The cauldron drifted in the void, formed from condensed faith. Strands of spiritual force from all four directions flowed into it, causing the interior to boil and churn.

Red dust refines the body, the mortal world tempers the heart — yet in the end, even these are insufficient against a single burning of karmic fire. It may reduce everything to dust, undoing all efforts, turning them to water flowing east. This was the shared understanding of many powerful cultivators.

Ye Fan’s forehead bone shone like a mirror, reflecting radiance. The surface of his body was like divine skin, trembling lightly, absorbing the firelight and refining his flesh and blood.

His joints were shifting, his organs pulsing in rhythmic resonance — a thousand temperings and a hundred forgings, casting and shaping his body, grinding and sharpening tendons and bones.

This was a Worldly Cauldron, gathering the spiritual force of the mortal world and transforming it into endless karmic fire to forge Ye Fan’s body and primordial spirit. Both the cauldron and his flesh shone with crystalline brilliance.

Furnace and cauldron — two characters often spoken together, carrying a particular significance.

Heaven and earth are a bronze furnace, melting and refining all living beings. Every person exists within this cosmos, receiving its forging, ultimately dissolving into ash.

The mortal world is its fire, spiritual force is its cauldron. What had now been formed — this Worldly Cauldron — could also be called a furnace. To burn the body and forge the Dao, it surpassed the bronze furnace of heaven and earth a hundredfold, a ten-thousandfold — for a cultivator, it was a form of ordeal.

To forge the body within the bronze furnace of heaven and earth, and to refine the Dao within the great Worldly Cauldron — this was something many powerful cultivators at a later stage of cultivation had to undergo. Fire refines true gold. Those who remain shine brightly. Those who fail become dust.

Ye Fan had not yet reached that stage, yet he underwent it ahead of time. What he relied upon was naturally the constitution of the Human Sacred Body — capable of enduring such an ordeal.

Sacred light flashed. Within the cauldron the spiritual force boiled. The faith was converted into Buddhist radiance — steaming and suffusing him, enveloping him and covering him completely as every part of his body was forged.

Within the Nalanda Temple, all monks recited sacred sutras. Each face bore dignified solemnity. The chanting of sutras was unending — growing louder and louder, resounding across the mountain ranges.

Ye Fan felt no fear toward the karmic fire. His joints shifted with sounds like beans bursting in succession. His organs shook. His entire body rang together in resonance.

Through the battle just now, his understanding had gone very deep. His path was resolute. His heart was limpid and clear. A golden miniature figure sat in lotus position before his brow, accepting the karmic fire along with his physical body.

This was no less than a sacred body’s heavenly tribulation — tempering his body, refining his tendons, bones, and primordial spirit. He sat in stillness and calm, enduring the grinding.

Ye Fan’s golden primordial spirit and his embryonic bone were forged simultaneously. His cultivation was advancing. The various divine techniques within him were also being refined toward a state of perfect mastery.

Over these many years, the progress of his cultivation was already very rapid compared to others. Now, passing through the baptism and forging of the karmic fire, his foundation was being consolidated. From this point on, his Dao foundation would be impregnable.

Crack!

After a full two hours, Ye Fan’s bones shifted back and forth. In this process, his body shrank by one inch. Then the vital essence of the ten directions, filtered through the karmic fire, entered his body — refining the embryonic bone.

The embryonic bone was moving. His flesh and blood were being refined. Having reached the stage of cultivation that he had, for him to shed the old self and be reborn was extremely difficult — unless a deathless elixir could be found. That his embryonic bone could undergo such transformation in this instance was already against the heavens.

I could ascend to the seventh small step at any moment… Ye Fan mused inwardly.

Back when he had used ten years to ascend to the sixth small step of the Reverse Slash of the Dao, every half-step forward from that point had been extraordinarily difficult. Now, refined by the most pure spiritual force of the Buddhist faith, a breakthrough had unexpectedly opened before him.

Elderly Monk Ku Ci recited “Amitabha” in his heart. The assembled monks chanted sutras. All found it utterly inconceivable. Who would dare trespass upon the Nalanda Temple? A half-Sage entering would meet a bitter end. With this abundance of faith — no one could withstand it. Yet the Human Sacred Body had actually endured the karmic fire and was using it to refine his body.

A total of three hours passed. Ye Fan emerged full of vitality — his body radiant and luminous, his flesh and blood strong and powerful. He stepped out of the Worldly Cauldron.

He felt his physical body to be like an eternal divine furnace, bearing his primordial spirit within. His blood energy surged, strengthened to an absolute extreme.

With every move and gesture, he felt extraordinary power. Having transcended the Six Paths Reincarnation Fist, every divine technique was elevated — as though breaking through a certain kind of constraint.

His heart held an invincible conviction. Coupled with a body such as this, he very much wished to fight a great battle against an ancient emperor’s son such as Huo Qizi or Huang Xu Dao — to test the fruit of his Dao.

The karmic fire could not wound his true form!

The assembled monks could not help but sigh. The might of the Human Sacred Body could not be measured in ordinary terms — this defied common sense.

The Worldly Cauldron dispersed, transforming once more into an ocean-like spiritual force — a vast radiance enveloping the space above the Nalanda Temple.

“Venerable Monk, please open the stone pagoda and release Miaoyi.” Ye Fan said with equanimity.

Ku Ci nodded. He did not go back on his word.

“Ten thousand clans are rising. The age of chaos is drawing near. The path to immortality will also soon open — and with it, perhaps extraordinary upheaval. I have no wish to trap you within a sage and worthy’s formation array. After all, you are the Human Sacred Body.”

Ye Fan nodded, expressing his gratitude. Though in his heart he was not certain that being trapped was actually a possibility — he had sacred weapons unused, and the Traveling Character Technique for breaking formations. Trapping him was not necessarily achievable.

The nine-story stone pagoda was not tall or soaring. One could not call it imposing. Yet its ancient simplicity gave one an indistinct sense of illusion — as though nine layers of high heavens had been compressed within it, suppressing everything inside the Nalanda Temple.

Ku Ci made no attempt to conceal it. He said plainly that this was a sacred weapon left behind by a great sage, which tens of thousands of years had rendered impossible to shake — here since antiquity, suppressing all within.

Ye Fan nodded. He had struck it with the Six Paths Reincarnation Fist and failed to move it even a fraction. One could imagine how solid the stone pagoda was.

“We harbor no malice either. Suppressing her for a hundred years may not necessarily be misfortune. If she gains insight here, attaining the rank of Bodhisattva is not beyond possibility.”

Ku Ci recited an incantation. The nine-story stone pagoda resounded. The sealed stone gate shot forth ten thousand rays of Buddhist light, and then with a rumbling crash it swung open — Buddhist power surging out.

The pagoda was silent. No one walked out. Ye Fan was taken aback. He extended his divine sense inward to see.

Ku Ci was slightly surprised, then nodded.

On the fourth level of the stone pagoda, a young woman sat in meditation. A single green lamp accompanied an ancient Buddha. Not a single movement. She had entered a deep state of stillness, illuminating the wondrous principles of Buddhist Dhyana.

The pagoda’s interior was plain and simple — almost nothing at all. An Miaoyi was serene and otherworldly, all earthly splendor washed away. She was like a lotus growing within a stone chamber, unknown to the world.

In those years, her beauty had been matchless under heaven — one of the most beautiful women in the world, incomparable in grace. Now she was tranquil as still water. The glamour of the mortal world had entirely receded. Her bearing had turned inward.

A single green lamp flickered. She was at peace, utterly silent — no trace of sound. She sat upon a meditation mat, beside her a compassionate stone Buddha.

“Miaoyi!” Ye Fan called out.

Fourteen years unseen. An Miaoyi had grown even more otherworldly — somewhat gaunt. Her beautiful eyes remained closed, not a single movement. It was as though she had passed away seated there.

That green lamp — it was the very one he had given her. Now the divine being within it had reawakened and become a rare Dao-treasure.

The Nalanda Temple had been reasonably open-minded. They had not taken it away. By suppressing her here, they were allowing her to transform “demon” into “Buddha” — all things considered, they had genuinely intended to let her fulfill her potential.

Disputes over Buddhist doctrine were quite frequent — sometimes sharply contentious. As to who could truly claim to represent orthodoxy, who could say?

“Remarkable. At such an age to have entered a deep state of the Bodhisattva’s realm — she is truly a rare spirit.” The Golden Body Arhat Ku Ci nodded.

“Miaoyi!” Ye Fan called out once more.

“This is a spiritual nirvana — she must transcend herself. To become a Bodhisattva, one must pass this ordeal. When she may awaken, it is difficult to say.” Ku Ci said.

His expression carried an air of sorrowful compassion. Entering deep Buddhist meditation was far from as easy as one might imagine. In many secluded chambers and restricted spaces, divine monks had passed away in seated meditation.

Buddhism — its doctrines and principles were profound and vast, immeasurable as an ocean. Yet to attain something of it was extremely difficult. At certain particular stages, cultivation was exceedingly hard.

Prettily put, it was nirvana. In truth, one had failed to realize the Dao and perished — died in cultivation.

Throughout the generations, great divine monks, strong as Sages, had mostly met this very end — sitting alone in sealed stone chambers, dying without a sound.

Ye Fan waited here for a full half month. An Miaoyi did not move. Her face was gaunt and spare. She existed in the same realm as dust — as though she were about to dissolve into the Dao. Even the green lamp before her had grown dim, its flame on the verge of going out.

“Miaoyi — is she in danger?”

“This… to wander spiritually in the Bodhisattva’s realm is the most perilous thing. It concerns her future fruition of the Dao. Anything can happen. Many brilliant disciples of the Buddhist faith, held in great expectation — some even considered future successors of Mount Sumeru — have inexplicably passed away in seated meditation during this very state.” Ku Ci’s brow furrowed.

“You mean… she may be in grave danger?” Ye Fan asked.

“The Buddhist Dharma is boundless and immeasurable in power, yet in cultivation there are many obstructions. In those years, some who were believed to be reincarnations of ancient Buddhas themselves passed away in seated meditation halfway through.” Ku Ci replied indirectly.

Ye Fan’s brow furrowed. He waited another half month, and found that An Miaoyi’s aura had weakened considerably. The green lamp flickered erratically, and her peerless countenance had grown ever more gaunt — as though she were severing all ties with the mortal world.

“No — I must bring her back. Whatever this Bodhisattva’s realm is, whatever ancient Buddha’s heaven it may be — tell me how to enter it!”

Ye Fan felt he could wait no longer. His heart was deeply troubled.

“You do not cultivate the Buddhist Dharma. Even if I told you, there would be no way for you to enter the Bodhisattva’s realm — no way to lead her primordial spirit back.” Ku Ci shook his head.

Ye Fan paced anxiously back and forth.

“Lay Patron, you would do well to learn to let go.” Ku Ci said quietly.

“Why should I let go?” Ye Fan replied.

“She wholeheartedly turned to the Buddha. Before entering our Nalanda Temple, she smiled with quiet composure and released all attachments of the mortal world. Even if you entered the Bodhisattva’s realm, there is no certainty she would allow herself to be brought back.”

Ye Fan said nothing.

Several weeks later, An Miaoyi had grown somewhat more gaunt — even more otherworldly. Within the stone chamber, she seemed to have lost all signs of life. There was a danger of passing away seated in stillness.

“Miaoyi — wake up!” Ye Fan’s heart ached with worry. He called out to her softly. Yet An Miaoyi seemed to be drifting away from the mortal world, impossible to rouse.

Ye Fan would make a spiritual journey into the Bodhisattva’s realm!

“Who says I know nothing of Buddhist Dharma? Did I not contend against a divine monk with the ‘Om’ celestial sound?” He was resolved to spiritually journey into the Bodhisattva’s realm and lead An Miaoyi back.

Ku Ci was startled, then said, “Very well. You may try. But if you fail, return immediately — otherwise your spirit may be extinguished, leaving only an empty shell.”

Ye Fan gave forth a great shout of the “Om” celestial sound from his mouth. The universe opened. Heaven and earth began. The ten thousand things were born. He would force his way into the mysterious spiritual domain of the Bodhisattva.

Behind him, a towering figure appeared — suffused with divine radiance. Yet it was not a Buddha’s image. It left Ku Ci and the assembled elderly monks speechless.

“When others manifest the ‘Om’ celestial sound, a Buddha appears behind them — representing reverence and compliance. Yet behind him, it is himself.”

“Is this an excess of self-regard? Or does he not revere heaven and earth — holding only his own Dao in his heart?”

Even the assembled monks could not help but mutter inwardly. A Dao such as this was far too overbearing. The immortal path it would tread was destined to be fierce and domineering — most likely inviting the condemnation of heaven in the end.

The celestial sound of the cosmos resonated with the Buddha. The figure behind Ye Fan was like a demon-god — eyes sharp and keen, black hair loose. Then, with force, he tore open a rift in the spiritual realm and stepped inside.

This was a special spiritual domain of the Buddhist faith — outsiders could not enter. Only enlightened divine monks could journey spiritually inside.

The moment Ye Fan stepped in, he felt a sense of the sacred and the serene. Some divine monks and Arhats sat upon stone cliffs. Others walked through ancient temple ruins deep in the mountains.

Every trace and figure was hazy, yet gave a very real impression. Buddhist chanting came through without end, floating and drifting.

Ye Fan passed through ancient temples, moved through a stretch of a primordial battlefield, searching within this spiritual domain for An Miaoyi. Before long he came upon a gathering of monks seated on the ground, reciting sacred sutras.

Ahead, there were marks of a great Buddha — requiring prostration. As Ye Fan approached, he appeared entirely out of place. He recited only his own true name. He paid no homage to the Buddhas, showed no reverence to the ancient Buddhas — honoring nothing of this place.

“Who has trespassed upon the pure land and desecrated the Bodhisattva’s realm? Why do you not bow to the Bodhisattvas of all the heavens? Why show no respect to the ancient Buddhas?”

“Why should I bow? Even the Buddha himself has said: every person possesses Buddha-nature. All may attain Buddhahood. To revere oneself is enough — the true Buddha requires no one’s worship.” Ye Fan replied.

“You are questioning the divine — calling the ancient sages false Buddhas?!” A majestic voice descended from above, and a powerful pressure pressed down.

Ye Fan said nothing. He sent a single fist directly upward, and began to recite his own “sutra” — intending to convert the marks of Bodhisattvas and divine monks within this place.

“What manner of person is this — not prostrating before Bodhisattvas, not revering the Buddha, revering only himself?” Several of the Arhats’ divine senses swept toward him simultaneously.