Xuanxia

Chapter 1054: Desperate Road to Becoming a Demon (Part )

Suddenly, from the depths of the originally quiet and peaceful Jinchan Temple, there was a violent tremor and a loud noise.

In the kitchen, Master Daoyuan, who was the most senior and experienced master in Jinchan Temple, lost his grip on the spatula and it fell into the pot.

There were still vegetables being fried in the pot with white smoke billowing out, but he didn't look at the pot again. Instead, he turned his head with a serious expression and looked out the window.

The cook monk who was helping nearby came over.

"Uncle Master, what's going on?"

The monk asked, "Something seems to have happened? Should we still cook?"

Daoyuan was silent for a moment. His hands seemed to be insensitive to the heat in the pot. He picked up the spatula again and said softly, "Do it, keep doing it. No matter what happens, you still have to eat when you are hungry."

"Yes."

The head monk responded respectfully and turned to leave.

The cooks, who had just stopped their work temporarily because of the vibration in the distance, started stir-frying and cooking again.

The hot oil in the iron pot splashed onto the back of Master Daoyuan's hand, leaving a few red marks. The old monk didn't even blink, but his wrist, like a dead branch, trembled, and the green and white leaves continued to roll and jump in the iron pot.

At this time, a muffled thunder-like roar came from the distance again, shaking the pottery bowls on the stove!
The six head monks helping in the kitchen stopped cutting vegetables at the same time. The youngest monk with a round face was about to stick his head out when Master Daoyuan knocked on the chopping board with a spatula.

"If the tofu is not sliced, it will be late for lunch."

He said in a hoarse voice: "Don't be idle, hurry up."

Before he could finish his words, an old courtyard outside the window collapsed!
The thirty-meter-tall ginkgo tree wrapped in gold-foil leaves fell down, startling all the crows in the temple. The paper window of the kitchen was cracked half an inch. Master Daoyuan caught a glimpse of the arc drawn by the flying green tiles in the sea of ​​clouds, like a vajra thrown by the Buddha.

"Not good! The chief seat..."

The door to the kitchen opened, and a gray-robed monk rushed in. He glared and shouted, "Anyone who is practicing, come and help!"

As soon as he finished yelling, the gray-robed monk started coughing due to the fumes.

Daoyuan scooped up half a bucket of well water and poured it into the pot. The steaming white mist blurred his face: "Go."

The head monks in the kitchen looked at each other, and then at least half of them gritted their teeth, picked up the kitchen knives and rolling pins at hand, rushed out of the kitchen, and left with the gray-robed monk.

The noise outside was getting louder and louder.

The pottery jars along the entire east wall suddenly rustled, and the eighteen pickle jars in the corner began to dance a whirlwind dance, with sour fragrance and sandalwood interweaving in the trembling air.

Dao Yuan stretched out his hand and pressed the vegetable jar beside him, but the vibration in the distance could not be stopped no matter what, as if a dragon was turning over!
"Keep cooking."

He said solemnly.

The remaining cooks in the kitchen pursed their lips and finally returned to their respective posts.

The well water began to surge in the soup pot, reflecting the increasingly dense cracks in the beams and pillars of the kitchen. At some point, a handful of blood was spilled on the kitchen door.

bump!
The kitchen door was knocked open again.

The one who rushed in this time was a monk in green clothes - he was covered in blood and his face was as pale as a dead person.

"Quick, run away..."

The green-robed monk vomited blood and said in a trembling voice: "Or... let's go together and fight again..."

This time, Dao Yuan was also choked by the smoke.

No, it wasn't the smell of cigarettes... He had been in the kitchen for decades and was used to the smell of tobacco leaves. He was choked by the smell of blood.

He coughed so hard that tears came out. When he coughed, he deliberately turned his head away so that no droplets would fall into the pots and bowls.

When Daoyuan raised his head, all the young monks in the kitchen were looking at him.

"You can control yourself well and realize the elusive Savior."

The old monk glanced at the younger generations in front of him with a somewhat cloudy gaze and said in a hoarse voice: "You, make your own decision."

As soon as he finished speaking, a tall and strong monk who was the head cook picked up a bench without hesitation and rushed out of the kitchen.

The other monks thought about it and followed his example, starting to file out one after another.

Upon seeing this, the green-robed monk vomited blood even more violently, but a smile appeared on his face... However, he was unable to lead the way, and instead tilted his body and fell in a pool of blood.

Soon, only Daoyuan... and the youngest round-faced monk were left in the kitchen.

"Master, Master Uncle..."

The little monk was terrified: "What should we do..."

Daoyuan took a breath.

"Go down the mountain."

He forced a smile and reached out to stroke the little monk's head: "We in Jinchan Temple have committed sins. This is our karma, but... it's not yours."

"But uncle-master..." The little monk was about to cry: "I ate the food in the temple, worshipped the gods in the temple, and learned the kung fu in the temple. Isn't the karma in the temple also mine?"

Dao Yuan was slightly stunned.

But soon, he started laughing again, and this time the smile was not forced.

"you're right."

Daoyuan said softly: "Then... let's prepare this meal."

There were only two kitchen knives still in use in the kitchen, and the sound of cutting vegetables became fainter.

As the last lotus root was put into the frying pan, the entire cliff in the distance suddenly tilted three inches to the southeast!

Master Daoyuan leaned forward, hooked his left foot on the stove, and used his right hand to steadily scoop out the fried golden brown lotus root slices.

The beams above his head cracked into spiderweb patterns, and thirty-six celadon bowls were arranged in a lotus formation in the food box, without even a drop of soup spilling out.

When the sun was high in the sky, eight hundred pairs of ebony chopsticks were already placed on the long table in the dining hall.

Master Daoyuan wiped the last elm table with a rag, and dust was falling from the ginkgo leaf-shaped window frame behind him.

The entire temple had fallen silent without anyone noticing.

Daoyuan and the tearful little monk walked out of the kitchen and placed the dishes one by one on the long table in the dining hall.

The sky outside the cafeteria was burning.

Scarlet meteors fell like Buddha's tears, melting the sea of ​​clouds into boiling red-gold glass.

The cliffs were gnawing with jagged teeth marks from the frost, and thousand-year-old trees wrapped in dark blue ice shells broke with a loud bang. The sap gushing from the broken ends condensed into ice beads before it hit the ground. On the bluestone floor tiles that had been swept for countless years, the 36,000 scratches from bamboo branches were filled with blood - the broken arms and limbs were twisted into strange Buddhist seals in the interweaving of ice and fire, and half of the monk's robe was frozen in the ice edges and floated like a soul-calling flag.

Master Daoyuan's monk shoes crushed an ice bead.

The blood drop dangled on the tip of the ice, reflecting the collapsed temple in the distance.

The seven-story pagoda was broken in half, and the copper bell on the top of the pagoda rolled down the mountain stream, and the splashing water formed ice lotus in mid-air; half of a young face was embedded in the pile of fallen leaves in front of the Discipline Courtyard, and the white frost on the eyelashes trembled with every breath - if you look closely, you will find that what is beating in the chest is no longer a heart, but a ball of dark blue ice flame.

"Master Uncle"

The little monk suddenly grabbed Daoyuan's sleeve tightly.

Following the child's trembling fingertips, I saw that frost was forming on the stone steps in front of the cafeteria.

The ice patterns snaked upwards, and the moss along the way instantly withered and turned to ashes. The bronze wind chimes hanging on the eaves finally made a sound - but it was the piercing sound of ice crystals shattering!
Eight hundred pairs of ebony chopsticks vibrated on the long table, and spider-web-like ice patterns appeared on the surface of the lotus root soup.

Thick white fog poured in from the crack in the door.

The mist was filled with broken ice and blood foam, and a distorted human face could be vaguely seen in the swirling mist.

When the hem of the black python robe swept over the threshold, the vegetarian food on the elm table was suddenly covered with mold spots - the vegetables were rotting at a speed visible to the naked eye, the tofu was oozing scarlet blood, and the fried lotus root slices were curled up into the shape of charred black fingers.

Zhao Liang crushed the last step of ice.

The golden python eyes on his python robe were shedding tears of blood, his hair crown had shattered at some point, and his long gray hair was floating in the mist like a living thing.

The most horrifying thing was the penetrating wound on his chest - his chest was completely pierced, but the white mist wrapped around his body filled the huge wound, so he seemed to be unaware of the pain and unaffected, and slowly came to the cafeteria door.

"Golden Cicada Temple, nothing special."

Zhao Liang's voice was as hoarse as if it had been sharpened by a blunt knife: "It's a pity that Huikong's memory does not contain what I want... I heard that you are the most senior person in the temple?"

Daoyuan's body was shaking uncontrollably, not because of fear, but anger; the little monk huddled behind him, biting his lips hard to stop sobbing.

After a while, the trembling of the old monk Daoyuan stopped.

He suddenly relaxed and his brows relaxed.

"Are you relieved so quickly?"

Zhao Liang was slightly surprised: "Sure enough, you, an old monk who has not practiced Buddhism, are the one with the most profound Buddhist practice in the temple... Your memory must contain everything I need."

"If the donor wants to take it, then take it."

Daoyuan calmly lowered his head and clasped his hands together: "This table of food is the last meal for the monks like me. Let everyone finish eating... before leaving."

"That's it."

Zhao Liang smiled.

The white mist behind him suddenly exploded, and hundreds of ice crystal Buddha hands stretched out from the mist, with bloodshot pupils in each palm!
"They are all here."

The beams of the dining hall groaned as they could not bear the weight, the dishes and chopsticks on the dining table began to shake violently, the cold fog extended towards Daoyuan, the Buddha's hands twisted and bent, tears of blood began to flow from their bloodshot pupils, and in front of Daoyuan... it blossomed into a lotus.

Zhao Liang's smile was extremely sinister, even more terrifying than the evil spirits in purgatory in all the Buddhist scriptures and scrolls.

(End of this chapter)