Chapter Seven: The Woman’s Corpse

Thud… Thud…

The sound continued relentlessly from within the coffin.

The old monk activated the Insight of the Buddhist Heart. Unlike the Daoist Celestial Eye, which could only pierce through the Five Elements, the Buddhist Heart’s Insight was cultivated through meditation and the heart; it was subtle, able to sense every minute detail in the surroundings. The higher the cultivation, the wider the scope of perception.

Turning his Heart’s Insight towards the interior of the coffin, the old monk saw nothing but chaos and haze. He immediately realized this coffin was no ordinary thing—its danger was beyond compare.

Cautiously, the old monk stepped closer with deliberate steps.

Thud… Thud…

The coffin’s knocking persisted unabated.

Standing before it, the old monk called upon his Buddhist skills and struck the coffin lid with a palm. The lid flew off, releasing curling wisps of white smoke.

With a sweep of his palm, he scattered the smoke and peered inside.

There lay a woman’s corpse, garbed in red, stretched rigid within. Her face was deathly pale, her body stiff yet uncorrupted—a sign of transformation.

Most strange of all, her abdomen was swollen; she was pregnant!

“Amitabha…”

“Pregnant, yet buried in red.” The old monk sighed. “Such heavy resentment… clinging to life, she has become a jiangshi.”

Just then, the corpse’s eyes snapped open. The sockets were empty, void of eyeballs. With a sudden leap, she sprang from the coffin, arms outstretched, lunging at the old monk.

Unruffled, the old monk sidestepped and swung his arm, aiming to strike her.

Clang!

His right hand landed heavily on the corpse’s arm, but contrary to expectation, she was not flung away. Instead, the old monk felt a tremendous counterforce surge through his hand. Their powers met, and neither moved.

A trace of bewilderment crossed the old monk’s mind. Jiangshi—these lowly evil spirits might trouble common folk, but to cultivators, they were but mindless shells easily crushed, even by those at the Foundation Establishment stage.

Yet the old monk’s mastery had reached the Nascent Soul realm; Buddhist arts might lack the endless transformations of Orthodox Daoist methods, but their strength was unmatched among equals. That strike just now—any Nascent Soul expert would have been wary to face it head-on, but this corpse was unscathed.

As he wondered, the corpse vaulted into the air, both feet kicking straight at him. The old monk blocked with both hands, seized her ankles, and smashed her downward.

Caught midair, unable to evade, the corpse was hurled to the ground, leaving a deep pit where she landed.

Amitabha…

Chanting a Buddhist verse, the old monk gathered his energy in his right hand, which glowed with golden light. With a palm strike, he aimed at the corpse’s face.

Boom!

The ground caved in once more. The corpse took the blow directly and lay motionless.

The old monk produced his prayer beads and approached, intent on offering her salvation.

Suddenly, a baby’s wailing cry sounded from beneath the corpse!

Unmoved, the old monk recited the Buddha’s name, holding his beads. From the corpse, two wisps of soul emerged, transforming into the apparition of a woman cradling a baby.

Behind the old monk, a golden gate shimmered into being. The woman, holding her child, walked slowly toward it.

Just as she reached the old monk, about to enter the golden gate, a sudden change occurred! The baby in her arms abruptly opened his eyes—scarlet light flickering within. The infant broke free and shot toward the old monk.

With lightning reflexes, the old monk’s left hand flashed with golden light as he seized at the child.

A grasp from a Nascent Soul Buddhist master would normally suppress even the strongest spirits. Yet this time, his hand passed right through—the baby’s apparition slipped past, bared needle-like fangs, and bit down on the old monk’s neck.

A chilling energy spread from his throat across his body—a sensation all too familiar.

“It’s you!” the old monk shouted.

“Master… I have returned.”

At that moment, Yuanwu, who had been out gathering firewood, entered and witnessed everything.

“Master!”

Yuanwu tossed aside his firewood, summoned his Golden Body, and reached out to snatch the baby.

“Yuanwu!” the old monk called. “There’s no time! This fiend cannot harm me! Retreat twenty miles! Go to Thunder Sound Temple, seek Abbot Dunan, become his disciple and raise your cultivation. Remember to cultivate your heart! I will seal this place for two hundred years! When two centuries have passed, if you have perfected your Nascent Soul, return for me! Take this!”

As he finished, the old monk formed a seal with his left hand. From his brow flew a golden, radiant object, which, with a whoosh, appeared before Yuanwu and entered his brow.

He then waved his hand, causing a brocade kasaya from his bundle to wrap around Yuanwu and carry him out the door.

“Master! Mas—” Before Yuanwu could react, the kasaya cocooned him and whisked him away, uncontrollably soaring toward the distant horizon.

Having finished these matters, the old monk sighed, then opened his eyes wide in fury and roared,

“Fiend! I will pit all the strength of my life against you!”

He sat cross-legged on the ground, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, hands forming a meditation seal below his navel, head upright, eyes half-shut, tongue pressed against the palate.

This was the Seven-Point Meditation Posture of Buddhism.

Muttering chants, his body gleamed with golden light, as steady as a mountain. The malignant force within him could not advance another inch; sensing danger, it fled from his body, streaked out the door, and shot toward the sky.

“Fiend… where… do you… think you’re going…”

The old monk’s voice rang out, deep and resonant, as if echoing from the heavens themselves rather than his own lips.

The evil energy sped several miles away, only to slam into an enormous invisible golden hand.

The hand clenched tightly, trapping the malignant energy, then flew back toward the inn. In an instant, it hovered above the old monk, transformed into golden mist, and floated above his meditative hands.

“Damn you bald monks again… one day I—”

“Silence!”

The old monk closed his eyes. Gradually, his golden body lost its luster; within moments he became a stone statue. All was suddenly still, as if nothing had occurred, save for the shattered statue of Zhong Kui and the monk’s stone likeness seated in meditation in the hall.

A gust of wind slammed the inn’s doors shut. A flash of golden light appeared, and a large “Seal” character was branded on the door.

Meanwhile, Yuanwu, still dazed by the events, was carried by the brocade kasaya over valleys and forests, across plains, finally landing outside the city of Yunzhou.

The kasaya released him, then draped itself across his shoulders.

“Amitabha…” Yuanwu gave a bow in the direction from which he had come, chanted the Buddha’s name, and murmured, “Thunder Sound Temple…”

Then, he turned and walked into the city of Yunzhou.