Chapter 339: Bodhisattva Crossing the River

A white-robed monk carried a large section of the Yellow River over the Heavenly Gate, flooding the Daode Sect. Pilgrims inside and outside the Eighteen Temples were dumbfounded. When they first saw the Yellow River suspended in the sky, they were afraid the monk had gone mad and would pour the immense volume of water onto their heads, leading to a truly unjust death, a clear case of collateral damage. The white-robed monk ascended straight to Fushan. At the foot of the mountain, discussions buzzed, and many pilgrims, after regaining their senses, exclaimed how thrilling the sight was. Such a phenomenon was truly the work of an immortal, a rare sight for mortals.

Besides the devotees who came to burn incense at the Eighteen Temples of the Daode Sect, there were also many individuals deliberately observing the conflict from a distance. The higher buildings of the Daoist temple had long been divided among the powerful figures of Northern Mang. A plainly dressed man stood unnoticed in the surging crowd. He rarely looked up to meet anyone's gaze and showed no obvious distinguished demeanor, though he was taller than average. He had arrived at the foot of the mountain half a fortnight ago, living and eating no differently from others. Like many pilgrims, he ate scallion pancakes to fill his stomach and, on cool nights, simply lay down on any available open ground, perhaps covering himself with a long robe as a blanket. When he saw the white-robed monk leap over the Heavenly Gate, seemingly heading to confront True Person Qilin, he lost the desire to linger further. Just as he was about to turn, he smiled warmly and paused. A short, sturdy, dark-skinned man approached him. His arms were long, reaching his knees like an ape's, and his earlobes were unusually thick, resembling those of a Bodhisattva statue. A casual observer would simply remark that he possessed an auspicious appearance. The middle-aged man's eyes were indifferent, his lips tightly pressed. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the relatively younger, plainly dressed man. Comparing the two, the unremarkable latter immediately appeared refined and elegant. "I expected you'd come," the younger man said with a smile, "but I didn't think we'd actually meet."

The dark-skinned man grunted in response.

The man in the long robe raised a hand to shield his eyes, gazing into the distance. The two True Persons of the Daode Sect were guarding the old monk of Liangchan Temple, while three others had successively entered the Heavenly Gate to intercept the white-robed monk. He sighed, "Even the five Great True Persons couldn't break the Buddha's golden body of Monk Longshu. Such invulnerability truly embodies a Vajra physique."

The middle-aged man calmly stated, "The sages of the Three Teachings are different from us. Once they reach the peak within their respective realms, the concept of a 'Land Immortal' becomes irrelevant to them. It's not something we can envy."

The tall man, around thirty years old, chuckled softly, "I thought you were going to tear apart that Yellow River."

The man shook his head. "The five True Persons ganging up on venerable Monk Longshu, and his disciple Li Dangxin returning the favor to the Daode Sect – even if the spectacle is a bit grand, it's not excessive. As it stands, Liangchan Temple holds the moral high ground, and the Daode Sect is unreasonable. I'm just here to watch the show, not to join in."

The man, in his prime, withdrew his gaze. His eyes were, surprisingly, silvery-white without pupils. He gloated, "With this great flood, the Daode Sect has turned into a pond. Our Northern Mang Daoism has truly lost face. If the Imperial Advisor still doesn't intervene, how will he have the audacity to eradicate Buddhism?"

The man did not share his companion's leisure for enjoying others' misfortune. His words were, as always, plain and never intentionally startling. "That, I wouldn't know," he said.

"It's a pity you didn't hear Saint Monk Longshu explain the Diamond Sutra; he made it profound yet easy to understand."

The man frowned. "Hong Jingyan, Monk Longshu achieved the Buddha's golden body by deeply studying the Diamond Sutra his entire life. You, however, try to grasp everything, which will not benefit your future martial arts attainments but instead harm them."

The silver-eyed man, addressed as Hong Jingyan, chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Anyway, no matter how I practice martial arts, I can't beat you. I might as well learn some flashy tricks, at least to scare people. Look at Li Chungang's 'borrowed sword' from the Liyang Dynasty, and Li Dangxin's feat of hanging a river in the sky this time – these will surely be talked about in the jianghu for forty or fifty years."

The man, seemingly oblivious to social niceties, said, "How I advise you is my business; what you do is yours."

Hong Jingyan was momentarily speechless, then burst out laughing. "If you genuinely want someone to do something, who would dare refuse?"

The good-natured man simply smiled in response.

Hong Jingyan, who had been knocked from the fourth seat under heaven by White-robed Luoyang, suggested, "Shall we get something to eat?"

The man nodded. "I traveled in a hurry and didn't bring any money. I'll pay you back later."

Hong Jingyan shifted his weight, a wry smile on his face. "You're actually going to quibble with me about this?"

Unexpectedly, the man stated bluntly, "Our friendship isn't that deep yet."

Hong Jingyan burst into hearty laughter, no longer insisting. A nearby Daoist temple offered vegetarian food, but it was packed. The two waited patiently. During their wait, a clumsy pilgrim bumped into the man, who remained motionless. The seemingly sturdy pilgrim, however, stumbled awkwardly. The man reached out to steady him. This pilgrim had come to the Daode Sect to burn incense and pray for wealth, not out of genuine devotion to Daoism or faith in immortals. After his humiliation, he initially wanted to lash out, but seeing a man of comparable physique standing next to this 'country bumpkin,' he merely cursed and left. The middle-aged man paid him no mind. Hong Jingyan, familiar with the man's temperament, was used to it. The two finally managed to get a table. Hong Jingyan ordered two large bowls of vegetarian noodles. They sat opposite each other, each focusing on their meal. As Hong Jingyan slurped a firm noodle into his mouth, he asked indistinctly, "What's the fundamental difference between the three realms we've reached step-by-step—Vajra, Zhixuan, and Heavenly Manifestation—and Liangchan Temple monk's Vajra Inviolability, True Person Qilin's Zhixuan, and Cao Changqing's Heavenly Manifestation? Also, in the martial artist realm, Deng Tai'a's Zhixuan seems different from ours."

The man finished his noodles, placed his chopsticks across the bowl, and shook his head. "I'm not good at explaining things. If you want, we can just fight."

"Fight you?" Hong Jingyan completely ignored that comment, answering his own question calmly. "Carrying the Yellow River over the Heavenly Gate, I can do that too, though it would certainly be more strenuous. But Li Dangxin adheres to rules; for example, he wouldn't, and wouldn't dare, pour the Yellow River onto everyone's heads. If it were me, I'd do whatever pleased me. Daoists believe there are gods three feet above one's head, and monks who wish to become Buddhas must first have Buddha in their hearts. Ultimately, people of the Three Teachings achieve their power by borrowing from others. Since they borrow from Heaven, just like common folk borrow money, they feel beholden and constrained. Those who dare to act recklessly become unorthodox sects or 'wild fox Zen.' In the end, their longevity and freedom, in my opinion, are not true freedom. As for Confucianism's self-sacrifice for righteousness, that's even more of a cage for scholars. Ultimately, only martial artists, who prove their path through strength, are truly uninhibited."

The man frowned. "You still haven't gotten to the point."

Hong Jingyan, who showed no trace of his usual sharpness today, chuckled softly, "Let's not talk about that. Just give me a definite word: when will the two nations go to war again? Then I'll know when to come and stay with you."

The middle-aged man remained noncommittal. Hong Jingyan did not feel slighted or underestimated. Leaning lazily back in his chair, he slowly said, "His Majesty has been reforming the jianghu for years; it's time for it to bear fruit. At that time, many astonishingly talented jianghu figures, like the Sword Emperor of Western Shu, will appear on the battlefield. It's a tragedy; perhaps only one out of ten will survive. I truly feel it's not worth it for them."

The dark-skinned, taciturn man clasped his hands, fingers interlocked, still saying nothing.

Hong Jingyan suddenly asked, "Do you think the two of us could sneak into the Liyang Dynasty's imperial palace and take the head of the Zhao family's Son of Heaven? Or perhaps go to Beiliang and kill Xu Xiao?"

The man glanced at the person who had made a spectacular debut in the Chess, Sword, and Music Pavilion. He said lightly, "Though I don't understand Buddhism or Daoism, I've heard a saying in the Central Plains: 'When the Dao rises one foot, the Devil rises ten.' I'm certain that by the time you and I stand at the palace gates, Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City will have been waiting for a long time. As for Xu Xiao, he's involved in the grand three-way standoff between Liang, Mang, and Liyang. Since you have ambitions, he's not someone you can simply kill on a whim. Besides, you wouldn't be able to kill him."

Hong Jingyan sighed.

The middle-aged man asked, "I heard you lost to her?"

The front legs of Hong Jingyan's chair lifted off the ground, swaying. The man, who had personally watched the demonic Luoyang grow up, said calmly, "I lost. Her cost wasn't small either; she destroyed 126 of her meridians, severing all emotions and will, becoming a living corpse. Later, her 'Li Pearl' was shattered by Deng Tai'a's sword qi, so she won't live long."

The man expressed some regret.

He stood up and left the Daoist temple directly.

Hong Jingyan was silent for a long time, finally letting out a long breath. Almost instantly, his entire body was drenched in cold sweat.

A woman wearing a veiled hat and holding a pipa walked in and quietly sat beside Hong Jingyan. With slender fingers, she lifted a part of her veil, revealing half of her face.

Hong Jingyan glanced at her, then ordered another bowl of vegetarian noodles from the Daoist temple. He said, "He can owe money, but you cannot."

The half-veiled woman, with a youthful face but a voice as dry and hoarse as an old woman's, said, "She's not dead yet, so how will you settle your debt?"

Hong Jingyan sneered, "Do you and that bastard lover of yours deserve to demand payment from me?"

The woman instantly pressed down on a pipa string.

Hong Jingyan stretched. "Don't get angry with me. Are you full before even eating the noodles? See how sensible I am: if I can't beat that guy, I know to obediently treat him to a meal."

The people Hong Jingyan couldn't defeat were few and far between.

And that great Bodhisattva, who could make Hong Jingyan feel as if he faced a formidable enemy, had already crossed the Yellow River and was heading towards the extreme northern ice plains.