Ye Fan’s golden divine consciousness cut through the heavens like a blade, splitting open the sky. This was a realm belonging to spirit and divine thought — an illusory world where what one felt and saw was not necessarily real, forged from the incomplete imprints left behind by ancient predecessors.
The solemn voice had faded, and the entire realm had grown considerably clearer. The Arhats of the four directions looked on in astonishment, all turning their gazes toward him.
Ye Fan did not linger. The golden-bodied Arhats he saw were imprints from thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years ago — not clear divine consciousness, and incapable of any deep communication.
This place resembled a ruined world. Before certain great Buddha imprints, ghostly monks had gathered, yet the vast stretches of land beyond remained utterly desolate.
Of course, not every area could be traversed freely.
Some ancient temples and sacred shrines blazed with resplendent light, illuminating entire skies and piercing the clouds, standing atop the most majestic mountains. These places were difficult to enter, as they bore the more intact imprints of true Buddhas.
In certain forbidden zones, Ye Fan could only walk around them.
One sacred mountain rang with Buddhist chants as thunderous as rolling thunder. Its great temple was magnificent, its Buddhist radiance stretching ten thousand zhang. There he clearly saw several ancient Buddhas, as though they sat cross-legged since primordial times, transcending time and space to expound the Dao.
“Buddhism truly is unfathomable. The ancient predecessors established a spiritual realm; those who have severed the Dao and enter deep meditation have the opportunity to come here and comprehend enlightenment within, in hopes of one day attaining the rank of Bodhisattva.”
According to legend, this spiritual realm was rooted in the boundless faith-power of Mount Sumeru, radiating outward from it.
Lanto Monastery was, in comparison, far inferior in terms of faith-power — it could not be mentioned in the same breath as Mount Sumeru.
Were one at Mount Sumeru, one’s true body might enter a wondrous realm and experience even more miraculous things.
For at Mount Sumeru there existed a place where the spiritual realm had materialized into substance, capable of receiving one’s true body — akin to a divine realm.
Here at Lanto Monastery, however, what one saw and felt was far from clear; many places were blurred and indistinct, incomparable to that.
He skirted vast ancient battlefields and traversed endless stretches of land, yet Ye Fan found nothing — not a single glimpse of An Miaoyi’s figure. He had no idea where her spirit wandered.
When he ventured deep into this realm, golden lotus flowers blanketed the ground in every direction, and traces of the Dao wove through the air like threads, tangled and interlaced, making every step a struggle.
“This is…”
He finally felt something. He spotted a small stone hermitage, nestled beside a spiritual lake. The golden waters gleamed like molten gold — this was pure spiritual energy, one of the primal sources of this strange paradise.
An Miaoyi had left traces here. Atop a greenish stone shaped like a reclining ox, her imprint was carved — she had once cultivated enlightenment in this very place.
“The Eight Extinguishments True Scripture?” Ye Fan murmured to himself, his brow furrowing slightly. This was a scripture aimed at severing one’s ties to the mortal world — serene and transcendent. Though he had never read it, he had heard of it.
The scripture held that if sentient beings were to recite it often, honoring and venerating the Bodhisattva of the Eight Extinguishments with constant devotion, they would thereby be freed from worldly affections.
Ye Fan pressed forward. Before long, he came upon another ancient temple bearing An Miaoyi’s Dao imprints — she had once cultivated the Spiritual Glass Dharma Body here, cutting away thoughts and severing delusions, likewise a doctrine of transcendence and detachment from the world.
In the great boundless world, the mortal realm is illusory and impure — stained and defiled. One must ceaselessly contemplate the immortal terrace, pure and clear as crystal glass, dissolving the myriad thoughts of the human heart. There was even the practice of the “White Bone Contemplation.”
These were methods of leaving the dust of the world, severing all ties to the mortal realm, advancing to a state of desirelessness and thoughtlessness, and transcending the greater world entirely.
Ye Fan grew worried. After training in such methods, one would truly be cut off from everything in the human world — leaping clean out of it. But could it actually succeed?
Those who could truly accomplish this were only the immortals of the Nine Heavens. How could a mortal human reach such a point? It was far too transcendent.
Buddhism cultivates the next life — whether that is right or wrong, he did not know. But if one proceeded this way, this entire lifetime would seem utterly empty, an illusory dream.
“Miaoyi…”
Ye Fan followed her trail and called out loudly, yet could not find her. He passed through Bodhi grounds and charged through the Valley of Ancient Buddhas’ Nirvana, losing all trace of her completely.
Ye Fan recited his own sutras, calling out to her divine consciousness, hoping for a spiritual resonance between them that might guide her back.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of ocean waves. He passed through a stretch of ancient ruins and found himself halted by a sheer cliff ahead, beyond which a silver sea surged and roared to the sky.
A ridge of stone stretched across the land, blocking the mysterious silver sea. In a daze, he caught sight of a graceful silhouette — robes billowing — leaping forward and diving into it.
“The Sea of the Past!”
Ye Fan rushed toward it urgently. Three large characters were carved on the cliff face, naming that silver expanse of ocean. As far as the eye could see, there was not a trace of the beautiful figure.
“I clearly saw her — that must have been an imprint left long ago. She leapt into it from here…”
Ye Fan muttered to himself. He wanted to enter the sea, yet sensed an overwhelming sense of crisis, one that was at odds with his Dao.
“I do not believe in the past. I do not cultivate the next life. I believe only that invincibility in this present life is enough to endure forever. This sea is named ‘the Past’ — I have no way to enter it, for it conflicts with my Dao.”
He stood at the edge of the precipice, brow furrowed. Then, with a sudden surge of resolve, he let out a long, resounding roar, strode forward, and declared, “I am steadfast in my own Dao. What ‘Sea of the Past’? All of it is illusory. I will sweep through this life undefeated, pressing forward all the way — and beneath my feet shall be the path of immortality in this present age.”
For the sake of finding An Miaoyi, Ye Fan cast all danger aside and dove into the sea. He threw a single punch and heaven and earth shattered — an entire region of the silver divine sea was evaporated dry, unable to obstruct him.
Within a range of thirty meters, nothing could approach him. Even all-illuminating Buddhist radiance passed over him without harm. Golden lotus flowers bloomed, and ten thousand threads of Dao traces could not block his path.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Silver waves surged skyward, and golden lotus flowers took root in the void, nearly swallowing him — but he shook out a sky full of golden light, sweeping away every obstacle.
“The immortal path lies ahead — I will climb it myself. Let the Buddha walk the Buddha’s road. I will walk my own road, with no need for another to guide me.” His mouth gave forth a voice like heaven’s thunder, scattering every trace of the Dao, unwavering in direction, pressing boldly onward.
He was certain that as long as he remained undefeated, anything could be broken open — that he himself commanded all things, placing his faith not in some ethereal and uncertain future, nor did he need to waver over the past.
“Open for me!”
Golden light overflowed from Ye Fan’s entire body. Like a golden sun, he illuminated the path ahead. His every movement, casual and unrestrained, shattered the silver sea — earth-shattering and sky-breaking.
He searched through this silver divine sea, all-conquering in his advance, so startling that several golden-bodied Arhats turned to watch in astonishment.
“Who is this person, daring to force passage in such a way — not purifying himself through the Sea of the Past, but shattering everything in sight…”
Ye Fan charged into the depths and searched in every way he could, yet ultimately found nothing — not a glimmer of hope. He had absolutely no idea where An Miaoyi had leapt to.
In the end, he carved out a path, shattered the silver Sea of the Past, and crossed to the other side.
Standing atop the cliff, he remained silent for a long time. Every person had their own Dao, different from another’s. He had wanted to call out to An Miaoyi and have her appear, but found no result. He had no way to alter An Miaoyi’s path, nor to bring her out of it.
With a long sigh, Ye Fan had spent more than enough time in this spiritual realm. He had no choice but to reluctantly withdraw.
Within Lanto Monastery, a surging tide of vigorous spiritual energy arose as his soul returned to his body and his vitality was fully restored — stunning several of the elder monks.
An outsider had truly entered the Bodhisattva Realm, and then withdrawn from it with composure. Such a thing had rarely been seen since ancient times.
“Benefactor, you share a karmic affinity with our Buddha. Would you be willing to join our Lanto Monastery? If you were to do so, you would certainly attain the rank of Ancient Buddha in time — you might even become a Buddha Ancestor.” These were the words of Ku Ci.
Ye Fan said nothing. The people of Lanto Monastery wished to guide him into the Buddhist faith — that was impossible. How could he possibly agree?
“Master, has Miaoyi awoken yet?”
Within the nine-storied stone pagoda, the breath of that pure and graceful silhouette had grown ever fainter. The flame of the wick, no larger than a bean, was on the verge of going out. The person, the lamp, and the stone Buddha all looked impossibly dim.
It seemed as though a single gust of wind would bring everything to an end.
“Miaoyi… wake up.” Ye Fan called out to her. This filled him with dread. She had entered a death-sealed cultivation retreat and had yet to awaken — it was possible her divine consciousness was extinguishing itself, leaving only her physical body behind in the mortal world.
“This… has truly become dangerous. The ancient sages and Buddhas of generations past looked exactly like this when they passed into nirvana.” Ku Ci’s brow furrowed.
An Miaoyi had entered a death-sealed retreat, her soul venturing into the Bodhisattva Realm. Something had befallen her there — and now she could no longer awaken.
“Miaoyi… wake up!” Ye Fan recited sutras, hoping to guide her back, to awaken her latent potential, and use her physical body as a dharma vessel to call her soul home.
Yet another half-month passed. An Miaoyi’s body had grown somewhat cold. Her soul had been separated from her physical shell for far too long, and her vitality had returned to stillness.
This did not mean her body was dying — rather, it had become dangerously so. The body’s latent potential had judged that the primordial spirit had dried up and could not return, and had thus initiated self-preservation.
The human body is a treasure. When the spirit dies, the body can still exist for a very long time — and now that seemed to be manifesting.
“Has entering the death-sealed retreat truly come to this — that she will pass into nirvana right here?” Ye Fan’s voice trembled. He clenched his fists. He would enter the Bodhisattva Realm once more.
But the result was a disappointment. He went in seven times and came out seven times, with no result whatsoever.
“Miaoyi, please don’t die…” Ye Fan’s heart was seized with anxiety, his emotions surging violently. Could the parting fourteen years ago have truly been their last farewell?
“Soul — return!” He sat cross-legged within the stone pagoda, calling out with all his heart, hoping to guide a lost soul back to its home.
Ku Ci recited Buddhist names and sutras without cease. By now it was abundantly clear — An Miaoyi had passed into nirvana, just as the venerable monks of past generations had, and could no longer return.
“Why has it come to this?” Ye Fan cried out in grief.
He leapt to his feet and entered the Bodhisattva Realm for the eighth time. On this occasion he pressed forward with fierce determination, forging a path as he went, even breaking into imprints left behind by many great Buddhas.
He stopped at many grand sacred temples, his head thrown back in a long, piercing cry to the heavens as he searched for that pure and otherworldly woman.
In that blurred and shifting world, suffused with mysterious Buddhist radiance, his own brilliance illuminated the entire realm. He stood like a divine being, gazing down over all ten directions, roaring and calling out to An Miaoyi.
He was like the greatest of ancient Buddhas, his voice filling heaven and earth, radiating an invincible brilliance that shone over all ten directions.
In the end, he returned once more, exhausted. Ye Fan was on the verge of despair — even true invincibility could not change any of it.
Another forty-nine days passed. The venerable monk Ku Ci pronounced his judgment: An Miaoyi had entered nirvana. There was no hope whatsoever.
A group of elder monks recited sutras to guide her rebirth into paradise. They all knew that no miracle could occur — Heaven’s will could not be defied.
Ye Fan entered the Bodhisattva Realm for the ninth time. On this occasion, he himself nearly perished inside. He struggled out with great difficulty and howled at the sky in fury — powerless to change what had already come to pass.
“Miaoyi…” Ye Fan called out to her. He held her cold body in his arms and walked out of the Buddhist pagoda, filled with profound sorrow.
“She has formally entered nirvana. Look — Buddhist blossoms are flying from the top of her head. That proves the flame of her soul has been extinguished.” So said Ku Ci.
A fragrant perfume spread through the air, and a great rain of flowers descended from the void, scattering across the stone pagoda. An Miaoyi’s body had grown completely cold, and the green lamp was extinguished.
“How could this have happened?” Ye Fan was stricken and disoriented. He stroked her cheek and could feel not the slightest warmth. Tears could not help but slide down his face.
Flower petals drifted down from the void. The last speck of light faded. A delicate fragrance dispersed. An Miaoyi’s expression was serene, as though she slept peacefully.
“Miaoyi… wake up.” Ye Fan wept.
Ku Ci led the elder monks away. There was nothing more to be done — even the soul blossoms had scattered. How could she awaken?
The area around the stone pagoda grew quiet. Ye Fan sat alone, holding the cold body in his arms. What was the purpose of cultivation if, in the end, it came to this — separation by life and death? What meaning could any of it hold?
“Miaoyi… wake up.” He called out again and again, his tears falling without end.
He did not know how much time had passed when a faint and weak voice sounded:
“You’ve been crying…”
The cold body, carved like jade, stirred ever so slightly. On that peerlessly beautiful face, a pair of eyes opened with great difficulty.