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墨書 Inktalez
Burning, without pain.
Only an unprecedented clarity and transparency.
I can feel my "existence" being decomposed into the purest essence of light. Every strand of Buddhist radiance, every wisp of demonic energy, transforms into billions of shimmering stardust, rushing unhesitatingly toward the cold, silent Heavenly Dao Hourglass.
I see those stars that were originally falling and extinguishing, upon touching the light points I have become, surprisingly... stop their descent.
Not only that, a faint glimmer reignites from the cores of those stars on the brink of death.
My method works.
The silent hourglass has ceased its flow.
The billions of stars about to fall are held aloft by a chaotic flame of light.
Moreover, under the influence of this flame, within the depths of several dimmest star cores, a flicker of weak light is rekindled.
In the moment when my consciousness is about to completely dissipate and turn into the last remnants of this universe's kindling, I take one last look at the Buddha who gave me a name and also shackled me.
Tathagata Buddha stands still in place.
He watches me, watches the light points I have become, watches the hourglass that has stopped flowing.
In those eyes that have borne millions of years of solitude and fatigue, never wavering, something shatters.
A drop of golden tear slowly slides down from the corner of his eye.
It is the first tear and also the last tear of his long life.
I smile.
It turns out that even a Buddha can cry.
Then, my consciousness completely disperses and merges into the void.
I feel myself... becoming lighter.
No more Golden Body, no more Buddha heart, no more demonic bones, no more divine soul.
I am no longer anything yet exist everywhere.
I have become a gust of wind.
A free and unfettered wind.
I brushed past the peak of Ling Mountain, carrying away a thread of sorrow from that drop of golden tear.
I swept over the Nine Heavens Pavilion, dispersing the unchanging clouds that had lingered for millennia outside the Southern Heavenly Gate.
I glided through the Underworld, stirring up a few lonely petals of the other shore flower by the banks of the River of Forgetfulness.
I passed over the Eastern Tang Dynasty, hearing the laughter of children in Chang'an and the calls of peddlers.
Zhu Bajie lay soundly asleep among the ruins of Gao Lao Zhuang, dreaming of someone calling out "Wife." Sha Wujing, by the Liu Sha River, repeatedly polished his meditation staff, as if that were his only true home.
I saw the beings of these three realms; they continued to struggle within their fates, toiling for love and hate, for desires and grievances, worrying about their daily needs.
And that was just fine.
The wind continued to blow.
It crossed the seas and mountains.
At last, I caught a whiff of that familiar scent, a blend of blooming mountain flowers and ripe wild fruits.
I landed on Hua Guo Shan.
The sun was warm, and the sound of water was crisp.
Everything was just as I remembered it.
Beneath that massive waterfall, at the entrance to Water Curtain Cave, on a Xian Stone, a small monkey covered in golden fur was cautiously climbing down from the rock.
It was filled with curiosity about this world, looking east and west, clumsily mimicking the actions of other monkeys.
The wind I had transformed into gently brushed against its cheek.
The little monkey paused in its movements; it lifted its head, its eyes clear as gemstones, curiously feeling this breeze.
In the wind was a hint of something distant yet familiar.
It reached out its furry little hand, trying to grasp this gust of wind.
But the wind laughed and scattered away.
I had come home.
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