The Hanging Temple stood as a veritable Buddha-country unto itself. Beyond the hallowed grounds of the main temple, its vast domain encompassed lands primarily inhabited by devout believers.

The various temples scattered throughout this territory served as the stewards of order, protectors of the faithful, and custodians of production—much akin to the secular authorities of the mortal realm.

At this very moment, upon a small, nameless mountain within this domain, an old monk and a young one sat side by side, their bald heads facing the moonlight, lost in meditation. One head was clean and gleaming, while the other bore traces of grime and disarray, a less than perfect sight.

Yet, both monks’ eyes were wide and piercing, devoid of any trace of tranquil devotion.

The elder, his face withered and sallow, was none other than the Monk Bitter Awareness. Those familiar with him knew of his perpetual aversion to residing within the main temple. Instead, he roamed the mundane world, a spectral presence year-round. Upon his rare returns to the Hanging Temple, this unassuming peak, where a humble hermitage was hastily erected, served as his favored retreat.

“Ah.” After a long silence, Monk Bitter Awareness sighed. “One wonders how your junior brother, Pure Depth, fares in Linzi.”

The younger monk, Pure Ritual, mumbled in response, “Linzi is no place of blessings. Junior brother must be suffering amidst those skeletal mounds of red dust.”

Monk Bitter Awareness coughed. “Indeed! Your junior brother, Pure Depth, though possessing wisdom root, lacks your fortunate destiny!”

Monk Pure Ritual, seated directly on the bare earth beside his master, sans even a proper cushion, felt the wind ruffle his monk’s robe and replied cheerfully, “Master, trouble yourself no more with testing me. Fetch junior brother back swiftly, and let us share in this good fortune!”

“…” The sallow-faced old monk, without a trace of shame, declared, “This still depends on fate. The timing has not yet arrived. When it does, he will find his way back, and then Master will guide him back to the mountain gate.”

Monk Pure Ritual sighed with heartfelt sympathy. “Junior brother is truly pitiable. When, pray tell, will this timing arrive?”

“That is a heavenly secret,” Monk Bitter Awareness pronounced, his face grave as he shook his head. “Buddha says, it is not to be spoken!”

Monk Pure Ritual, his face a picture of innocence, sealed his lips, assuming an air of absolute secrecy.

Beholding his guileless disciple, Bitter Awareness couldn’t help but sigh again.

“If only my pitiable disciple, Pure Goose, were still alive…”

The young Monk Pure Ritual’s expression shifted, becoming slightly peculiar.

Bitter Awareness frowned. “What is amiss with you?”

Monk Pure Ritual spoke hesitantly. “Senior Brother Pure Sea said that I have no such senior brother as Pure Goose, and that you concocted the entire tale.”

Bitter Awareness’s eyes widened. “Nonsense! Your Senior Brother Pure Goose, whose secular name was Zuo Guanglie, hailed from the esteemed Zuo clan of the Chu Kingdom. In his time, he was utterly magnificent! How could that be false?”

“Uh.” Monk Pure Ritual stammered, “Senior Brother Pure Sea said you taught Zuo Guanglie nothing. He was powerful, yes, but his strength had no connection to you.”

Bitter Awareness, on the verge of erupting in fury, paused, suppressed his anger, and inquired, “What else did he say?”

Pure Ritual scratched his bald head, his heart uneasy, yet he dared not deceive his master. “Senior Brother Pure Sea also said that initially, you were insistent on taking Zuo Guanglie as a disciple, even giving him a Dharma name. You ran to block his door, and the result was Zuo Guanglie summoning a host of mighty experts, almost causing you to perish in the Chu Kingdom! He said you later slunk away in escape…”

“He understands a fart!” Bitter Awareness sprang to his feet, incensed, his tattered monk’s robe fluttering and rustling in the moonlight.

Pure Ritual, shrinking his neck, added, “He said Uncle-Master Bitter Illness told him.”

“Bitter Illness understands a fart!” Bitter Awareness continued his tirade.

“Abbot Uncle-Master said…”

“The Abbot understands a… The Abbot understands but a mere fraction!”

Pure Ritual, still shrinking his neck, finished his sentence. “Abbot Uncle-Master said that if I hear Master scolding people, I must cover my ears.”

Bitter Awareness squinted at him. “Whom do you listen to?”

“I listen to whoever is beside me.”

Bitter Awareness nodded. “You possess wisdom root.”

Having said this, he suddenly sighed again. “If Pure Goose were not my destined disciple, how could I, through his lingering spirit light of that year, have found your junior brother, Pure Depth, in the darkness?”

Mentioning Pure Goose brought genuine sadness to the sallow face of the old monk.

“His soul is already beyond gathering. Otherwise, I would have allowed you brothers to meet once…”

Pure Ritual lowered his eyebrows and eyes, also feeling a pang of sorrow. “Did Senior Brother Pure Goose truly enter the temple?”

“He didn’t even have time to go through the formalities!” Bitter Awareness said moodily. “But we cultivators, what do we care for such vulgar rituals? It is your Uncle-Master Bitter Fate, old-fashioned in the extreme, who insists on titles for everything. Otherwise…”

What would have happened otherwise, he left unsaid. Perhaps he truly would have engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the Qin Kingdom on the battlefield? With the identity of a master to a disciple who “had not yet entered the temple”?

Not to mention that would have been a suicidal endeavor. In truth, although he had unilaterally declared Zuo Guanglie his destined disciple through a secret technique, Zuo Guanglie had never paid him any heed. Indeed, being pestered into annoyance, he had directly gathered a group of experts and chased him out of Chu territory…

Silence descended upon the small mountain for a long time.

“What happened next?” Bitter Awareness suddenly asked.

He was inquiring about the continuation of Pure Ritual’s conversation with Bitter Illness’s disciple, Pure Sea. Master and disciple possessed a deep, unspoken understanding.

Seeing his master’s mood seemingly improved, Pure Ritual grinned. “When he goes back, I’ll put him in the grinding bag and beat him with a stick for a while.”

Bitter Awareness nodded and praised, “Good disciple!”

Meanwhile, at the former site of the Withered Glory Courtyard, the chanting of Buddhist scripture grew clearer and clearer in Jiang Wang’s ears.

Yet, Chong Xuan Sheng and Fourteen, who were by his side, heard nothing.

Jiang Wang’s hand, which had been pressing his sword, gradually relaxed. He began to walk aimlessly, turning left abruptly, then right.

Chong Xuan Sheng and Fourteen, uncertain of the situation, dared not interfere for a while, only following closely beside him. This situation was utterly bizarre.

At this moment, Jiang Wang felt only that something was calling him, urging him closer, beckoning him to explore. He simply followed the direction of that call.

Yet, his consciousness remained remarkably clear. He was thinking, though he paid no attention to his body’s movements. If he had not misheard, that chant of Buddha was “Amitabha.”

After the Hanging Temple’s Monk Bitter Awareness’s forceful attempt to take him as a disciple, Jiang Wang had indeed supplemented his knowledge of Buddhism in order to know both himself and his adversary. He naturally would not overlook the honorific of “Amitabha.”

According to the records of the “Mahayana Sutra,” eons ago, Amitabha Buddha established the Western Pure Land, widely ferrying boundless sentient beings. Disciples of Buddhism cultivate diligently throughout their lives, mostly striving to enter the Pure Land, to be reborn there, demonstrating the profound respect for this Buddha.

That voice, initially faint and indistinct, distant and ethereal, as it reached his ears, grew increasingly grand. It was like the tolling of a great bell and drum, shaking his body and mind.

In such a time, for reasons unknown, Jiang Nightmare also remained silent.

Jiang Wang walked through the broken walls and ruins, completely unaware of his surroundings. He did not know when a faint sense of disgust towards himself had been born in his heart, a feeling that he had committed many sins.

Killing sins were paramount. The faces of those he had killed, those who had died because of him, turned over one by one before his eyes.

“We are brothers. Why… why cannot you forgive me… just once.” That was Fang Pengju.

“You… seem to hate me all very much ah…” That was Hu Shaomeng.

“All matters settled, then as per the agreement. Jiang Wang! I come to kill you!” That was Xi Zichu.

“When the era of white bones arrives, I shall certainly entertain you properly.” That was the Snake Bone Masker.

“Whose family’s tiger cub dares to pick the old general’s head!” That was Ji Cheng!

“Like this ah, thanks.” That was Xu Fang.

And some vague and indistinct figures swayed before him, hazy and unclear. Countless faces approached, countless mouths opened.

Those intimate and clamorous voices shook him and finally merged into a single sentence—

“You wish to establish merit and glory… but what sin have we Yang people committed?”