Chapter 581: Monks and Demons

Chapter 581: Monks and Demons

“Tell father and mother that there is still hope in this world.”

A low voice sang the same song, echoing in the Rainmo region thousands of miles away from Qu Cheng.

In the biting cold wind, the man’s bare torso was muscular and strong, his sheepskin robe hanging at his waist, his scarred arms cradling a heavy stone.

“Dun Zhu, close that foul mouth of yours!”

The old man walking beside him whispered a rebuke, his two bony palms gripping the shoulder straps, the burden of stones in his basket bending his spine until he could only lean forward and push on.

“The masters have been in foul moods lately. If you cause trouble now, the whole village will suffer punishment. Do you understand?”

As he scolded, the old man suddenly felt the weight on his back lighten. Startled, he turned his head.

The man had shifted the large stone from his arms to his shoulders, freeing a hand to lift the basket from the old man’s back.

“Don’t be angry, I’ve remembered.”

The man grinned, revealing a row of white, clean teeth. He tilted his chin toward a distant, bright yellow canopy and laughed, “Besides, those masters are far away. They can’t hear us.”

“Caution ensures longevity, humility ensures progress. Many have lost their lives over careless words. How have you not learned this yet?”

The man laughed boisterously, “Village chief, I only sang a song. It’s not that serious, is it?”

The old man sighed, glancing warily into the distance before murmuring, “Dun Zhu, you are a good child, and the one most likely to become a Buddha in our village. You must be even more careful. Those unruly thoughts in your mind won’t aid your cultivation—they’ll only bring you misfortune.”

“Can someone like me become a Buddha?”

“Of course you can!”

The old man’s eyes were resolute, his voice unwavering. “Though we are slaves chained by sin, the Buddha is merciful, loving us. Whenever one of us repays a portion of our sins through action, the Buddha bestows grace, guiding us to the Western Paradise. And you—you are the one blessed by the Buddha!”

“Not these words again.”

Dun Zhu’s heart was filled with helplessness as the old man’s endless preaching droned on.

He cared not for the Buddha’s grace—only when this forced labor would end.

If it continued, the harsh winter would arrive.

Rainmo’s winters devour people.

“When can we return to the village?”

Taking advantage of the old man’s pause to catch his breath, Dun Zhu quickly changed the subject.

“The masters said the foundation of Ganshui Temple must be completed within this month. If we finish on time, they’ll allow us home—and reward us with supplies to survive the winter.”

At this, the old man frowned and cursed bitterly, “This is all the fault of those barbaric Ming people. If they hadn’t defiled the Buddha and destroyed Ganshui Temple, the masters wouldn’t demand this forced labor now.”

“At this time of year, we should be preparing fodder for the cattle and sheep. I wonder if the masters will grant us more grass this time.”

The old man’s words dragged on, his sighs and groans uncomfortable to hear.

Dun Zhu remained silent. His unusually tall frame, rare among the Buddha slaves, allowed him to gaze far without much effort.

The line of people trailing behind them formed a narrow, endless procession, trudging through the swirling wind and snow.

Whether strong young men or old, weak women and children, each bore a basket of varying sizes.

They obeyed the masters of Ganshui Temple, using the most primitive methods to build a grand temple with their bare hands.

Only thus could they demonstrate their sincerity to the Buddha and their redemption from sin.

Such was the custom of the land.

As the procession advanced, vague black shadows emerged from the wind and snow along the roadside.

As they drew closer, Dun Zhu saw clearly—these shadows were people stripped bare.

They hung bound and suspended from wooden stakes, their bodies encased in frost, dark purple frostbite marking their skin, their chests flat and still, proving them dead.

Yet what chilled Dun Zhu most was their unnatural appearances.

Some had fur-covered feet like beastly hooves; others bore long tails behind them, or scales of blue-green along their limbs.

The stakes were numerous, like a grove of leafless trees.

In the distance, burned houses lay in ruins—the remnants of a village.

“They were all from Daba Village. For some reason, the entire village turned into demons of the snowfields overnight, devouring humans. The masters of Ganshui Temple exorcised the whole village to stop the corruption from spreading.”

The old man explained softly at Dun Zhu’s side.

He halted, clasped his hands in prayer, and bowed deeply to the stakes.

“But now their souls have returned to the Buddha’s embrace. That is a good ending.”

The old man, chanting scriptures, failed to notice Dun Zhu’s expression growing grim behind him.

His extraordinary physical strength allowed him to see farther through the snow.

Beyond the stakes deliberately placed along the road, in the distance, many bore no obvious beastly traits.

Twisted, agonized faces and bloodstained bodies proved they had been nailed alive to the stakes, later frozen to death.

These people had not fallen to corruption—why were they slain as well?

As Dun Zhu puzzled, a commotion erupted ahead, followed by a woman’s terrified scream!

Dun Zhu spun around, only to find the old man had vanished, leaving behind a toppled basket. The old man was already sprinting toward the chaos.

*Crack!*

A whip lashed out, sending the old man sprawling to the ground.

He ignored the torn wounds on his face and the flowing blood, bowing humbly with his head pressed low.

Behind him stood a frail youth, unconscious from exhaustion.

The youth’s mother stood nearby, too afraid to reach for her child, her tear-filled eyes helplessly clutching the stones in her arms.

Without the masters’ permission, setting down the stones meant an unforgivable sin.

“The master’s wrath—he merely fainted. He’ll wake soon.”

Another sharp *crack* cut off the old man’s plea.

“What if he wakes? The sacred stone he carried has fallen, tainted by mortal dust. This is sacrilege against Ganshui Temple!”

The whip tore another bloody gash across the old man’s face as the monk stepped on his palm.

“And you, old fool—where is your sacred stone? Did it fall too?”

The grinding of the shoe soles ground his palm to pulp, blood and flesh mingling in agony. Yet the old man’s blood-soaked face bore no trace of resentment.

“You’ve forgotten, master—I am the head of the village’s Buddha slaves. The King of Ganshui specifically exempted me from carrying sacred stones. I only need to manage these lowly slaves for the temple.”

The old man gritted his teeth, lying on the ground and smiling up at the monk.

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and jerked his head back, roaring, “Dun Zhu, stop! Don’t forget what I told you!”

The towering figure rushing forward was startled by the old man’s feral glare, halting reluctantly.

“Is he the one blessed by the Buddha from Jinzhen Village?”

The monk scrutinized Dun Zhu’s form, and after sensing the turbulent Buddha-nature within him, his eyes flickered with envy and venom.

An unworthy servant of the Buddha, bereft of any right to study the Dharma, yet born with a robust seed of wisdom—truly a blessing from the Buddha himself.

“Old Jianjiu, your fate is truly fortunate.”

The monk shifted his foot that pressed upon the palm, and the elder hurriedly turned over and knelt.

The elder bowed respectfully, “It is the compassion of the Master that has brought the Buddha’s grace to the Golden Pearl.”

“The Master’s words are not about him.”

The monk lowered his head toward the elder: “There are so many villages under the auspices of the Ganyuan Temple; do you know why the Dharma King chose only your Golden Pearl Village to build the temple?”

“Because the villagers of Golden Pearl are the most devout followers of the Ganyuan Temple.”

“Wrong, for your village has also fallen into the chaos of monsters.”

The monk’s expression grew haughty: “Hence the King has summoned you to carry the divine stone. This is the chance of atonement granted by the Dharma King; do you understand?”

Hearing these words, Old Jianjiu felt as if struck by lightning, standing motionless.

The surrounding Buddhist servants wore expressions of terror, like cattle and sheep besieged, gathering and shrinking toward the center.

“Impossible.”

Old Jianjiu, forgetting his body’s pain, muttered to himself.

“Unbelieving? Then let the Master show you plainly.”

The monk wrapped in a red robe was satisfied with the servants’ reactions, striking his palms lightly.

“Bring the person over.”

Hoo! Hoo!

A metallic rasping sound echoed beneath the splendid canopy.

Four adult servants dragged iron chains around their wrists, pulling a black‑covered, cage‑like thing toward them.

“Old Jianjiu, widen your eyes and watch closely.”

The monk crouched beside the elder, tugging at his gray hair, lifting his lowered gaze bit by bit.

The black cloth lifted, revealing a beast imprisoned within the cage.

Though called a beast, it bore no resemblance to the tigers, leopards, or wolves the servants had seen.

Its slender frame, thick fur, white spines along the inner limbs, a long tail tipped with a heart‑shaking hook—yet it exuded a strange beauty.

What frightened them more was that the beast’s face resembled a young woman.

And that face was familiar to them!

“A Zuo…”

Old Jianjiu knelt helplessly, his gaze unfocused upon the girl’s face, a tragic, helpless expression.

The girl’s eyes lacked pupils, filled with murky amber, she roared low at the servants, but when she looked at the monk, her roar turned to a fearful whisper.

“A few days ago, Old Jianjiu, you reported to Ganyuan Temple that your granddaughter had vanished, correct? Now the Master has brought her back. Unfortunately, she has fallen and become a cannibalistic monster.”

The monk released the elder’s hair, rose, and walked to the cage.

The half‑human, half‑beast demon trembled, claws striking the cage, its hooked tail raised like a scorpion’s, hissing.

The monk clasped his hands, shook his head gently; facing the crowd, his face showed no mercy, only cold disdain.

“A Zuo!”

With a shout, the girl slammed her forepaws over her ears; sharp claws cut blood from her face, her body rolled in the cage, the tail striking sparks.

As the monk chanted verses, the girl in the cage gradually ceased struggling, collapsing weakly, her amber eyes turning black.

The beastly roar faded, replaced by her sobbing.

“Awaken.”

The monk’s voice again carried a faint summons.

The beast‑body twitched, slowly adopting a strange posture.

Her two terrible claws extended, scaly palms upward, the beast knelt, forehead and chest pressed to the cage, bowing before the monk.

The monk in red robes descended like a Buddha incarnate, his voice a torrent subduing the ferocious demon.

To the servants of Golden Pearl Village, the scene resembled a divine miracle from scripture, shaking their souls; they knelt, bowed, cried the name of the Ganyuan Dharma King, faces filled with reverence and frenzy.

“Cursed slave A Zuo, pay homage to the Master.”

Amid the clamorous shouts, the girl finally spoke, her voice trembling with tears and indescribable fear.

A Zuo felt as if she had fallen into a nightmare that would never wake.

In the dream, she saw her village engulfed by raging flames.

Familiar companions turned mad, slaughtering each other in the blaze, tearing each other's skins with teeth, revealing beastly manes and scales.

A Zuo was terrified, yet she gathered courage and burst through the door.

She sought her grandfather, who needed her.

The blaze grew larger, and the demons fighting around her multiplied.

Scorching heat burned her skin; melted snow turned the ground into muddy swamp, rotting flesh and limbs mingled in the sludge.

A Zuo ran aimlessly, calling her grandfather’s name, but when her voice cracked, no reply came, only the demons’ attention.

Finally she was locked in an iron cage, surrounded by countless demons of all sizes.

They writhed excitedly, kneeling like humans, heads swinging wildly, as if they were food kept in cages or toys to be toyed with.

Just as despair was about to swallow her, she saw a holy red garment blocking her path.

It was the Master.

The Master stood before her, softly calling her name.

A Zuo, tears streaming, knelt, chanting the Buddha’s revered name upon the lotus throne, hoping for the Master’s salvation.

“A Zuo.”

She heard the Master’s warm call, and when she lifted her head, a sly, sinister old demon leapt forward.

The startled Master was knocked to the cage’s edge; in the struggle, the demon accidentally broke the cage’s latch.

“Run!”

Amid the bone‑shattering gnawing and swallowing, a wailing cry erupted.

A Zuo could not tell whether it was the Master’s voice or her own delusion.

She used all her limbs to burst through the cage; instantly, the surrounding demons roared like a mountain storm.

In that moment, she felt everything vividly: the snow on her head was cold, tears salty, mud stank, demons exhaled foul odor.

This was no dream at all!

Run!

Run fast!

She pressed onward with all her might, yet she was already spent, and a few stones that had rolled from her pack tripped her to the ground with ease.

A guttural roar chased her from behind, drawing ever nearer.

The girl, too weary to struggle, could only turn in despair, watching a colossal demon surge toward her.

From farther away, the untamed demons swayed their massive forms, letting out excited roars as if awaiting the sight of her being devoured whole.

The girl opened her mouth, and instinctively she yearned to beg the Buddha for shelter, to grant herself a chance at life.

But when her prayer emerged, it turned into a piercing, ear‑splitting screech.

Azo stared wide‑eyed, unable to believe it was his own voice.

And at that moment, the demon had caught up, lunging to bite her.

Thump!

“Let her go.”

Dunzhu glared at the strange man before him, his massive arms clutching the unconscious girl.

Li Jun, with one hand gripping Dunzhu’s skull, lifted him with a single arm, glanced at the monster cradled in his embrace, then lifted his gaze to the furious red‑robed monk stamping on an old man’s corpse.

Without further thought, Li Jun instantly grasped the tragedy that had unfolded.

"What a cursed patch of ground, truly opening my eyes!"

A suffocating dread pressed down, turning the clamor of prayers into a sudden, dead silence.

The kneeling Buddhist slave, immobilized on the ground, stared in terror at the sudden strangers and the stone that lay beside him.

The stone struck the earth, and a head fell with it.

In an instant, desperate weeping shattered the silence, echoing like a chorus.