Throwing a Punch Without a Second Thought

Donggua's gaze swept across the interior of the temple, only to find no statues of Buddhas, no incense burners, nor even an altar—just a series of strikingly fresh and solemn Buddha paintings adorning the cracked yellow clay walls.

The depicted Buddhas were not large in size, but their numbers were vast, covering the entire wall and stretching endlessly to both sides.

The robes of each Buddha were painted with meticulous clarity, and upon closer inspection, traces of still-drying pigment could be seen, suggesting the elderly monk painted them daily.

All the Buddhas were faceless, bearing only eyes—each pair distinct, reflecting emotions like compassion, wrath, reproach, or sorrow.

Donggua glanced sideways and noticed that even beneath the branches of the tree that pierced through the temple, the old monk had painted a Buddha.

This Buddha gently pinched a green leaf, as if cradling life itself.

Had it been an ordinary painting, it wouldn’t have startled Donggua.

But standing there, she felt as though those eyeless Buddhas were all staring at her—interrogating, yet pitying her.

This was no mere illusion… even her spiritual sense could detect the faint, probing gaze emanating from the paintings.

Donggua turned her eyes to the aged monk who had just picked up his brush. His aura was profound, his cultivation undoubtedly surpassing hers. Yet, to wield a brush with such divine precision—just how high must his cultivation be?!

Great Ascension… or Tribulation Transcendence?!

The elderly monk dipped his brush into the pigments placed on the ground and raised it to add strokes to the wall, speaking softly:

"It’s been a while. Knowing your habits, I assume you’ve come with trouble again."

Wukong clasped his hands humbly. "I seek your assistance for a pressing matter."

"The title 'Venerable' does not suit me," the old monk chuckled, carefully outlining a Buddha’s robe. "Even if you ask, I may not agree."

Wukong yielded, gesturing for the monk to look at Donggua:

"I know I alone cannot persuade you, which is why I’ve brought someone else."

The elderly monk paused his brush and turned his gaze to Donggua, whose face still bore traces of shock. Then, his eyes lowered slightly as he addressed Wukong, speaking quietly:

"Your heart leans toward righteousness, but your methods are questionable."

Wukong replied with steady resolve:

"I do not seek Buddhahood. Being a Wrathful Arhat is enough."

The old monk laughed softly and shook his head. With a flick of his brush, specks of pigment scattered like drifting smoke, swirling under the faint sunlight before drifting toward Donggua. In the shadows, the nearly imperceptible haze easily veiled her eyes.

Donggua noticed nothing amiss, yet the conversation between the two grew indistinct to her ears.

The elderly monk set down his brush and studied Donggua once more before asking:

"So this is the demon you spoke of? You’ve been provoking her emotions along the way, haven’t you? Her six desires are in turmoil—anger and fear dominate her spirit."

Wukong gave a slight nod. "Otherwise, even you might not have noticed anything unusual about her."

The old monk sighed. "Truly, these are troubled times… This world no longer resembles the mortal realm—it’s more akin to hell."

"If you, I, and others remain detached, then the mortal realm will become hell," Wukong said, his gaze fixed on Donggua.

"Though you reside in this humble courtyard, news from all corners still reaches you, doesn’t it?"

"The Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect, the Taidao Sect, the Tianyan Sect, Chu Xingchen, Xu Jin… and Bai Xuanling, who has drawn his sword once more, standing at the peak of Tribulation Transcendence."

"But in truth, what does this have to do with them? Even if the Eighteen Immortal Sects must fall, they’ll be the last to perish."

"How can the fate of all living beings truly rest on a single person?"

"You’ve painted for so long—have you truly attained enlightenment?"

The elderly monk pinched his brush and extended a finger toward Donggua, stopping just an inch away. The faceless Buddhas on the wall shifted their eyes toward her, as if scrutinizing her every detail.

Donggua’s face twisted with growing terror, her pupils trembling, her body straining yet unable to move.

"Enlightenment I have, but you may not wish to hear it," the old monk said, his clear eyes observing the emotions flickering in Donggua’s gaze.

"If this is a great calamity, then none can stand apart—myself included. What do you want me to do?"

Wukong clasped his hands solemnly. "Two things. First, paint a new 'skin' for Donggua to conceal her karmic threads—especially the life veins within her. She may prove useful, and for now, she’s the only one I can rely on."

The old monk’s expression grew complicated. "That is troublesome. What’s the second matter?"

Wukong stepped forward. "The Buddhist sect may face true upheaval. Your return could serve as an anchor. Additionally, the Buddha beneath the pagoda in the Western Ox-Horn Continent has already emerged. Before coming here, I paid him a visit."

"He directed me to see Chu Xingchen. The Tianyan Sect has always been known for clinging to destiny, and Chu Xingchen’s ties to them run deep."

"Moreover, Xu Jin of the Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect is also closely connected to Chu Xingchen—this, too, aligns with the prophecies of old."

"The debates of the Great Ascension era may indeed hold hidden truths."

"Furthermore, when Chu Xingchen says the Buddhist sect is no longer the Buddhist sect, his words may carry the weight of destiny."

"Lastly, whether you return or not is not my decision to make. But whether you should—that, I believe, you understand better than I."

The elderly monk laughed heartily:

"You’re about to scatter these old bones of mine with your demands. But I have one small question—why are you so invested in this?"

Wukong looked at the countless Buddhas painted on the walls:

"Because I am human, not Buddha."

The old monk laughed even louder. "After a century of painting Buddhas, perhaps I’ve learned less than you."

"Do as you must. You needn’t worry about me."

Wukong promptly bowed. "My apologies for the trouble. The 'skin' need not be overly refined. This person was recommended to me by Chu Xingchen. Soon, I’ll take her back to see him—she must remain recognizable."

The elderly monk raised his brush, touching it to Donggua’s face:

"Wait outside."

Wukong immediately retreated, standing beneath the great tree in the courtyard.

Snowflakes drifted. The sun rose and the moon set.

After several cycles of day and night, the dilapidated temple door slowly creaked open.

The elderly monk stepped out first, followed by Donggua, her eyes slightly vacant.

Wukong studied her face—it bore no visible changes, yet the faint spiritual aura emanating from her had been completely altered.

He hurried forward, scrutinizing her briefly before clasping his hands in gratitude toward the old monk.

The elderly monk smiled and waved away the lingering haze before Donggua’s eyes.

Instantly, her gaze sharpened. She looked between the two, then at her surroundings, quickly sensing something amiss.

"What did you do to me?" she demanded.

"If you’re to meet Chu Xingchen, certain measures were necessary. Otherwise, it’d be sending you to your death," Wukong replied calmly, then turned to the old monk.

"Since our business is concluded, we’ll take our leave."

The elderly monk waved dismissively. "Go on, go on. I finally found a quiet place, yet you still managed to track me down."

Wukong bowed once more, then reached out to grasp Donggua, whose face was now contorted with fury.

Donggua stood her ground, spiritual energy surging around her as if ready to resist to the end.

Wukong sighed softly at the sight.

He raised his gleaming golden fist and delivered a punch straight to Donggua’s head.

Before Donggua could even curse in anger, Wukong followed up with another strike, cutting off any further words.

The elderly monk, witnessing this, opened his mouth as if to speak.

Wukong lifted his fist again, glancing at the monk and asking:

"Would you like a couple of punches to vent as well?"

The elderly monk quickly shook his head:

"That won’t be necessary… carry on as you were."

Can't find the book by title? Try searching for the author—it might just have been renamed!