the mind and the walls of the flesh. Without breaking the former, one cannot ‘see’ the outer universe, and any attempts will be like climbing a tree to catch fish. The latter is the concrete path—within Daoism, it is known as the ‘Mysterious Pass’…”
This world had begun to cultivate the Third Eye between the eyebrows, but lacked a comprehensive, systematic approach, requiring gradual refinement. Thus, the demands on mental cultivation were even higher.
Hearing Meng Qi effortlessly weave together Daoist, Buddhist, and martial concepts into a seamless whole, Changsun Jing and Master Ruyi listened in rapture. Others had pondered similar ideas, but none had expressed them so deeply and clearly.
“At last, I understand the Living Buddha’s feeling—’To hear the Dao in the morning, one may die content at night,'” Master Ruyi clasped his palms, a monk well-versed in Confucian classics.
Changsun Jing felt his blood surge, as if the path ahead had faintly revealed itself: “Master, truly you are a scholar of heaven and earth, unlike any ordinary man!”
Meng Qi smiled without reply, nor did he entertain thoughts of withholding teachings for personal gain. Firstly, these were not specific techniques; secondly, he himself had benefited.
Vaguely, he sensed a faint aura of morality enveloping him!
Since cultivating the Three Treasures Ruyi Fist, he had gradually come to understand the Five Virtues. If the opportunity arose, he would naturally seek to gather them.
If one day the Three Treasures Ruyi Fist were perfected, perhaps it would resemble the Jade Ruyi of the Primordial Beginning Deity from mythology?
Before the courtyard where Changsun Jing had rented a room stood a man in the uniform of an imperial guard general, holding a wooden box. Upon seeing Meng Qi and the others return, he showed both reverence and joy: “Master Meng, I bring a message from the Sword Emperor.”
Meng Qi had expected this. He smiled and accepted the box.
Opening it, he found a wooden puppet the size of a hand, its expression comically smiling, its body tall and slender. Written upon it in sword script were fourteen characters:
“Tomorrow at noon, at Sunset Peak, shall we meet as friends with swords?”
“These fourteen characters…” Changsun Jing suddenly widened his eyes; Master Ruyi was equally shaken.
Each stroke was powerful and vigorous, seemingly depicting the simplest and most ordinary horizontal and vertical lines. Yet when viewed together, each stroke came alive, like chess pieces on a board, stars in the night sky. They formed a deadly pattern, spiraling upward, piercing the heavens!
“This… is a ‘supreme sword technique’…” Changsun Jing sighed.
This was a “manual” of sword techniques!
Moreover, it was both a “letter” and a challenge!
Meng Qi felt a slight admiration for the Sword Emperor’s realm but was puzzled to detect a faint trace of an external demon’s aura.
How could my external demon be connected to the Sword Emperor?
He already held a flaming sword in his hand, reaching toward the puppet, accepting the challenge!
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