Chapter 582: No Buddha to Worship, Then No One to Kneel To

Chapter 582: With No Buddha to Bow To, No One Kneels

How could there still be outsiders appearing in Yumo?!

The originally furious monk, upon seeing Li Jun and his companions, instantly paled, without hesitation turning to flee.

But as soon as he took a step, a massive, oppressive force enveloped his body, flinging him face‑down to the ground, immobile.

Thud.

Dunzhu lay on his back, carefully shielding the demon‑transformed girl A Zhuo cradled in his arms, her size now exceeding his own.

The rugged man stared anxiously at the outsider before him, whose stature was far inferior to his own.

From that figure he felt a pressure greater than the highest snow‑capped peak of the plateau.

It seemed that a mere flick of the stranger’s finger would grind him to powder.

“Who are you?”

Li Jun ignored Dunzhu’s question, lowering his gaze to the girl in his arms; her pallid face furrowed, tears streaming down her closed eyes.

Though he already sensed the answer, Li Jun could not help asking again.

“Are we being dragged into the Buddha‑realm?”

“No.”

Zou Jiujiu stepped forward, standing shoulder‑to‑shoulder with Li Jun, his face grim.

A crimson‑haired guardian floated behind him, frost on his visage, killing intent in his eyes.

“Is this an illusion?”

Chen Qisheng stood at Li Jun’s right, the long‑armed soldier beside him clutching a silvery‑white blade, his voice cold.

“No, this is the present world.”

A dark‑golden titanic armor stood behind Li Jun, its crimson eyes echoing the Horse King’s wrathful tone.

“It’s the agrarian sequence—they’ve actually reached into the realm.”

Yuan Mingfei crouched beside the girl, her fingers tracing the hideous scales on her skin; deep in her gaze a mountain‑raged ape howled at the moon.

“Those beastly translators of the foreign Buddha sequence—what do they intend?”

Yuan Mingfei’s face turned ashen; it was the first time Li Jun had seen her so distraught.

Even when confronting the monk Longtu of the Great Zhao Temple in Chongqing, Yuan Mingfei had never shown such fierce anger and hatred.

So, they’re all in the same den of snakes and rats?

Li Jun glanced at Chen Qisheng, whose five fingers slowly unfurled; his surging spiritual sense, almost tangible, instantly wrapped the monk’s limbs, crushing them inch by inch from the fingertips outward.

In the wind‑swept, snow‑filled Gobi, the eerie sound of breaking bones and snapping tendons carried far.

The monk’s limbs were pulped into a bloody mash; a horrid scream tore from his throat, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious.

His robes stained crimson, the red glare piercing.

Such a bloody, cruel spectacle had long since left the surrounding Buddha‑slaves stunned and motionless.

These outsiders are not evil.

Though this thought now seems blatantly disrespectful to the Buddha, Dunzhu’s intuition insists it is true.

The earnest, simple‑hearted man nodded at Yuan Mingfei, mumbling a garbled ‘thanks,’ then struggled to his feet, cradling A Zhuo and striding back to the elder’s side.

“Village chief… village chief”

Dunzhu laid the unconscious A Zhuo aside, gently lifting the old man who had collapsed beside the iron cage.

His weight was light—as light as an unripe barley stalk—his face smeared with blood a lifeless ash, unresponsive to Dunzhu’s soft calls.

Because he had unlawfully opened the cage and freed A Zhuo, the enraged monk showed no mercy, a fist‑sized hole nearly piercing his chest.

Perhaps it was the surge of old memories, or perhaps the present grief and bewilderment.

The man glanced at the girl beside him, now unrecognizable, then at the corpse in his arms, kneeling on the ground, sunk in prolonged silence.

“Jiujiu, smash his skull and bring back any useful intel.”

Zou Jiujiu grunted an assent; without visible motion, the monk’s torso, stripped of limbs, rose from the filthy blood‑pool.

His shut eyes snapped open, his vacant gaze forming the character ‘Zou’.

What awaited him next was an endless nightmare.

“Who dares impede the reconstruction of my Ganquan Temple?”

A vast, hollow voice echoed from the wind and snow.

Soon after, an ethereal drumbeat drifted through the haze, a ceremonial procession slowly approaching.

At the vanguard, monks bore long banners and standards, flanked by drummers beating gongs and drums.

Behind them came a troupe of lovely young maidens, their elbows resting on exquisite lacquer baskets, scattering blossoms and lotus petals along the way.

Rows of long spears glinted coldly; the fully armored guardian monks marched in perfect unison.

The winding procession finally revealed its rear: a vermilion‑hued, ornate palanquin.

Upon it lay a canopied bed of bright yellow, the rear banner fluttering, emblazoned in four great characters: ‘Ganquan Dharma King.’

“Your Majesty, forgive us; Your Majesty, forgive us.”

The Buddha‑slaves of Jinzhu Village, stunned by the monk’s grisly fate, finally came to their senses, knees grinding on the gravel as they bowed before the procession.

“The divine stones meant for the temple’s construction were callously discarded on the ground, and yet they dared harm the overseer monk I sent.”

Within the jeweled canopy, the Ganquan Dharma King leaned half‑against his cushion, eyes lowered, a lion seal clasped before him.

As his words rippled outward, waves spread through the air—the Buddha‑realm unfolding.

“It seems your Jinzhu Village, too, has been corrupted and depraved by demonic chaos.”

Ganquan lifted his heavy lids, his cold gaze sweeping over the trembling crowd below, his mind calculating how to punish these audacious Buddha‑slaves.

Or perhaps, like Daba Village, sell them all to the ‘state’!

But as Ganquan pondered, in the next instant his sight fell upon a group of people who did not exist within his Buddha‑thought.

A group of unfamiliar outsiders!

A single glance filled his heart with an overwhelming helplessness and dread that instantly flooded his viscera.

It was as if before him loomed indescribable titans, while he was but a feeble worm crawling at their feet.

Ganquan’s mouth hung open, his throat clogged as if by a tongue‑tie, emitting incoherent, delirious clicks.

The collapsing Buddha‑realm made his mind feel torn apart, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding into his widened eyes.

A sour, stinging pain forced him to blink his lower eyelid.

In that fleeting shift of light and shadow, a visage of icy fury loomed, nearly striking his face!

“A Dharma King? A mere Sequence Six dares to shroud me in his Buddha‑realm?”

Five fingers like pincers seized Ganquan’s face.

Li Jun lifted this bloated, grotesque body with one hand, suppressing his anger, gathering his strength, and hurled it toward the ground.

Boom!

A dull thud echoed as the splendid carriage shattered instantly, its shockwave overturning the entire procession.

The previously awe‑inspiring Ganquan Dharma King now lay in a deep pit, his broken neck bone tilting his corpulent head into a horrifying arc, blood streaming from his seven apertures, clinging to life.

This was the result of Li Jun straining to contain his force; otherwise, Ganquan would have died countless times already.

"Forty‑nine, dig out this brain too, let’s see which Buddhas lurk behind this Dharma King!"

Li Jun shook the blood from his hand with a look of disgust, then turned to Zou Forty‑nine and ordered.

"Dig out the brain?"

Such a method was no stranger to Ganquan; it was practically second nature to him.

Yet he never imagined that one day it would be turned upon himself.

"My lord, my lord"

Ganquan’s liver and gall split apart; he uttered a Buddhist chant in panic: "Venerable sir, I am a disciple of the Sangyan Buddha Master Lin Qieba; if I have offended you in any way, I beg you, for the sake of the Sangyan Buddha Ancestor, to spare this humble monk."

"Sangyan Monastery, Lin Qieba"

Hearing this, Li Jun lowered his gaze to the pit where Ganquan lay, a faint, inscrutable smile touching his lips.

"How convenient—looks like we won’t need to dig after all."

"No need to dig, certainly no need; if you require karmic computing power, I have plenty of purified Buddha‑slaves at hand."

Before Ganquan’s plea could finish, a foot came down hard on his face; his eyeballs exploded from their sockets under the crushing force.

"Spare this humble monk, I am of Sangyan Monastery, Sangyan Monastery…"

Ganquan wailed in despair, still trying to intimidate Li Jun with the name of Sangyan Monastery.

"I know you are a monk of Sangyan Monastery; go help your Buddha Master Lin Qieba descend to the Yellow Springs to scout the road, and I will follow shortly to keep you company."

His skin split, revealing metallic facial bones; turbid, filthy fluid seeped incessantly from his nose and mouth.

At the instant Ganquan’s head was about to be crushed beneath Li Jun’s foot.

A sudden cry rang out, interrupting Li Jun’s step.

"Don’t!"

The voice was weak and faint, tinged with timidity and pleading.

Li Jun turned his head, brows knitted, staring dubiously at the pallid border woman.

At the same moment, Dunzhu not far away stared blankly, his empty eyes flashing with incredulous light.

Because the one who spoke up to stop Li Jun was no stranger.

He was precisely the mother of the child whom the village elder Jiu Jiu had shielded behind him earlier.

"Why?"

That thought had just arisen when Dunzhu, likewise a Buddha‑slave, instantly knew the answer.

He also understood why it was this woman who stepped forward.

He saw her throat roll, her mouth twitch as if she wanted to speak, but each time she began she stopped, ultimately saying nothing, only clutching the emaciated corpse tighter to her chest.

"It’s all for atonement; what could I possibly rebuke her for?"

"Honorable lord, please do not continue to desecrate the Dharma King; your wrath, the Jinzhu Monastery will bear."

The woman pressed her palms together before Li Jun, raised them above her head, and knelt, begging.

Behind her, the awakened youth streamed tears down his face, yet bit his lip hard, imitating his mother’s gesture and performing the same motion.

"Jinzhu Monastery is willing to atone."

More and more Buddha‑slaves of Jinzhu Monastery crawled forward through the scattered procession, each pair of feet pressing onto the scalp of the one ahead, kneeling in a dense carpet amidst the howling wind and snow.

"Please forgive the Dharma King."

The scene was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, instantly extinguishing all of Li Jun’s killing intent and anger.

The filthy, ragged felt robe could not stave off the bone‑chilling wind; the split forehead bled crimson, every face devoid of expression, only a numb piety remained.

Li Jun could not comprehend, could not make sense of it.

He did not believe the monks beneath his feet were saints who saved all beings; though he had only just entered the borderlands, from their words and deeds he could see they were wicked monks who ground the common folk to dust.

Yet why would these people willingly trade their lives for a chance at Ganquan’s survival?

There was no maneuvering of the Zongheng school, no dream‑entering of the Yin‑Yang school, nor any seal of the Confucian school.

This was not a fabricated Yellow‑Lantern dream manipulated by others, but stark, undeniable reality.

So why had he become a demon slaying Buddhas, while the wicked monks beneath his feet turned into saviors?

"This is the borderlands; they are all Buddha‑slaves of Ganquan Monastery. If Ganquan dies, the charge of Buddha‑slaughter will see them cast out by the entire borderlands, their bodies denied earthly burial, their souls barred from returning home."

Yuan Mingfei’s voice reached Li Jun’s ears.

"After a century of Buddhist turmoil, only two kinds of people remain in the borderlands: those who walk the Buddha‑nation as monks, and those who crawl in atonement as Buddha‑slaves. Generation after generation they must atone for their ancestors’ faith‑choices, the shackles rooted in their blood binding not only flesh but soul."

"In the eyes of the borderlands’ Buddhist gate, the suffering of Buddha‑slaves is fated; they may not resist, and if they do, they will be subjected to the most cruel punishments."

Yuan Mingfei spoke with an unspeakable helplessness and sorrow: "The borderlands have always been thus."

"If it has always been so, does that make it right?"

Li Jun’s eyebrows shot up like swords; his inner power surged like stormy seas, and the air rang with a terrifying, wave‑like echo.

"Everyone, stand up!"

The crowd kneeling and kowtowing slowly lifted their heads at Li Jun’s rebuke, silent, gazing at him with eyes full of supplication, and some even with resentment.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Every head that had shown resentment was pierced through by the flying long swords.

Chen Qisheng stood at the periphery of the crowd, arms crossed, his brow a sheet of ice.

Pleading—he did not know how to respond.

But seeking death—he was more than happy to oblige.

In the dead‑still expanse of the Gobi, only the continual cracking and reshaping of Ganquan’s head could be heard.

The woman who had first stepped forward again mustered courage, crawled a few steps forward, stretched both hands palm‑up before Li Jun’s feet, then knelt again, forehead and chest pressed flat to the ground.

This motion was exactly the same as the earlier gesture of the girl A Zhuo in the iron cage paying homage to her master.

The gesture flashed like a sharp blade; Li Jun frowned, did not dodge, and met it head‑on with his body.

"Honorable Lord Ming, the Ganquan Dharma King is the earthly incarnation of a walking Buddha, a bodhisattva who saves the suffering; he must not be defiled—please withdraw."

The woman dragged her blood‑stained hands across the earth, tracing a semicircle, then pressed her palms together before her.

"Merciful Ganquan Dharma King, I am willing to give my life in place of Jiu Jiu’s father, to wash away his sins."

"Saving the suffering?"

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