169: Chapter 169 Sun Wukong Arrives to the Rescue

Above Mount Ling, the darkness was like ink. The light into which Rulai had transformed remained, massive enough to cover half the sky. But that light was dimming—not swallowed by Devilish Qi, but because Rulai’s Power Of Will was dissipating. The light from the converted demon soldiers still pulsed within the Mahavira Hall, but Mount Ling needed more than just light; it needed people who could fight.

Manjusri Bodhisattva sat upon his lotus throne, cradling those lights and chanting sutras. His voice was steady, but his hands were trembling. He knew that even if Mount Ling held out today, it could not hold out tomorrow. The Demon Tide would return; the Dark Heavenly Emperor would not give up. And Mount Ling no longer had Rulai, no Guanyin, no Eighteen Arhats, and no Five Hundred Vajras.

"Bodhisattva." A young Arhat entered, covered in wounds, his golden body half-shattered. "Outside the mountain gate... they have come again."

Manjusri closed his eyes. "How many?"

"I don't know. Too many to see clearly. I only saw darkness, boundless darkness."

Manjusri remained silent for a long time. Then he stood up, placing the lights on the lotus throne, in Rulai's seat. "Watch over them," he said to the Disciple beside him. "These lights are the roots of Mount Ling. As long as the light remains, Mount Ling remains."

He walked out of the Mahavira Hall, out of Mount Ling, and to the mountain gate. Beyond the gate, the darkness had returned. They were not demon soldiers, but demon generals. Ten demon generals of the Taiyi Golden Immortal rank stood in the darkness, looking at Mount Ling, at Manjusri, at this mountain that was about to fall.

"Is there anyone left on Mount Ling?" the leading demon general laughed. "Are you the only one left?"

"One is enough," Manjusri said.

"Enough? You are at the Daluo Late Stage, while the ten of us are at Taiyi Perfection. What will you use to block us?"

"I will use what must be used."

Manjusri raised the wisdom sword. The sword glowed with a golden light, as warm as the sun. But that light was dimming, as faint as a candle about to go out. He knew he couldn't stop them. He couldn't even defeat one of the ten Taiyi Perfection generals, let alone ten. But he did not retreat, not a single step. Behind him was Mount Ling, the light of Rulai, the light of Guanyin, and the light of those who were willing to stand. He could not retreat.

"Kill!" the demon general charged.

Manjusri met him, the wisdom sword slashing toward the first demon general. The general dodged and struck Manjusri's chest with a backhand punch. Manjusri flew back, crashing into the mountain gate and spitting out fresh blood. He scrambled up and charged again. He was knocked back, got up, and charged again. Three times, five times, ten times. His golden body was cracking—from his chest to his neck, from his neck to his face. His blood flowed—golden blood, spilling onto the ground and seeping into the soil.

"Enough," the demon general said. "You cannot defeat us. Withdraw. If you withdraw, you can still live."

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

He raised the wisdom sword. The light on the sword grew even dimmer, like a candle about to go out. But he still raised it, still charged forward.

"Then die!"

The demon general raised his demon blade and slashed down. The blade was so fast it was invisible. It was so heavy the air itself seemed to burn. Manjusri did not dodge. He closed his eyes and chanted a Buddhist name.

"Namo Original Teacher Shakyamuni Buddha."

The blade fell.

A staff caught the blade.

That staff was massive, like a pillar. It was heavy, like a mountain. It was bright, like the sun. Carved upon the staff were several characters—Ruyi Golden Cudgel, weighing thirteen thousand five hundred catties.

Manjusri opened his eyes and saw a figure standing before him. The person wore Golden Chainmail Armor, a Phoenix-feather Purple Gold Crown, and Cloud-stepping Boots. There was a golden hoop on his head, a staff in his hand, and a smile on his face. The smile was light, but within that lightness was something—a certainty that said, "With Old Sun here, no one can harm you."

"Sun Wukong?" Manjusri was stunned.

"Bodhisattva, Old Sun has arrived late." Sun Wukong turned his head, looked at Manjusri, and smiled. "Where is Rulai?"

"He has attained Parinirvana."

"And Guanyin?"

"She has also attained Parinirvana."

"The Eighteen Arhats?"

"All have attained Parinirvana."

Sun Wukong's smile vanished. He looked at Manjusri—at this Bodhisattva covered in blood, his golden body shattered, barely able to stand. Something broke in his eyes. It wasn't tears, but a regret that said, "I came too late."

"Old Sun... came too late," Sun Wukong said. His voice was soft, but within that softness was a weight—the weight of "being one step late means being late for everything."

"It's not late," Manjusri said. "Since you have come, it is not too late."

Sun Wukong looked at those demon generals, at the ten Taiyi Perfection demon generals, and at the boundless darkness. There was no fear in his eyes, no dread, no retreat. There was only one thing—fury. The fury of "you killed Rulai, killed Guanyin, killed my Master and my friends."

"You lot." Sun Wukong raised his golden cudgel and pointed at the ten demon generals. "All of you must die."

The demon generals laughed. "Monkey, you are only at the Daluo Early Stage, while the ten of us are at Taiyi Perfection. What will you use to kill us?"

"I'll use this staff."

Sun Wukong charged. The golden cudgel smashed toward the first demon general. The general raised his blade to block, but the blade snapped. The golden cudgel smashed into his head; his head shattered, his body disintegrated, and his Devilish Qi dissipated. One strike. A Taiyi Perfection demon general, killed in a single strike.

The remaining nine demon generals were stunned. They looked at the powder their companion had become, then at the monkey covered in fur, his face full of rage and his eyes filled only with killing intent. Suddenly, they felt afraid.

"Kill him!" the leading demon general roared.

The nine demon generals charged together. Sun Wukong did not dodge, did not flinch, and did not retreat. The golden cudgel swept horizontally, sending two flying. He swung it vertically, crushing another. He thrust it diagonally, launching another away. He killed one, two, three. His body was stained with demon blood, his golden cudgel was coated in Devilish Qi, and his armor was covered in bits of flesh. But he did not tire, did not stop, and did not retreat. He was Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He would not tire, would not stop, and would not retreat.

Five, six, seven. Seven demon generals died under his staff. The remaining two were terrified and turned to flee. Sun Wukong gave chase, smashing their heads with one strike each.

Ten Taiyi Perfection demon generals, all slain in less than half an hour.

Sun Wukong stood before the gate of Mount Ling. He stood there, his body covered in wounds, blood, and Devilish Qi. But he stood and smiled. The smile was light, but within that lightness was a sense of relief—the relief of "having avenged you all."

He turned and walked back to Manjusri. "Bodhisattva, Old Sun has come. Mount Ling is held."

Manjusri looked at him for a long time. Then he bowed. "Victorious Fighting Buddha, you have worked hard."

Sun Wukong scratched his head. "It was no trouble. Old Sun just had a bit of a fight."

"But you saved Mount Ling."

"If it's saved, it's saved. It's no big deal."

Manjusri smiled. "You've changed."

"Changed? How so?"

"Before, you fought for yourself. Now, you fight for others."

Sun Wukong was taken aback. He thought for a moment, then smiled. "It seems I have. But this change... it's quite good."

He looked up at the darkness above Mount Ling. The darkness was still there, the gloom remained, and the Dharma Ending Age persisted. But he was not afraid. Because he knew he wasn't fighting alone. Beside him was Manjusri and the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who were still alive. Behind him was Mount Ling, the Three Realms, and all living beings. Within his heart was Battle Intent, compassion, and the Dao.

"Bodhisattva, Old Sun wants to go to the Heavenly Court to take a look," Sun Wukong said. "There is a war over there too, and they need people."

Manjusri nodded. "Go. Take the Power Of Will of Mount Ling, the compassion of the Buddhist Sect, and your Battle Intent. Go to the Heavenly Court, to the mortal realm, to anywhere that needs you."

Sun Wukong smiled. "Good. Then Old Sun is off."

With a somersault, he flipped into the sky. He crossed Mount Ling, crossed the Western Heaven, and crossed the Three Realms. He was going to the Heavenly Court, to the South Heaven Gate, to the side of those who were still standing.

---

Inside the Mahavira Hall, Manjusri sat back on his lotus throne, cradling those lights. The light of Rulai, the light of Guanyin, the light of the Eighteen Arhats, the light of the Five Hundred Vajras, and the light of the million demon soldiers. Those lights pulsed in his hands like so many hearts.

"Mount Ling is held," Manjusri said. His voice was soft, but within that softness was a sense of reassurance—the reassurance of "the tribulation is not yet over, but we are still here."

He closed his eyes and began to chant sutras. The sound of the chanting was soft, as light as the wind. But within that wind was a firmness—the firmness of "the Buddha is here, the Dharma is here, and the Sangha is here."

Over Mount Ling, a wind rose. The wind carried the scent of blood, sweat, and tears. But within that wind was also something else—the light radiating from those who remained standing. That light was weak, as faint as a firefly's glow. But that light would not be extinguished; no matter how strong the wind, how deep the darkness, or how heavy the despair, it would not go out.

That light is called Mount Ling. That light is called the Buddhist Sect. That light is called compassion. That light is called hope. That light is called Sun Wukong.

---

Sun Wukong somersaulted through the clouds, through the astral winds, and through the heavens. He was fast, as fast as light. But his heart was not at peace. He was thinking about Manjusri's words—"Before, you fought for yourself. Now, you fight for others."

He remembered things from a long time ago. He remembered the time he caused Havoc in Heaven; back then, he fought to be the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, to not be looked down upon, to prove he was powerful. He remembered the time he was pinned under the Five Elements Mountain; during those five hundred years, he realized one thing—no matter how powerful you are, there is always someone who can suppress you. He remembered following Tang Sanzang on the Journey for Scriptures; back then, he fought to protect his Master, to obtain the true scriptures, and to become a Buddha. But what about now? Now, why was he fighting?

He thought about it and understood. Now, he wasn't fighting to become a Buddha, but because he already was one. Not to prove himself, because he didn't need to. Not to protect one person, but to protect the Three Realms. Not for himself, but because it was what should be done.

"What should be done." Sun Wukong repeated those words and smiled. "That kid Lu Mingyuan always says those words. Old Sun didn't understand before, but now I do."

He sped up, flying toward the South Heaven Gate. He knew people were waiting for him there. People were standing, guarding, and fighting there. They needed him.