What do you want to ask

At the foot of Ten Thousand Blossoms Ridge, before the sect's grand formation.

Wukong stood before the massive array, a gentle breeze swirling around him, carrying the fragrance of scattered blossoms. His gaze swept over the slowly circulating spiritual energy of the mountain-protecting formation, immediately discerning its foundation—a grand sect’s method of intercepting spiritual veins.

There might have been numerous modifications in the details, but its essence remained the same.

Such techniques for intercepting spiritual veins were closely guarded secrets of each major sect.

The Eighteen Immortal Sects all possessed such methods, and their secrecy was strictly enforced—none were to be shared beyond their ranks. This clause had been signed by all eighteen sects.

Chu Xingchen was initially rumored to be one of Tianyan Sect’s hidden prodigies, and later, it seemed he also had close ties with the Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect.

Then came the claim that Chu Xingchen had established his own sect, independent of the Eighteen Immortal Sects.

Wukong glanced at the formation and dismissed it as nonsense.

There was no way Chu Xingchen could have developed such a formation on his own.

As he observed the flowing array, Wukong mused that the world nowadays loved convoluted schemes, forcing people to guess and ponder.

Suddenly sensing something, Wukong withdrew his gaze and looked straight ahead.

A streak of rainbow light flashed before him, and in an instant, a flood dragon transformed into human form, its horns still protruding from its head.

Qinghe scrutinized him with wary curiosity:

"You’re the so-called ‘Buddhist Son’? Who are you here to see?"

Wukong clasped his hands in greeting. "I seek an audience with Sect Master Chu Xingchen."

"You know Chu Xingchen?"

"Not yet acquainted."

"Not acquainted… then why are you looking for him?"

"I have a few questions I’d like to ask him in person."

Qinghe arched an eyebrow, about to retort, when a large hand lightly rested on one of its horns.

Though not alarmed, Qinghe glanced sideways to see Chu Xingchen studying Wukong with a measured gaze.

Daoist Yuyang and Xu Jin arrived as well, flanking Chu Xingchen on either side, their expressions slightly stern as they observed Wukong beyond the formation.

Annoyed, Qinghe lightly swatted Chu Xingchen’s arm away from its horn.

"Don’t you know a flood dragon’s horns are off-limits?!"

"Leaning isn’t the same as touching," Chu Xingchen replied, still eyeing Wukong. "Besides, it makes me look more imposing—especially when these two are just standing around doing nothing."

Qinghe’s expression soured slightly, but it allowed Chu Xingchen to keep leaning.

Chu Xingchen glanced back, noting Qinghe’s displeasure, and finally withdrew his hand.

Turning to Wukong, he spoke calmly:

"Wukong, the Buddhist Son? Never heard the title, but your cultivation doesn’t seem lacking."

Wukong’s gaze swept over Daoist Yuyang and Xu Jin. He recognized them both. Xu Jin’s presence was understandable, but why was Daoist Yuyang here?

This was no trivial matter.

Tianyan Sect, Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect, Taidao Sect…

The gathering of core disciples from the Eighteen Immortal Sects couldn’t be dismissed as mere camaraderie. It often hinted at future sect alliances—events capable of reshaping the cultivation world.

More importantly, the Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect’s stance toward Buddhism might influence the other sects.

But for now… this had little to do with Wukong.

The only downside was that if things turned violent, he wouldn’t be able to fight back—and the beating would be exceptionally painful.

For now, Wukong sought answers. Adopting a humble posture, he bowed slightly and asked:

"I pale in comparison to Sect Master Chu."

Chu Xingchen’s eyes narrowed dismissively.

"Spare me the flattery. I’ve never had much fondness for bald monks. The questions you ask, I may not answer. And if they displease me, these two beside me—whom you surely recognize—won’t hesitate to kill you without consequence."

Wukong stiffened. Such arrogance was staggering. But when he saw Xu Jin’s readiness to strike, he understood.

Chu Xingchen’s words reflected his stance. With Xu Jin present, his opinion of Buddhism was clearly unfavorable.

This wasn’t just a warning—it might also be groundwork for an attack.

Given their wariness, even if Chu Xingchen answered, the truth might remain elusive.

After a moment’s hesitation, Wukong carefully retrieved a prayer bead entrusted to him by the Bright Buddha.

"A Buddha instructed me to present this as proof of my pure intentions—that I seek nothing else."

Chu Xingchen examined the bead, then lifted it with a flick of spiritual energy.

One glance confirmed its origin—the Bright Buddha.

The aura within matched the relic Yuan Kong had taken.

The Bright Buddha was still being hunted by the Buddhist sects. If captured, a battle would be inevitable—one even the Buddhist sects couldn’t conceal, given the involvement of a Mahayana cultivator, even a weakened one.

"A guest is a guest. Let’s share some tea."

Chu Xingchen pocketed the bead. Regardless of the Buddhist Son’s purpose, this could count as the Bright Buddha owing him a favor.

With a wave, the sect’s formation parted slightly.

Wukong clasped his hands. "Many thanks, Benefactor."

"Save your thanks for later," Chu Xingchen replied flatly.

Puzzled, Wukong stepped inside—only to immediately grasp Chu Xingchen’s meaning.

The formation surged to life, its oppressive weight bearing down on Wukong without restraint. At Chu Xingchen’s whim, it could completely immobilize him.

Though a simplified version of the Eighteen Immortal Sects’ formations, it was still formidable.

More than enough to suppress Wukong.

Entering had been a mistake. Outside, at least escape would’ve been possible.

This was no hospitality—it felt like imprisonment, the spiritual pressure a shackle waiting to clamp down.

Wukong lowered his gaze but remained silent.

When seeking answers, one must endure tests. His heart was pure; he would weather this.

As the four proceeded toward the main hall, Qinghe—dissatisfied with its lack of grandeur and having been used as a prop—slunk off toward the deep pool.

Chu Xingchen spoke calmly:

"Are the questions yours, or his?"

Wukong answered evenly, "They are mine. He merely directed me to you."

"You’ve got nerve, walking in here knowing who we are," Daoist Yuyang remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Wukong replied, "You are all paragons of this era. I trust you’ll act with the dignity befitting your stature."

Xu Jin’s gaze turned frosty.

"Don’t count on it."

As they neared the hall, Chu Xingchen asked:

"So, what is it you wish to know?"

Wukong’s tone grew solemn.

"I seek to understand: If the Buddhist sects scarcely cultivate merit themselves, where does all the merit flow? Why such vast quantities? What purpose does it serve?"

"Is the Buddhist sect secretly nurturing something?"

Chu Xingchen’s lips curled in faint surprise.

"Bald but sharp-witted—aren’t you the Buddha’s chosen one? Can’t even dig up your own intel?"

Wukong replied bluntly:

"Of course I can. But when I look, all I find are carefully prepared lies."

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