Chapter 111: The Fire of Nirvana — Life as Fleeting as a Bloom; With Hands Joined in Prayer, the Bodhisattva Aids Me [Seeking Votes]

A hazy mist drifted gently, and the cool breeze of late spring stirred the delicate pink blossoms of the returning plum trees, scattering petals like soft whispers across the hills and fields.

The academy’s cluster of buildings, with their white walls and black tiles, lay shrouded in mountain fog, resembling an ink-wash painting of a secluded mountain retreat. Beyond the white jade archway at the foot of the mountain, a narrow path wound between blooming trees, their tender flowers falling to create a natural floral channel along the stone walkway.

Nestled among a few banana trees stood a humble thatched cottage, from which thin wisps of smoke rose from a charcoal brazier.

Beneath the cottage’s doorway lay a chessboard crafted from yellow pear wood, its grid intersecting in perfect symmetry, dotted with a scattering of black and white stones.

Two aged figures in scholar’s robes sat opposite each other, engaged in a quiet game of strategy.

Suddenly, an invisible wave of energy surged through the air, causing several stones on the board to tremble and shift slightly.

Both elderly players paused mid-move, their eyes lifting with depth and clarity that seemed to pierce the mountainside itself. In their gaze was the memory of a heroic figure standing aloft the city gate, tearing through the protective array that guarded the city—an indomitable old man whose steps shattered armor and sent thousands fleeing, embodying raw power and unyielding spirit.

For a fleeting moment, the two men glimpsed the youthful vigor of that elder long ago, wielding his sword in a fateful clash against the Emperor Yuanmeng.

Before them, in their spiritual perception, endless fiery clouds boiled and blazed like a sunset ablaze with passion.

A long sigh escaped their lips.

That was the fire of nirvana.

Once ignited, it marked the countdown to the end of life, a threshold toward one’s inevitable demise.

Even a master of the ninth realm, faced with impending doom, could still rely on a formidable mind and body to preserve life’s spark for years, despite the festering corruption gnawing like a bone-deep ulcer from all sides.

Yet, if one were to fully unleash the essence of mind and body restrained by decay, harnessing immense power to erase that rot, their spirit and vitality would surge to an extraordinary pinnacle, reaching an overwhelming magnitude.

But the decay thus erased did not truly vanish; the energy gained in this fleeting resurgence was but a brief, dazzling bloom.

The process of purging the bone-deep rot birthed the fire of nirvana.

“Nirvana… is a kind of hope,” one said.

“The nirvana fire of the ninth realm is both hope and despair,” sighed the elder scholar Zhu Huoxi as he picked up a white stone.

The third scholar, Wang Banshan, stared blankly at the board. His bond with Zhao Huangting was closer—they had been kindred spirits since youth, sharing brilliance and charm in both the capital and Lin’an, reveling in their youthful triumphs.

Yet, in the end, even their spirit could not withstand the relentless passage of time.

“Won’t you go see him?” the elder scholar asked.

“I won’t. I have no face to show,” Wang Banshan replied, scattering black stones across the board, his finger stirring them aimlessly. “Once Pang Ji returns, I plan to resign as the third scholar of the academy.”

“Today’s events were absurd. Had I not been bound by my position or the academy’s interests, I would have acted. But because of this title, I held back. My heart feels soiled.”

“Besides, I’ve long called for reform within the academy, but I know well that in the Great Zhao, change is near impossible.”

The old man rose, hands clasped behind his back, and stood at the doorway, gazing at the banana tree outside the cottage.

A weariness flickered in his eyes.

“The Great Zhao and the academy are nearly inseparable. The academy serves as a talent pool for the state, but the imperial court and the sprawling city of Lin’an are like a great dye vat—talent nurtured there is inevitably stained with myriad colors.”

“The passion for scholarship may linger somewhat, but the essential spirit of a true scholar has long faded.”

“In recent years, as a scholar of the academy, perhaps I too have been tainted, no longer so pure.”

“So, when the last vestiges of the Sage Master’s sword energy emerged into the world, perhaps it signals a change that does not follow convention. I intend to travel, to see for myself.”

“Zhao Huangting’s reckless ignition of the nirvana fire—the freedom, the abandon—is something I envy, and from it, I have gained clarity.”

Wang Banshan smiled with a hint of freedom in his voice.

“Indeed, the academy is no longer what it once was.”

Zhu Huoxi murmured softly, then rose and joined Wang Banshan. Together, the two elders gazed at the banana tree in the courtyard, above which the sky reflected the burning late sunset, aflame with the nirvana fire—like a dying sun desperate to leave behind its most beautiful light.

“The sun sets behind the southwestern peak,

A thousand miles of fading crimson clouds.

From the pavilion above the great hall,

Reluctant to let go of the lingering light, fearing the evening breeze.”

The elder softly recited the verse.

Wang Banshan stroked his beard and smiled.

“How beautiful.”

……

Above Lin’an Prefecture, the sunset stretched for a thousand miles.

To ordinary eyes, the sky was clear and ordinary, without any sign of anomaly.

But to those who had cultivated their spirit to mastery, the heavens appeared as if engulfed in a blazing fire, casting radiant light that painted the sky with resplendent hues.

The flames blazed fiercely from the heroic elder who had taken a single step to shatter the armor of three thousand soldiers, burning from every inch of his skin and flesh.

Dressed simply in white robes, the old man from the ancestral temple radiated boundless vigor, his aura rising higher and higher, overshadowing all others—even the radiant starry sword of Li You’an, which hung over Lin’an’s sky, dimmed in comparison.

His posture was straight as a green bamboo shooting toward the firmament; his plain robes fluttered as he looked down on the world with disdain, laughing and scolding the mortal realm.

With a single step, even the combined forces of the three thousand Forbidden Guards and Jinwu Guards shattered and fled in disarray.

Two ancient ancestral wills from Phoenix Mountain rose to block him, only to be crushed beneath his might, extinguishing several eternal lights atop the royal mausoleum.

Zhao Huangting’s spirit soared with grandeur, his vigor at its peak.

He glanced at Li You’an, seated on the starry sword, and at Anle and Hua Jiebing, smiling faintly.

“Come out of the city. I will hold them off. Who dares to come…”

“Right now, I feel sharp and free, unrestrained. Whoever comes, I will kill.”

“Those who fear not death, come on.”

“Watch as I ignite the nirvana fire and restore my peak strength. Let’s see if these old bones can still slay.”

His words trembled through the air over Lin’an, stirring the hearts of all who heard them.

But with just one step, the bloodied Tong Diao Temple and the Jinwu generals standing nearby dared not give chase.

Especially Tong Diao Temple—a fellow ninth realm master—how could the gap be so vast?

At this moment, Zhao Huangting was undoubtedly the strongest among the ninth realm elite, unmatched within his realm.

He was a cultivator who had ignited the nirvana fire, his essence and spirit reaching their utmost pinnacle.

A life as fleeting as a blooming ephemeral flower.

In vast Lin’an, who could stop him?

Who indeed?

The starry sword descended like a radiant light through the mortal world, slowly drifting away from the city under countless watchful eyes.

Upon the sword stood a pale-faced youth with dark, penetrating eyes, quietly observing the bustling city that seemed but a dream.

The city’s mountains, waters, and people—all imprinted deeply within the boy’s soul.

Anle exhaled softly.

As he left the ancestral temple alley and stepped onto Qingbo Street towards the imperial city, he felt a subtle premonition—that perhaps today would mark his farewell to Lin’an.

Yet when that farewell truly arrived, an inexplicable heaviness weighed on his heart.

Still, he knew he would one day return to this city.

All eyes stared blankly at the sword bathed in starlight, carrying Hua Jiebing, Li You’an, and that young man who had forged a new legend atop the imperial city.

The Zhao emperor sat in the Tianxuan Palace, his figure cloaked in shadow, only his eyes visible through the dim light as he watched the sword carrying Hua Jiebing and the youth depart Lin’an.

No one blocked their way, no one dared.

The city fell silent.

As the radiant sword finally vanished from the skies above Lin’an, many felt the tension within their hearts ease.

The Zhao emperor leaned back on his throne and slowly closed his eyes.

Zhao Huangting gazed upon the silent city, feeling a loss of interest. A single breath had stirred a tempest throughout the city.

“Boring,” the old man said softly, then turned and strode out of Lin’an.

The towering protective array of the city gates collapsed with a rumble, sealing off the city and finally separating the chaos within from the outside world.

On the Imperial Street, the silver-armored Forbidden Guards and golden-armored Jinwu Guards, shattered by one man’s charge, exchanged uncertain glances, unsure whether to pursue or retreat.

Tong Diao Temple’s purple-robed figure wiped blood from his lips, hands resting at his waist, silently turning to walk slowly toward the imperial city.

The Jinwu generals also intended to return, but after exchanging a glance, they sighed and led their troops out of the city, waiting for the protective array to withdraw before making a symbolic pursuit—they owed it to their duty.

Though success was doubtful, and they dared not truly chase, appearances must be maintained.

Above the imperial city, a figure plummeted rapidly, finally hovering just above the protective array.

The noble robes of the Duke of the Kingdom fluttered in the high winds.

Madam Yu, expressionless, held her dragon-head cane. Though an old woman, she bore the commanding presence and dignity of a seasoned general who had expanded territories.

The battle between the Duke and Madam Yu had ended without favor to either.

……

Higher still, within the sea of clouds,

A mighty spirit stood like a cliff to block a terrifying blade, causing the clouds to ripple and roll as if a coiled dragon stirred beneath.

Di Zang donned a bronze mask covering the branded scars on his face. His hair whipped wildly, and beneath the mask his eyes gleamed with a bloodthirsty red light.

At this moment, Di Zang was a peerless martial champion, his terrifying vitality coursing through every drop of blood, each capable of piercing mountains.

“Di Zang, there’s no need for us to continue fighting,” said the second scholar, Pang Ji, earnestly.

“It’s over.”

But Di Zang paid no heed, gripping the first-grade Zhao ancestral dragon-slaying blade, unleashing slashes whose terrifying blade energy tore through the clouds.

Pang Ji was helpless; his face twitched slightly as his scholar’s robe fluttered. He dispersed the spiritual barrier before him and reached out bare-handed to grasp the blade energy.

Retreating a step, he rolled his sleeves and seized the blade energy, spinning like a top above the clouds, the sound of rumbles echoing.

The sky was clear and boundless.

Yet it felt as though spring thunder rumbled without warning.

When the elder finally stood firm, the blade energy dissipated, though his sleeves remained alive with flickering blade qi and endless thunderous echoes.

Di Zang sheathed his blade, removed the bronze mask, and hung it at his waist, falling silent.

He gazed coldly at the second scholar.

“The academy has fundamentally changed. For you three scholars to take that half-step and become true sages of the mortal world while clinging to the current academy is but a fool’s dream.”

“Among the three thousand scholars of the academy, not one possesses the pure righteous spirit. Only one does—and he is not part of the academy. Tell me, isn’t that absurd?”

Di Zang shook his head.

Pang Ji sighed.

“A great tree’s roots have spread deeply through the soil over countless years, intertwining into an impenetrable web. Moving it is no easy matter.”

Di Zang scoffed and kicked off the void; the clouds exploded apart as he shot upward like a cannonball and vanished into the sky, leaving only a mocking voice echoing.

“Words mean little; when power is great enough, even the tallest trees can be uprooted!”

The martial champion had left, but the scholars remained beneath the heavens.

Pang Ji watched Di Zang’s graceful departure, then sighed deeply.

His sleeves, shredded by blade energy, fluttered raggedly.

……

The starry sword stretched across the sky, spanning three hundred miles, descending toward the towering peaks of Qingshan Mountain.

At the half-mountain pavilion, the misty mountain fog was cut away.

Peace was shattered.

On a broad plateau, the starlight faded as Li You’an stood with hands behind his back, the sword’s brilliance extinguished.

A gentle breeze stirred, scattering peach blossoms across the hills.

Hua Jiebing and Anle stood together, bathing in the spring wind lingering in the mountains. Anle’s pale face seemed to ease somewhat.

This was the Sixth Mountain, well known to Anle.

Two figures slowly descended the mountain stone path—the stern Sixth Mountain Master and the veiled Fairy Yunrou.

Anle, bearing the Qingshan and Ink Pool talismans at his waist, bowed respectfully to the Sixth Mountain Master.

The Master regarded Anle with rare admiration.

“Facing the turbulent great tide with fearless resolve, raising the sword, cutting through the waves, and forging a bright world.”

“Soon after this, you may very well condense a sword heart.”

The praise brought a shy smile to Anle’s face.

“Master, you overpraise. Lady Hua once did me a great kindness, gifting me precious cultivation techniques and lighting a guiding lamp along my path. This debt of gratitude I intend to repay fully.”

The cold Sixth Mountain Master smiled faintly—like a melting iceberg.

“You are different. In such circumstances, to dare draw your sword is no small feat.”

Fairy Yunrou glanced sideways, sensing the Master’s unusual demeanor. He had never smiled at her in all the years.

Ignoring her, the Master’s gaze fixed on the Qingshan talisman at Anle’s waist.

“You used the power of Qingshan to sever the great hand of the Zhao emperor in the White Jade Square, breaking through the spiritual array?”

His eyes shimmered with interest.

Li You’an and Hua Jiebing exchanged curious looks.

That a fourth realm cultivator like Anle could suddenly unleash power comparable to a ninth realm master was extraordinary, even echoing the moment Zhao Huangting once clashed swords with Emperor Yuanmeng.

That spirit, that grandeur, was unmistakable.

Yet it also revealed the terrifying secrets of the Qingshan sword.

Anle thought for a moment but chose not to explain. The profound spirit of the “Heroic Spirit Guide” fruit of cultivation could not be shared freely. Silence was the better course.

Still, that guiding heroic spirit seemed to replicate Zhao Huangting’s shining moment against Emperor Yuanmeng.

Sadly, after this surge, Anle did not know how long it would take to fully gather the power of the “Heroic Spirit Guide.”

Though he said nothing, Li You’an and the Sixth Mountain Master understood the mysteries of the Qingshan sword and felt no surprise.

“That power is impressive, but your cultivation is lacking. Your inner core’s essence is depleted; your spirit lies dormant. Cracks have appeared on the sword furnace…”

“You must rest well and nurture yourself.”

Li You’an spoke gently.

Anle nodded, though he showed little worry. For even in the brief time since, the ancient scripture visions inspired by Qingshan had begun repairing the cracks on the sword furnace, and fresh springs seemed to flow within his spirit.

The essence of the inner core, represented by the five birds, began to awaken, like life returning after winter’s snow.

He even sensed that once fully restored, both spirit refining and body forging might advance to new heights.

The only regret was that despite drawing on the vast heroic spirit of the “Heroic Spirit Guide,” his “Fearless Heart” had yet to awaken.

Suddenly, Anle recalled the elder from the ancestral temple atop Lin’an’s city walls—the one whose heroic spirit soared millions-fold, who had opened the protective array with the nirvana fire. That blazing fire altered the heavens and changed the celestial patterns, like a true immortal of the land.

Yet that magnificent spirit and burning nirvana fire, though intensely hot, carried a chilling coldness, like the final gleam before fading away.

Anle’s heart trembled, and he hurriedly asked, “Senior Zhao Huangting—is he safe?”

The Sixth Mountain Master and Li You’an looked toward the distance, where faint flames shot skyward, and the sky glowed with radiant clouds.

That was Zhao Huangting’s destination.

There, too, stood a sword qi bodhisattva.

……

Outside Lin’an Prefecture, amid the mountains,

The Buddhist light gradually faded.

The sword qi bodhisattva plucked a flower; the pure pearl master appeared as if stepping from a painting, radiating a hazy white glow, their minds intertwined in a dreamlike dance.

The sea-crossing saint monk, expressionless, retracted his golden alms bowl and the “Immaculate Lotus Robe” kasaya. The opposing energy between them began to calm.

“Amitabha.”

“The storm has settled. I should depart now,” the monk said softly as he rose from his seated posture, stepping forward in black-and-white cloth shoes.

Yet the thousand-eyed sword qi bodhisattva opened its eyes wide, slashing the void with sword light.

The pure pearl master smiled and pointed at a flower.

“Don’t rush. Zhao Huangting has ignited nirvana and is coming here. You may have a discussion with him.”

The monk’s expression faltered. He clasped his palms and chanted a Buddhist mantra.

Suddenly, the golden prayer beads in his hands were thrown into the air and exploded without hesitation, unleashing countless Buddhist rays that formed a gigantic Buddha figure, shielding the sword qi bodhisattva.

This sea-crossing saint monk of Lotus Temple bore the Buddha himself, chanting Amitabha as he fled like the wind.

After the monk’s departure,

A torrent of flames swept in. Zhao Huangting’s white robes fluttered as he descended, gripping a bamboo staff. The intense fire spread, burning all within the heavens and earth.

“Ran away?”

“Carrying the Buddha and fled,” the pure pearl master replied softly.

“Damn, that bald-headed… sea-crossing monk, no guts at all. Not straightforward one bit,” Zhao Huangting was about to curse, but recalling that the female bodhisattva before him had shaved away thirty-three thousand strands of vexation, he changed his tone.

The pure pearl master smiled at him.

Zhao Huangting quickly pressed his bamboo staff against his ribs, clasped his hands in prayer, and bowed with utmost sincerity.

“Bodhisattva, aid me.”

——

End of chapter.

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