Chapter 125: A Spark of Spiritual Light Rises, One Qi Transforms into the Three Pure Ones 1

Chapter 125: A Flash of Spiritual Light, One Qi Transforms into the Three Pure Ones 1 (1/3)

Dream Dao Attainment, Opening Scheme Against Cultivators

Dream-Making Expert

“The Great Dream of Many Autumns.”

“What year is it tonight?”

…

The Northland. The setting sun.

Snow falling thick and heavy.

A group of ragged refugees trudged forth from the end of the horizon.

Sallow and emaciated, their expressions numb, they wandered aimlessly with no idea where to go, only fleeing for their lives on instinct.

At the very front of the crowd was a group of believers.

A group of devout followers of the Buddhist order.

Even as they fled for their lives, their eyes were filled with devotion and hope.

They bowed and kowtowed, they prayed with utmost sincerity.

They encouraged the people behind them.

Telling them that so long as they kept going, toward the Great Snow Mountain, they would be saved.

Because on the Great Snow Mountain there was a temple.

In the temple was an accomplished monk named Bodhidharma.

He was the reincarnation of a Buddha, possessing great compassion and great divine abilities.

His reincarnation into the mortal world was for the sake of ferrying all beings across.

So long as they reached the Great Snow Mountain and entered Bodhi Temple.

Then by the Buddha’s compassion, they would surely be saved.

These words had been repeated countless times, and had already become everyone’s final hope and faith.

And so they pressed on, bowing and kowtowing.

Utterly devout.

At last, the crowd climbed the Great Snow Mountain and laid eyes on Bodhi Temple.

But everyone was greatly disappointed.

Because before them was only a gaunt, withered monk, a dying lamp, and a collapsed mountain gate.

“Amitabha.”

Bodhidharma pressed his palms together, gazing at the disappointed crowd before him.

He knew why they had come.

And he knew why they were disappointed.

After all, he was no longer the Golden-Bodied Buddha molded from clay in the temple.

He was a monk who cultivated Buddhist Dharma in seclusion, regarded by the people as a living Buddha of the mortal world.

But at this moment, what the people needed was not a monk proficient in Buddhist Dharma, not a so-called living Buddha of the mortal world.

What they needed was the descent of the Buddha Ancestor, to save the suffering and deliver the mortal world.

So he could only close his eyes, pay no heed to the people’s disappointment, and devoutly recite the Buddhist scriptures, over and over again.

However, the wind and snow raged, and the Buddha closed his eyes.

Far away on the horizon, an unruly demonic figure stood atop a towering dragon.

Behind her was a beast tide that had swept across the entire mortal world.

She was the Beast God, and also the Human Demon.

“Full army, attack.”

An icy, cruel voice rang out from the demonic figure’s mouth.

In the next instant, the beast tide surged, trampling the mortal world flat. Humanity reached its end, and heaven and earth met their doomsday.

Blood and death bloomed across the mortal world. Pain and wailing erupted before the Buddha.

He kept his eyes closed, letting blood splatter across his face, only ceaselessly reciting the Buddhist scriptures.

He had bitterly prayed before the Buddha for several thousand years.

Yet in the end, the Buddha Ancestor did not descend, nor did Buddhist light ferry anyone across.

Only endless