Western Oxhorn Continent, Zhengyin Dharma Temple.
This is the Dharma temple closest to the orthodox Buddhist sanctuary—Thunderclap Dharma Temple—in the Western Oxhorn Continent.
The nearer one gets to the Thunderclap Pure Land in the Western Oxhorn Continent, the more profound and unshakable Buddhist ideology becomes, with nearly all mortals bowing beneath this supreme faith.
Legend has it that children born here do not cry as their first act but instead clasp their hands and chant "Amitabha."
This is, of course, a jest, yet it speaks volumes about the unparalleled status of Buddhism in this land.
Among the eighteen immortal sects, Buddhism is the only one that has devoted immense effort to cultivating lay followers. In its early days, the Buddhist order truly stood ready to dispatch Bodhisattvas or Guanyin without hesitation to aid the people whenever the temple bell tolled.
Where a temple stood, evil spirits retreated.
After the great collapse of the Western Oxhorn Continent, not only was the land devastated, but the spiritual veins were also left in utter disarray. For cultivators here, relying on spiritual energy to cultivate was akin to opening one's mouth to eat the northwest wind.
To ascend in cultivation, one truly had no choice but to depend on spirit stones.
With cultivators weakened, demons naturally began to rise—proper cultivators did not consume humans, at most practicing sustainable exploitation, but demons did, quite literally.
Thus, in the early days of the Western Oxhorn Continent, alongside the simple folkways, the demonic fashion of devouring humans also flourished.
To step outside and admit never having tasted human flesh was to lose face among demons.
After the great calamity, the Western Oxhorn Continent descended into a wasteland, a realm where monsters ran rampant.
Yet these rampaging demons would always circle far around the temples, the colossal stone or bronze Buddha statues, keeping a hundred-mile radius and never daring to take human lives.
It was not that these statues held boundless power, but rather that the Bodhisattvas and Arhats stationed within the temples truly did.
Dare to feast on humans, and they would indeed chase you down to "liberate" you, parading your head while chanting sutras for your afterlife.
In its early days, Buddhism secured the devotion of the Western Oxhorn Continent's masses through nearly pure self-sacrifice.
Since erecting temples meant safety, the people of the Western Oxhorn Continent began building them en masse.
Impoverished folk living in mud-brick houses willingly poured their efforts into constructing temples.
With piety and hope, they molded the great Buddhas of compassionate countenance, yearning for the Buddha's light to reach even the darkest corners unseen by mortal eyes.
It was the purest of hopes, yet also the most desperate of measures.
Given a choice, none would wish to place their hopes in clay idols and legends.
These temples were not erected under the Central Continent's Buddhist orders; many were built without the sect's knowledge, and thus no Arhats were dispatched to guard them.
But the demons, once "liberated" and terrified, could not tell the difference—nor would they gamble their lives to find out. They remained afraid.
And so, across the Western Oxhorn Continent, temple after temple rose.
Though most had never witnessed a Bodhisattva's salvation, these clay effigies had undeniably saved their lives.
Buddhism was not the sole light in the Western Oxhorn Continent, but it was unquestionably the brightest.
Every phenomenon has a root cause.
Compared to the endless terror of the past, Buddhism's dominance, though disruptive in many ways, was a vast improvement for ordinary folk.
Yet within three hundred miles of Zhengyin Dharma Temple, no other temples stood—this was the sole Dharma temple here.
It was also the first temple explicitly recorded by the Central Continent's Buddhist order as their founding establishment, the absolute orthodox recognized by them.
Zhengyin Dharma Temple was vast, having undergone countless expansions.
Now it rivaled a great city in scale.
Majestic Buddha statues were everywhere, Bodhisattvas of all forms wore expressions of compassion, and every Arhat stood mighty and divine.
This was the ultimate sanctum of devotion for all Buddhist cultivators and believers in the Western Oxhorn Continent.
The farther Central Continent remained a land of longing.
Zhengyin Dharma Temple could be reached through faith and piety, but Thunderclap Pure Land and Thunderclap Dharma Temple could not.
Yuan Kong slowly came to a halt, his gaze calm as it rested upon the resplendent architecture.
Time had passed; the once-youthful novice Yuan Kong had grown into a young man, his fair skin now weathered and dark.
His head was no longer bare, with short stubble of hair left untrimmed.
The kasaya draped over his shoulders had long since become a tattered cloth, wrapped around his neck like a scarf, its original form unrecognizable.
The innocence in Yuan Kong's eyes had also faded, replaced by wariness as he scanned the faces around him before finally fixing his gaze on the compassionate visage of Guanyin.
After Yuan Jing's nirvana, Yuan Kong had handed a letter to Ning Qianqian and set out on the road to the Western Oxhorn Continent.
Yuan Jing had left many veiled warnings—"If the heart is Buddha, the body is Buddha; there is no need to seek the nine golden lotuses beneath the Buddha."
In essence, he cautioned Yuan Kong that Buddhist cultivation did not require the Buddha's approval and to remain wary of the Buddhist sects themselves.
At the time, Yuan Kong had not dwelled on it—or perhaps chose not to.
With his master present, all worldly troubles had vanished.
With his master gone, his heart grew restless.
Worries surged like rivers and seas, drowning his thoughts in mist.
Yet he steadied himself.
A thousand emotions tangled like unshorn hair.
After bidding Yuan Jing farewell, Yuan Kong did not linger even a day in Zen Forest Temple.
Sometimes, the sweeter the memory, the sharper its edge—especially those beyond retrieval, those that had reached their end.
At times, Yuan Kong marveled at the Buddha's greatness—to hold, then to let go.
The Buddha might release all, but as humans, there are things we cling to for a lifetime.
That day, Yuan Kong suddenly understood—he was no "Buddha's child," merely one among the countless souls adrift in the River of Forgetfulness.
Seeking liberation, yet unwilling to truly let go.
Amidst the tempest of his heart, Yuan Kong chose to let the path reveal the answers.
He resolved to walk the road and ask the true Buddha how it was done.
The choice of path was crucial. The Central Continent might be more splendid, its Buddhist cultivators more resolute, better versed in teaching detachment.
But perhaps because Yuan Jing had never taken the easiest road or beheld the grandest sights, Yuan Kong, too, chose a path through near-wilderness.
Western Oxhorn Continent, Zhengyin Dharma Temple.
Rooted in wasteland, bearing fruit of virtue.
Yuan Kong no longer wished to merely hear others' tales or read the gentle parables of sutras. Now, he wanted to see for himself—to use his eyes, which pierced illusion, to witness how the world truly was.
The journey had not been easy for Yuan Kong. The once-naive youth who saw beauty everywhere had learned of human treachery and known the agony of powerlessness.
Not all things in life demand resolution.
Yet the seed in his heart, having weathered storms and basked in warm sunlight, had already bloomed.
Now was the time for fruit.
Yuan Kong waited for the fruit of his heart to fall, even as he knocked on the door to ask: Why is the world as it is? What can the Buddha truly do?
He hesitated no longer and stepped forward, facing the Bodhisattva who raised the sword of wisdom, meeting those serene Buddhist eyes, and confronting the towering wall that seemed intent on shutting everything out.
Outside the gates of the Buddhist temple.
"Where did this beggar come from, daring to seek alms here? Look at that mess of hair on your head—do you even resemble a monk?"
Yuan Kong gazed at the so-called "venerable monk" before him, clad in luxurious robes, his haughty eyes scrutinizing him.
His expression remained calm, his gaze unwavering.
The monk, meeting Yuan Kong’s tranquil stare, felt his contempt falter. Suddenly, it was as if this beggar had seen right through him.
A faint, compassionate smile touched Yuan Kong’s lips as he spoke, his tone almost pitying:
"Perhaps more than you do."