Volume One: All Things Awaken, Spring Reigns Forever Chapter Eighteen: The Golden Buddha Conceals Its Face from the World; The Cycle of Life and Death Is Broken

Scarlet blood, pungent and thick, streamed down the stone wall. In moments, it dried up, as though sucked into the stone by an invisible force, leaving behind a dark crimson stain. Suddenly, the bell atop the Golden Summit of Ten Thousand Buddhas tolled once more. After a dozen chimes, the sound abruptly ceased. The night sky shifted; clouds and winds whirled. From above, a white Buddhist duster extended downward—it was the Old Daoist Panda!

Controlling the duster with his spirit, he examined the scene from afar. Evidently, the old Daoist had sensed something amiss. The white-haired crone bowed toward the duster, but it ignored them both, flying straight toward the stone gate. With a gentle sweep, the gate cracked open. A torrent of white bones surged out, scattering across the ground. A skull rolled to Mo Wen’s feet, its pallor mottled with black spots, a sign that its owner had been dead for quite some time.

After splitting the stone gate, the duster glided smoothly inside. The white-haired crone followed close behind. Mo Wen hesitated for a heartbeat, but the little sphere beside him buzzed with impatience.

Without further delay, Mo Wen stepped through the stone gate.

The world changed. Inside, there was no mountain of corpses or sea of blood as he had imagined, nor was it as gloomy and forbidding as the caverns beneath the Netherworld. Instead, the stone gate opened into a hidden paradise. Nearby, peach blossoms flourished, petals drifting in the warm sunlight. In the distance, a waterfall cascaded from the sky, its thunder faintly audible. Below, the waters gathered into a stream, whose banks were lined with willows shedding their catkins to the wind. Beneath the trees, horses grazed and deer drank, all at ease.

Though he had entered just behind the duster and the white-haired crone, Mo Wen saw no trace of them now. Looking back, the stone gate had vanished, replaced by a sheer cliff soaring into the clouds.

With no way back, Mo Wen could only press forward. He summoned the little sphere with a thought. As soon as it left his body, it darted joyfully skyward and vanished among the clouds, beyond his ability to pursue.

Despite the idyllic scene, Mo Wen remained wary—such strangeness could only mean danger.

With every step, he glanced over his shoulder, exploring cautiously. On the riverbank, the majestic horses and drinking deer paid him no heed, as if his presence were commonplace.

Mo Wen grew ever more alert. Clearly, many had passed through here before.

Following the river upstream toward the waterfall, he encountered no obstacles. Under the roaring cascade, hundreds of meters high, the noise was deafening.

The waterfall marked the end of this realm—there was no path beyond. Yet, the little sphere had not reappeared, and Mo Wen grew anxious.

He sensed something unusual about the waterfall. Focusing his gaze, he realized there was more than met the eye—a hidden world within. Mount Huaguo? The Water Curtain Cave? The sight reminded him of Sun Wukong’s home from Journey to the West, minus the troop of monkeys.

Drawing a deep breath, Mo Wen shielded himself with his inner energy, then leapt through the waterfall, landing on solid stone.

He surveyed the cave within. Its furnishings were orderly: a stone table, stone stools, and stone steps, all spotless. Two eternal lamps hung on the walls, illuminating the entire cavern.

At the far end stood a golden Buddha statue, oddly turned with its back to Mo Wen. Before it, the altar was laden with fruits, and two giant red candles burned halfway down.

Cautiously, Mo Wen approached. Behind the Buddha, he discovered a line of small script:

"This humble monk, burdened with karmic sins, dares not face the world."

Mo Wen wished to see the statue’s face, but the stone wall blocked his way. After searching the cave thoroughly for hidden mechanisms or passages and finding none, he prepared to leave. After a moment’s reflection, he knelt behind the Buddha and bowed three times in reverence.

After all, the ascetic monk had shown him kindness, and the Buddhist cultivation techniques had benefited him greatly. These three bows were indispensable.

As he finished, the golden Buddha radiated a blinding light. Mo Wen’s inner energy surged wildly; his blood and breath churned, threatening to burst from his body.

Alarmed, he hurriedly sat cross-legged, reciting sutras to calm himself, but his energy remained uncontrollable. After ten agonizing minutes, he could endure no longer and let out a thunderous roar.

"Ah!"

With this cry, his inner energy burst forth, his consciousness faded, and he collapsed.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to find himself once again in the peach grove where he’d first entered.

Deer and wild horses roamed, willows swayed, the stream ran clear, and the distant waterfall thundered—everything appeared unchanged, as if the cave had been nothing but a dream. Mo Wen returned to the cave.

Stone table, stone stools, stone steps, golden Buddha!

On the back of the Buddha, the same line of script. A chill ran down Mo Wen’s spine. He wanted to flee, but found himself compelled to kneel and bow. After the three bows, the cycle repeated—he lost consciousness once more.

Awakening again in the peach grove, and recalling the illusory visions of Mount Putuo, Mo Wen suspected he was trapped in a similar maze. This time, he acted differently: he sat down where he was and entered meditation.

Time passed. Mo Wen entered a deep trance. When he finally awoke, his hair was white, his inner energy depleted, his lifespan exhausted. At last, he died of old age.

Yet again, he awoke amid blooming peaches. Enlightened, he realized that to break this cycle, he must focus on the Buddha statue. Entering the cave once more, he forced himself to endure the raging energy. With a mighty shout, he summoned all his strength, wrapped his arms around the Buddha, and slowly turned it.

The grinding of the golden Buddha against the stone wall was harsh and grating. Mo Wen’s energy was nearly at its limit—surely, as before, he was on the verge of destruction.

Bit by bit, the statue turned, and at last, he saw its face.

He stared, stunned.

The magnificent golden Buddha bore a human head with a demonic visage: two massive fangs hung past its chin, nostrils flared skyward, eyes brimming with savage fury.

Mo Wen fell to the ground in terror. The statue seemed to come alive, its gaze fixed upon him, sending chills through his scalp. Yet, as the Buddha’s true face was revealed, his inner energy finally calmed.

No matter what, the endless cycle of life, death, and illusion had been broken!

Cold winds seeped into the cave, chilling Mo Wen to the bone. No matter where he moved, the Buddha’s eyes seemed to follow.

He retreated cautiously, not daring to turn his back, half-convinced that if he did, the Buddha would leap down and crush him.

Step by step, he reached the cave’s entrance. The waterfall was gone. Sensing the time was right, he spun and leapt out through the stone gate, landing solidly on the ground. Only then did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

The world had changed utterly. The vibrant paradise was gone, replaced by a bleak and desolate landscape. The river was dry, the corpses of deer and wild horses rotted along its banks, the peach trees stood bare, and the ground was littered with dead branches and leaves.

Perhaps, Mo Wen thought, this was the place’s true form.

As he hesitated, the little sphere suddenly flew down from above, bouncing happily in his palm. Before he could absorb it, it sped off toward the far bank of the dry river, beckoning him to follow.

With several leaps, Mo Wen pursued it. The sphere vanished into the stone wall. Mo Wen hesitated only briefly, shielded himself with inner energy, and hurled himself at the wall.

Instead of the expected impact, the stone felt as soft as clouds, offering no resistance. He passed through. Nearby, he heard thunderous clamor—the Old Daoist Panda’s Buddhist duster was flying through the air, entangled with a black longsword.

The duster and the sword were locked in a fierce struggle, neither gaining the upper hand. The sphere continued to lead Mo Wen closer, transmitting its intent.

After listening, Mo Wen’s face twisted with doubt.

“Will this really work? The master of that sword must be a Seeker as well!”

The sphere spun in the air, buzzing confidently, signaling—leave it all to me!