Golden points of light gathered at his fingertips, like golden butterflies dancing, then rose into the sky.

Ye Fan was taken aback. The sarira — once the size of a baby’s fist — was shrinking. It transformed into a cascade of light, spreading in all directions. The colors were extraordinary: pure, solemn, and majestic.

Dissolution into the Dao. That was the first thought that came to him — but it didn’t seem quite right. Back in the Western Desert, that ancient Buddha had already completely passed into stillness.

Could it be… that reincarnation is truly real? Ye Fan was suddenly moved, his heart surging. He leapt to his feet.

For these past several days he had been dazed and confused, drifting without purpose, barely knowing where he was — his mind filled constantly with images of his parents, unable to pull himself out of his grief.

Reincarnation. Resurrection. The thoughts had circled his mind again and again, along with thoughts of the sarira and the ancient coffin that should have been buried in the nine heavens. He had reached for both, driven by some deeper instinct.

Buddhism speaks of the life to come — of reincarnation. And the nine-layered coffin of the age of myth held a divine being — a product of eternal life.

Over these past several days, in a daze, Ye Fan had taken out these two objects by instinct, searching for a means to grant eternal life, a path to reincarnation — all so that he might see his parents again.

The act had been unconscious, yet it jolted him fully awake — otherwise who knew how many more days he might have wandered in that stupor.

The ancient coffin showed no change at all — still archaic and unadorned. But the sarira was dissolving little by little, like a ball of snow slowly melting.

Ye Fan’s spirit and focus sharpened to their peak. He stared without blinking, a cluster of divine flame leaping at his brow — like a divine being incarnate.

He used his heart to sense the sarira, called upon his cultivation, watching every change — wanting to understand its source, to know what this truly was. Even though his rational mind refused to believe in reincarnation, he still hoped for a miracle. His eyes went deep and unmoving.

The sarira continued to dissolve as though merging into the Dao — light becoming substance, spreading outward in golden ripples, beautiful in color, as though enacting some celestial art, golden light weaving into a vast expanse.

“Hey mister, are you doing magic tricks?” A little boy in the park came running over, wide eyes blinking, watching the sarira dissolve into points of light in Ye Fan’s hand.

“It’s so pretty! Teach me how you do it, mister — it looks amazing!” The boy was completely unafraid of strangers, tugging at Ye Fan, begging to be taught.

“Better than those ‘witness a miracle’ tricks they do on the New Year Gala every year. Watched those so many times I’m sick of them,” said a few young people nearby, crowding over out of curiosity.

“Hey, why is your forehead glowing too? Is that phosphorus? Does it hurt when it burns?” one young man asked, very curious, reaching out to touch the divine flame at Ye Fan’s brow.

“Ow — ow!” His hand hadn’t even made contact, but it stung like a needle prick. He pulled his hand back while still at a distance, yelping, “How do you stand that, man? I’ve gotta say — whatever you do, you’re committed. And I suppose nothing worth doing is easy.”

Ye Fan paid none of them any attention. Heedless of how conspicuous he was, he fixed his gaze on the light streaming from the sarira — all of it drifting westward — and rose to follow.

His speed was extraordinary. He departed like the wind, sending the adorable little boy tumbling onto his backside in fright, leaving the young men and women around him staring with dropped jaws.

The sarira was radiating light, flowing in streams toward where the sun set — mysterious, unknowable. Ye Fan moved like wind and lightning, and in the blink of an eye had left the city behind.

These points of light were like golden butterflies — not flying particularly fast, drifting through the air gracefully as though alive. Ye Fan could keep pace with ease and still had time to observe them closely.

“No ripple of divine sense. Not a primordial spirit. No mark of life — only a pure and clean energy.” He frowned slightly.

Ye Fan was deeply focused. He extended his divine thought, employed his cultivation, examining every individual point of light, trying to understand their origin and what they truly were.

But he was disappointed. These things had nothing to do with reincarnation. There was no impression of life within them — only a pure and clean energy, nothing more.

No wonder even the ancient Buddha himself said: believe and it exists, disbelieve and it does not. At the level of cultivation he had reached, he must certainly have known — that in the end, death is simply an emptiness.

What Ye Fan could not understand was why the dissolving old monk had insisted on him bringing the sarira back to Earth. What purpose did it serve? For he had already noticed — at intervals, certain points of light dimmed and faded. Some dissipated into nothing; some were absorbed into rocks and grass; occasionally a few were drawn in by fortunate people who happened to be nearby.

Perhaps, before he entered stillness, he saw a second flower that resembled the first — and knowing it was not himself, still wished to draw near.

Ye Fan was disappointed, but followed the light points to the end all the same. They did not move quickly for him — it took several days before he arrived in the western regions.

Ahead, the elevation kept rising. The sky looked as though it had been washed clean — a brilliant, crystalline blue, like a sapphire. Occasional clouds drifted past, spotless and white, hanging just overhead as though he could reach out and touch them.

In this age of towering cities, it was not easy to find such a place untouched by man. The Tibetan plateau was sparsely inhabited, with vast territories no human foot had trodden.

Yet just as he drew near this high-altitude terrain, the sarira in his hand reached its final point. The last fragment of light flew out — and it too vanished. The sarira was gone entirely.

Ye Fan watched this final rain of light, saw it travel not far at all before settling into stone, sinking into earth and grass, dissolving into nothing.

A long sigh. Even though he had known all along that reincarnation was an emptiness — that it could not exist — he still felt a wave of grief and disappointment. The last thread of hope in his heart had been severed.

The ancient sage of the Western Desert had vanished entirely from this world. Even the Buddha was no more than this — to say nothing of an ordinary person. In the end, nothing had been left behind. Not a single impression.

Ye Fan understood now that he could never see his parents again. It truly was a forever-separation of the living and the dead. At the thought, his spirit darkened and he could not help himself. He stood there without moving — nearly turned to stone. Where to go from here? His heart was in chaos. He had no direction. Everything felt pointless.

No one knew how long he stood there. Then Ye Fan suddenly raised his head. He sensed a faint and subtle fluctuation — coming from somewhere deep within the Tibetan region. A mysterious aura was moving through the air.

This is… A flash of sharp light crossed his eyes as he looked out over the land ahead.

This sensation was not one he could forget. He had experienced something like it once in the Western Desert — this mysterious pulse was nearly identical to the fluctuations from Mount Sumeru. Ye Fan transformed into a beam of light and shot forward at speed.

He entered the depths of the uninhabited plateau — and in that instant sensed a vast, immense surge, like a great ocean with its dyke suddenly breached, flooding outward in all directions.

Ye Fan was stunned. This uninhabited region was extraordinarily mysterious. Compared to what he had encountered in the Western Desert, the wave was not much weaker. For a moment he nearly thought he was once again gazing upon Mount Sumeru from afar.

But it came fast and left fast. The mysterious surge was cut off as though a floodgate had been slammed shut, halted in an instant, and quickly vanished entirely — beyond sensing.

Where did it come from?

Ye Fan extended his powerful divine sense, sweeping across the mountains and great earth — yet could perceive nothing. It was a very strange experience.

The Tibetan plateau had always been a place of mystery, full of things that defied explanation. Ye Fan had tracked the light all the way here and found nothing — he was uncertain and puzzled.

The Tibetan plateau truly holds many unsolved mysteries. The land where Shakyamuni himself was born no longer follows Buddhism as its faith — yet here it has become a hallowed ground. Can something truly be hidden here?

Ye Fan stood atop a mountain of tremendous bearing, looking out over the boundless, mysterious ancient land below. Not only did Buddhism take root here — China’s most mysterious of ancient mountains, the Kunlun, also stretched its ranges across this land.

He pressed forward, passing through many places, alone through vast uninhabited zones, until at last he came to a stretch of the Kunlun mountain range — the great barrier lying between Tibet and the Tarim Basin.

The Kunlun — ancestral mountain of ten thousand mountains, the foremost sacred peak of China. It was the home of the Queen Mother of the West and the immortals of ancient times, and held a position of supreme and unrivaled reverence in China’s antiquity.

Yet Ye Fan walked along one section and found it perfectly ordinary — nothing remarkable at all. He did not press deep into Xinjiang, nor did he go to the Qinghai stretch, and turned back into the Tibetan region.

He had not come to seek out the secrets of the Kunlun — his path had been guided by following the Buddha’s light. He had no interest to spare for anything else. His heart held only a gray emptiness.

Ye Fan came to Lhasa. Even without believing in the life to come, he wanted to try — to go with an open mind. The vast surge not long ago still would not leave him in peace.

He entered the Potala Palace — built upon the mountain, majestic and imposing, a sacred site of Tibetan Buddhism from ancient times to the present, a place of extraordinary standing.

Ye Fan went in and out of many halls — places normally closed to the public. But he was disappointed. He sensed none of that aura there. Nothing to be found.

He then visited the Jokhang Temple and the Ramoche Temple in turn. In these two sacred shrines he found nothing either — only a thread of clean, calm mental force, wholly incomparable to what he had sensed not long before.

That immensity had been awe-inspiring — truly approaching the level of Mount Sumeru, a surging and boundless ocean.

Shortly after, he visited Sera Monastery, Yerpa Monastery, Zasang Monastery, Samye Monastery, and others in turn — among the most renowned ancient monasteries and sacred shrines — and still found nothing.

Ye Fan discovered that even now there were people here who worshipped in earnest, with genuine and devout faith — not merely the kind of surface devotion that burns incense, makes offerings, and prays for blessings. But to his great regret, he never encountered a single cultivator. Perhaps there were some in obscure, unknown ancient temples — but he had no heart to search.

Ye Fan passed through the vast uninhabited zones, and what he saw began to surprise him. Among certain devout Tibetan believers he came across, they were all deeply agitated — saying that a Buddha was about to descend into this world.

He didn’t understand and asked carefully. Some said the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss had opened, and they had sensed the power of the Buddha. Others said the Saha World had a Buddha reawakening. Still others said the Gates of the Buddha had opened and the Dharma was made manifest in the world.

Ye Fan shook his head and turned to go. He was still deep in grief, his spirit darkened — but he had stepped a little outside the walls of his own inner world. He knew there were still things waiting for him to attend to.

He passed through wide stretches of uninhabited land and came upon some crumbling ancient temples — long since reduced to ruins. He would not have expected it, but in these places he sensed very strong fluctuations.

Something is wrong.

Ye Fan suddenly realized — when he was grieving like a mortal, he had been blind and unknowing. But now that he was somewhat clearer-headed, paying genuine attention, he could feel it — this great land held something unlike anything ordinary. It was pressing down on him so heavily he could barely breathe — and it was directed at cultivators specifically.

He could not help but raise his eyes toward the sky and murmur to himself: “Is it Lingshan? Or the Kunlun Mountain? I must find out one day.”

But then the thought came — that even having cultivated to this degree, he could not protect his parents. His heart went cold and gray again. Even if he uncovered a hidden sacred land, what good would it do?

The path of cultivation was steep and treacherous. Whether severing the Dao or proving the Dao, far too much had to be surrendered. And in the end he couldn’t even protect the people closest to him. When it came to that, it truly seemed meaningless.

Ye Fan turned back toward where he had come from, about to leave the Tibetan region behind. As he passed a stone mountain, he came upon another ruined ancient temple — and suddenly felt as though something was watching him.

He turned and walked toward the ruins of the old monastery, fixing his gaze on a stone Buddha, step by step drawing near. He felt this was rather remarkable — in this age when the Dharma had faded from the world, he had encountered a living thing with genuine cultivation.

Whoosh.

Behind the stone Buddha, a streak of purple light shot upward and disappeared into the stone mountain.

Ye Fan looked up. In one stride he was a hundred-some meters up the stone mountain, staring at a bowl-sized stone cavity. Inside sat a small stone Buddha, barely the height of a palm, half-blocking the entrance to the hole.