Chapter 87: The Dharmic Intent of the Innate Killing Sword

A strand of Buddhist light flew from beyond the heavens, sweeping up the monk in the vast sea and carrying him away. It did not disturb the surface of the vast sea by even a fraction, bearing a striking resemblance to a Buddha of the Western Paradise descending a guiding light of salvation to ferry suffering believers. Everyone present knew clearly that it was the work of Venerable Baoyue of the Golden Light Temple. More than a few people were curious to know what kind of mood this eminent and virtuous master of Buddhism, who had long since dedicated himself to the Dharma and ceased to concern himself with worldly affairs, might be in right now.

As the monk Baoguang was rescued, the surrounding crowd gradually dispersed.

In this confrontation, it was impossible to say who had won or lost, yet Shen Lian knew that Chen Jianmei would certainly feel no regret.

At the same time, Shen Lian felt a growing sense of awe in his heart. The higher one's cultivation realm, the more likely a conflict, once begun, would spiral into a life-or-death struggle—even if there was originally no intention to fight to the death—as the very spiritual momentum became intertwined. As the old saying went, when masters fight, the difference between life and death hangs by a single thread; how could anyone hold back?

In the end, Chen Jianmei's streak of bloody sword light had transcended the level of the Formless Sword Classic. That murderous aura filling the void was utterly different from the upright and tranquil nature of the Profound Gate, yet it infinitely approached the Great Dao itself; it was far from being a simple sword of slaughter.

Just as the heavens send down floods, harming countless living creatures, one could hardly call that an evil path.

The moonlight was silent, and the starlight was mute.

Shen Lian did not know whether Chen Jianmei was alive or dead, or where he had been carried after transforming into that stream of blood.

Apart from Shen Lian, there were still others who had not left, including that single monk and single Daoist.

The Daoist, Huanzhen, spoke to the traveler of the Mingwang Temple: "Does the Master recognize Chen Jianmei's final sword strike?"

This time the monk spoke. The direction he looked was precisely where Chen Jianmei's bloody sword light had vanished. A complex expression crossed his face as he said, "There are very few arts in heaven and earth that possess that kind of murderous sword Qi, and even fewer that can restrain the Moonlight Treasure Wheel. It is likely he once witnessed the lingering traces of one of the six Primordial Swords of Slaughter."

"Fortunately, he lacked the fortune to obtain one of them; otherwise, who in this world could still be his match?" Huanzhen gave a cold laugh. Of the six great Primordial Swords of Slaughter in the world, any single one could slaughter immortals and exterminate gods, and four of them together could form a supreme slaughter formation—so much so that even Dao Lords would not dare to face their sharp edge directly.

After all, those six terrifying Primordial Swords of Slaughter had vanished into the unknown ages ago, perhaps deep within the river of stars, perhaps in the turbulence of time and space, or perhaps they had long since been obliterated.

At most, Chen Jianmei had only grasped a shred of their dharma intent, sublimating the Formless Sword Classic to turn the formless into the tangible, thus touching the threshold of longevity.

Of course, if Chen Jianmei was not dead and truly cultivated to the realm of escaping the Great Chiliocosm, he might well use that shred of dharma intent to evolve his own acquired sword of slaughter. When that time came, he might even have a chance to shake Lu Jiuyuan's position as the foremost figure of the Profound Gate.

Yet whether Chen Jianmei was alive or dead remained hard to say. The fact that he had ultimately transformed into sword light and vanished without a trace was perhaps intended to leave behind a sense of suspense.

His sword heart was resolute and worthy of a supreme prodigy. Even though Huanzhen had never crossed swords with him, he regarded Chen Jianmei as one of the rare opponents of his lifetime. After all, Huanzhen was not seeking longevity for himself alone, but for the ten-thousand-generation foundation of the entire Guangqing Immortal Sect. Under the Heavenly Dao, growth and decline alternate. The Guangqing Immortal Sect was currently at the peak of its glory, and naturally could not avoid the subsequent decline. If they failed to secure the Qi fortune of the Profound Gate and rank among the Four Great Daoist Sects, the Tianhe Daoist Sect would likely serve as a cautionary tale.

Among the current Four Great Daoist Sects, Qingxuan was the most in decline. Therefore, even though the two sects had kept to their own wells and rivers for many years, they now had to turn into adversaries. If anyone was to be blamed, it was simply that Qingxuan was currently the weakest, while his Guangqing was right at its absolute peak.

Huanzhen pondered these matters, but to the monk from the Mingwang Temple, they had nothing to do with him. At this moment, Shen Lian was walking over, and Huanzhen naturally had nothing pleasant to say to him. Moreover, it was not the right time to truly tear their faces apart; doing so would be tantamount to openly declaring war on Qingxuan, and at least things had not reached that point yet.

He turned and walked away. With a single step, he reached a distant spot, and with another step, he vanished over the horizon.

Shen Lian recognized that the Daoist had used the divine ability known as "shrinking the earth into an inch." When this ability reached its most profound realm, it was called "the horizon close at hand," meaning that within a single step, the ends of the earth were within reach, free to come and go at will. Of course, barring a Daoist Lord, no one else could practice it to such a degree.

Achievements like that of the Daoist were exceedingly rare. At the very least, if Shen Lian were to learn this divine ability with his current level of cultivation, there was not the slightest hope of achieving the ease, naturalness, and supreme swiftness of the Daoist.

In truth, the monk from the Mingwang Temple felt a curiosity toward Shen Lian that surpassed his curiosity toward Chen Jianmei. He had not revealed this point earlier, but now, as Shen Lian approached and Huanzhen departed, he began to observe Shen Lian closely.

Their gazes met in mid-air, and the atmosphere produced a crisp, crackling sound, bearing a striking resemblance to the visual and spiritual clash between Baoguang and Chen Jianmei moments before, sparking invisible flames.

Yet this was not a match of equal strength. Shen Lian felt at that moment much like a fish beneath a thousand-foot waterfall trying to swim against the current—while there seemed to be a sliver of possibility, in reality, there was zero hope.

This was the first time he had encountered a cultivator whose spiritual cultivation completely suppressed his own. Not only did this astonish him, but it also brought a touch of frustration, indirectly overshadowing the previous melancholy caused by Chen Jianmei's unknown fate.

Just as the monk's spiritual power completely overwhelmed him, about to pierce into his eyes and see through his spiritual platform, all of that outward-flowing spiritual energy suddenly receded like a tide. Shen Lian, who had been mustering his strength to seize the opening and counterattack, found all his spiritual consciousness blocked by the monk's warm and gentle gaze.

His eyes seemed to possess a thin film of light capable of repelling all prying attempts.

That trace of frustration quickly vanished without a trace. In his heart, Shen Lian began to guess whether this monk was an enemy or a friend, for the attitude of the Daoist who had just departed toward him was unquestionably unfriendly.

As for why he had approached, it was naturally because, given the unfathomability of the monk and the Daoist, he wouldn't have been able to leave even if he tried.

Yet the fact that the Daoist had left the moment he approached was truly beyond his expectations.

Practitioners cherished their lives and would retreat upon sensing danger; the monk was well aware of this. Therefore, he inwardly admired Shen Lian for maintaining such composure when facing formidable figures and still daring to respond first.

In his view, the journey from birth to death was an inescapable fate, and practitioners were destined from the very beginning to resist that fate. This required not only formidable methods, but also extraordinary daring.

Chen Jianmei was precisely such a person. Although his focus was solely on the sword and himself, placing longevity in second place, he lacked neither of those two essential qualities.

Shen Lian did not appear as striking as Chen Jianmei, nor did he possess that same absolute ruthlessness, yet at their core, the two were remarkably similar. The monk traveled the world precisely to witness all forms of the Dharma and observe the myriad states of sentient beings, seeking what he desired from the red dust of the mortal world.

The full moon hanging in the sky was utterly perfect, showing no signs of having been affected by the fierce battle just past. After all, formidable as Chen Jianmei and Baoguang might be, they could not shake this ancient and silent bright moon.

Because the moonlight was so brilliant, the starlight appeared much fainter, making even the Heavenly River look hazy and indistinct.

Shen Lian's refined features were clearly illuminated beneath the moonlight. He asked, "From whence does the Master come?"

The monk smiled slightly and replied, "I come from the Mingwang Temple. My Dharma name is 'Huike'—'Hui' for wisdom, and 'Ke' as in optional or permissible."

Shen Lian had half-expected the monk to respond with some Chan riddle like "I come from where I come, and go to where I go." To find him so honest came as a bit of a surprise.

Moreover, the other party's Dharma name also possessed a profound subtlety, though the most important part was naturally those three words: "Mingwang Temple."

The foundational technique of the Mingwang Temple was a scripture called the *Fudo Myoo Sutra* (Immovable Wisdom King Sutra). Shen Lian had read of it in the notes of a senior in the Taiwei Pavilion—a senior who had once traveled through the Western Wastelands in the company of that generation's traveler of the Mingwang Temple. Of course, that senior was also a woman, and she had indeed stirred mortal thoughts in her heart, though alas, monks were ultimately devoid of emotion.

It was not until her later years that the senior finally found peace, leaving behind only a few broken sentences that later generations could gossip about and wonder over.

The *Fudo Myoo Sutra* was a supreme method for practicing Zen meditation. Because it remained unmoving in the heart, the mind stayed as still as stagnant water.

If that senior's Daoist arts had been slightly more profound, she might perhaps have broken the other's Zen concentration.

Yet there were no "ifs" in this world. If the *Fudo Myoo Sutra* could be broken so easily, the Mingwang Temple would have been breached long ago.

Shen Lian calmly replied, "If one possesses supreme wisdom, rendering oneself optional and inconsequential in this world, then one would truly be capable of escaping the Great Chiliocosm. The Master indeed holds a grand ambition."

Huike gazed at the rising waves of the vast sea, ignoring Shen Lian's question entirely. Suddenly, he asked, "When this wind and these waves arise, is it the waves rising because of the wind, or is the wind stirring because of the waves?"

Shen Lian gave a calm and detached smile. "Everything in the world is in motion. Whether the Master moves or remains still, both are motion. Therefore, all stillness is motion, and motion is also motion; there is never a moment of true tranquility. How could I speak of the origin of the wind and the waves, and why must I pursue their origin? They are simply thus by nature."

Huike chuckled and said, "Daoist friend, you possess a profound affinity for the Dharma. How about entering our Buddhist gate?"

Shen Lian shook his head. "I still prefer the look of having hair; for now, I have no desire to part with these threads of worldly vexation."

***

Shen Lian walked along a desolate mountain path. Moments earlier, Huike had only discussed metaphysics with him for a short while, while also revealing that the Daoist was none other than Huanzhen, the member of the Guangqing Immortal Sect most likely to achieve longevity in this generation.

Naturally, Huike harbored no hostility toward him, yet neither was he about to offer any assistance. Being able to drop hints to him like this already counted as showing a degree of closeness.

This monk's mastery of the *Fudo Myoo Sutra* had also reached an extremely profound realm, one whose true depth Shen Lian could not fathom.

The Western Wastelands remained a perilous region, but Shen Lian had no intention of leaving. After all, the Shasheng Temple (Temple of Slaughter) was an outer-sect lineage of Qingxuan explicitly acknowledged by the Sect Master, and it could be regarded as Qingxuan's face in the outside world.

Just as Chen Jianmei had been able to establish the Shasheng Temple in the boundless Western Wastelands and overawe all manner of demons, Shen Lian could naturally guard this Daoist temple as well, ensuring others would not look down on Qingxuan as having no successors.

At the same time, a thought faintly occurred to him: the origin of Chenian Jianmei's final sword of slaughter was very likely connected to the dharma intent imparted across the Great Chiliocosm by Patriarch Yuanqing when Chen Jianmei was undergoing the Golden Elixir Dharma Canon. If that was the case, the very reason Chen Jianmei had established the Shasheng Temple in the Western Wastelands was probably to nurture this shred of dharma intent and transform it into his own possession.

Viewed in this light, many things suddenly made sense. Was Chen Jianmei's opening of an altar to lecture on the Dao and impart Qi-refining methods also meant to lure out Baoguang, using Baoguang's demonic intent to help forge his sword of slaughter?

Of course, had Baoguang not had his own internal insights, Chen Jianmei's goal might not have been achieved—even though it was a matter of mutual benefit for both parties.

(To be continued.)