168: Chapter 168 Bloodbath at Ling Mountain

The blood of Lingshan flowed like a river.

That was no ordinary blood; it was the golden blood of Arhats, the Buddha-blood of Vajras, and the blood of a Bodhisattva's Power Of Will. That blood was golden, warm as the sun and bright as the stars. But that blood flowed on the ground, seeping into the soil, converging into a golden river. That river flowed from the mountain gate to the Mahavira Hall, from the Mahavira Hall to the Scripture Pavilion, and from the Scripture Pavilion to every place where a Buddha had once stood.

Guanyin stood at the formation's core, and of her thousand hands and eyes, only two hundred remained. Her hands were shaking, her body was shaking, and her golden body was cracking. But her eyes did not shake; those eyes were still very bright, bright like the last lamp of Lingshan.

"Bodhisattva, take a rest," Sudhana said, weeping.

"I cannot rest," Guanyin said. "If I rest, the formation will break. If the formation breaks, Lingshan will be gone."

She looked at those demon soldiers, at those Souls eroded by Devilish Qi, at those lives that were broken, shattered, and extinguished. There was no hatred in her eyes, only compassion—the kind of compassion that said, "I know you are also victims."

The Demon Tide came again. This time, they were not ordinary demon soldiers, but those specifically prepared for Guanyin by Emperor An Tian—the Buddha-Devouring Demons. Those demon soldiers carried something on them, a kind of Devilish Qi specifically designed to counter Buddha-light. When the golden light touched that Devilish Qi, it didn't dissolve; it was swallowed. When Power Of Will touched that Devilish Qi, it didn't scatter; it was eaten. When compassion touched that Devilish Qi, it didn't warm; it was chilled.

Guanyin's thousand hands and eyes lost another fifty. One hundred and fifty, one hundred, fifty. Her hands grew fewer, her light grew dimmer, and the cracks in her golden body grew deeper.

"Bodhisattva!" Sudhana was crying, his heart rending in grief.

"Don't cry," Guanyin said. Her voice was very soft, but within that softness was a gentleness that said, "I'm fine." "If you cry, you become soft. If you are soft, you cannot hold the line."

She looked at those Buddha-Devouring Demons and the Devilish Qi on them that specifically countered Buddha-light. She suddenly smiled. That smile was very light, but within that lightness was an understanding that said, "I see now."

"You fear light," Guanyin said. "But do you know that there is more than one kind of light?"

She closed her eyes and chanted a Buddhist name. It was no ordinary name, but "Namo Medicine Master Lapis Lazuli Light Tathagata." Within that chant was the Power Of Will of the Medicine Buddha, the transparency of the Lapis Lazuli Light, and the compassion that heals all ailments.

That light shone from Guanyin's body, and it was not golden, but the color of lapis lazuli. That Lapis Lazuli Light was very clear, clear like crystal. That Lapis Lazuli Light was very pure, pure like a spring. That Lapis Lazuli Light was very warm, warm like a mother's embrace. When that Lapis Lazuli Light shone on the Buddha-Devouring Demons, the Devilish Qi on them didn't dissolve; it was purified. Purified, purified, purified. Those Buddha-Devouring Demons stood there in a daze, watching the Devilish Qi on their bodies dissipate bit by bit, watching their eyes become clear bit by bit, and watching their Souls be made whole bit by bit.

"This is..." one Buddha-Devouring Demon spoke. His voice was trembling, not from fear, but from excitement. He hadn't spoken for a long time, hadn't thought about who he was for a long time, and hadn't felt his own existence for a long time.

"This is the light of the Medicine Buddha," Guanyin said. "It does not kill you, it only heals you. It does not destroy you, it only delivers you. It does not strike you, it only loves you."

That Buddha-Devouring Demon cried. Tears flowed from his eyes, not black, but transparent. Within those tears was the emotion of "I have finally been seen."

"Thank you... thank you..."

He dissolved. Not into green smoke, but into light. That light was very weak, weak like a firefly. But that light did not extinguish. That light flew up, into the Mahavira Hall, and into the hands of the Tathagata.

One, two, three, four. More and more Buddha-Devouring Demons were touched by the Lapis Lazuli Light, made whole, and delivered, turning into light and flying into the Mahavira Hall. But there were too many Buddha-Devouring Demons, and Guanyin's Lapis Lazuli Light was not enough. Her magic power was almost exhausted, her Power Of Will was almost gone, and her golden body was about to shatter.

"Bodhisattva, enough!" Sudhana shouted. "You have already delivered three thousand, it's enough!"

"It's not enough," Guanyin said. "There are still so many left undelivered, how can it be enough?"

"But you will die!"

"Even in death, I must deliver them."

She continued to shine, continued to deliver, and continued to make whole. Her golden body cracked from her chest to her neck, from her neck to her face. Her face was cracking, and within those cracks was light; that light was her Power Of Will, her compassion, and her Dao.

"Bodhisattva, your face..."

"I know."

"You will shatter!"

"Even if I shatter, I must deliver them."

She delivered five thousand, eight thousand, ten thousand. Ten thousand Buddha-Devouring Demons were made whole, turning into light and flying into the Mahavira Hall. But Guanyin was also about to shatter. Her golden body had cracked to the center of her brows, to that single white hair. That white hair was the seed of her Buddhahood, the foundation of her enlightenment, and her final compassion.

"Bodhisattva!" Sudhana rushed forward, wanting to hold her.

"Don't come over," Guanyin said. "If you come over, you will be eroded by Devilish Qi."

"I'm not afraid!"

"But I am. I'm afraid you'll get hurt, afraid you'll die, afraid you'll shatter. You are my Disciple; I cannot let you shatter."

Sudhana stood there, crying. He watched Guanyin's golden body shatter inch by inch, watched her light dim bit by bit, and watched her life fade away thread by thread. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He could only watch, watching his Master, his Bodhisattva, his light, shattering.

"Master..." Sudhana knelt down. "Master, please leave. If you leave, you can still live. As long as you live, there is hope for Lingshan."

Guanyin looked at him and smiled. "Silly child. If Master leaves, Lingshan will be gone. If Lingshan is gone, the Three Realms will collapse. If the Three Realms collapse, what is the meaning of living?"

She reached out and stroked Sudhana's head. That hand was the last one that hadn't broken; it was very warm, warm like a spring breeze. That hand was very soft, soft like a mother's hand. That hand was very light, light like a feather.

"Don't cry," Guanyin said. "Master will not die. Master is just changing the way she lives."

Her golden body shattered. It turned into powder, scattering in the wind. Within that powder was her Power Of Will, her compassion, and her Dao. That powder did not scatter; instead, it gathered together, forming a beam of light. That light was very weak, weak like a firefly. But that light did not extinguish; no matter how strong the wind, it did not extinguish; no matter how heavy the Devilish Qi, it did not extinguish; no matter how deep the despair, it did not extinguish.

That light flew up, into the Mahavira Hall, and into the hands of the Tathagata. The Tathagata looked at that light, looked at that orb of light that was once Guanyin, and remained silent for a long time. Then he placed that light against his chest, at his Buddha-heart.

"Guanyin, return to your place," the Tathagata said. His voice was very soft, but within that softness was a steadiness that said, "You are gone, yet you are still here."

---

Inside the Mahavira Hall, the Tathagata sat on the lotus throne, holding those lights in his hands. The light of the Eighteen Arhats, the light of the five hundred Vajras, the light of ten thousand Buddha-Devouring Demons, and the light of Guanyin. Those lights pulsed in his hands like so many hearts. Within those lights was the Power Of Will of those people, their compassion, and their Dao.

"World-Honored One," Manjusri Bodhisattva stood before him, his voice trembling. "Lingshan is almost lost. The Vajras are gone, the Arhats are gone, and Guanyin is also gone. We are all that's left."

The Tathagata opened his eyes, looking at the Buddhas, the Bodhisattvas, and the Arhats in the hall. Some were injured, some were maimed, and some were about to shatter. But they were there, still alive, still standing, still guarding.

"It's not over yet," the Tathagata said. "Lingshan is still here, the Buddha is still here, and the Dao is still here."

He stood up, stepped down from the lotus throne, and walked to the hall's entrance. He looked at the Demon Tide outside, at the boundless darkness, and at that despair-inducing power. There was no fear in his eyes, no dread, and no retreat. There was only one thing—compassion.

"World-Honored One, what are you going to do?" Manjusri Bodhisattva asked.

"Go out," the Tathagata said.

"Go out? It's full of demon soldiers outside!"

"I know."

"You will die!"

"Even in death, I must go out."

The Tathagata walked out of the Mahavira Hall, out of Lingshan, and into the Demon Tide. There was light on his body; that light was golden, warm like the sun, bright like the stars, and soft like moonlight. Within that light was the Power Of Will from his cultivation over countless kalpas, the compassion from delivering countless sentient beings, and the wisdom from attaining the Dao over countless years.

Demon soldiers rushed forward, but the Tathagata did not dodge. He stood there, just stood. When those demon soldiers touched his light, they didn't die; they dissolved. They turned into a wisp of green smoke and dissipated between heaven and earth. It was not annihilation, but deliverance. Not confrontation, but transformation. Not a battle, but compassion.

Those demon soldiers were delivered, but more demon soldiers rushed forward. The Tathagata's light was dimming, not because it was swallowed by Devilish Qi, but because it was suppressed by it. The Devilish Qi was too heavy, so heavy that the golden light couldn't penetrate it. The Devilish Qi was too thick, so thick that the golden light couldn't dissolve it. The Devilish Qi was too cold, so cold that the golden light couldn't warm it.

"World-Honored One, retreat!" Manjusri Bodhisattva shouted from behind.

The Tathagata shook his head. "I will not retreat. A Buddha does not retreat."

He continued to walk forward, continued to deliver, and continued to show compassion. He delivered ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million. But his light also grew dimmer, weaker, and smaller. His golden body was cracking, starting from his feet and moving up inch by inch. Within those cracks was light; that light was his Power Of Will, his compassion, and his Dao.

"World-Honored One, your golden body..."

"I know."

"You will shatter!"

"Even if I shatter, I must deliver them."

The Tathagata's golden body cracked to his chest, to his neck, and to his face. His face was cracking, and within those cracks was light; that light was very bright, bright like the sun. But that light was also dimming, dimming like the setting sun.

"World-Honored One!" Manjusri Bodhisattva rushed out, wanting to pull him back.

"Don't come over," the Tathagata said. "If you come over, you will be eroded by Devilish Qi."

"I'm not afraid!"

"But I am. I'm afraid you'll get hurt, afraid you'll die, afraid you'll shatter. You are my Disciple; I cannot let you shatter."

Manjusri Bodhisattva stood there, crying. He watched the Tathagata's golden body shatter inch by inch, watched his light dim bit by bit, and watched his life fade away thread by thread. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He could only watch, watching his Master, his Buddha, his light, shattering.

"World-Honored One..." Manjusri Bodhisattva knelt down. "World-Honored One, please leave. If you leave, you can still live. As long as you live, there is hope for Lingshan."

The Tathagata looked at him and smiled. "Silly child. If the Buddha leaves, Lingshan will be gone. If Lingshan is gone, the Three Realms will collapse. If the Three Realms collapse, what is the meaning of living?"

He reached out and stroked Manjusri Bodhisattva's head. That hand was very warm, warm like a spring breeze. That hand was very soft, soft like a mother's hand. That hand was very light, light like a feather.

"Don't cry," the Tathagata said. "A Buddha will not die. A Buddha is just changing the way he lives."

His golden body shattered. It turned into powder, scattering in the wind. Within that powder was his Power Of Will, his compassion, and his Dao. That powder did not scatter; instead, it gathered together, forming a beam of light. That light was very bright, bright like the sun. That light was very warm, warm like spring. That light was very large, large enough to cover half the sky.

That light shone on the demon soldiers, and those demon soldiers dissolved. Not into green smoke, but into light. Ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million. All the demon soldiers dissolved, all becoming light. Those lights flew up, into the Mahavira Hall, and into the hands of Manjusri Bodhisattva.

Manjusri Bodhisattva held those lights, held the light of the Tathagata, held the light of a million demon soldiers, and held all the light of Lingshan. His hands were shaking, his body was shaking, and his heart was shaking. But he did not cry, did not kneel, and did not retreat. He was Manjusri, a Bodhisattva, the Incarnation of wisdom. He knew that the Tathagata was not dead. The Tathagata had just changed the way he lived. He lived in those lights, in those delivered demon soldiers, and in the heart of every person willing to stand tall.

---

Above Lingshan, the darkness retreated.

It was not driven back by force, but delivered. It was not annihilated, but made whole. It was not chased away, but left on its own. Those demon soldiers were delivered by the Tathagata's light, became light, and flew into the Mahavira Hall.

Lingshan was still there. The Mahavira Hall was still there. Manjusri Bodhisattva was still there. Those Buddhas, those Bodhisattvas, and those Arhats were still there. Some were injured, some were maimed, and some were about to shatter. But they were there, still alive, still standing, still guarding.

"Lingshan has been held," Manjusri Bodhisattva said. His voice was very soft, but within that softness was a steadiness that said, "The tribulation is not over, yet we are still here."

He turned around, walked into the Mahavira Hall, and sat on the Tathagata's lotus throne. He held those lights, held all the hope of Lingshan. He closed his eyes and began to chant sutras. The sound of the sutras was very soft, soft like the wind. But within that wind was a determination that said, "The Buddha is here, the Dharma is here, and the Sangha is here."

Above Lingshan, the wind rose. In that wind was the smell of blood, the smell of sweat, and the smell of tears. But within that wind was also the light emanating from those who were willing to stand tall. That light was very weak, weak like a firefly. But that light did not extinguish; no matter how strong the wind, it did not extinguish; no matter how deep the darkness, it did not extinguish; no matter how heavy the despair, it did not extinguish.

That light is called Lingshan. That light is called the Buddhist Sect. That light is called compassion. That light is called hope. That light is called the Tathagata. That light is called Guanyin. That light is called every person willing to stand tall.