Demons are quick to anger, easily provoked, and prone to intense emotions. As the heir to Jalan Buddha’s legacy and the highest practitioner in Buddhism, Jiming once believed he could see through the mortal world.
“Past karma leads to present desires, giving rise to impure thoughts.”
After that day, no matter what Nanrao said, Jiming remained silent. With each leaf that fell from the Bodhi tree behind him, he wrote an obscure Sanskrit phrase, working tirelessly day and night.
In their second month in the Filthy Valley, Nanrao still couldn’t find the exit. She returned, attempting to persuade Jiming. Seeing his continued lack of response, anger flashed in her phoenix eyes. “I’ve apologized a thousand times! Overcoming emotional tribulations is far easier than saving all sentient beings. Even if you won’t forgive me, at least say something. Besides, I was the one with the sore back and waist!”
Jiming’s silhouette, hunched over his scriptures, suddenly stiffened. He then lowered his head even further.
Furious, Nanrao took a few swigs of Cicada Dew wine to calm herself. She carefully chose her words: “You don’t need to be so upset. In my youth, I may have had improper thoughts about you, but now we’re both centuries-old monsters. We can’t even remember yesterday’s grudges, let alone… well, what’s done is done. Try to let it go.”
Silence.
“Fine. If evil cultivation is like killing one’s parents, then help me leave the Filthy Valley, and I swear never to see you again. If I break this vow, may I share the fate of this wine?” She hurled the wine jar, but before it could shatter on the ground, an unseen force gently placed it beside Jiming.
“Even if Jiming’s Buddha heart wavers, he won’t mistreat those connected by fate,” he said. His voice was usually calm, but now it betrayed a hint of helplessness.
As the Bodhi tree rustled, Nanrao noticed his hair had turned mostly white. She frowned, pressing a hand to her chest. The Red Emperor’s Demon Heart was her life force, just as the Buddha’s Bone Zen Heart was his.
“Why can’t you leave?” she asked for the first time. “Before my father gave me the Red Emperor’s Demon Heart, he asked the Taoist Sui Hanzi to personally protect it. I alone could withstand the combined attack of a hundred Nascent Soul cultivators. Yet when Ying Zewei struck, I was powerless. The wound he left contains the essence of his sword intent and might take a decade to heal.”
“I know.”
“You’re using your Buddha Bone Zen Heart to keep me alive, but how long can that last? I’ll drain you year by year. You survived the Barrier War and the cultivation world’s hunts, yet you’d die here for me without a fight. Is it worth it?”
Jiming replied, “For me, in this vast world, when, where, and why I pass on matters not. It’s all just a pile of yellow earth.”
Nanrao stared at his back. “But I don’t want that. I’m the Red Emperor’s descendant. He conquered the six directions and struck fear into the world. Even in death, I should fall alongside my enemies.”
Jiming sighed softly. With a wave of his hand, the red blood mist above them dispersed, revealing a sliver of the night sky.
A crescent moon hung high, with the Purple Wei star glowing ominously.
Most cultivators knew basic astrology. Nanrao’s expression changed slightly. “The Purple Wei star emits a demonic light while other stars dim. This foretells disaster.”
“As long as Dao Sheng’s Fate Star doesn’t fall, I can never leave this Filthy Valley,” Jiming said, his gaze distant. “I’m not stubbornly preventing you from seeking revenge. Dao Sheng wants to steal the Red Emperor’s Demon Heart. In your current state, stepping out of the Filthy Valley would make the Buddha Bone Zen Heart your death warrant.”
Their opponent was Ying Zewei. Even the Red Emperor himself might struggle to fathom his intentions if he were still alive.
“Today I learned that Dao Sheng, a place that claims to be the holy land of all worldly paths, is nothing but a den of manipulation,” Nanrao said bitterly.
“It has been so for a long time,” Jiming replied.
Nanrao sat cross-legged and asked, “I’d like to hear more about this.”
Silence.
“Master, do you also face away from your young disciples when teaching them?” Nanrao prodded.
After a long pause, Jiming slowly turned around. His pupils reflected Nanrao’s phoenix-flower face. Though his gaze remained calm, he fingered his prayer beads more rapidly.
“Let me tell you a story that Jalan Buddha told me when I was young,” he began.
“Once, in the mortal realm, there was a scholar who failed the imperial exams after criticizing the nobility. On his way home, he endured mockery from his successful peers. They said that after this failure, he could only return to become a poor private tutor, unable to support himself, let alone a family. They even offered to care for his future wife and children in his stead.”
“At night in the relay station, the scholar slept in the cheapest woodshed, his pride wounded. In the middle of the night, he took up an axe and killed all those who had mocked him.”
“After venting his anger, the scholar came to his senses, seeing the carnage around him. Realizing these peers also had families, he was overcome with remorse and was about to take his own life when a group of bandits burst into the station, killing and looting. The scholar thought, ‘Since I’m going to die anyway, I might as well take a murderous bandit with me to make amends.'”
“But something strange happened. Just as the scholar killed his third bandit, a streak of green light flew in through the window. In moments, all the bandits were dead. The scholar looked up to see an elderly man with an immortal bearing standing at the door.”
“The old man said, ‘I saw everything you did. Seeing your potential, I’d like to take you as a disciple. Leave behind this mortal world and follow me to become an immortal or a god.'”
“The scholar, burdened by his crimes yet seeking redemption, knelt and begged the old man to accept him as a disciple and guide him on the path of immortality.”
“The old man continued, ‘But your karma is unresolved. Even if you cultivate immortality, you’ll struggle to enter the Dao. You must sever all earthly ties.’ The scholar, not understanding, asked for clarification. The old man explained, ‘The strongest ties are those of emotion and family. If you follow me and leave the mortal realm, the consequences of your massacre will fall upon your wife and children. Why not let them find release early?'”
“Shocked, the scholar protested his family’s innocence. The old man smiled and produced a book, saying, ‘This contains the secrets of true cultivation. If you end your family’s karma by your hand today, you can cultivate, become an immortal or a god, sit on the throne of the Great Emperor of Fengdu, and with a wave of your hand, bring your wife and children back to life.'”
“Half-believing, the scholar tossed and turned on his journey home. Upon arrival, he found his house half-burned by the families of his victims. His wife and child were hiding in a dry well in the backyard, trembling with fear.”
“The old man, who had accompanied him, waved his hand and drove away the vengeful families. Impressed by the old man’s powers and now fully believing his words, the scholar treated his family well for a few days using the gold and silver the old man had given him. Then, he killed his wife and child, throwing their bodies into the well and covering it with stones.”
“However, after following the old man to cultivate, the scholar’s progress was astonishing. Within two years, he had already built his foundation. By then, he had learned the truth of the cultivation world—becoming an immortal or god was just a myth, and the old man was merely a demonic cultivator in disguise. He had tricked the scholar into killing his family to collect their vengeful spirits for refining treasures.”
“The story ends with the scholar, filled with remorse, killing the old man. Believing he had avenged his family, he continued on the path of immortal cultivation.”
As Jiming finished, he saw Nanrao leaning against the Bodhi tree, eyes half-closed, offering a scathing critique.
“This scholar killed his peers out of anger, then his family to escape guilt, believing a demon cultivator’s lies. He killed his mentor to silence his conscience and perfect his Dao’s heart. Though a shred of righteousness remained, his actions were ultimately self-serving. If such a person became powerful, he’d surely be a demon. Is this person you speak of Demon Master Senluo?”
Jiming replied, “…It’s the Dao Venerable.”
Nanrao sat up straight, eyes wide with shock. After a long silence, she slumped back against the tree. “No wonder the people of Dao Sheng are so knowledgeable about emotions yet so quick to sever them. As they say, ‘Like master, like disciple’ – it couldn’t be more accurate.”
Ying Zewei hadn’t used any special tactics; he simply understood them.
He knew Nan Yi loved Jiao Niang, so Nao Niang’s death would drive him to massacre a city.
He knew she couldn’t abandon her family, leading her to oppose Chen Zhou and suffer from the Heavenly Dao Stele, allowing him to gain her trust.
He knew Jiming wouldn’t let her die, so he left her in the Filthy Valley. Once Jiming saved her with his Buddha Bone Zen Heart, he’d eliminate a great enemy and easily obtain the heart.
From start to finish, he had only exploited one thing: emotion.
But what good did knowing this do her now? In this vast world of mortals, all were lost, while he alone observed the game silently, his path to victory clear. If he wasn’t the winner, who was?
“Evil begets evil. On Suspended Sky Mountain, they preach detachment. Even if one’s true nature is emotional, they teach to cut it off decisively.”
Nanrao asked, “Would Buddhism save such a person?”
Jiming replied, “The sea of suffering is boundless. He’s sunk too deep. Even Buddha was once mortal, responsible for all beings, not demons.”
“What about me?” Nanrao pressed. “I can’t let go of my grudge, my hatred. I want to storm Dao Sheng and indiscriminately bathe Suspended Sky Mountain in blood. How would you save someone like me?”
The rustling of the Bodhi tree quieted. A faint, cool moonlike scent of wine lingered around Nanrao.
“Jiming,” she said, her eyes devoid of mirth and burning with an invasive fire, “do you have any wishes of your own?”
Wishes?
Seeing Jiming’s questioning look, Nanrao continued, “I value my life. Since you insist on not taking back your gift, I’ll consider it a life debt. Before your lifespan ends, if you have any wish, I’ll do my best to fulfill it.”
“In that case, you could…” Whatever he was about to say died on his lips. Jiming turned away and slowly said, “Convert to Buddhism.”
…I was ready to tear off my clothes, and you say this?
Nanrao’s friends and family knew that the ruler of Yin State was often a hot-tempered sister who did as she pleased, relying on her beauty and strength for most of her life.
Though she appeared more composed with age, her fundamental nature remained unchanged.
To Jiming’s surprise, Nanrao reached out, tossed aside his prayer beads, and leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “Your heart is racing. It tells me it wants to be mortal for a month. Should I grant its wish?”
Cultivation knows no time, but that month seemed to pass both slowly and quickly – slow enough to savor for a lifetime, yet fleeting in its transience.
On that day, over a dozen streaks of spiritual light flew above the Filthy Valley. It seemed some cultivators from Yin State had come to retrieve Nanrao.
As she left, Nanrao tied up her usually flowing hair with a Bodhi branch. Her disguise faded away, and with her mostly restored spiritual power, she broke through the valley’s barrier. At that moment, she silently touched her abdomen and said, “Nanrao was never one to owe others her life. Remember that.”
But things didn’t go as planned. As soon as the Yin State team left the Filthy Valley, something seemed amiss.
“What does Lord Nan intend to do after returning to Yin State?” The Yin State cultivators surrounding the dragon-horse carriage asked with smiles.
“Ying Zewei didn’t tell you? Well, I suppose I can’t even remember the names of those who’ve hidden in the Red Emperor’s Jade Palace for years. The salary Dao Sheng pays you must be meager.” A touch of red rouge on her lips, her face reflected in the dressing table mirror exuded killing intent. “He dares to do this; he should face the consequences. Upon my return, I’ll unite the States and expose his past crimes to the world. War will soon follow. As for me, only blood can wash away the grudge of killing my father.”
“Then Lord Nan should be careful. You… are no longer immortal.”
The ensuing battle was extremely brutal. With her half-crippled body, Nanrao slew ten fellow Nascent Soul cultivators before self-destructing her realm, falling to the Core Formation stage, and escaping into the mortal world, disappearing without a trace.
…
One year later.
In a mortal city, a young woman holding a baby girl was selling her child on the street. Despite her simple attire, her extraordinary beauty was undeniable.
“Selling a child! Selling a child! Only 100 copper coins!” the woman called out.
A passing middle-aged woman exclaimed, “Oh my, I’ve never seen such a pretty baby! She’d make a perfect child bride for my son! I’ll buy her!”
The young woman glanced at her. “Not for sale. Your son looks old. He’s not good enough for my daughter.”
“How dare you speak like that when you’ve stooped to selling your child?!” the older woman retorted.
“Because my daughter and I are beautiful,” the young woman replied simply.
A young nobleman approached. “Miss, what do you think of me? I’ll buy both you and the child. You’ll want for nothing!”
The young woman scoffed, “Your eyes are cloudy, your teeth yellow, your cheeks puffy, and your knees weak. You’re a drunk and a debauchee. Get lost.”
A passing “tyrannical prince” tried next. “Beauty, you’ve piqued this prince’s interest…”
The young woman cut him off. “Your mother is calling you home to mediate a dispute with your wife. Goodbye.”
An emperor in disguise approached. “This humble one is young but accomplished. With three thousand in my harem, I seek only one to quench my thirst.”
The young woman retorted, “I’m looking for a foster home, not a male concubine or a son-in-law.”
As dusk fell, the young woman cradled her baby, swaying gently. The infant, neither crying nor fussing, looked at her mother with innocent, glass-bead eyes.
“Oh, my dear daughter,” the woman sighed, “I thought your mother was unreliable, but it seems even among mortals, it’s hard to find someone dependable. Well, now that I’ve given you my heart, I can rest easy. Though I only have a few years left, we’ll make do together… Now, what should we name you?”
The baby giggled, and the woman showered her with kisses before poking her chubby cheek.
“Your father never dared to say he liked me. Since it’s so hard to say, let’s call you Nanyan (Difficult to Say).”