Chapter 584: Bloody Road Westward

Chapter 584: The Blood Road Westward

Two hundred li west of Jinzhu Village lies the Buddhist land belonging to the Jewel City.

Like the Ganquan Temple, the Jewel Temple within the city also suffered severe damage.

Fortunately, the Jewel Temple's strength far exceeds that of the Ganquan Temple; reconstruction is more than half done, leaving only the outer ruins to be repaired.

In the borderlands, winter arrives far earlier than in other provinces of the Great Ming; by mid‑October the sky is already filled with heavy snow.

White snowflakes mingle with black stones, amidst which countless ragged Buddhist slaves stagger.

Around the construction site a temporary sutra hall has been erected, where two Jewel Temple monks tasked with supervision sit by the fire, chatting idly.

“Master Jidu, judging by the current pace, we won’t finish the outer city walls before the blizzard hits—what shall we do?”

The square‑faced monk Qiongba glanced several times toward the hall’s exterior, his voice laced with worry.

“The Jewel Living Buddha’s edict cannot be delayed.”

The elder Jidu pondered a moment, then said without hesitation: “From tonight on, do not let these Buddhist slaves rest; push them to work faster.”

“Doing so, the adult slaves might endure it, but the children and the elderly—”

“Is that important?”

Jidu lifted his eyelids slightly, gazing coldly.

“The life or death of these lowly slaves is of no consequence.”

Qiongba hastily replied: “I merely fear that too many deaths will provoke their rebellion; these past years the slaves’ faith has grown increasingly insincere.”

“Precisely for this reason, the plateau breeds demonic turmoil.”

Jidu paused, then spoke indifferently: “Your concern is not without merit; therefore, tonight go fetch two corrupted demon‑slaves, have them devour a few people, and the rest will naturally submit.”

“Still, Master Jidu, you’ve thought it through thoroughly—five boys equal a horse; with these slaves working day and night, we’ll surely finish on schedule.”

Qiongba wore an obsequious grin, lifted the kettle from the fire, and poured Jidu a steaming cup of tea.

“Master Jidu, you said those Ming people run rampant in our Sangyen Buddhist realm, destroying countless temples; when will the Buddhas of the holy mountain unleash their wrath and annihilate them?”

“Do you truly wish to exterminate the Ming, or are you merely worried that the Sangyen holy mountain cannot withstand their atrocities?”

Upon hearing Jidu’s question, Qiongba’s face tightened and he shouted loudly: “Of course I want to kill them—I’d love to tear them limb from limb, fill the Buddha’s golden chalice with their blood, feed their flesh to the heavenly vultures, wind their intestines around stones, and bury them in the filthiest dung!”

“Qiongba, you bear the Buddha’s grace; though you have not yet entered the order, your devotion to the Buddha must not waver even a fraction.”

Jidu turned his prayer beads between his fingers, his tone solemn: “Just wait—soon these Ming will pay for every sacrilege they have committed.”

“Especially that Confucian scoundrel Zhang Siyuan—this fiend has torn down who knows how many of our Sangyen temples; his sins could not be washed away even if he died ten thousand times!”

Qiongba’s face burned with fervor: “And the great Snow and White Horse holy mountains—if it weren’t for their cowardice and incompetence, the Ming could never have set foot even a step into the borderlands!”

“They are not merely timid; within their breasts lurks a hideous serpent’s heart.”

Jidu, privy to more of the inner workings, spoke coldly: “Greed has already corroded their Buddha‑heart; they seek to exploit the Confucian order to extract more gains from us, forgetting how much our Sangyen Buddhist realm has contributed to the entire borderlands’ Buddhist community over the years.”

To the not‑yet‑ordained Qiongba, this is a thrilling holy war to protect the Buddha, though the Sangyen holy mountain has not yet issued a battle edict; he can scarcely contain his excitement and urgently craves more news.

“Master Jidu, I’ve heard that the Ming are now blocked outside the holy mountain by the Nakchu Living Buddha, afraid to take even a half‑step forward—is that true?”

“It is only natural; how could the sanctity of the holy mountain permit their intrusion?”

Jidu’s expression turned haughty: “All this forbearance is merely because the Sangyen Buddha‑ancestor is forging his flesh with supreme Buddhist law and cannot yet unleash his wrath; once the casting is complete, the Ming’s fate will be nothing but icy death.”

“And the great Snow and White Horse— their holy mountains will be reduced to flat plains beneath the Sangyen Buddha‑ancestor’s feet. Henceforth, the praises of the plateau will mention only Sangyen; they will have no place left.”

A Buddha‑war to eradicate heterodoxy looms before us.

Qiongba trembled with excitement, envisioning the radiant light of Sangyen Buddha bathing the entire borderlands in grandeur.

“When these present tasks are done, I will petition the Jewel Living Buddha to pre‑emptively forge a Buddhist realm for you, reshaping your flesh; then you shall be a true Sangyen Buddha‑son, a vajra under the Living Buddha’s throne, slaying demons and vanquishing evil.”

Jidu wore a faint smile as he watched Qiongba plop down and kneel before him.

“Disciple will never forget your kindness, Master Jidu, for all eternity.”

Qiongba, understanding implicitly, replied respectfully: “On the day you ascend the throne and become a Living Buddha, I shall be your most devout protector.”

As the two conversed animatedly, suddenly a few uneasy cries of Buddhist slaves drifted from outside the sutra hall.

Jidu furrowed his brow slightly, casting a glance at Qiongba.

He sprang to his feet, hurried to the door, lifted the heavy curtain, and saw in the distant howling wind and snow a staggering figure drawing near.

The Buddhist slaves, their bodies blanketed in thick snow, also noticed the figure and halted their work.

In the borderlands, a Buddhist slave is never permitted to leave the Buddhist land of his own temple for his entire life.

Temple monks on journeys never travel without their attendant slaves.

Thus such a solitary figure is exceedingly rare in the borderlands.

Unless he is a wandering Buddhist slave who has lost the protection of his temple.

A few days ago, rumors spread that Jinzhu Village, a hundred li away, had erupted in a demonic disturbance—could he be an escaped slave from Jinzhu, or perhaps one tainted by corrupt demons?!

As the figure drew nearer, a sense of unease spread among the Buddhist slaves.

Many of the tribal men gripped their stone‑hammer tightly, shielding the children and women before them, faces tense as they stared into the distance.

Only when they could see the newcomer’s face did their tension ease somewhat.

He bore no claws or scales, and his pupils lacked that eerie yellowish gloom.

He was simply an ordinary Buddhist slave.

“He’s not a demon—what are you afraid of?”

A short‑statured tribal old woman shook off the hands of her family tugging at her sleeves, drew a cloth‑wrapped iron kettle from beneath her felt robe, and hurried over.

A chipped wooden bowl brimming with butter tea was offered to Danzhu.

The butter tea had long since cooled; even snowflakes landing on its surface could not melt, swirling instead in the murky liquid.

“Child, where have you come from? How is it that you are alone?”

Danzhu took the bowl with both hands, a grin of simple honesty spreading across his grimy face.

“Mother, I am from Jinzhu Village.”

The old woman instinctively stepped back half a pace, her face etched with alarm.

“Jinzhu Village—could it truly have been ravaged by demons?”

Danzhu buried his face in the bowl and gulped the butter tea in silence.

“Poor thing, you must have suffered greatly on your escape—if only you would…”

Hearing his gurgling gulps, the old woman realized the child had likely gone without food for a long time; her kindness outweighed her fear.

But before she could finish her sentence, a sudden angry shout erupted from behind her.

“Get out of the way!”

The old woman could not dodge in time; the approaching monk Qiongba shoved her straight to the ground.

The iron kettle fell into the snow, its broth seeping out steadily until it was completely drained.

Gyaba lifted his gaze to the wandering Buddhist slave, who, at this very moment, was still sipping butter tea to himself, and Gyaba's anger flared uncontrollably.

“What audacity! Which temple’s slave are you, daring to flee into the sacred ground of Jewel Temple?”

Denzhu slowly set down the bowl in his hand, revealing his face.

“Are you a monk of Jewel Temple?”

Gyaba’s heart jolted; he saw a shocking scar running from the brow down to the chin, nearly cleaving the man’s face in two.

The killing intent that followed made his pupils contract sharply, and for a brief instant he lost himself.

In that instant, the wooden bowl slipped from his grasp and fell.

Denzhu lunged forward, a flash of cold steel shooting from his sleeve and thrusting straight into the monk’s jaw.

Pfft!

The monk’s eyes instantly flooded with red, veins throbbing on his forehead, gurgling sounds escaping his lips as his hands clutched desperately at Denzhu’s sleeve.

“I am no Buddhist slave; I am a tribal man, and my name is Denzhu.”

Denzhu’s left hand locked onto the monk’s skull, his knife-wielding wrist twisting slowly, stirring the brain and wisdom hidden within the cranium into a bloody mash.

With a rip, Denzhu’s sleeve tore away; Gyaba stared wide‑eyed, clutching the torn fragment as he toppled stiffly backward.

“Huh.”

Denzhu expelled a mouthful of stale qi that had pooled in his lungs.

At that moment, his body felt like parched earth finally receiving the long‑awaited rain of relief.

Though slight, it greatly eased the pain of his cracks.

A fierce excitement surged through him, and his previously hurried, tense breathing quickly steadied.

The foul qi spent, fresh qi arose.

Sharp, icy air filled his body, and Denzhu felt his numb senses awakening, the pungent scent of blood stirring the deep yearning within him.

An intense craving for revenge.

“Mother.”

Denzhu bent to pick up the wooden bowl that had fallen in the snow, gazing at the woman stunned by the scene, and bared a row of white teeth.

“My Golden Pearl Village did not suffer demonic chaos; it was Buddhist turmoil.”

“This man is a demon wearing human skin—kill him quickly!”

Jidu watched Gyaba collapse into a pool of blood, shock and fury flashing across his face.

A slave actually raised his hand against his master—could this still be a domain ruled by the three holy mountains?

He shouted at the surrounding Buddhist slaves, ordering them to advance and surround Denzhu.

The panicked slaves heard the shout, instinctively turned, and froze in place.

The terror flashing from their eyes sent a shudder through Jidu, his stiff neck lifting inch by inch.

At some point, a vast shadow blotted out the sky above him, a blood‑red single eye hanging like a crimson moon, and overwhelming fear instantly consumed Jidu’s spirit.

“Is the lord of Jewel Temple inside the city?”

Li Jun stared at the foolish, vacant monk and wearily repeated the question.

Yet Jidu, still lost in his daze, showed no reaction.

Bang!

Red‑white plasma and bone fragments sprayed in a fan across the ground; a half‑body corpse thudded to its knees.

Li Jun sighed, scooped up a handful of snow, and rubbed his hands.

Now, the slaves who had finally regained their senses unleashed endless screams and scattered in flight.

The Horse King flicked a spark to ignite the sutra hall, turned to watch Denzhu helping the old woman in the distance, and asked, “You truly intend to let him walk the martial path?”

Li Jun gave a noncommittal smile: “At least for now, he seems to have some talent on this road.”

“Sect, or lone wanderer?”

“That’s not for me to decide; it depends on his own fate.”

Li Jun said, “For now I’ve merely given him a ninth‑grade internal art through the Taotie; I still cannot tell how well his genes will bear it. Only if his awakened genes can withstand unsystematic martial arts does he qualify to go solo.”

“That day you clearly refused to be his master—why go to all this trouble? Just because you couldn’t stand to watch and wanted to lend a hand?”

The Horse King advised, “What the Ming consort said actually makes sense—this domain holds countless Buddhist slaves, who have knelt for hundreds, even thousands of years; you could never help them all.”

“I’m not just helping him; I’m helping myself as well.”

Back in Nanchang Prefecture, an old timer told me that the ritual chance for a lone wanderer to break through four and enter three lies in this domain. I thought he was just playing mystic tricks, but now I believe it might truly be possible.

“The spark—then it ought to become a prairie fire.”

Li Jun pointed upward, smiling at the Horse King: “Otherwise, how could we burn through this sky so dark you can’t see your own fingers?”

Inside Jewel Temple.

A host of monks in red robes knelt before the Sumeru throne, not daring to utter a sound.

The temple lord, Qinyin, seated high on the treasure throne, furrowed his brow, his face grim.

These days his mood has been far from good.

First, the negotiations within the Golden Hall have not proceeded smoothly.

Those influential Ming envoys gave no face to Sangyen Temple; were it not for the ambiguous stance of the Great Shō and White Horse clans, making them wary, they would likely have already entered the Sangyen divine mountain.

Yet the current stalemate will eventually be broken.

If the talks truly collapse, Sangyen Temple and the New Donglin faction will inevitably clash.

By then, someone like me, who has only just earned the title of ‘Living Buddha’ among the Fifth Order of Buddhas, will be nothing more than slightly larger cannon fodder.

Even those seasoned Fourth‑Order Living Buddles would have few who could count on survival.

To speak presumptuously, although Sangyen holds supreme authority over the three great holy mountains of the domain, it is merely one of the Sixth Order of Buddhist temples. How could it stand against the New Donglin faction, which dominates the Confucian order with a single hand?

The two sides are not on the same level.

If fighting truly erupts, the entire Sangyen Buddhist gate would be no different than striking stone with an egg.

Aside from these vast forces beyond Qin Duo’s control, another source of his vexation is that news of his bodily forging has yet to return.

“What on earth are those Agrarian Order people doing? Perhaps they too want to sit on the fence, judging that Sangyen Temple won’t survive this trial, hoping to jump ship and flee?”

Just as Qinyin was silently cursing without end, his chest suddenly tightened for no reason.

Lost in thought, Qinyin abruptly lifted his head and saw a stranger standing before the sutra hall’s door, as if he had appeared out of nowhere.

What filled him with despair was that his Buddhist awareness was now an utter void.

Li Jun stepped over the threshold, and the carved beams and painted rafters behind him began to collapse one after another.

The monks kneeling on the ground remained motionless, allowing the falling bricks and stones to bury them.

The exquisite, luxurious sutra hall crumbled into ruins, and the waxing moonlight fell upon Qinyin’s pallid face.

“Are you the Jewel Living Buddha?”

“No, no, I dare not, my lord.”

Bang!

Before his words had faded, a cloud of blood mist burst upon the Sumeru throne.

A hand slipped inside, seizing the root‑like tendrils, twisting the wisdom‑roots that writhed from the fissures of the skull, dragging them out inch by inch from within Qinri's flesh.

“You wield authority and bounty yet crave life and dread death; the Buddha bears a thousand hands, while man has two faces. You truly embody all five poisons.”

Li Jun casually flung the bloody lump of flesh from his hand and strode out.

Outside the hall, the Tibetan tribesman Dunzhu clenched his fists, his eyes blazing.

“Come, let's go to the next one.”