Atop the Shaohua Mountain, fine rain slanted sideways. The grass was thick, and spring filled the woods. Only the occasional sight of broken walls and ruins whispered tales of the ancient calamity that once befell the Buddhist monastery.
Treading on slippery soil and breathing the fresh mountain breeze, two elderly men, leaning on bamboo staffs and wearing straw sandals, climbed the rear mountain, escorted by several monks and martial artists dressed in varied styles.
After passing through the woods and arriving at a massive red boulder, a monk in his fifties, his face shadowed with sorrow, joined his palms and murmured a Buddhist chant: “This is where Dorchad perished long ago, and his death was strangely bizarre.”
The elder leading the group had thin eyebrows and deep-set eyes, his face lined with wrinkles. Hearing this, he sighed: “We still don’t know who killed him, but judging from the wounds on his body, we cannot deny the contribution of Master Xin Ji. From that point on, the fortune of Central China began to turn.”
The monk’s sorrowful gaze shifted, as if recalling the monastery’s destruction years ago—storms brewing, lightning splitting the sky, fires raging. Many monks sacrificed their lives, and countless heroes gave their all. His master, Xin Ji, had delayed and gravely wounded Dorchad, preserving the spark for Shaolin’s revival and for expelling the barbarians.
He sighed again: “In times of crisis, heroes always emerge. Besides my master, back then, Zhang Gongzi, Zhen Ding, the wielder of the Zhan Ye Buddha Blade, and other hidden experts came to assist. Perhaps it was they who finally killed the wounded Dorchad.”
“I wonder where they are now,” a young girl gazed at the red boulder, reminiscing about the heroes of old. “Or perhaps they perished alongside Dorchad back then. If not for them, we martial artists of Central China might never have had a chance to catch our breath.”
The elder nodded gently: “Now, the National Preceptor and the Wolf Lord are locked in a bitter rivalry. Many new martial experts have emerged in the Jianghu. The day to expel the barbarians is near. That’s why I came here today—to pay tribute to the fallen heroes.”
A martial artist beside him took out various offerings and placed them neatly. The elder lit three sticks of incense, bowed deeply, and the others followed suit. A few monks joined their palms and chanted the “Past-Life Sutra.”
Behind them, inside a cliffside passage, Meng Qi stood with his hands behind his back, listening quietly. His green robe fluttered without wind.
Only a few years had passed, yet names like “Zhang Gongzi” and “Zhan Ye Buddha Blade” already felt like they belonged to a distant era. If not mentioned by others, they rarely surfaced in his thoughts anymore.
Time washed away everything. Things once thought unforgettable only resurfaced in fleeting moments.
The rough stone walls around him were covered in moss, damp and cold. Meng Qi surveyed the surroundings. Memories of yesterday surged back:
Qi Ge, the usually quiet senior brother who became talkative after being wounded; Zhang Ge, who fought side by side with him; Zhiwei, who refused to retreat even while gravely injured; Gu Xiaosang, whose aura first hinted at something sinister; and Dorchad, the seemingly invincible demon god of that time…
Taking a deep breath, Meng Qi suppressed his nostalgic emotions. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked deeper into the passageway. Outside, the martial artists and monks were still burning yellow paper, honoring the spirits of the past.
He had no intention of showing himself. Time was pressing. He couldn’t possibly stay for two months. The longer he delayed, the longer the interval before his return, increasing the risk of unforeseen changes—such as divine reinforcements from the Nine-Heaven Thunder Deity. Therefore, Meng Qi had set a seven-day limit for himself.
If seven days passed without success, he would return immediately, no matter what!
At that point, he had a trick: upon returning, he would use another Samsara Talisman. He believed the Nine-Heaven Thunder Deity wouldn’t have another artifact to interfere. Then, he could spend everything he had to acquire powerful items.
However, the Nine-Heaven Thunder Deity would surely have set up formations or traps at his return location. Meng Qi would have to dodge and weave to avoid death, and might not have time to use the Samsara Talisman. Thus, he had to prepare for the worst-case scenario—forcing an incomplete “Seal of Karma,” bearing the full wrath of the Nine-Heaven Thunder Deity, and suffering severe backlash.
Inside the passage, there was no light. Darkness surrounded him, silent and ominous, as if hiding the most terrifying demons and monsters. Meng Qi opened his acupoints, activated the “Great Sun Illusion,” and his eyes seemed to ignite with twin suns, pushing the darkness into the stone walls.
At the passage’s end, familiar sights reappeared before Meng Qi. The tunnel opened into a semicircular space, revealing what seemed to be an open stone chamber. Inside were a stone bed and table, with a rotten meditation cushion.
On the wall ahead were inscriptions left by A-nan, but they no longer carried any spiritual essence. Nearby, on the left, faint traces remained on the wall, resembling a stone door marked with the words: “Those of love, righteousness, and benevolence, do not enter this gate!”
At the lower left corner of the stone door was a deep small hole, as if an indescribable flame burned within. Beside it were tiny characters written in a demonic script Meng Qi couldn’t recognize. Yet their meaning was clear in his mind:
“Traitors and heartless ones shall be slain!”
Everything remained unchanged, just as Meng Qi had seen it before. But his understanding now far surpassed what it had been. He immediately sensed something strange.
Legend said the Demon Sage had killed A-nan on Shaohua Mountain. The small hole and the warning “Traitors and heartless ones shall be slain” seemed to confirm this. Yet oddly, the Demon Sage hadn’t erased A-nan’s teachings or destroyed the legacy of the “A-nan Breaking the Precepts Blade Technique.”
Given her hatred and the decree “Any who practice A-nan’s Breaking the Precepts Blade Technique shall be hunted by demons,” this made no sense!
Combined with the lingering aura of “A-nan” and the Overlord in the Human Emperor’s ancient path—both equally powerful—it seemed the Demon Sage had failed back then!
—Who could have entered the ancient path during the Human Emperor’s time? The Human Emperor passed away after the Demon Sage.
“Could this be the beginning of A-nan’s reincarnation? Perhaps the A-nan who left the teachings and legacy was no longer the same A-nan of old. He might have returned to the place of his ‘death,’ cultivating bitterly, only remembering his purpose, parts of his techniques, and the path to emptiness…”
Meng Qi’s thoughts drifted to A-nan, growing more convinced of the profound mystery surrounding this “Great Arhat.”
Meng Qi turned his gaze to the stone door, reading the words: “Those of love, righteousness, and benevolence, do not enter this gate!”
He hadn’t thought much of it before, but now it seemed oddly out of place. The characters were modern script, not ancient seal script, but rather a script that evolved after the Chaos of the Buddha and Devil, standardized thousands of years ago.
In other words, whoever left these eight characters lived countless millennia after the Demon Sage and A-nan—very recently!
So why did they leave this warning?
Puzzled, Meng Qi approached the faintly outlined stone door. The “Seal of Karma” opportunity hadn’t appeared yet. It must be inside.
This time, without even touching it, Meng Qi sensed an icy chill and terror radiating from the door. Before his eyes, visions of rotting corpses, severed limbs, evil spirits, and heavenly demons appeared, shaking his mind.
Yet his mind remained pure and undisturbed. Today’s Meng Qi was vastly different in strength and cultivation from the Meng Qi of old. Facing such horror, he stood unmoved.
He reached out and touched the stone door. The sensation intensified. With a creaking sound, the door groaned but did not open.
He placed both hands on it and shouted:
“Break!”
His muscles swelled, straining his clothes, but the stone door only groaned louder.
Stepping back, Meng Qi drew his blade and sword, gathering his power. A strange aura condensed within a meter of him. Dark clouds gathered, lightning like azure dragons, and the radiant sun struck the stone door together.
As the strike neared the door, the blade grew heavier, the swordlight brighter, until suddenly, all the power converged at a single point.
Just as the “Solar Collapse” was about to erupt, the stone door trembled, ripples spreading like water. The strange phenomenon vanished instantly. Meng Qi felt his blade and sword go empty, as if all strength had vanished.
“This door is interesting,” he muttered, sheathing his weapons. Suddenly, his body expanded, touching the ceiling above and the rocks below. His right hand flipped upward, ancient and mighty, pure and strong, as if holding the sky itself—like a celestial being bridging heaven and earth, or a mountain supporting the heavens.
His right hand flipped downward. Before his palm, darkness swirled, space trembled, as if the heavens themselves were tilting. Everything seemed on the verge of shattering, unavoidable and inescapable.
The stone door shook violently, debris flying, revealing a small crack. But the door still held firm, absorbing the impact without a sound.
Meng Qi inhaled deeply, maintaining his cosmic transformation. With his left hand, he drew out “Sky’s Wound,” his eyes half-closed, his aura vast and ancient. Around him, chaos reigned, as if at the dawn of all things, the source of all causes.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, dark and deep.
Blade light flashed, tearing through darkness, depth, and chaos. The stone door silently split, a new crack nearly piercing it through, leaving only a thin layer.
But before Meng Qi could strike again, the stone rapidly regrew, sealing the crack.
It returned to its original state. Meng Qi frowned. If he had already crossed the first Celestial Threshold, he could have broken through effortlessly. Now, he was just short.
As for breaking through other parts of the wall, Meng Qi was certain it wouldn’t grant access to this strange door.
His mind raced for a solution.
Suddenly, he looked at A-nan’s inscription beside him. A thought struck him.
“Why did A-nan choose this place to cultivate?”
“Could the presence of the Breaking the Precepts Blade Technique here be connected to opening the door?”
Acting on instinct, Meng Qi raised “Sky’s Wound” again, activating the “Seal of Karma.” Closing his eyes, he sensed the stone door—chaotic, causeless, effectless.
Strange… Meng Qi muttered inwardly. What would happen if he used “Seal of Karma” without cause or effect?
The strike was ordinary, unremarkable, neither heavy nor refined, only faintly eerie, as if it merged into the void, becoming an invisible fish swimming through unseen threads.
The blade struck the stone door. Meng Qi’s vision blurred. The chaos shifted. The stone door moved forward, and he found himself behind it!
Looking back, the stone door stood in the void, pressed tightly against his back.
Around him was a black land soaked in blood, littered with decaying bones, none whole—each missing parts.
Not quite a demon realm, not quite the Nine Hells… Meng Qi surveyed his surroundings, blade and sword still in hand. In the distance, dark mist swirled, concealing something.
…
At the rear of the Lotus Platform, it was noon, the sun shining brightly.
Groups of monks patrolled the area in turns. Occasionally, elders or senior monks in yellow robes and red kasayas could be seen.
Near the entrance of the secret passage, ripples suddenly appeared in the water, seeping silently through tiny cracks.
This secret passage led directly to a lower level beneath the Stupa, but midway, a side path was guarded by a senior monk of the Outer View Realm.
At this moment, a red-robed elder sat at the fork, his breath like withered wood.
Yet behind him, four figures appeared silently.
Above their heads floated a tortoiseshell tablet, marked with the Five Elements and black-and-white dots, resembling a book.
Wherever the tablet’s shadow fell, it seemed to vanish from the world, undetectable by anyone. Even standing behind the Outer View monk, they remained unseen!
One of them, with delicate features like a woman, dressed in white, looked pale, as if suffering from a long illness. It was none other than “Calculating All Fates” Wang Siyuan!
Reaching the end of the fork, he looked at the stone door ahead and coughed softly: “Kong Hui has a hidden wound that flares at noon, leaving him unable to control his divine weapon. As long as they don’t approach the core area, they won’t detect us—only the A-nan Blade remains a concern.”
He seemed to be explaining to the others.
On the stone door were the same eight characters:
“Those of love, righteousness, and benevolence, do not enter this gate!”
But these characters shimmered with a glassy luster, profound in Buddhist meaning, as if sealed by a sacred barrier!
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