With a thunderous boom, the power of faith surged upon Mount Sumeru. Behind the old monk, a miniature Mount Sumeru appeared — built entirely from devotional power.

Calling it miniature was relative, for compared to any ordinary mountain, it was still boundless and immense, towering into the clouds, pressing down directly in a suppression that surpassed the speed of everything, its majesty and power enough to strike fear into the heart.

Moreover, this mountain came down in suppression far too swiftly. So enormous, descending directly — the heavens crumbled and the earth shattered, making it nearly impossible to evade.

Long Ma cursed furiously: “Bald thief, you are truly a hypocrite. All that talk of compassion — it was only to buy time to forge this mountain. Damn you!”

Ye Fan moved. His entire body also erupted in an instant with ten thousand zhang of radiance. He stood upon a golden formation array and strode forward with great steps — the Origin Heavenly Divine Formation, the network of patterns he used to bestow upon himself enhancement of power and vital essence.

Hiss!

A streak of crimson blazing light rose up. The longsword in his hand released a brilliant stream of immortal light, slashing directly at the “miniature Mount Sumeru” pressing down upon him — while he himself continued to advance.

This was a genuine head-on confrontation, a contest of sheer spirit and will — there could be no retreat.

For the old monk was absolutely not the leader of Mount Sumeru. If even he inspired hesitation, then what lay ahead needed no further consideration.

Ye Fan had been preparing for this moment for a long time, and had elevated his power to its absolute peak. One could say that both sides had unleashed their strongest strike, and the collision sent the cosmos collapsing into ruin.

The mountain crumbled, the sword light shattered — between the two, it was as though a boundless sea surged. A terrifying great collision occurred, vast and unbounded.

Everyone’s expression changed. How terrifyingly powerful was Mount Sumeru — it had actually blocked a single strike from the imperial weapon. The immensity and ferocity of the power of faith was utterly astounding.

“The aura of a great Emperor permeates — this devotional power is a seed planted by Amitabha Buddha, given strength by the faith of all living beings. It has already surpassed the natural order!” The Shencan Daoist suddenly spoke up.

When everyone heard this, they were all greatly startled.

The Shencan Daoist was bleary-eyed and tipsy, a gourd of wine in hand, appearing listless and disheveled. This was the first time he had spoken in the presence of others.

“The Western Desolation runs deep — and truly not in vain. We truly do not know what kind of terrifying arrangements Amitabha Buddha has left within this mountain,” Qi Luo muttered to himself, and everyone felt a sinking in their hearts.

“The suffering sea is boundless — turn back and you will find the shore,” the old monk said with great equanimity, standing halfway up the mountain. Behind him the temples blazed with brilliant light, setting him off as sacred and serene.

Ye Fan gave a cold snort. This time he charged directly forward. The killing sword in his hand shook violently as he swung out four strikes in succession, his divine power surging in torrents, all landing upon Mount Sumeru.

“Honored guest, you are persisting in your wrongdoing. It is said that not even the greatest of life’s roads runs smooth — one must learn to take and to leave. Amitabha,” the old monk intoned the Buddha’s name, and behind him yet another Mount Sumeru forged from devotional power rose up, pressing forward toward Ye Fan.

Behind them, everyone gnashed their teeth. This kind of hypocrisy was more despicable than an outright villain. Long Ma was so full of fury he wanted to smash the monk to sixteen pieces with a single kick, stamp him into a face full of cracks.

Ye Fan’s cold laughter continued. This time the sword qi was extraordinarily fierce — four strands converging into one, cleaving open a path. He was actually going to force his way onto Mount Sumeru.

“No!” The people behind him cried out in alarm.

The old monk smiled. The boundless ocean-like devotional power surged all around, blazing and dazzling, the devotional power awakening. He was on the verge of merging with the entirety of Mount Sumeru, taking command of its inexhaustible supreme power.

Hiss!

Sword radiance in ten thousand streams collided with the power of faith, turning everything over like a churning sea — the entire heavenly sky shattered in a spectacle of horror. Sword qi and faith power surged up into the highest heavens, making even the stars and constellations beyond the domain tremble.

At that moment, Ye Fan, without a sound, had suspended above his head the Cauldron of All Mother Qi, its mouth facing downward, pouring out cascade after cascade of radiance like a silver river.

Boom!

A third power appeared in this place — supremely strong and terrible beyond all reckoning. This too was a power of faith, yet it was utterly incompatible with that of Mount Sumeru. When the two met, they burned violently, consuming each other.

In only an instant, a void appeared ahead — a path had been carved open.

The monk’s expression changed, for Ye Fan was fast as lightning, charging through. The immortal sword in his hand shook as he shattered the sea of devotional power, bearing down directly on the monk.

The appearance of the third force had shattered the equilibrium in an instant. Ye Fan closed the distance to within a certain range, and with a single vibration of his sword, he was going to kill the monk.

In this process, his consumption had been enormous — almost everything accumulated in the cauldron over so many years had nearly run dry in an instant. Compared to Mount Sumeru’s vast power of faith, it could not compare at all.

Ye Fan had not ascended Mount Sumeru, for that was a den of dragons and tigers — he simply could not enter. Even if the devotional power in his cauldron were a hundred or ten thousand times greater, it still would not be enough — the gap was far too vast.

But he had drawn close enough, within proximity of the great mountain. The power of faith had disrupted the earlier equilibrium, and though the opportunity lasted only a single instant, for Ye Fan, who excelled at seizing the moment of battle, it was more than enough.

Sword qi sliced through the long sky, releasing a brilliant radiance. Though most of it was negated, a single thread still landed upon the monk’s body. With a dull sound, the head rolled, blood splashing outward.

“No—!” The old monk cried out, unable to believe this reality.

He had stood halfway up Mount Sumeru — yet he had been cut down. This was too terrifyingly extraordinary. A single instant’s gap had been caught by another, costing him his life.

“Ahhh—” He only managed one final cry, and then his body exploded apart, becoming a cloud of blood mist.

Ye Fan’s body swayed. Treading the word-formula steps, when the overwhelming power of faith surged back in retaliation, he decisively retreated, simultaneously slashing out with the killing sword to block and resist the devotional power.

“Master—!”

“Ancient Buddha—!”

From halfway up the mountain, the several dozen arhats called out in anguish, yet it changed nothing. The old monk dissolved into a pool of blood — both form and spirit destroyed, leaving nothing behind.

“Well killed! That bald thief spoke of benevolence and righteousness while being utterly and excessively hypocritical — a single slash of the sword was exactly what he deserved,” Long Ma called out in great satisfaction.

Ye Fan retreated and looked into the Cauldron of All Mother Qi — the devotional power accumulated over so many years had nearly run dry. Pitted against Mount Sumeru, it had melted into nothingness in a matter of moments.

“This mountain holds a great terror!” Ye Fan exhaled softly. Fortunately, he had never placed any particular importance on the power of faith, and had never intended to refine it into his body. Using it to probe the depths this time, at least, was not something to grieve over.

“Dong—” The bell rang out long and resonant, and the radiance of the entirety of Mount Sumeru blazed to many times its former brightness in an instant, like a mythic pure land, enough to make one suffocate.

At the mountain summit, Buddhist radiance illuminated all directions, the ten regions all bright, lighting up the entirety of the vast Western Desolation.

Ye Fan and the others retreated, then soared upward into the air, rising continuously until they were level with the summit, gazing forward.

At the mountain summit, ancient temples stood in grandeur — ancient, dignified, and imposing, extraordinarily magnificent, like a stretch of undying immortal palaces, the roof tiles and ridgepoles bathed in a layer of pure and holy radiance.

A bronze plaque, mottled with rust, hung at the very center of the most prominent ancient temple. Several characters were carved upon it in bold and vigorous strokes — iron brush and silver hook, powerful and forceful. They read: “Great Thunder Sound Temple.”

Everyone furrowed their brows. To say nothing of anything else, this bronze plaque alone was extraordinary — it had been nourished by imperial qi, and to this day still radiated a terrifying wave of energy.

The great bell rang on, deafening and shaking the soul. The body of the bell was immense, suspended behind the Great Thunder Sound Temple, bathed in Buddhist radiance and also wreathed in threads of imperial qi.

“Not a great Emperor’s weapon, but many things here were used by Amitabha Buddha — some even personally forged and consecrated by him. Terrifyingly awe-inspiring.”

Everyone sighed. Attacking Mount Sumeru was bound to be exceedingly difficult — even with imperial weapons, it was not clear whether they could overcome it.

At that moment, the great bell ceased its trembling. The summit of Mount Sumeru became a scene of serenity and peace, with waves of chanting drifting up — as though countless bodhisattvas and Buddhas were chanting in harmonious chorus.

Before the Great Thunder Sound Temple, there stood a withered tree, its branches extending like coiling dragons, deeply mysterious.

“The Bodhi Immortal Tree!”

Something stirred in Ye Fan’s heart, then he understood. This was the body of the Bodhi Tree from its former life. Unlike other immortality medicines, this tree was different — each time it was reborn through nirvana, it shed its old withered body and gave rise to a new seed.

The chanting continued without cease, making the entirety of Mount Sumeru’s temple grounds feel solemn and austere beyond all measure — sacred and pure, devotional power permeating all, sharing existence with all living beings.

Purple-gold roof tiles, magnificent temples, pale purple shimmering with a metallic luster — this place appeared all the more mysterious and unfathomable. At a single glance, the presence was vast and imposing.

“Amitabha. Blessed be, blessed be.” A hoarse and aged Buddhist invocation rang out from within the Great Thunder Sound Temple.

Then the great doors swung open. Numerous arhats with golden bodies appeared, halos of Buddhist radiance glowing behind each head — sacred and awe-inspiring. Following them came dharma-protector Vajra guardians and others, the most renowned of whom were the Four Great Vajras. In this age, all four positions had persons who had inherited them.

The Vajra of Vanquishing the Law, the Vajra of Victorious Excellence, the Vajra of Great Strength, the Vajra of Eternal Dwelling — each one more stern and solemn than the last, suffused with Buddhist energy, the four of them towering and imposing, deeply intimidating.

Behind them came the guardian deities of the Buddhist faith and others. Most renowned among them were the Four Heavenly Kings: the Eastern Heavenly King Dhritarashtra, the Southern Heavenly King Virudhaka, the Western Heavenly King Virupaksha, and the Northern Heavenly King Vaishravana — each one glaring fiercely outward, supremely divine and sacred.

The hearts of those from the Heavenly Village all sank. The foundations of Buddhism ran too deep — all these figures of established spiritual rank had actually appeared.

Those who appeared afterward were the bodhisattvas of the various heavens and ancient Buddhas. This was more reassuring — there were not many of them in total, utterly incomparable to the remote ancient times.

It was said that in the era when Amitabha the Great Emperor still lived, bodhisattvas and ancient Buddhas were numerous, seated in the various heavens, the light of Buddhism shining for hundreds of millions of li — truly, heaven and earth bowed before him alone.

Yet before everyone’s hearts could fully settle, they sank again — for from the Great Thunder Sound Temple walked out an old monk, and it was plain to see that he was a Great Sage.

This was an ancient Buddha. Though his aura was restrained, he still radiated a deeply oppressive pressure. Unlike the other monks with their gleaming bare heads, this one actually had a sparse, uneven growth of yellow hair — like wild grass. His face was covered in deep furrows, like a wind-dried orange, extremely aged, his body gaunt and withered — yet the blood qi hidden within him was enough to strike horror in the heart.

“It is him — Mo Ke, the Great Ancient Buddha. You are truly still alive!” The Shencan Princess immediately sharpened her gaze.

“Amitabha. This humble monk’s cultivation is yet incomplete, unable to achieve nirvana. I can only cling to life and remain in this world,” said the old monk with sparse yellow hair, pressing his palms together, an expression of sorrow and suffering on his face.

In times past, the Victorious Fighting Buddha had once done battle with him, ultimately suppressing him beneath Mount Sumeru — yet unexpectedly, he had broken free by now.

“As expected — it was you manipulating things from behind the scenes all along,” the Shencan Princess said, her gaze cold as ice.

“This poor monk is empty of all four elements. I do not know what the honored guest means by this,” Mo Ke the Ancient Buddha said, his expression bearing compassion, steady and composed.

“Clang!”

In that instant, nine varieties of immortal radiance blazed out from the Shencan Princess’s entire body, the clanging sound unceasing, piece after piece of armor covering her graceful form. The aura of a great Emperor of antiquity was released — making many people on the verge of collapsing to the ground on the spot, even Mount Sumeru itself shaking.

The Ancient Imperial Battle Garment!

This was the immortal robe of the ancient emperor of Shencan Ridge — that emperor who had undergone ten transformations, ultimately becoming peerless under heaven and above the earth.

In that moment, the Shencan Princess blazed with dazzling radiance, precious light flowing across her entire body, the whole of her like a heroic and valiant goddess of war, the aura of a great Emperor billowing outward, terrifyingly immense.

Even Saints trembled before her — this was an aura that could not be resisted.

On Mount Sumeru, numerous golden-bodied arhats shuddered, struggling to bear it. However, after Mo Ke the Ancient Buddha intoned a single Buddhist invocation, everything returned to as it was before. In his right hand appeared a precious pestle, flowing with purple-gold luster, emanating an aura of suppression over all of antiquity.

This was the weapon personally forged by Amitabha the Great Emperor — the Demon-Subduing Pestle!

This imperial weapon had now fallen into Mo Ke’s hands — there could be no worse news than this.

Tap, tap…

Steady, rhythmically unchanged footsteps rang out. From the Great Thunder Sound Temple walked yet another person, and upon seeing this person, the assembled arhats, vajras, bodhisattvas, and ancient Buddhas all showed their reverence.

Even Mo Ke the Great Sage, who held an imperial weapon in hand, did the same — he was extremely respectful toward this person, performing the half-teacher’s salute.