Chapter 21: Across the Chu River, Through the Ages

The ice dragon let out a mournful wail as it was snapped in half at the waist, crashing into the water with a tremendous splash. The Vajra advanced alongside Ye Xinchan, each step stirring towering waves. The waters of the Chu River surged over both banks and flooded the Chu River Bridge. This year, it seemed there was no longer any need to worry about flooding along the Chu River.

Ye Xinchan walked neither hurriedly nor anxiously; rather, it was the Vajra’s massive body that made each stride a laborious effort. “Young lady, do you still intend to block this humble monk’s path?” The refined monk spoke with the imperious bearing befitting his formidable reputation.

They were two miles apart, yet on the Chu River, their figures were clearly visible. The Chu River, vast and mighty, stretched tens of thousands of miles. Though it had just lost thirty miles of water, in an instant fresh waters filled the riverbed anew. If ever there was a true flow of qi and spirit, it was here in the Chu River—unceasing and eternal.

“I have one more technique. If you can break it, then I shall let you go in peace,” Ren Ruyi said, standing at the bow of her boat, which rose with the swelling water. She lightly pressed down with her right hand.

Suddenly, a hundred-foot ice spike erupted from the water! Dozens rose, some long, some short—small ones a few meters tall, others towering several dozen feet. Thousands of icy barriers blocked the way, dense and magnificent. It was reaching its peak. Yet, alas, the few onlookers were sparse. Once bustling with voices, the Chu River Bridge was now eerily empty, the waves having washed away all traces.

“The last time I witnessed a domain, it was shattered by three Vajra punches from me,” the Vajra said. “I lost my divine power and my state of mind—I mourned it deeply. Today, seeing it again, I only hope not to repeat that mistake.” With a single stride, the Vajra moved forward. Ye Xinchan followed behind, his monk’s robe and straw sandals moving as he chanted a Buddhist mantra.

The Vajra roared fiercely, delivering the first punch. The massive ice spikes shattered into fragments scattered on the ground. His second punch slammed into the surface, causing cracks to spiderweb across the ice. With his third punch, the Vajra pressed on relentlessly.

Ren Ruyi raised her right hand, and beneath the boat, a ten-foot ice spike burst through the ice. Raising her hand just an inch more, the spike soared another thirty feet, transforming into a towering ice pillar. She was nearly as tall as the Vajra. The Vajra roared again, abandoning the ice and delivering a punch straight toward Ren Ruyi. Standing on the boat, which now rested atop the ice pillar, Ren Ruyi met his massive fist with one of her own.

The two fists collided. The scene was almost comical: the Vajra’s punch was like a young ox’s, enormous and powerful, while Ren Ruyi appeared as a mere shadow in comparison. How could such a small figure withstand such a blow?

There was no earth-shattering sound, no mountains crumbling or rivers reversing course. Only a faint tremor in the ground.

The ice pillar beneath Ren Ruyi sank one foot, while the Vajra staggered backward ten feet, passing through Ye Xinchan before crashing heavily to the ground. Silence spoke louder than words—Ren Ruyi’s single punch had shattered the Vajra.

At last, Ye Xinchan lifted his head, lowered his hands, and gazed upward at Ren Ruyi, who stood high above.

“Mercy of the Buddha, to behold the true self,” Ye Xinchan said, raising both hands. He wore no prayer beads, leaned on no staff.

Suddenly, the clouds in the sky sketched the outline of a great Buddha. Its face was neither sorrowful nor joyous; the statue was somewhat blurred, yet upon closer inspection, one could discern a striking resemblance to Ye Xinchan himself.

The Buddha held the lotus flower mudra and spoke Buddhist mantras with a voice like a mighty bell.

“Om.”

“Ma.”

“Ni.”

“Bai.”

“Mi.”

“Hou.”

A radiant Buddha light shone with ten thousand rays, revealing the myriad phenomena of the universe.

“People say the Pure Land exists where the Buddha dwells. What is Pure Land? What is Buddha? If my heart holds eternal joy, why cannot I call it Pure Land? If my Dharma is boundless, why cannot I become Buddha?” Ye Xinchan silently chanted. “No one has ever truly seen my Buddha. Why then can I not attain Buddhahood here and now? Though none are Buddha yet, some, like me, desire it—and thus become Buddha.”

Behind Ye Xinchan, a Bodhi tree sprouted, its branches swaying with golden light. Legend held that the first Buddha in the immortal realm attained enlightenment beneath a Bodhi tree, which thereafter became essential to the path of Buddhahood.

“I dare to lead the world, and will not yield to others.” Golden lotuses bloomed beneath Ye Xinchan’s feet. “I was born to enter the Buddha’s path, and so I became a monk. Since this is so, why then cannot I also become Buddha? The world’s affairs are unpredictable—who can say what awaits?”

Chai Qingshan was astonished several times in a single day. “This is no mere monk; he is clearly a divine monk.” Wu Yue never bothered to hide his own limited understanding and asked without hesitation.

Chai Qingshan suppressed his shock and sighed, “Simply put, this Ye Xinchan is on the path of karmic completion.”

“Is that all?” Wu Yue asked.

“There are countless cultivators in the mortal world, but only tens of thousands who have completed their karmic ties. Yet such completion truly means limitless potential.” Chai Qingshan was an honest man, speaking openly and fully. “The boundaries of realms in this world are never very clear. The first five realms are somewhat distinct, but beyond that, they blur significantly. Even within a single realm, there is a vast disparity in strength. When it comes to comprehension of the great Dao, it is like a mountain—some stand at the peak, others at the foot. This mountain is called the Mountain of Completion.”

“Didn’t you say before he was a Buddha-rebel?” Hai Qing, who had been listening with rapt attention, couldn’t help but ask. As for the portly steward, he had long since been knocked unconscious by Hai Qing—such scenes were not for ordinary mortals to witness; continued exposure would surely shatter their minds.

“Indeed, but who can say that being a Buddha-rebel is wrong?” Chai Qingshan smiled wryly, producing four or five bamboo slips that glowed faintly.

“What does that mean? Does it imply Buddha might be wrong?” Chai Qingshan found it difficult to answer. To say Buddha was wrong would invite the enmity of millions of Buddhists, whose scorn could ruin one’s life. “I don’t know. I’m just an ordinary cultivator,” he said frankly.

“What then is your path?”

“I don’t know,” Chai Qingshan answered honestly. “Right now, I just want to bring my junior brother back home. Hmm...” He had more to say, but those words remained locked in his heart.

“Who is your junior brother?” Hai Qing finally regained her composure and began pondering how to retrieve this formidable individual. Though his appearance was unremarkable, something was amiss—the Kai’er sealed in ice had vanished, seemingly swept away by the floodwaters breaching the dike.

“Oh, my junior brother is Guo Xiefeng. Our master said he’s always causing trouble outside, so I must bring him back. He’ll probably be confined.” Hearing the name, Wu Yue felt a faint familiarity. Hai Qing blurted out, “Which Guo Xiefeng?”

Chai Qingshan thought for a moment. “That Guo Xiefeng,” he replied plainly, with no further explanation or embellishment.

Hai Qing took a deep breath, realizing she had met all the major figures today. On reflection, she felt her luck was not bad but extraordinarily good. Among all the Guo Xiefengs in the world, only one could rival the entire world. Wu Yue vaguely recalled: Tianque Palace, Guo Xiefeng, who had dominated Dao Valley with his reckless words for twenty years—invincible in youth, unrivaled at fifty, unmatched at a hundred. Such a bold personality—how could he have a brother like this?

As for Qing Yuzi, who kept lamenting his regret at missing the scene, he was equally devoted to the Dao, though who knew of the ruthless schemes he had plotted days before? Yet he never hid his true self—this was Qing Yuzi, the countless Zhuge.

The Buddha’s radiance grew ever brighter, almost engulfing Ye Xinchan. Streams of light appeared in the sky, each surge accompanied by mounting momentum. Countless genuine cultivators, those qualified to witness this moment, came from afar.

“I wish to see the Buddha, but the Buddha will not see me,” Ye Xinchan said, lowering his hands as all momentum dissipated. Turning his palm over, he studied the lines and murmured to himself, his gaze clear, transparent, filled with profound wisdom.

“Has he failed?” Wu Yue held his breath, curious.

“He has not yet succeeded, so how can he have failed?” A voice suddenly sounded beside the three, an elder standing no more than two meters away, yet utterly unnoticed.

“This young monk has great wisdom and perseverance. This small world will not hold him,” Chai Qingshan said with a sincere smile, clearly in agreement.

“Among the three present, I favor the lady in white most,” the elder said, glancing meaningfully at Chai Qingshan. “She innovates in the great Dao with new methods—efficient without trickery. Within twenty years, she will complete her karmic ties without obstruction. Second is you,” he said, nodding to Chai Qingshan, “Cultivate yourself, regulate your family, govern the state, and bring peace to the world—gradual progress leads to the great Dao.”

Chai Qingshan remained his humble self. “Master says I lack talent, inferior to my junior brother. To cultivate, I must use the clumsy way. I’m still working on self-cultivation.”

“Then your master has keen insight and good fortune,” the elder chuckled. “As for third place, it is Ye Xinchan. To blaze an unprecedented path is no easy feat; he will likely transcend this world and perish beyond it.”

The elder seemed in high spirits, meeting Hai Qing’s eager gaze and speaking plainly: “A pearl covered in dust may yet be saved.” Then he looked at Wu Yue with a smile: “You, in your next life, steal a good womb and you might cultivate the Dao.”

Wu Yue showed no expression and ignored the elder. After so long and encounters with those old men at the Jade Bowl Banquet, he had ceased to believe in the power of age.

Hai Qing, however, was stunned. To be rated higher than Wu Yue was almost impossible to accept. “But he’s Wu Yue!” The elder said no more, knowing his place. Even the most unpretentious must maintain some decorum.