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墨書 Inktalez
With just a palm's distance away from delivering a fatal blow, resistance suddenly surged. Bloodshot eyes focused, revealing Master Wulian. Not only had he blocked Misha's attack on the young monk, but he also turned sideways, using his back to shield Misha from the delayed strike of Wisdom Supreme.
Strangely, these ruthless attacks seemed to inflict no conventional harm on Wulian's body. His face retained a compassionate smile, yet his form was gradually becoming ethereal.
Master Misha panicked as the bloodshot eyes began to return to normal. A single tear of blood fell from the corner of his eye. "Master, what is happening to you?"
Yuanhui sighed deeply. "Amitabha. Wulian has long foreseen that these days would mark his Parinirvana."
"Parinirvana?!" But Master was only fifty, much younger than Yuanhui Master.
"Is it for me?" Misha felt pain and guilt, hating his bloodline for the first time.
"How could it be for you?" Wulian sat cross-legged, using Buddhist teachings to press down on Misha, urging him to sit as well. Enveloping both himself and Misha in a protective aura of Dharma, he smiled. From the moment Yuanhui Master first met him, he had sensed that Wulian was not destined for a long life.
"Misha, do not be sad. Buddha cultivation and Parinirvana are not an end; Master is about to journey to the Pure Land for the next round of cultivation. It is a joyous occasion—why cry?"
Regardless of whether the Pure Land truly existed, the reality of never seeing his master again made Misha weep even harder.
Seeing that he could not console him, Wulian continued with a mix of laughter and exasperation. "In this time, I have also read your fortune. My disciple will be both demon and Buddha in the future; they are not in conflict but can complement each other. Remember this: never sever your connection to the Dharma, and keep up with your demonic cultivation—always follow your true heart."
"Misha, your future is bright; you will be my greatest pride."
At this point, Wulian looked up at the sky, urging time onward. There was no more time to linger. A rainbow-colored flame erupted around him as he laughed heartily twice.
"Misha, guess how many Sarira I will transform into? They say the more there are, the more heaven recognizes you." Wulian's words brimmed with anticipation. "If there are many, I will surely leave some behind to accompany you. Since I began my journey here at Pujisi, when you walk among mortals, I can join you in witnessing it—this would fulfill one of my regrets."
At that moment, auspicious clouds drifted from the horizon accompanied by melodious celestial music. As they reached directly above Wulian's head, he dissipated into the rainbow flames. Just as he had hoped, after his figure vanished, countless Sarira swirled around Misha.
"How many are there?" The crowd gasped in awe.
Exactly one hundred and eight!
This shattered the record set by High Monk Puyi two hundred years ago.
Puyi had only achieved eighty-one! How could Wulian—a monk who sheltered Evil Spirits and committed sins—still attain one hundred and eight?!
Many were unconvinced; even Yuanhui, the most respected elder in the temple, felt an unbidden twinge of jealousy.
But so what? With heavenly fire marking his Parinirvana and auspicious clouds accompanying him in death while heavenly sounds bestowed blessings upon him—the commotion was so great that people within a hundred miles must have witnessed it. Heaven was unmistakably declaring its recognition of Wulian!
No matter how much confusion or resentment lingered in their hearts, no one dared voice it aloud; after all, who would dare speak against heaven?
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