A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

I waited for several years.

Finally, the crucial moment arrived when my senior brother went into seclusion to cultivate his divine eye.

That night, the wind and rain were heavy, and the thunder roared, drowning out many other sounds.

I carried the bowl of lotus seed soup with "Huanshen San" added to it and entered the meditation room where my senior brother was in seclusion.

He sat on a prayer mat, surrounded by a halo of Buddhist light, with a faint golden light emanating from his brow and the Shen Ting acupoint, indicating that it was a critical moment.

"Senior brother, would you like some soup?"

My voice was so calm that even I was surprised.

He didn't open his eyes, only nodded slightly.

I placed the soup in front of him, took three steps back, and knelt down, just as I had done hundreds of times before when I protected him.

Watching him pick up the bowl and, spoonful by spoonful, drink down the medicine that could temporarily relax his mind.

The medicine takes effect very quickly.

The Buddhist light surrounding him began to dissipate, and the golden light between his brows became dim and uncertain.

He suddenly opened his eyes, looked at me, his eyes first filled with confusion, then with realization, and finally, a deep sorrow that I could not comprehend.

"Junior brother..."

He opened his mouth, as if to say something.

I didn't give him a chance.

I have practiced the evil magic on the tattered scroll a thousand times.

When the finger, as sharp as an iron hook, pierced his chest, warm blood splattered all over my face.

It wasn't hot; it was even a little cool.

So this is the temperature of my senior's blood.

I pried out the Buddha's heart, which was faintly glowing with golden light and as warm and smooth as jade, and pressed it against my heart as described in the surviving scroll.

excruciating pain.

It felt like ten thousand red-hot needles were simultaneously piercing my heart and then flowing through my veins throughout my body.

But I gritted my teeth and continued to practice that evil mental technique.

Golden light emanated from my heart, connecting and pulling with the dissipating Buddhist light on my senior brother's body. Finally, it forcefully pulled out a wisp of pale golden light, as if it were alive, which flowed down my arm and into my body.

That was his clairvoyance.

My senior brother collapsed in a pool of blood, his face ashen. His eyes, which always looked at all living beings with compassion, were now staring blankly at the roof of the meditation room, his lips moving.

I leaned closer and heard his barely audible voice:

"The path to... Buddhahood... is... long..."

"Don't... get... confused..."

"Eye……"

I stood up, wiped the blood from my face, and didn't look back.

Blinded by something?

No, senior brother.

My eyes have never been so clear as they are now.

I've realized that there is no Buddha in this world.

There is only strength and weakness.

It turns out that even if Buddhism cannot save you, you can save yourself.

It turns out that if one's awareness is insufficient, it can be borrowed.

But it's not enough.

It's okay, I still have my master, second senior brother, third senior brother, fourth senior brother...

This time I was much more skilled, and they died peacefully.

Only my fifth senior brother, on the verge of death, suddenly widened his eyes, pointed at me, and hissed, "Yongjue...your eyes..."

I touched my eyes, and in the mirror beside me, I saw a pair of deep, pool-like eyes that shimmered with golden light.

It turns out that the stolen items are actually quite handy to use.

I bowed respectfully, hands clasped, before my senior brother's gradually cooling corpse.

"Senior brother, please don't be offended. This is what is meant by sacrificing the small self to achieve the Great Way."

……

"I am the only one left in the 'Yong' generation at Nanhua Temple."

As a matter of course, I became the abbot, the pillar of stability.

Outside the temple, incense burned brightly, and believers knelt in worship, calling me the Living Buddha.

Inside the temple, I adopted orphans and gave them the generation name "Yan".

One hundred and eight children, innocent and naive, regarded me as their father and god.

I taught them to chant scriptures, to worship Buddha, to cultivate themselves, to...

I will use the flesh and blood of my 108 disciples as soil and the incense of a thousand years as spring water to cultivate a Buddha body that truly belongs to me.

When the day comes that success is achieved, who will care how many bones lie beneath this golden statue?

History is written by the victors, and Buddhist scriptures are annotated by those who have attained Buddhahood.

I even came up with a verse:

"Killing is for the sake of protecting life; cutting off karma is not killing people. Burning down temples creates a pure land; only then can we see the true Tathagata."

What a wonderful principle.

I said to myself: Yongjue, you are truly... a born Buddha."

"But I calculated everything, except for two things."

First, there's that black dog.

No, that's not a dog, that's a monster in dog skin...

It swallowed the power of destiny and even developed the power of telepathy. It crouched in the shadows, grinning, and saw right through my internal organs.

Second is Yanming.

That little apprentice who always kept his head down, stuttered when he spoke, and couldn't even recite the Heart Sutra properly.

How come I didn't notice that when he was sweeping the scripture pavilion, he found a fragment of the Northern Heavenly King's scroll under the broken floor tiles?

How come I didn't notice that every night when he knelt before the Buddha, he wasn't reciting sutras for salvation, but rather mantras for protecting the Dharma and suppressing demons?

When I was thousands of miles away, I wanted to drain the entire temple of its vitality.

He looked up, opened his eyes, and saw a majestic Dharma image behind him, with a pagoda standing below.

In that instant, he looked at me from afar, his eyes clear and compassionate.

He said, "Master, this pagoda severs all ties."

boom--

My schemes, my invincible body, have shattered.

So easily shattered, so... comical.

It turns out that a fake Buddha is ultimately just a fake Buddha.

You can fool the masses, but you can't fool the true protectors you've taught.

I can not be reconciled.

Even though the golden body is shattered and the Buddha's light dissipates, the obsession remains like a maggot clinging to the bone, gnawing at the remnant soul.

The barbarian from Liuzhou crossed his arms and sneered, the black dog wagged its tail and watched the show, and the little beast next to him... even took out some melon seeds and started eating them.

In their eyes, I was nothing more than an "old clown who went too far".

Let's go crazy one last time.

Burn my broken body, burn my old memories, burn the karma of my three lifetimes—

I do not seek wealth or honor in my next life, nor do I wish to be reborn and start anew.

I only wish to capture a fleeting, true image of the Buddha in the instant of burning away!

Let this Flaming Mountain, let the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths, let that damned Yanming see!

As your teacher... I might not be lying!

When the spiritual fire burst forth from my heart, I felt a warmth.

It felt like I was back in my childhood, huddled in a corner of a dilapidated temple, shivering with cold, imagining myself as a lamp before the Buddha, whose burning out would warm all living beings.

How naive.

But the next moment—

A drop of cold, sticky liquid is precisely dropped into the fire.

is blood.

That little beast's blood.

He smiled and said he wanted to refine a few relics to string together for fun.

The spiritual fire suddenly changed, turning from gold to dark blue, and warmth transformed into bone-chilling cold.

The fire of punishment...

It is dedicated to burning sinful souls and refining evil spirits.

It turns out that the golden statue of Buddha that I sought my whole life was, in the eyes of others, nothing more than…

The raw materials for a string of prayer beads.

Ha ha ha ha--

Absurd! How utterly absurd!

I can calculate the workings of heaven and earth, but I cannot calculate the evil of human nature.

I despise all living beings, yet I fell victim to a younger generation with even less scruples.

This is probably what Buddha meant by "retribution"?

Unfortunately, I no longer believe in Buddhism.

I only believe in myself.

Even if it's just a pinch of ash or a few relics.

In the final moment when the deep blue engulfed my vision, I suddenly remembered Yanming when he was a child, tugging at my monk's robe and asking:

Master, does it hurt to become a Buddha?

When I touched his head, he replied: "It doesn't hurt, you'll attain Buddhahood and go to paradise."

Now think about it,

It hurts quite a bit.

Especially when you are the one who is refined into a relic.

That's it.

In this life,

It was nothing more than a ridiculous farce that was directed and acted by himself.

There was no audience member in the audience.

On stage...

Only ashes and lingering warmth remain.

If there is an afterlife...

Do not,

There is no afterlife.

In this regard,

Let’s go away.