Chapter 41: "Yuantou"

“When I become a Buddha, there will be gods and men, all living beings will rejoice. When I become a Buddha, everyone shall attain Buddhahood. When I become a Buddha…” Clad in a resplendent kasaya, Red Lotus recited vow after vow, his words flowing like a torrential river.

All around, the countless Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Arhats, and celestial guardians sang his praises, making his power soar ever higher, his golden body grow ever brighter, until the visage of the World-honored One, seated upon a lotus, became clear at last.

But this was not the Buddha of the present, nor the Buddha of the past, nor yet the Buddha of the future.

No—this was an impossible existence, the Buddha of Nirvana.

A chill of terror gripped Red Lotus, abruptly halting his vows.

“Wretched beast! In the presence of the World-honored One, do you not kneel?”

The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas thundered as one, their voices shaking Red Lotus until blood streamed from his seven orifices, forcing his knees to bend beneath him. Yet, hardened by years of demonic cultivation, he gritted his teeth and resisted, speaking with difficulty:

“You are not the World-honored One.”

The Buddha of Nirvana smiled gently, plucking a flower, and nodded approvingly with a single word: “Good.”

The host of Bodhisattvas and Buddhas faded away, replaced by a multitude of demon kings and demon saints. The Buddha of Nirvana transformed as well, becoming a youthful Demon Ancestor, draped in a blood-red robe, standing upon a crimson lotus, brandishing the Heavenly Demon Banner.

Only then did Red Lotus awaken to his predicament: the power that had surged within him was none other than the Blood Divine Scripture he had painstakingly cultivated over the years. Those grand vows had been nothing but a ruse, drawing out his own cultivation which, through resonance with the Heavenly Demon, was siphoned away.

“My understanding of Buddhist law is still shallow,” the young Demon Ancestor said to Red Lotus with a sly grin. “I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed myself before my master.”

Red Lotus’s face turned ashen. Having witnessed Chen Yang’s demonic arts, he knew the game was lost. Regret gnawed at his heart. Had he gone all out from the start, even if he’d lost, he would not have been so thoroughly subdued. Had he perfected the Blood Divine Scripture…

But now, it was too late for all of that.

“You are indeed the greatest talent ever produced by our Demon Sect—a demon among demons. I cannot defeat you.” Red Lotus fell silent, then asked in a low voice, “What do you intend to do with me?”

Chen Yang had claimed to be unversed in Buddhist ways, but just now in Thunder Sound Temple, he had almost been led to annihilation and voluntary nirvana—only holding back for fear of ruining the quality of his sword-forging material.

Chen Yang smiled to himself. Even now, this old villain still harbored hope.

“I’ve just refined a batch of sword embryos,” Chen Yang said cheerfully, “and was wondering where to find a formidable Heavenly Demon. I never expected you, my esteemed master, to deliver yourself to my door. You’re always so considerate of your unworthy disciple—I hardly know how to thank you.”

Grinning, he even bowed deeply to the increasingly sallow-faced Red Lotus, his actions alone a picture of filial piety, were it not for his words.

“No matter what, I am still your master. You may take my cultivation if you must, but I ask only that, for the sake of our bond, you let my true spirit reincarnate.”

Chen Yang shook his head solemnly. “Master, such words make no sense. Betraying one’s master and usurping the founder is a sacred tradition in our sect. If I had the power, I’d refine even Mara himself, seize his throne, and become the Demon Lord. Please, master, rest in peace.”

Red Lotus had already escaped the Two Forms Dust Array once—how could Chen Yang leave such a threat alive? Though he now suppressed him at every turn, that was only because the old demon’s cultivation had not yet recovered. Even if he did regain his strength and master the Blood Divine Scripture, Chen Yang would not have feared him, but why invite future trouble?

Hearing Chen Yang’s ruthlessness, Red Lotus, though knowing he was doomed, could not resign himself to eternal oblivion. A fierce glint returned to the old demon’s eyes. In a flash, his body split into streaks of blood, lunging at Chen Yang.

“Truly, a pack of fools,” Chen Yang sighed.

The blood shadows were swift—within a blink, they closed in. Yet Chen Yang stood unmoving, letting them come.

As they entered his body, it was as if stones had sunk into the sea—gone without a trace, not even a ripple left behind.

Brushing the dust from his blood-red robe, Chen Yang chuckled quietly. “And you lot think yourselves worthy of cultivating the Blood Divine Scripture?”

With those words, a river of blood rose behind him, boundless and eternal. Within, a blood shadow floundered and struggled, only to sink deeper and deeper until it vanished into the river’s depths.

From the blood river emerged a sword-light, its brilliance waxing and waning, exuding a primordial aura of slaughter that flooded the demon domain.

The sword-light danced through the blood river, revealing faintly two ancient characters: “Abyssal Doom.”

With a flick of the sword, the demon kings and demon saints—creatures of Chen Yang’s own conjuring—trembled in terror, prostrating themselves before him.

So the illusory became real.

Meanwhile, in the real world, as Chen Yang sat cross-legged, a blood river rose behind him as well. Yet, unlike the infinite river within the demon’s dreamscape, this one stretched only a few dozen miles.

Within it, too, a sword-light was forming, though not yet fully born.

As Abyssal Doom took shape, the heavens and earth rejoiced. The accumulated aura of slaughter since the dawn of time surged toward the blood river, nourishing the sword.

The ancient characters flickered indistinctly; even the slaughter of an entire world was not enough to bring this innate sword of massacre fully into being.

Of course, the fault lay not only in insufficient killing intent, but also in Chen Yang’s own limited cultivation.

“Who would have thought the Blood Divine Scripture and the Heavenly Demon Executioner Sword would be so compatible? And what is this ‘Abyssal Doom’? Is there another sword—perhaps ‘Hell’s Gate’—waiting for me?”

He mused, but did not dwell on it. Even the Celestial Emperor had five aspects, with the Central Emperor, the august Yellow Emperor, at the center. There was no Jade Emperor, let alone some primeval Nether River.

But if such a Nether River did exist, with his temperament, he’d challenge it blade in hand to see who was the true heir.

“You certainly lucked out,” Chen Yang chuckled, watching the surging slaughter intent. Though Abyssal Doom was not yet fully born, the sword’s bearing alone surpassed the twin swords of blue and violet, and could even suppress them.

Now, with the supreme Blood Divine Scripture in hand—the Demon Sect’s foremost secret art—his mastery of the demonic path soared, granting him deeper insights into the Dao itself. In such a mood, he felt no need to quibble further.

Still, knowing his own temper, he might let it go now, but next time he was in a foul mood, old scores and new would be settled together.

But that would be for another day.

“What have you done to my master?” A voice broke his reverie. Seeing Chen Yang awaken, with the blood river behind him weighing oppressively on his heart, Guo Xiaoshan still mustered his courage to step forward and ask in a steady voice.

Chen Yang glanced at the youth and smiled. “You seek vengeance for him? Do you realize he tried to use you to kill me first?”

Guo Xiaoshan paused, then replied softly, “I know. But he taught me his skills and treated me well. Whether he was good or evil, you killed him, and I must do something for him.”

At these words, Chen Yang laughed, genuinely intrigued.

This boy, having learned the Daoist arts of Mount Wutai—though not completely—faced only two possible fates: to be favored by Chen Yang, or to die.

There would be no third road.