Chapter 84: The Buddha Does Not Save Fools

“Aren’t you going down?”
“After you, my friend.”
“No, please, after you!”
“My friend, you first!”
“No, you—”
“My friend—”
The monk plummeted from the clouds, his words lost to the wind. Yang Wennan spread his hands in innocence, face to the earth, and sighed, “Buddha saves those with fate, but Buddha cannot save fools. Amitabha! Well said, well said.”
Lu Wei listened, embarrassed.
Wen Jinge was speechless as well—so this is the world of the strong?
“Master…” Only when he realized he was being watched by both his teachers did Yang Wennan return from his serene composure. “Did I do something wrong?”
Wen Jinge shook her head, a trace of fear lingering. There was genuine compassion in Yang Wennan’s eyes, his palms pressed together in a perfect gesture of respect—she had no desire to be sent off like that herself.
“No, no, you did very well,” Lu Wei said, digging in his ear. “The Buddhist lands cherish tranquility, yet how did such a chatterbox arise?”
“Yes, and one who enjoys watching indecent scenes, no less.”
Lu Wei shot her a glance, as if to say she’d never looked herself.
Wait a minute—why was he the only one without dark glasses?
He suspected Wen Jinge of doing it on purpose.
Below, the monk’s arrival naturally startled the crowd. Wen Jinge and her group had already changed locations and attached invisibility talismans; even if someone wished to trace their tracks, it would not be easy.
Children can be angels—or devils.
For they have yet to distinguish good from evil, lack a formed character, and cannot tell right from wrong.
These children, who had witnessed the fall of their clans and the slaughter of their kin, were more so—they thought only of survival, by any means, no matter how cruel.
Even as the monk was surrounded, he continued to smile, a plump, broad face that wore good humor, yet it was not hard to glimpse a hint of sorrow.
But that smile, in the eyes of these children, was a provocation. Before the monk could speak, they surged forward and brought him to the ground.
“The Buddha of Joy and Sorrow.” Suddenly, Wen Jinge recalled who this man was.

On the Xuanmen Continent there was a ranking. Among sword cultivators, the so-called First Sword of the world was in truth herself; the Second Sword, always eager to compete for supremacy, was Shan Hongxing, and the former Second Sword was Ai Fengling.
As for the Buddhist cultivators’ ranking, ever since she suffered a setback in the Illusory Realm, she had diligently studied Buddhist doctrine, if only to avoid being mocked again in the future. The two who shared the top rank were the Buddha of Joy and Sorrow and the Buddha of Good and Evil.
The Buddha of Joy and Sorrow was a fat man, with kindly eyes and a gentle gaze; the Buddha of Good and Evil was thin, cold, and resolute. This fat man was the only Buddhist cultivator Wen Jinge could recall.
Lu Wei clicked his tongue impatiently, once more reminded of the importance of study.
“Master, the Buddha of Joy and Sorrow belongs to the Secret Treasury Sect, which stands in the far north to deter the demon clans. I suppose he came chasing after a demon escapee.”
Lu Wei rubbed his face, wanting to speak, but finally said nothing.
“Amitabha, well said, well said.”
Though the children struck the monk, he did not resist. He sat cross-legged on the ground, as if meditating upon some righteous maxim in his heart.
“Will you not come down, my friend?” The monk looked skyward, his eyes brightening.
The scar-faced steward pulled his blade and slew the woman beneath him. As he fastened his trousers and shuffled over, the children obediently stepped back, leaving space for the steward.
“Well, well, a bald donkey!”
The monk said nothing, simply looking up, sighing deeply. If one looked closely, there was still a smile at his lips. “If this poor monk dies and not you, my friend, does that mean I have erred? Immortal Wen?”
Wen Jinge followed his gaze to the sky, where their trio’s forms now appeared, slowly observing from above.
“Up you go!” The steward’s face twisted. He whistled.
A cloud of crows swirled, their cries filling the sky, black wings blotting out the light. Now and then a feather drifted down, but the three above did not move.
Even if it were illusion magic, it should have long since dissipated. Clearly, the caster’s skill was profound, able to conjure such a solid illusion.
“Who are those three?” The steward swung a fist at the monk, intending to teach him a lesson, but it was his hand that hurt first. The monk’s expression did not change; he continued to smile. “How many in this world are worthy to be called Immortal Wen?”
The steward hesitated, then let out a shrill scream as his face contorted into a bird’s beak, vast wings sprouting from his back as he took to the air.
The monk showed no fear, only watched coldly.
His heart was untroubled; he did nothing, merely waited to see what would happen next, as if he were a bystander who had stumbled into the scene by chance.
“Immortal Wen!” He raised his hand to his brow, shading his eyes as he looked at the three drifting in the sky like kites, a bitter smile on his lips. “Even if you dislike me, was it really necessary to set such a trap for this poor monk? You truly haven’t changed a bit!”
Far away, Wen Jinge frowned. She had heard the old monk’s words, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
They had come in search of the Holy Son, but aside from the children and the great crows searching for something, the three of them had found nothing.
“Master, did you know that monk before?” Yang Wennan looked at his hands, worried that he’d pushed too hard earlier. If they were old acquaintances, how should he interact with him in the future?

“You met the Buddha of Joy and Sorrow, not the Buddha of Good and Evil. It’s fine,” Wen Jinge reassured him.
Lu Wei quietly put some distance between himself and the others—not that he didn’t want to listen, but he simply couldn’t understand, and asking would just make him look foolish.
The Buddha of Joy and Sorrow, the Buddha of Good and Evil—he didn’t know what the difference was, or what they looked like. Well, he knew one, at least.
“True, if he recognizes Master but Master doesn’t recognize him, that’s his own fault,” Yang Wennan comforted himself.
Wen Jinge glanced at him a moment longer. It seemed teaching Yang Wennan Buddhist reasoning, even if crooked, had not been in vain. If she were the Buddha of Joy and Sorrow, she’d have died of anger before any debate began.
“What is it looking for?”
At first, Lu Wei thought the crow was searching for their group. But soon he realized the crow always went to where the children gathered.
“Children…” he muttered to himself. “What kind of child is so important?”
“Qiao Yu…”
Wen Jinge gazed at his body, a memory surfacing—what the Northern Demon Bell had said in the illusion: Qiao Yu’s body was meant for the Demon Lord’s avatar.
The Demon Lord was cunning and ever-changing. Could there truly be only one body in the world suitable for his possession?
If that were so, how could he be killed yet never destroyed, like wildfire that cannot be quenched?
Yang Wennan frowned. “With so many children, how are we supposed to find the right one?”
She heard her master cast a hateful glare at the three silhouettes overhead. “That damned bald monk. I knew dealing with monks would cost me—in the end, he’s been waiting for me here! Let’s go!”
“Does he really know?” Lu Wei was anxious.
Wen Jinge had already been caught in the scheme, driven by it. Were there more traps lying in wait?
“If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him. After all, this is the Holy Son’s demon territory—who would know it was me? And even if they did, so much the better.”
“You’re certainly not worried!” He sighed.
A thousand years ago, Wen Jinge would have been his soulmate—they both feared nothing.
But, “Too much sharpness is not a good thing. You should rein it in.”
“This is my fate, you wouldn’t understand,” Wen Jinge shook her head. “If I could choose again, I wouldn’t want to exist in this world at all. Even so, the first time I killed, I didn’t even blink.”