Mount Sumeru shook violently, as though it were on the verge of collapse. The formation patterns laid down by the Great Emperor Amitabha could no longer hold back the descent of the Divine Emperor — the mountain body began to crack, trembling with ferocious intensity.
Massive boulders tumbled down to the foot of the mountain. The grand temple halls swayed and shook. The great bell behind the monastery rang out on its own, its resonance thundering across the heavens and earth, reverberating throughout the Western Wasteland.
The entire place had descended into chaos. The Bodhisattvas of the myriad heavens, the Ancient Buddhas, and others could not endure the Pressure Aura bearing down upon them. One by one, they were forced to their knees, sitting cross-legged on the ground, their bodies on the verge of rupturing, streaks of blood seeping through.
With the Divine Emperor’s descent, not even the Great Emperor’s formation patterns could protect this place any longer. Just as Ye Fan had anticipated — the mountain gate had been breached. They could now charge inside.
Above Ye Fan’s head hovered the green bronze cauldron. He gripped the Killing Sword in hand, ready to enter and rescue his own disciple.
Of course, doing so was enormously risky. He had not foreseen that this would be a Divine Emperor. Now clad in the Nine-Colored Immortal Robe, its power far surpassed what he had originally planned for — the power of an Emperor Corpse — striking awe into the hearts of all who witnessed it.
He did not act rashly, for the situation was far too strange. Even he felt as though something was unreal. The Divine Emperor truly seemed to possess both life and consciousness.
Ji Ziyue held the Void Mirror in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ye Fan. The old undying ones and others had taken up the Heaven-Devouring Demon Jar once more, maintaining careful defense and shielding everyone on their side.
Atop Mount Sumeru, a profound stillness fell. The elderly monk Mo Ke’s expression shifted to one of horror as he led the assembled Bodhisattvas and Ancient Buddhas in sitting cross-legged, chanting the name of Amitabha, their Buddhist recitations shaking the heavens.
This turn of events had far exceeded his expectations and judgment. There was nothing to be said now — it was far too late.
The Great Peacock Wisdom King gripped the Demon-Subduing Pestle, using the divine might of this imperial weapon to protect the mountain. She stood before the Thunder Sound Monastery, blocking the spreading fluctuations of the Primordial Emperor’s aura. Yet if one looked closely, her body was trembling.
This was a world-shaking transformation that no one had anticipated!
The vast river of stars cascaded down from the cosmic heavens above, a blanket of white enveloping the Primordial Emperor upon the road up Mount Sumeru, bathing him in the radiance of sun, moon, and stars — dazzling and resplendent beyond measure.
The Nine-Colored Battle Armor awakened, shimmering with a brilliant luster, possessing the texture of cold metal and ringing with divine sonorous tones. Together, these made the Primordial Emperor appear even more magnificent and imposing.
The boundless starlight fused with the breath of primordial chaos, showering down and wrapping around his form, making his body appear ever more divine and sacred. The ancient emperor of Silkworm Ridge had become the singular, absolute existence between heaven and earth!
During his lifetime, the Divine Emperor had been peerless and invincible. Even in death, he pressed down upon the Western Wasteland with shuddering force, causing even the Great Sages to feel a bone-deep chill. Every single one of them trembled, their faces drained to the white of snow.
“What — he moved!”
In the next instant, a Saint cried out. The scream was unbefitting of their stature, as though they were a mere mortal who had been frightened out of their wits — as though they had witnessed the most terrifying thing imaginable.
“Heavens — the Divine Emperor has not died! He is still alive!”
Another person shuddered in terror, feeling as though their heart would leap straight out of their throat. They widened their eyes, unable to believe what they were seeing, staring fixedly at the silhouette upon the road up Mount Sumeru.
The Divine Emperor was taking steps. Moving along the mountain path, he climbed Mount Sumeru one step at a time, advancing toward the vast expanse of grand temple halls. Each step was utterly terrifying, dimming the formation patterns upon Mount Sumeru — impossible to stop.
Who could believe it? After ten thousand ages, the long-deceased Primordial Emperor had been resurrected, gazing down upon the mortal world with contempt, striding through the pure land of Buddhism!
The assembled Saints watched on in cold-sweated horror as powerful fluctuations radiated outward, causing their legs to go weak and their bodies to tremble as though sifting chaff.
Even the Great Sages felt their scalps go numb, watching with terror and disbelief. This defied all reason — how could a Divine Emperor come back to life?
The Divine Emperor’s form was towering and imposing. His footsteps carried a peculiar rhythm — neither fast nor slow, utterly unwavering — as if he were treading the Grand Dao of heaven and earth beneath his feet. Mount Sumeru shook beneath him, as though it were about to collapse.
“Amitabha!”
Every Arhat, Bodhisattva, Ancient Buddha, and more chanted the holy name in unison, taking refuge before the Thunder Sound Monastery, sheltering behind the Demon-Subduing Pestle. Each of them was so crushed beneath the Imperial Might that they could scarcely breathe.
“This is…” Even the powerful figures who had come from Silkworm Ridge were shaken to their cores. Was the ancient emperor truly still alive? It was maddening — it had overturned everything they understood about the world.
“Is our Ancestral Emperor ascending Mount Sumeru to challenge the Great Emperor Amitabha to a duel, to debate the Dao? What a pity that the other has already passed into stillness.”
The Divine Emperor had revived — and now climbed step by step up the mountain. Why? It must be that after ten thousand ages of loneliness, upon sensing Mount Sumeru and feeling the fluctuations and traces of that ancient Great Emperor, he was moved by joy at the sight of prey!
At their level of cultivation, a lifetime of invincibility meant a lifetime of loneliness. They yearned for an opponent truly their equal — yet to find such a one was harder than ascending to the heavens.
After the Divine Emperor reached the very summit, the Great Peacock Wisdom King suddenly sat down upon the ground, unable to endure the Pressure Aura. Only the Demon-Subduing Pestle continued to radiate light, growing ever more brilliant, resisting of its own accord.
With a thunderous boom, the Thunder Sound Monastery blazed with boundless light. The purple-gold roof tiles and ridges all burst into auspicious radiance, as a vast tide of Buddhist energy surged straight up into the heavens.
A single Buddhist tone resonated throughout the Western Wasteland. A Buddhist form appeared from nowhere — no one had seen how it came to be — standing before the Thunder Sound Monastery, blocking the Divine Emperor’s path.
This was a gray-robed monk, wrapped in misty primordial chaos, his features indistinct. But upon careful examination, he bore a striking resemblance to the statue of Great Emperor Amitabha enshrined within the temple.
He stood beside the long-withered Bodhi tree before the monastery, bearing an expression of boundless compassion. When his aura began to radiate outward, it was as vast and weighty as a mountain range.
“Amitabha!”
Every monk atop Mount Sumeru chanted the holy name in unison, expressions of profound shock upon their faces.
Outside Mount Sumeru, the assembled powerful figures were equally stunned. One by one, they could not help but cry out in disbelief, the name Amitabha falling from every lip — none of them could believe what they were witnessing.
In a single age, two emperors cannot coexist. Ancient emperors do not meet one another — such was the understanding of the world. Yet today, that understanding was being shattered again and again.
The Divine Emperor had revived. The Great Emperor Amitabha had reappeared. The two had come together — would they truly clash?!
Many people nearly believed they were dreaming. Having witnessed all of this with their own eyes, they could not help but wonder whether they had gone mad — whether their senses were still functioning properly.
The Divine Emperor stepped forward. The immortal robe upon his body rang out with a resounding clang, like the roar of dragons and the howl of tigers, the sound reverberating so forcefully that people’s eardrums ached and their flesh and blood felt as though it might be vaporized.
The Great Emperor Amitabha gripped the Demon-Subduing Pestle, unleashing boundless precious radiance, blocking the path ahead. The two stood in direct opposition to one another.
Boom!
The Divine Emperor’s body swelled enormously, shooting straight into the clouds before the Thunder Sound Monastery — rising to an unknowable height of tens of thousands of zhang. The Great Emperor Amitabha was not to be outdone, likewise towering up into the heavens, his colossal Buddha form touching the sky and standing upon the earth.
This sight sent the onlookers into shock and dread. A clash between a Great Emperor and a Divine Emperor — separated by ten thousand ages — and yet the day had truly come when they would stand face to face and make their move?!
The crowd could not accept it. Could not believe it.
“Is that only an imprint-phantom of Amitabha?”
“And yet… how does one explain the Divine Emperor coming back to life? He should be nothing more than a corpse — and yet he climbed step by step up Mount Sumeru. How can one say he has not been resurrected?!”
The assembled Saints were thrown into confusion and uncertainty, every face bloodless and pale. Every single thing that had happened today had sent chills down people’s spines — each event more shocking and beyond comprehension than the last.
If all of this were real, then for a Great Emperor and a Primordial Emperor alike, this might well be the most important event of their entire lives. A lifetime of lonely invincibility — and yet, in the end, they had each found a true opponent.
Two Great Emperors do not meet. And yet, today, this rule had been shattered.
Perhaps every Great Emperor harbored the same longing — that they had been born in a different age, so that they might do battle with the emperors of the past and find a truly worthy opponent.
Yet in the end, every one of them passed into stillness in solitude, the wish left unfulfilled. They could never cross paths with a kindred spirit.
Mount Sumeru shuddered. Sun, moon, and stars swayed, as though they might fall from the sky. The two towered as though competing with the heavens themselves, the laws of nature suffusing the air, a contest seeming to unfold between them.
Their bodies continued to expand, pushing directly beyond the boundaries of this domain. Their enormity exceeded all reason, and throughout the entire Northern Dipper star region, ten thousand living beings trembled. Their divine might covered all beneath the heavens.
“Has the Divine Emperor truly come back to life?” Some among the powerful figures from Silkworm Ridge spoke with trembling voices, their bodies shaking. Past the initial shock, only excitement remained.
“This is not my father directing this.” The Silkworm Emperor’s Daoist shook his head. His tone carried both grief and regret.
The people around him faltered in expression. This was the ancient emperor’s own flesh and blood — and yet even he said this. Then in all likelihood it could not be true. And yet, just moments ago, they had clearly seen the Divine Emperor stepping forward, climbing along the mountain road up to Mount Sumeru.
Ye Fan let out a soft sigh. He had been watching for some time, and he too had perceived the truth of it all — the invincible solitude of the Divine Emperor, the unfulfilled regret of the Great Emperor Amitabha. Neither of these things could ever be compensated for. They were destined never to truly meet.
These two figures were not truly themselves. If the true bodies of Great Emperors were to truly stand in opposition to one another, heaven and earth would surely resonate in response, sending down phenomena unprecedented across ten thousand ages.
Great Emperors do not meet each other. A lifetime without a true opponent — this curse was not so easily broken.
“This is a contest and clash between two weapons — not the Great Emperors themselves still being alive.” The Silkworm Emperor’s Daoist revealed the answer to the riddle.
His father had stepped forward and ascended Mount Sumeru, and though he was in motion, he had not regained consciousness. It was the Immortal Robe that was directing everything — keeping that towering body from falling, allowing him to look down upon ten thousand ages.
As for the appearance of the Great Emperor Amitabha — the situation was much the same. Under the enormous fluctuations of imperial-level power, the Demon-Subduing Pestle had awakened. It had fused together with the sarira the size of a fist, manifesting a phantom silhouette of the Great Emperor Amitabha.
In truth, neither possessed a true body. What existed were only two imperial weapons, each carrying the Dao of their respective masters into confrontation — as though trying to find a true opponent for their lonely emperors and sages, to fulfill their final, unfulfilled regret.
Out beyond the boundaries of the domain, the upright figure of the Divine Emperor and the compassionate form of the Great Emperor Amitabha stood in opposition, the laws of nature flowing between them, boundless divine light radiating outward.
No true clash had taken place — only a tentative probing of Dao and law between the two. They had not truly exchanged blows. The two imperial weapons, having awakened, were directing everything, and doing so with the utmost caution and care.
Boom!
In the end, both figures shrank, returning to ordinary human height, reappearing atop Mount Sumeru — before the Thunder Sound Monastery.
The Great Emperor Amitabha vanished, leaving behind only the Demon-Subduing Pestle hanging in the air. As for the Buddha’s sarira, it too fell to the ground, still and motionless.
On the other side, the Immortal Robe chimed faintly, as though in grief. In the end, even it could not hold onto the ancient emperor — even having encountered his corpse could not change anything.
The onlookers were struck with shock and awe. By now, how could any of them not understand what had transpired? Everything had stemmed from the two imperial weapons awakening on their own!
“Buddhism teaches transcendence — only through complete enlightenment and awakening does one achieve the Dao of the Buddhist path.” At that moment, a divine consciousness resonance emanated from the Demon-Subduing Pestle. The weapon, having awakened, had now begun to speak.
“Amitabha.” The elderly monk Mo Ke and the others all chanted the holy name in unison, listening with reverence. For they understood — the Demon-Subduing Pestle was addressing them.
“Have you transcended? Have you achieved true awakening? Release that child.” The Demon-Subduing Pestle continued to speak.
“Release him from the mountain?” Whether it was Mo Ke or the Great Peacock Wisdom King, neither harbored the slightest intent to resist. This imperial weapon had been forged by the Great Emperor Amitabha’s own hands to protect the Buddhist land of the Western Wasteland — supreme in might and dignity — and it was worthy of the utmost respect.
“Release — have you released him within your hearts?” the Demon-Subduing Pestle asked calmly.
The Great Sage Mo Ke immediately pressed his palms together, confessed his transgressions aloud, and continued to chant the holy name in an unbroken stream.
It was not long before several of the Golden Body Arhats and others escorted Hua Hua out, allowing him to appear before the Thunder Sound Monastery, preparing to release him from Mount Sumeru.
No one had anticipated this — that this would be how it all ended, that the curtain would fall in this manner.
“Clang!”
The ancient emperor’s battle armor trembled faintly. The armor broke apart, dissolving into strands of immortal light that fell away piece by piece. The Emperor Corpse stood wrapped in swirling primordial chaos at the very summit of Mount Sumeru.