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墨書 Inktalez
In the late Tang Dynasty, the Evil Cultivator roamed freely in the world, and great evils sacrificed human blood to enhance their own cultivation. Wherever the Evil Cultivator went, the people suffered.
Puning Temple.
A monk was sweeping the courtyard. His name was Shicong, a newly ordained monk. Shicong was originally an ordinary child from a village at the foot of Puning Mountain, but due to the presence of an Evil Cultivator, the villagers were brutally killed and their blood drained.
Shicong had been tending cattle in the mountains at that time, which allowed him to escape with his life.
However, how could a child survive alone in such a world? Fortunately, the Abbot of Puning Temple showed compassion and took him in, bestowing upon him the Dharma name Shicong.
Shicong was not particularly clever; in fact, he could be somewhat dull. However, there was one thing that endeared him to his fellow monks: he was very diligent. Shicong preferred to sweep the temple grounds in the cold wind rather than read Sutras. To him, everything on the mountain was far more interesting than the profound and complex Sutras.
He swept for twenty years.
During these twenty years, Shicong continued to sweep for Puning Temple. Strangely enough, despite rarely reading Sutras, he often found himself grasping some of the hidden Buddhist principles while sweeping.
In this world of countless people, there are countless paths. The Abbot and Shicong practiced humility through their work.
By focusing on the dirt at his feet and cleaning it away, he left behind a clear and pure land. Although this method seemed clumsy and slow, it suited Shicong perfectly.
Before long, many people came to know that there was a hidden sweeping monk at Puning Temple, and thus the temple's incense offerings began to increase.
Years passed, and when the old Abbot passed away, Shicong did not quite understand why it fell upon him—the most foolish one—to take over as Abbot. Nevertheless, he did not refuse.
As Abbot, Shicong still held a broom every day, sweeping at the mountain gate. The difference now was that those who passed by him—pilgrims—wore expressions of reverence and devotion.
If life continued like this, perhaps Shicong would leave just as the old Abbot did—departing amidst the reluctant gazes of disciples and pilgrims—only to be sculpted into a golden statue standing behind the temple, receiving blessings from the Sutras.
But that did not happen.
On a dawn morning just as light began to break, Shicong picked up his broom as usual and walked to the mountain gate.
The weather was not particularly cold, so Shicong moved quickly, clearing the mountain path. He prepared to return to the temple to preside over the morning meeting.
Today marked the day of enlightenment for a certain Buddha, which meant many devotees would come to pay their respects. Shicong thought he should prepare more offerings for the morning meal.
What Shicong did not expect was that the first 'devotee' today would be the very person who had once changed his life.
Years ago, it was the Evil Cultivator who had slaughtered Shicong's village!
His name was Wang Ji, a practitioner who had struggled for years with his cultivation. By chance, he obtained an Evil Technique related to the Blood Cultivation Method and quickly succeeded in mastering it.
Initially, the amount of blood required for Blood Cultivation was overwhelming, but Wang Ji had his ways.
So many people must experience life, aging, illness, and death; their existence in this world was utterly useless. Why not turn them into stepping stones on my path of cultivation?
Thus, Wang Ji dared not slaughter in large cities; he only targeted some villages. Shicong's hometown was one of those villages.
Years later, Shicong was no longer a child but the Abbot of a temple. Conversely, Wang Ji was no longer an obscure Evil Cultivator; his targets had shifted from villages to special places like temples!
Evil beings rarely entered temples because there existed a righteous aura within them, a persistent Buddha Nature. Therefore, even in dire need of blood for their rituals, Evil Cultivators would naturally avoid temples.
However, once an Evil Cultivator reached a certain level of cultivation, they would no longer fear the righteous aura and Buddha Nature within temples. On the contrary, these elements could become even more nourishing than Blood Qi.
Wang Ji was such a case.
Although Wang Ji had been hunted by righteous cultivators for decades, he had killed all those who pursued him with his Evil Technique. Yet, Wang Ji was not satisfied; he continued to slaughter more Spirits and gather more Evil Energy.
He believed that one day he would stand at the pinnacle of the world through this Evil Energy!
The desire for Buddha Nature arose after he accidentally killed a high monk. It turned out that the power of compassion could nourish the growth of Evil Energy.
Puning Temple had been his target for a long time, and what he valued most was the monk practicing humility and meditation—Shicong.
As the sounds of Buddhism began to resonate within Puning Temple, numerous worshippers entered. Wang Ji concealed himself among the crowd and did not take action, knowing that Shicong was not present.
Where had Shicong gone? He was on the mountain path, teaching some elderly yet still devout worshippers about his recent insights while helping them carry some heavier offerings.
When Shicong returned to Puning, a faint sound of Buddhist chanting began, marking the start of the gathering.
Shicong did not bathe or change clothes; he simply draped a plain robe over himself and sat at the lectern. The Buddhist chants flowed from Shicong's mouth. Although he had been tainted by worldly affairs, he exuded an innate sense of purity. Like a lotus flower emerging from muddy waters, he remained untainted.
Just as all the worshippers were praising this young Abbot, a strong aura of killing intent enveloped the entire temple.
Wang Ji finally made his move.
Wang Ji's target was Shicong, but he did not kill him directly.
Shicong was pinned to the statue by four long nails, blood flowing down the statue and forming two rivers of blood.
Then Wang Ji began his assault. The evil of the Evil Cultivator was perfectly manifested in Wang Ji. Shicong's Buddha Nature offered him little protection; however, if he could turn someone like Shicong's Buddha Nature into something sinister...
Shicong watched in despair as the worshippers he had helped up the mountain fell before him—his disciple, who had just learned to recite an entire Sutra, lay there with that very Sutra stained with blood in his arms.
And that innocent girl with her braided hair, though protected by her parents, was struck down alongside them. Those girls who had come up the mountain seeking a marriage would likely never see their husbands again.
Shicong wanted to close his eyes, but he could not. Tears of blood streamed down his cheeks as he witnessed the ongoing slaughter. For the first time, a murderous intent quietly emerged in his heart.
Shicong's blood flowed down to the feet of the statue, mixing with the blood of those who kept falling, creating ever-widening rivers of blood.
In an instant, what had been a temple filled with Buddhist sounds transformed into a hell on earth.
Having practiced humility and meditation for a lifetime, Shicong had never witnessed such a scene. The accumulated Buddha Nature within him suddenly collapsed.
What is a Buddha? If one cannot appear when sentient beings are suffering, what right do you have to call yourself a Buddha?
Buddha! Come and see! They are such devout followers! But why does Shicong look up at the high, compassionate statue of Buddha?
The statue lightly touches a flower, and in Shicong's eyes, it seems so mocking.
Before the Buddha is the endless Sea of Blood. Flowing through the Sea of Blood is Buddha, but is there still a Buddha willing to enter the Sea of Blood again? No! There isn't! Those Buddhas only feign compassion, saying, "All Sentient Beings suffer."
Shicong clenches his teeth tightly, a trickle of blood slowly flows from the corner of his mouth; he has bitten down hard on his tongue and chewed it into his stomach. From this moment on, Shicong decides he will no longer chant for Buddha.
"Bold Evil Cultivator, do you dare to cause chaos!" A shout came from outside the Temple, followed by a figure stepping onto a celestial sword, floating into the Temple.
The newcomer is a young Daoist, full of spirit, with his hair tied up with an Ebony Hairpin, dressed in a dark Daoist Robe, angrily shouting at Wang Ji.
"Caw Caw, I am Black Wuchang." Wang Ji holds a child's head in his hand and greedily licks it: "People from the Taoist Sect? Caw Caw, I am Black Wuchang. You are too late."
"As long as I can slay you here, it is not too late," the Daoist said, a mysterious rune appearing in his hand as he directed it towards Wang Ji.
Shicong's body trembles upon hearing the Daoist's words.
Wang Ji dodges and suddenly changes color: "You are the Court Envoy?"
"Exactly," the Daoist replies. "Why not surrender?"
"Caw Caw, I am Black Wuchang." Wang Ji shows no sign of retreat: "I have heard that this generation's Court Envoy is a descendant of Jiang Taigong. I wonder what Jiang Taigong's bloodline tastes like."
"Arrogant!" The Daoist pulls out the Ebony Hairpin from his hair; it flashes with golden light and transforms into a golden long whip: "Then come and taste our family's Divine Whip!"
The Daoist leaps down from the celestial sword, wielding the Divine Whip as he closes in on Wang Ji step by step.
If hit by the Divine Whip, it would be a fate of complete annihilation! Although it is unclear how much power this Daoist can wield with the Divine Whip, Wang Ji absolutely does not want to use his own body to prove it.
"Corpse Offering Technique!" Wang Ji waved his hand, manipulating the corpses he had slaughtered on the ground to block in front of him.
"Evil Technique is useless against me!" The Daoist swung the Divine Whip with unyielding force, sweeping aside those corpses.
On the statue, Shicong once again bled from the corner of his mouth.
Shicong lowered his head, staring intently at the figure of the Daoist who was continuously wielding the Divine Whip.
"So, in your eyes, we are just worthless tools?"
"If that is the case, then you all deserve to die."
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