Descending from Mount Sumeru, the chatterbox kept on going — affectionately gripping the elderly monk Mo Ke’s hand, such that anyone who didn’t know better would genuinely have taken the two of them for a pair of bosom friends separated by many years.

Mo Ke had reached the end of his patience — but in the end… he could only endure some more.

In the end, it was unclear whether Mo Ke was following the Demon-Subduing Pestle’s dharmic decree, or whether he had genuinely felt guilty, or whether he had felt compassion for Hua Hua’s past life, or whether the chatterbox had simply talked him into it — but he agreed, stone-faced, to come and serve as dharma protector of the mountain gate for a few years.

This outcome left the entire group wide-eyed and gaping.

“Master, don’t worry — I’ll treat the bowl-sized scar on your nose for you someday.”

“Get lost!”

Having finally seen off that group of plagues, the assembled Bodhisattvas and Ancient Buddhas stood in a daze for a long while before returning to Mount Sumeru.

Originally, Dongfang Ye and the others had been deliberating whether to knock this elderly monk out and take him along — but now that they saw this outcome, they let the matter go. Besides, continuing to make their move in this place might not sit well with the Demon-Subduing Pestle and the other imperial weapons.

“We’ll see how he conducts himself. If he dares get up to anything untoward, we’ll strip away every last bit of his cultivation.” The group truly departed.

“The real deal!”

After leaving Mount Sumeru and arriving at a nearby city, they entered an old shop run by ordinary mortals. Kai De held a large braised pork knuckle in his left hand and a whole roasted goose in his right, eating like a starved ghost reborn into the world. His cheeks were puffed out, and grease ran freely from the corners of his mouth.

He swept through dish after dish like a gust of wind, leaving the table in absolute ruins — he swallowed even the bones whole. The shop’s owner kept bringing out platter after platter of meat dishes before Kai De finally looked up, belching with satisfaction, reluctant to stop.

Kai De first expressed a round of heartfelt gratitude to Ye Fan, and then let his gaze sweep across the crowd. He had been observing the Divine Knight for quite some time back on Mount Sumeru, and had never quite gotten around to asking about him.

He rattled off a string of what Dongfang Ye and the others took to be “birdsong.” When he received a response from the Divine Knight, he immediately let out a great shout, charged straight over, and wrapped him in an enthusiastic embrace.

“It burns my immortal eyes!”

“Now I’ve gone and developed a stye — I didn’t see a thing!”

Dongfang Ye, Li Heishui, Wu Zhongtian, Jiang Huairen, and the others all cursed under their breath. This was an absolute affront to decency — two grown men tangled up together. Though to be precise, it was the monk who had grabbed onto the Divine Knight.

“To use a Chinese expression — fellow countrymen meeting abroad, both eyes brim with tears. I’ve had it so rough. All these years, every face I saw was an alien’s. You’re the first of my own kind I’ve met.”

Kai De was crying with one nostril and tearing up from one eye at once, wiping it all onto the Divine Knight without the slightest regard for the fact that this was a Great Sage — and it was fortunate the Divine Knight kept his aura restrained, otherwise Kai De would have been shaken apart on the spot.

“This world is too dangerous. Ox-headed men, giant-footed monsters, corpse-ghost tribes, cat-demon people — it has everything, and they all fancy themselves ‘ancient royal bloodlines’ while eating people every day. And the monks here are all religious fanatics. I escaped thirty-eight times and they dragged me back every single time. They nearly burned me alive to go meet Amitabha — it’s not like I’m on close terms with him!”

Kai De spoke in frantic, incoherent bursts, clearly on the verge of a breakdown, rambling endlessly without stop.

“I arrived in a coffin. How did you get here? I feel like we’ve both been abandoned by God. I’ve always had one dream: to go back to Earth and join forces with Satan to attack God!”

The Divine Knight listened to his ramblings, and even he was left somewhat speechless. In the end, he simply patted Kai De on the shoulder and said: “Emotional wounds need time to heal.”

“What do you mean by that? I’m not a lunatic — those monks are!” Kai De was indignant.

The whole group burst out laughing.

The Silkworm Princess had already learned the whereabouts of the Victorious Fighting Buddha on Mount Sumeru, but in the end, she had still failed to find any evidence of the Fighting Buddha having been converted — and her heart was unsatisfied. She led her people and departed.

The old undying one, the blind elder, Tu Tian, and the others took the Heaven-Devouring Demon Jar and left as well. The members of the Ji Family, Yaoyue Kong, the Great Xia Imperial Prince, and the rest likewise set out on their way.

Ye Fan bid them farewell and expressed sincere gratitude.

The forces of the Heavenly Court did not withdraw entirely from the Western Wasteland. They truly intended to take root and grow there — though this could only be called a branch, one to be left in Hua Hua’s care.

“The Heavenly Court Buddhist Division.” This was the name Hua Hua came up with, wearing that insufferable grin.

One could only imagine how dark Mo Ke’s expression would be when he arrived. But all in all, Hua Hua’s safety should be no concern — every single Bodhisattva and Ancient Buddha throughout the entire Western Wasteland was waiting for his subconscious awakening, to prove that there existed a past life and a next life.

Kai De joined the Heavenly Court without a second thought. When he was told he would still be serving as a Dharma-protecting Vajra, stationed in the Western Wasteland, he nearly toppled over sideways.

“Kill me before I put on those monks’ robes again!”

“Meat and wine may pass through one’s bowels — there’s no need to keep all those rules and regulations.” Hua Hua did everything he could to keep him, asking him to be a Dharma-protecting Heavenly King instead.

In the end, without a shred of loyalty to his convictions, Kai De abandoned God, cast aside Satan, and took up the role of a Dharma-protecting Heavenly King of the Heavenly Court.

The Divine Knight departed, like a lone boat setting sail upon a vast and boundless sea. He had decided to charge out beyond the domain and forge his own path.

The Celestial Village lay beyond the domain and could not be found. Many of the Heavenly Court’s people — Qi Luo, the Silver-Blood Twin Emperors, and many others — remained behind in the Western Wasteland, allowing the Heavenly Court to take temporary root there.

As for Yan Yixi, Li Tian, and some others, they chose to roam the world. In this age of great upheaval, there was far too much to experience across this land.

Of course, everyone had already made an agreement — it would not be too long before they crossed the star domain and left the Northern Dipper, for they all understood: once the path to immortality opened, this place was bound to erupt in world-shattering devastation!

When that time came, even Saints would fall with ease…

After a night of great revelry, everyone set out on their separate paths.

From that battle, the Heavenly Court’s name rang with great prestige. In the eyes of the Golden Crow Clan and the Ancient Clan, Ye Fan had carved out a reputation for ferocity unmatched across all the world — having deployed multiple imperial weapons in a single battle, shaking the heavens and causing every living being to tremble.

In a certain sense, the several families that had deployed imperial weapons were now lashed together upon a single war chariot. Provoke one in the future, and you might well have multiple imperial weapons crashing down on you at once. Who would dare face that edge?!

The Five Regions buzzed with noise. Everywhere, voices spoke of nothing but the matter of Ye Fan’s great battle at Mount Sumeru. It had gone on for days and become the focal topic drawing the eyes of all the world.

Ye Fan walked alone through the Western Wasteland — immortal sword upon his back, robes billowing in the wind, transcendent and otherworldly, without a trace of killing intent. His blue robes seemed to set him apart from the mortal world entirely.

He came to the banks of Lake Ashoka and stood there for a long while. Then he wandered through the monasteries of the Western Wasteland and finally arrived once more at Lanta Monastery.

“Benefactor, you have come.” It was an elderly monk — his brows snow-white — who seemed to have long since foreseen that Ye Fan would make his way here.

Lanta Monastery: an expanse of grand, ancient temple halls that, bathed in the light of the setting sun, were painted entirely in golden hues. Temple after ancient temple stood in solemn splendor, appearing ever more sacred and holy.

In the Western Wasteland, several ancient monasteries were most renowned — Lanta Monastery, Spirited Rosy Cloud Monastery, the Hanging Monastery, and others all bore the undying inheritance of Buddhism, though the Grand Thunder Sound Monastery stood above all without question.

In years past, Ye Fan had done battle here, holding off several divine monks alone — all for the sake of seeing An Miaoyi, to give her her freedom.

Today, he returned. The monks of the monastery naturally had not forgotten, and the elderly monk chanted the Amitabha name and invited him inside.

That battle had ended in neither side fighting to the death — they had reconciled and parted on peaceful terms. There was therefore no enmity or grudge to speak of. Only this battle at Mount Sumeru had left a bitter feeling among the Buddhist order.

Ye Fan had wandered the Western Wasteland and learned that An Miaoyi had ultimately chosen to cultivate here, entering closed-door seclusion — and so he had come to see her.

“The Bodhisattva has been in seclusion for several decades now and has not emerged. Perhaps a hundred years of time will be needed before she appears again.” A divine monk said.

The nine-tiered stone pagoda stood as it always had. An Miaoyi had sealed herself within it, contemplating the ultimate principles, cultivating her own Dao-fruit.

“Has she said anything?” Ye Fan asked.

“She has.” The holy monk nodded, and spoke a single phrase.

“Better to cherish the memory than to meet again.”

Those words struck Ye Fan’s body like a physical blow. He fell into a daze, utterly unable to calm himself for a long time. He stared at the sealed stone pagoda, the urge to force his way inside rising within him.

This was a holy pagoda — left behind by some Great Sage from an unknown age, capable of imprisoning a stubborn monk or sealing oneself inside, suppressing one’s own self. To force it open would most likely destroy the pagoda and harm the one within.

“Mortal ties already severed — let us meet upon the immortal’s road!”

The elderly monk handed Ye Fan a letter. In addition to the first phrase, there was this second one.

Ye Fan stood in place, motionless, unable to utter a single word. He let out a long, quiet sigh. He circled the pagoda, and in doing so, clearly sensed a certain lingering thought. He held the letter in hand as images of times past rose one by one to the surface of his heart.

Why say that mortal ties were already severed — was it because of Ji Ziyue? Or because she knew of his other entanglements? Or was it that she could not see the future?

An Miaoyi was a remarkable woman. What she thought, what she decided — it was always so surprising, leaving one wistful, with a bitter ache in the heart.

Better to cherish the memory than to meet again. Distance holds its own beauty, its own soft mist. If they were truly to spend their lives together, perhaps only the ordinary would remain — the extraordinary fading into the mundane. Was An Miaoyi asking him to remember her always? To leave the most beautiful image of her, the deepest imprint, forever upon his heart?

A passionate encounter, the most beautiful of instants, a moment of dazzling brilliance — and then she turns away, each gazing at the other across the mortal world.

Ye Fan could not speak. That single phrase — better to cherish the memory than to meet again — left a vast emptiness in his heart. He walked through the ancient monastery, unable to steady himself beneath the weight of this feeling.

“Benefactor, I believe the most important part is still the final two lines.” A young novice monk of sixteen or seventeen spoke up.

Evidently his standing was not ordinary — otherwise he would not have known the contents of the letter, let alone be walking beside a divine monk.

The elderly monk shot him a glare, forbidding him from speaking out of turn.

“Buddhism teaches people to be free from suffering. It does not speak falsehoods. I am only telling the truth as it is.” The young novice said.

Ye Fan was struck still. Looking at this young novice monk whose Buddhist roots were innate from birth, he could already see that this child was destined for no ordinary future — destined one day to spread his wings and soar to the heavens.

He nodded and gradually grew calm. He knew as well as anyone that the final line was the crux of it — and he understood its meaning.

Mortal ties already severed — let us meet upon the immortal’s road!

Let him walk the mortal path as he will — taking a wife, raising children, honoring debts of gratitude… Only on the immortal’s road would they meet, and there walk forward together, hand in hand, advancing toward the same destination, never parting in life or death.

Ye Fan walked in silence, circling the stone pagoda again and again. Then he stepped away and walked toward the distant horizon. That day, he roamed alone beneath the setting sun, alone along the banks of Lake Ashoka, alone across the high plateau.

Every place the two of them had once left their footprints — he walked through each one alone, memories of bygone days rising to the surface one by one.

In the end, Ye Fan returned to Lanta Monastery and stood before the stone pagoda for an entire day and night. He did not see An Miaoyi. Then, slowly, he turned around and stepped away.

Before he left, the elderly monk told him that An Miaoyi, while contemplating the Dao in her dreams, had looked back and seen a flower from the past, and lifted her eyes to gaze upon a flower of the future not yet bloomed — flower petals raining down all around.

“I shall guard her Dao for her — and in this life, there shall be but one flower, one that never withers, blooming with luminous clarity always!” Ye Fan declared, filled with an indomitable conviction. He strode away with great steps.

He was no longer wistful. No longer hollow. Within his heart there remained only a single conviction: if he was peerless in this age, what was there to fear? All things would be crushed beneath his fists.

Ye Fan stepped forward. Sun, moon, and mountains reversed. The Western Wasteland receded swiftly behind him. He entered the Northern Plains, then continued northward without pause, arriving at a vast, boundless field of ice.

“Tu Fei, I’ve come to rescue you!”