Ancient, weathered mountains. A chill and desolate aura rolled toward them. Ye Fan and the others felt as though they had arrived in the primordial age — returned to a wild and untamed earth.

In the distance, mountains of unknown height — tens of thousands of zhang tall, by any reckoning — rose one after another in towering, majestic splendor. Ancient trees blotted out the sun. Strange and nameless creatures stirred within. As the group drew closer, the screech of eagles split the sky; the roars of beasts shook the hills and rivers like rolling thunder, reverberating in the ears and striking terror into the soul.

They did not know where they were. Looking around in every direction, they found themselves in an entirely unfamiliar environment — as though they had left Earth and entered some primordial, primal world.

“Where in the world have we come to?” The ancient Sanskrit authority said, somewhat out of breath. He was not truly a cultivator — his sea of bitterness had never been properly activated. He was only slightly stronger than an ordinary person, and his heart was full of unease.

“We have most likely drawn close to Lingshan. Perhaps we will be able to see the bodhisattvas of ancient times and the exalted Buddhas of the celestial realms.” One of the masters said.

An ancient road lay beneath their feet — the one thing that gave them any peace of mind. They followed it forward, and at regular intervals they encountered traces of the Buddha’s passing along the way.

Some Sanskrit ancient characters, carved by masters of great spiritual power, were still radiating light. The principles of the Dao had crystallized within them — quiet contemplation could allow one to taste the profound laws encoded there.

Ye Fan remained calm and showed no particular reaction. The masters were quite different — all of them overwhelmed with excitement, studying everything carefully, hoping to glean some understanding of the Buddhist teachings.

Wishing to quicken their pace, they attempted to employ their spiritual arts to accelerate. But they found that doing so was wrong — the ancient road grew indistinct and began to fade, on the verge of vanishing.

“To seek Lingshan, one must approach with a devout and reverent heart. Otherwise, one can never draw near. We can only move forward one step at a time.” Simalti said, chanting the name of the Buddha and asking for forgiveness.

Ye Fan furrowed his brow. Could it be that truly ancient Buddhas and primordial bodhisattvas actually lay ahead? As long as they walked on foot, the ancient road revealed itself — a most peculiar thing.

“This is the work of a great Dharma — vast and unfathomable. Lingshan is truly no ordinary place!” In the end, after they had walked a great distance, he discerned the subtle signs at work: an inexplicable pattern of Dao-lines and principles was quietly in operation.

After advancing more than a hundred li, a desolate expanse appeared ahead. Alongside the ancient road lay a stretch of ruins — crumbling walls, weeds growing wild everywhere. The Buddhist energy of this place had been entirely extinguished. All that remained was wave upon wave of yin-cold energy pressing toward them.

Wailing cries rang out without cease — approaching swiftly, sudden as lightning, and in the blink of an eye something had rushed at them, like a vengeful ghost demanding a life.

However, the small stone Buddha in Ye Fan’s hand was radiating Buddhist light. The dark shadow did not dare draw too close, darting left and right, appearing and vanishing in the surrounding wilderness at an incomprehensible speed.

Simalti, the two elderly monks, and the four masters all changed color. That kind of speed far surpassed theirs — far beyond anything they could contend with. The only reason they found any reassurance was seeing that Ye Fan’s expression had not changed in the slightest, his face perfectly calm.

“Wah!”

A great shriek rang out beside their ears, like an infant wailing. A grey shadow finally revealed itself — an elderly monk, clad in grey robes, large of frame and build, wreathed in black mist, his face ferocious and violent, his eyes a burning crimson.

Moreover, his face had erupted in fine, dense scales — red as fresh blood — spreading to his neck, his arms, and all over his body. Something savage and inhuman about his appearance made him seem no longer entirely human.

“Master, why do you appear in such a wretched and malevolent state?” The ancient Sanskrit authority asked. Having never truly entered the cultivation world, he could not gauge this figure’s depth at all.

“This person’s Buddhist nature has been completely extinguished. He has long since lost his true self. What sustains his physical body now is nothing more than a current of malevolent intent — or one might say, he has already died.” One of the elderly monks spoke.

“What a pity. This person’s cultivation was far above ours. How did he become lost here?” One of the masters said, filled with shock and doubt.

“You are also seeking Lingshan, are you? I hate it…” The red-eyed elderly monk’s voice was chilling, black mist coiling around him, his appearance like that of a vengeful spirit. In a mournful tone he said: “I devoted my heart to the Buddha, yet Lingshan never revealed itself to me. I pursued it through nine deaths and survived, yet in the end gained nothing. What meaning is there in venerating the Buddha any longer?”

Everyone understood at once. He had carried boundless grievance and resentment, and from that grievance this demonic form had taken shape. Pitiable and lamentable — he had abandoned the Buddha.

“The Buddha is already dead. What do you seek? This illusory and elusive Lingshan — what good would it do you even if you reached it? Let me guide you onto the true path.” This grey-robed elderly monk wept tears of blood as he shouted, rushing toward them.

In their hearts, everyone sighed. This man had revered the Buddha his entire life, only to find it all an empty dream. He had died on the road of seeking the Buddha — and from that came this boundless resentment, gathered and unable to disperse.

He raised his hand and a begging bowl appeared — like a golden-purple vault of heaven pressing down, covering everyone beneath it. It filled the sky and blotted out the earth, blasting out powerful radiance. Except for the ancient road underfoot, the land in every direction rapidly collapsed. Yin-winds howled and raged; trees were uprooted from the ground.

The several masters changed color. This power far surpassed theirs — entirely impossible for them to resist. Had Ye Fan not been present, they were certain this single strike would have reduced them all to ash.

Ding!

Ye Fan raised his hand and extended a single finger, pressing it against the begging bowl. He pierced through it effortlessly, shattering it — fragments of light scattered through the sky. The demonically transformed elderly monk cried out and was sent flying backward, crashing through and shattering an ancient temple wall.

“Ahh…” A shrill cry rang out. The elderly monk’s face contorted hideously. Fangs erupted from his mouth. Blood dripped from his eyes. He roared and charged again.

Ye Fan lifted his hand and pressed it forward. It descended like a great golden millstone, pinning the monk to the ground, rendering him completely unable to move — a manifestation of supreme divine arts.

Beside him, the several masters all wore expressions of profound shock. In their eyes, this was a demonic form that should have been impossible to subdue — yet it had been suppressed this easily.

Ye Fan let out a quiet sigh. He did not crush the man to dust and ash. In a certain sense, this was a pitiable soul — a lifetime of faith, and in the end all of it had come to nothing. Body dead, the Way extinguished, only a breath of grievance that refused to scatter.

“Please allow us to send him on his way.” Simalti said, filled with compassion. He stepped forward, pressing his palms together in a bow.

Ye Fan nodded and said nothing. The masters came forward one by one, all sitting cross-legged beside the demonic monk, chanting sutras — seeking to dissolve away every trace of the malevolent energy and guide him to the next life.

“Namo Amitabha, Tathagata, Tadyatha, Amritod Bhave…”

Before long, the elderly monk pinned beneath Ye Fan’s golden hand had every trace of black mist stripped away. The crimson scales covering his body vanished as well. The expression on his face gradually became tranquil and serene.

In the end, Ye Fan lifted his hand. The elderly monk transformed into a column of sacred light and sat upright, chanted “Namo Amitabha Buddha” once — and then became a shower of light that faded and disappeared, his grievance fully dissolved.

“We who walk the cultivator’s path were far too reverential toward the Buddha. We allowed our attachments to run too deep. Yet we could not behold the true Buddha — and so this fate befell him… it was not his fault.” One of the masters pressed his palms together and recited a sutra in silence.

They continued on their way. This ancient road leading to Lingshan was lined with dried bones the entire route. By the time they had traveled its length, they had counted no fewer than several hundred remains — and not a single one was anything other than an eminent monk who had attained the Way.

One could not help but sigh at the sight. Only those who revered the Buddha could find their way here — yet they could only die partway, unable to draw near to Lingshan. Truly sorrowful.

Suddenly, the ancient road came to an end. A pitch-black abyss stretched before them, barring the way forward. The road continuing toward Lingshan could still be faintly seen on the other side.

“Is this some kind of trial?” Ye Fan asked.

“It is not. The esoteric phrases we inherited from our predecessors were incomplete — and that is why the road has broken here. As things stand, we can only rely on our own strength to cross over and reconnect with the road on the other side.” One of the elderly monks said.

Throughout all of this, Ye Fan had been reciting the incantations without cease, channeling his spiritual power to bless the small stone Buddha. It was this that had allowed the ancient road to continue unfolding before them — and now, at last, it had been blocked.

“Very well. We cross.” Ye Fan wanted to enter the sacred ground of Lingshan and see it for himself. Given that the fluctuations emanating from it were no less powerful than those of Mount Sumeru, there was surely a stunning, primordial sacred ground within.

“Aoooh…”

Suddenly, a piercing wail rang out. The abyss was a sea of black mist — filled with the weeping of numberless ghosts. Within it writhed all manner of demons and monsters, struggling desperately as though trying to break free.

“This is the Chaotic Demon Abyss — the many demons and monsters suppressed and slain by Shakyamuni before his enlightenment. Great numbers of them were cast into this abyss.” Simalti cried out in alarm.

The abyss could not be flown across. The killing energy of countless demons had coalesced into a slaughter ground throughout it. The only way to cross was to proceed on foot, step by step, relying on one’s own strength.

“Is that so. Then let me see for myself what manner of demons Shakyamuni once slew.” Ye Fan said. He radiated golden light from his body, enveloping everyone within, and then stepped forward over the abyss — treading upon the evil spirits that surged up toward him one after another as he walked.

Chaos reigned as demons danced in frenzy.

Countless great demons and malevolent wraiths — all formed from grievance — surged upward in towering waves. Though they no longer possessed the power they had held in life, they were still terrifying beyond measure, wailing as they rushed forward.

Rumble, rumble!

Thunder and lightning roared outside Ye Fan’s body. His golden sacred domain spread open. He moved like a divine being crossing through the underworld, walking above it all — and in the course of this crossing he truly did encounter several formidable figures.

Bang!

A demon-spirit at the sect-leader level was extinguished with a single touch of his finger, dissolving into darkness, sending a vast tide of evil spirits scattering in retreat. Then, when a towering skeleton appeared, the entire Chaotic Demon Abyss erupted in turmoil.

“A demon with a bone frame remaining!”

Ye Fan’s eyes gleamed. This was extraordinarily rare. The being possessed overwhelming strength — its skeletal frame had taken a direct strike from him and had not shattered. It engaged him in full battle.

He moved like lightning — the dragon stepping, the tiger leaping, the ape vaulting, the serpent striking — unleashing heavy blows in rapid succession. Eighteen strikes in total, and then, with a thunderous crash, he sent that bleached-white skeleton shattering into fragments.

Beside him, the Indian monks were all shaken to their core. After a long moment, one of them finally managed to speak: “If I am not mistaken, that skeleton was a guardian Vajra of our Buddhist faith — one who fell into the demonic path. Its physical form was meant to be indestructible, impervious to harm even in death. How could it have been… shattered like this?”

They could not comprehend it. The guardian Vajra of Buddhism possessed an indestructible body — even in death, its physical form was difficult to injure. Just how powerful was this young man before them? His mortal flesh surpassed the Buddha!

The Chaotic Demon Abyss was truly a place of deadly peril. Demons and monsters surged out without cease, bound within, trying to drag the living down with them into destruction. An ordinary person could not hope to pass through. Every evil spirit within was formed from the death of a great master of divine arts from primordial times.

The several masters all understood — no matter how many people came to such a place in the present era, they would perish. There was simply no way to break through it. Yet Ye Fan’s combat power was staggering. Though he encountered several fierce battles, he emerged victorious from every one, cutting his way through.

The power he displayed was, in the eyes of the others, something approaching the divine — suppressing demons of every kind in turn, unstoppable and unmatched, with none able to stand before him.

In the end, Ye Fan cut through the Chaotic Demon Abyss and successfully set foot upon the broken road, advancing once more.

Boom!

Waves surged to the sky, crashing into the heavens — boundless and vast. A great ocean lay before them, barring the way. The sound of the waves was deafening, enough to make one doubt whether all of this was a dream.

No one knew how far they had walked, yet they had arrived at a place like this. The ancient road was blocked. Before them stretched an endless, boundless sea.

“How is this possible — have we walked beyond the Tibetan region?” The ancient Sanskrit authority stared, stupefied.

“This is the Sea of Bitterness. To draw near to Lingshan, one must cross it. Perhaps this is the true face of Earth — what we ordinarily perceive may be only a part of it.” One of the elderly monks said.

“The Sea of Bitterness is boundless, yet the far shore is where salvation lies. Should we continue to cross?” Another elderly monk spoke.

“I will not turn back until I have seen Lingshan.” Ye Fan said quietly.

Everyone had witnessed his great divine arts. Hearing him speak this way, they naturally accepted it as their collective decision — they were pressing forward.

Ye Fan reached out and pointed. A purple-bronze warship materialized in the void. He had everyone board it, and then slowly they sailed across the vast and endless Sea of Bitterness, advancing toward the far shore.

Boom!

Massive waves struck the banks. Wrathful surges lashed the heavens. The black ocean below filled every heart with dread — each swell seemed as though it might overturn the heavens and earth themselves. Creatures stirred within those waters, rushing toward them with howling cries.

Indistinct shapes moved all around. They were greatly alarmed. After sailing several hundred li, white skeletal hands reached up in dense masses from the water below, and terrifying demons rose up, striking at the warship above. It was far more horrifying than the Chaotic Demon Abyss — within it lurked evil spirits of unfathomable depth, radiating an overwhelming and sky-blotting aura.

Ye Fan produced a bronze lantern — its body shaped like a human figure with a ghost’s face — and hung it at the prow of the vessel. In an instant, the wind stilled and the waves settled. Every demon and monster vanished and ceased to stir.

This was the bronze lantern retrieved from the ancient star of Huihuo — left behind by Shakyamuni as a means to suppress the malevolent ghost of the Great Completion Holy Body. It was a peculiar and extraordinary secret treasure, and what burned within it was the rendered essence of an ancient sage.

Everyone was astonished. The Sea of Bitterness was undeniably terrifying beyond measure. If one attempted to cross it normally, even a golden arhat might perish within it. Yet no one had foreseen that with only a single bronze lantern, the rest of the journey would proceed without incident.

The black sea surged and raged, yet not a single threat appeared. Even so, one could sense in the depths of the water that extremely terrifying demons were swimming about, peering upward from time to time — yet none of them dared draw near.

The bronze lantern emitted a serene cyan glow, exquisitely crafted — a human body approaching the Dao, a ghost’s face twisted in ferocity, its tongue serving as the wick, flames dancing as they burned, conjuring one ancient talisman after another that wreathed the entire bronze vessel.

Moreover, a shriveled and wizened little old figure appeared, crouching at the prow and giving the group a strange and eerie smile — an unspeakable quality of demonic craftiness that set the Indian masters’ nerves on edge.

Ye Fan had encountered him before — this was not their first meeting — so his expression did not change in the slightest. It had to be said that the bronze lantern possessed divine might, capable of suppressing every manner of evil spirit.

A full nine days passed. Not a single demon dared leap out throughout the entire crossing. Even the whole of the Sea of Bitterness quieted, subdued by its presence.

Nine days later, they arrived at the far shore. Looking ahead, mountain ranges of tens of thousands of zhang soared up into the clouds — overwhelmingly magnificent and vast.

“Lingshan — we are nearly at the primordial sacred ground of Lingshan!” The elderly monks were all overcome with excitement.

Ye Fan said nothing, but he sensed a vast and immeasurable presence. The fluctuations of Buddhist energy surged and ebbed around him. He knew they had truly drawn near to the legendary Lingshan.

“Ah, that is…”

One day later, they made their way through one great mountain range after another. Ahead, points of light appeared — a divine radiance spreading and diffusing through the air.

Even Ye Fan was startled. With his celestial eye awakened, he naturally could see far further than the others, and he had already glimpsed the extraordinary sight on the horizon.

Divine blossoms danced and swirled, transforming into a shower of light — crystalline and brilliant.

And there, growing in that place, was an ancient bodhi tree. Its gnarled branches spread in every direction like coiling dragons, its leaves a lush and glistening green, carrying the pulsation of the Great Dao.

Beneath the ancient tree sat a middle-aged man of perhaps thirty-some years of age — untouched by the slightest speck of dust, his body imprinted upon the void, merged with the Great Dao. He appeared to exist simultaneously in the three temporal realms of past, present, and future.

“Shakyamuni Buddha!” Upon seeing him clearly, Simalti and the others felt their heads might burst. They were overwhelmed, and all of them fell to their knees in prostration immediately.

Even Ye Fan was struck with astonishment. The appearance of this figure was truly extraordinary — identical in every detail to the statues of Shakyamuni found in temples and monasteries. And at this moment, he was merged entirely with the Great Dao.