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Journey to the West: A Grand Deception
墨書 Inktalez
The ritual at the Great Thunder Sound Temple had lasted for three hours.
I sat upon the Lotus Throne, draped in the merits of countless tribulations, my mouth adorned with golden lotuses, preaching the profound teachings of the Mahayana to the three thousand Buddhas and eight hundred Arhats gathered below. The sounds of sacred chants mingled with the scent of sandalwood, forming an atmosphere known as "Paradise," eternal and still.
As the Demon Fighting Buddha, I had been seated in this realm for five hundred years. Three hundred and twelve ceremonies had passed, each with its light and shadow, each Buddha's expression of compassion perfectly mirroring that of the last. Order was the only law here. Everything followed its prescribed path.
Until that dissonant sound broke through.
It was faint, lost among the thousands of solemn recitations, like a drop of ink falling into a clear pool of merit.
"Qi Tian..."
The pronunciation was awkward, tinged with the trepidation of a worldly newcomer stepping into the Buddhist fold, emanating from some overlooked corner. Perhaps it was a newly initiated Luohan who inadvertently uttered a name long washed away by Buddhist teachings. A careless slip.
Yet those two syllables acted like an incantation, precisely unraveling a restriction deep within my spirit that had long been forgotten. The initial sensation was not pain but disintegration.
I saw a fissure silently open on my arm, where the Golden Body formed from the faith of devotees and my own merits resided. It split like a fine crystal lamp touched by mundane water, producing a subtle "crack" that clearly overshadowed the sacred sounds filling the hall.
The crack spread from my wrist, snaking upward, crossing my elbow and climbing to my shoulder. Beneath the golden surface, something stirred restlessly. It was not the blood of Universal Salvation but dark red flesh and blood reeking of iron and decay, along with a faint yet fiercely malevolent black aura seeping eagerly from that fissure.
It carried the scent of scorched earth from Hua Guo Shan five hundred years ago and rust from the Southern Heavenly Gate.
My sermon faltered. The once eternal stillness of Paradise at Great Thunder Sound Temple froze in an instant.
The gazes of three thousand Buddhas and eight hundred Arhats pierced through me like swords forged from their collective Dharma, aimed at my fracturing Golden Body. Their eyes held no compassion—only astonishment—a chilling realization that something "out of place" had appeared within "perfection."
In the next moment, excruciating pain surged through me. It felt as if my "Buddha" and my "bones" were being forcibly separated by two opposing forces. My Buddha consciousness was dragged by an irresistible might, sinking into a thick, warm sea of crimson illusion.
A mountain of corpses—Blood Sea.
Endless expanse.
There was no light from the heavens, no sound of thunder, only the remnants of countless gods and demons, and billions of beings, soaked in a sea of blood.
Their expressions were frozen in the last moment before their souls shattered, filled with unwillingness and resentment.
I tried to silently recite the "Qing Xin Zhou," but every true word of the Buddha was swallowed by this dead silence of the Blood Sea, not even causing a ripple.
A thought, one that did not belong to the "Demon Fighting Buddha," exploded in my Sea of Consciousness:
I have been here.
No, it was "we" who once pierced through the heavens here.
Then, a roar that did not belong to me surged from the depths of the Blood Sea, shaking my entire Buddha heart to its core.
"—Get out!"
The Buddha awareness was violently hurled back into my Golden Body.
I gasped for breath, still seated on the Lotus Throne, but my Golden Body cracked even more grotesquely.
The strands of demonic aura, like venomous insects come to life, gnawed and crawled upon the kasaya woven from my merit and willpower.
The astonishment of the Buddhas had turned into vigilance. They remained still, waiting.
Waiting for the decree from the highest presence above.
I lifted my gaze, looking past all the vigilant and scrutinizing Buddhas, directly at the Venerable Buddha of Ten Thousand Buddhas on the highest Lotus Throne in the Great Hero Hall.
Tathagata.
He finally moved. His gaze descended like ancient ice, devoid of any warmth.
In that gaze, there was no compassion, no anger, not even surprise.
It precisely swept over the deepest crack on my arm, assessing the extent of the leaking demonic aura, and finally settled upon my chaotic Buddha heart.
Like a divine craftsman examining an artifact he had forged himself but had developed cracks at a critical moment...
In that instant, I understood.
This was not a heart demon.
This was not karmic obstruction.
This was a "cause" forcibly suppressed, a "fruit" sealed by supreme power.
"Wukong."
The Buddha spoke.
His voice remained grand and compassionate, resonating throughout the three realms.
But the name he spoke at that moment sounded like a true incantation to activate a magical artifact. He raised his right hand, and a beam of pure, ultimate Buddhist light descended from his palm, enveloping me entirely.
The light was not warm. It carried an undeniable will, cold, heavy, and overbearing. It transformed into countless golden threads that pierced every seam of my Golden Body, not to mend but to fill and seal. The surging dark red flesh was forcibly flattened, and the restless, fierce demonic aura was confined and refined by the Buddhist light, ultimately becoming part of the Golden Body.
I could distinctly feel the depths of my Sea of Consciousness, where the recently awakened Blood Sea and the roaring "I" were being firmly pressed down by this cold Buddhist light. The light acted like new, stronger chains of magical power, rewrapping and tightening around that unruly consciousness, dragging it back into the boundless darkness of its prison.
I heard its final cry filled with resentment before silence fell upon everything. The Golden Body remained intact as the merit of the Buddhist light grew even more intense. The vigilance on the faces of the Buddhas faded away, returning to their solemn and majestic forms. The Great Thunder Sound Temple regained its eternal and complete Paradise.
The Buddha slowly withdrew his palm. "The heart demon has been subdued; the Dharma assembly may continue." His voice carried just the right amount of compassion, as if he had just completed an act of Universal Salvation.
I lowered my head, gazing at my own hands—flawless and as smooth as new. Beneath the cover of the wide Buddhist robe, my knuckles tightened inch by inch until they made faint cracking sounds from excessive strain.
They were not enlightening a Buddha who had birthed a heart demon. They were repairing a law-defending Vajra on the verge of losing control. I, the Demon Fighting Buddha, was merely seen as an object that needed constant polishing, purging of ferocity, and ensuring absolute obedience—a mere tool.
This humiliation of being treated as an "object" to be repaired felt like a spark that fell into the deepest part of my Sea of Consciousness—the Blood Sea forcibly suppressed by the Buddhist light. It did not stir up great waves but emitted a faint hissing sound.
Then I raised my head again to meet the Buddha's compassionate gaze. With my hands clasped together, I spoke calmly: "Thank you, World Honored One, for your mercy."
Yet a voice within me asked a completely different question in a tone entirely unlike my own—a question I had never dared to ask in five hundred years as the Demon Fighting Buddha.
"Who are you?"
"I... who am I?"
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