I Am the Buddha

That battle was fought until the sun and moon lost their light, the heavens cracked, and the earth shattered.

Three supreme fighters clashed at the far edge of the universe, grinding even the Great Dao to dust.

Xie Gubai, with his cultivation at the Tribulation Crossing realm, stood firm against two Mahayana-stage experts. The battle raged for three days and three nights, until he was spent from exhaustion. Seizing the moment, the Tai Xu Holy Lord and the Mo Family Head struck together with a combined ultimate technique—the "Tai Xu Annihilation Slash"—dealing a severe blow to Xie Gubai. Forced to retreat using a secret art, he vanished with Chu Jinghong into the vast sea of humanity.

The Mo family, too, suffered heavy losses.

The Mo Family Head announced his seclusion to recover from his wounds, and the Mo family closed their gates tight, refusing all visitors.

Time flowed like water.

In the blink of an eye, five years had passed.

Five years—long enough to change many things. Before long, young prodigies began to emerge all across the Central Continent. Some declared that a golden era was about to dawn.

Seven years earlier, a peerless sage of the Fate Dao had observed the night sky.

He saw countless beams of golden light descending from the heavens, landing upon families awaiting childbirth across the Central Continent. His prophecy: "The chosen ones of destiny shall arise, and the world's order will shift."

Now, that prophecy was coming true.

Over those five years, the Central Continent saw genius youths spring up everywhere. They were gifted with extraordinary talent, fortune on their side, and endless luck. Even when faced with disaster, they turned the tables in ways that defied reason—as if some unseen force was guiding everything.

It was as if... fate itself had their backs.

The great powers of the Central Continent instantly realized: sects without such destined children would be weeded out in the coming banquet of fortune. A full-scale talent war erupted across the land. Every major faction sent out scouts, hunting for youths suspected of bearing great destiny, with a focus on unremarkable monastery servants or fallen geniuses wounded in earlier years.

In that moment, the Central Continent surged with restless energy, alive with excitement.

At the far corner of the continent, in the frozen, bitter northern wastes, where white snow fell endlessly and biting winds cut through to the bone.

There stood the most flourishing Buddhist sanctuary of the age—the Great Thunderclap Monastery.

But this place of tranquility had become noisily restless.

A few monks paced back and forth in the courtyard, leaving a trail of footprints across the snow-covered ground. They kept scratching their bald—and bare—heads, their faces twisted with anxiety.

"Abbot! Don't you care at all?"

Several deans and chief monks nearly tore their scalps off in frustration. Finally, they all stopped and turned to look at the Old Abbot, who sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion. Snowflakes drifted down, and a thin layer had already gathered on the old man's head, yet his expression remained unchanged—free of joy or sorrow.

Seeing this only made the deans angrier.

"Abbot, do you even know what's happening out there? They're all scrambling! Everyone says the golden era is coming, and we're sitting here doing nothing!"

"At this rate, our followers are going to get stolen away! Even that neighboring White Horse Monastery—and that Little Thunderclap place—they've already picked up several destiny-chosen youths. Now all those temples have their own Buddha-sons!"

"We're still sitting around doing nothing, and all the talents are going to be gone!"

One of the deans grew more and more worked up, his spittle nearly flying into the Old Abbot's face.

"Abbot, I'm not just being impatient."

"In an age of great contention, those who don't advance get left behind. Soon other temples will be crowded with future Buddhas, and followers will flock to them. Our Great Thunderclap Monastery will have no one to succeed us—and in time, we'll be cast aside!"

"Abbot, I'm begging you—find us a Buddha-son already!"

The Old Abbot opened his eyes, and seeing them all so frantic, let out a gentle laugh.

"Look at you," he said. "So quick to get impatient."

"If the followers all go to other temples, then let them. People naturally go where the fortune flows, like water running downhill. What use is there in forcibly holding them here?"

"What is meant to come will come in time; what is not meant, you must not force."

Hearing this, the deans were so choked with irritation by the Old Abbot's otherworldly detachment that they could barely speak, their lips trembling.

"It's not about force or not, Abbot!"

"Other temples have destiny-chosen youths and we don't. Once their people's cultivation is ready, they might just become Buddhas themselves, and then come knocking at our doors!"

At their dire warnings, the Old Abbot merely stroked his beard, his eyes crinkling in a smile.

"Then I'd happily become a little novice monk at their monastery."

"Isn't spreading the Dharma wherever it can be heard the same? To awaken the world, you don't need a lofty position."

"All you need is someone willing to listen."

He then shook his head and gestured toward the gate with a chuckle. "Look, it's here. Fate itself hasn't forgotten."

The deans followed his pointing finger.

Outside the monastery gate, the wind howled and snow fell heavily. A solitary figure slowly emerged through the white curtain—a young man, dressed only in tattered beggar's robes. Their rags flapped noisily against the freezing north wind and gave him no cover against the bitter cold.

Snow had settled on his head, crown-like.

He walked barefoot through the snow, each foot sinking deeply, and pulled himself out step by steady step.

His feet were crimson from frost, yet he never stopped.

"Sir, are you all right?"

The young monk on gate duty rushed forward two steps, sweeping away the thick snowfall, and steadied the tottering youth.

The moment his hand made contact, the young monk was taken aback.

This man was a mere mortal.

For the Great Thunderclap Monastery was built atop this mountain, and just reaching it required at least a Foundation Establishment cultivation simply to endure the cold.

How had a mortal climbed all the way here?

"Sir, who are you?"

Such a feat—marked by immense determination and devotion—stirred a sense of profound respect in the young monk, and he asked the question.

The man lifted his head, revealing a gentle, clear face.

He said, "I am the Buddha."