178: Chapter 178 Bai Ze's Explanation

Mount Buzhou Ruins, night. Lu Mingyuan sat on the mountaintop, gazing at the stars in the sky. There were already thousands of them, yet the sky remained black, black as ink, black as night, black as despair. But he was no longer anxious. He recalled Bai Ze's words—'One, is also mending.' He remembered his own words—'Mend one each day, mend three hundred and sixty-five in a year.' He thought of Xuanweizi's words—'Cultivation is walking. Walk the path beneath your feet well, and you will naturally know how to walk onward.'

"Do you understand?" Bai Ze landed on his shoulder.

"I understand a little. But not enough. I still want to know, what exactly is An? Why did he become like this? Is it possible for him to be mended?"

Bai Ze remained silent for a long time. Then it said, "I will tell you a story. The story of the Witch-Demon Calamity."

"The Witch-Demon Calamity?" Lu Mingyuan was stunned. "Wasn't that an ancient event?"

"It was an ancient event. But it is also a present event. Because the resentment of the Witch-Demon Calamity still resides within An. That resentment is the largest part of An."

---

Bai Ze's voice was very soft, soft as the wind. But within that wind, there was something, a sense of relief that said, 'I can finally speak of this.'

"A very, very long time ago, the heavens were not yet cracked, the earth was not yet sunken, the seas were not yet dried. In the heavens was the Heavenly Court, governed by Dijun and Tai Yi. On the earth was the Primordial Wilderness, governed by the Twelve Ancestral Witches. The Yao Race ruled the heavens, the Witch Race ruled the earth. Each governed their own, without interference. But later, things changed. The Yao Race felt the Witch Race occupied too much territory, the Witch Race felt the Yao Race governed too broadly. Today you kill one of my Yao, tomorrow I kill one of your Witches. Today you seize one of my mountains, tomorrow I seize one of your rivers. Killing back and forth, seizing back and forth, hating back and forth. Hatred accumulated more and more, resentment deepened more and more, enmity grew larger and larger. Finally, war broke out. It was a brutal war, so brutal it shattered heaven and earth. Dijun died, Tai Yi died, nine of the ten suns died. Of the Twelve Ancestral Witches, eleven died, leaving only Houtu."

"Houtu..." Lu Mingyuan recalled the woman in Zixiao Palace, the one who taught him the Dao of Reincarnation.

"Houtu looked upon those corpses, the corpses of the Witch Race, the Yao Race, the Human Race. She asked herself—why did this happen? Why fight? Why kill? Why die? She pondered for a thousand years, ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years. Eventually, she understood—fighting is due to lack. Lack of love, lack of understanding, lack of tolerance. Killing is due to fear. Fear of loss, fear of being wronged, fear of death. Death is due to resentment. Resentment against the Heavenly Dao's injustice, resentment against fate's unfairness, resentment against the impermanence of life and death. She no longer wanted to fight, no longer wanted to kill, no longer wanted to die. But alone, she could change nothing. The Witch Race still hated the Yao Race, the Yao Race still hated the Witch Race. Hatred remained, resentment remained, enmity remained. That hatred, resentment, and enmity had nowhere to go, nowhere to disperse, nowhere to transform. They gathered together, gathered between heaven and earth, gathered within The Rift, gathered deep within An. That hatred, resentment, and enmity is An."

"So An is..."

"Yes. An is hatred, is resentment, is enmity. It is the hatred of all who died in the Witch-Demon Calamity, the resentment of all the Loose Immortals of the Investiture of the Gods Calamity, the enmity of all the demons of the Journey to the West Great Tribulation. It is the suffering of the Seven Great Calamities, of immeasurable sentient beings. He is not a demon, not a ghost, not a Yao. He is lack. He is the projection of the Heavenly Dao's deficiency, the aggregate of the resentment from countless calamities. He does not hate you, does not hate anyone. He simply hates. Hates the Heavenly Dao's injustice, hates fate's unfairness, hates the impermanence of life and death. He does not wish to destroy the Three Realms; he wishes to destroy what causes him suffering. But what causes him suffering is not the Three Realms, not sentient beings, not the Heavenly Dao. It is himself. It is the hatred, resentment, and enmity upon him. He cannot extinguish them, cannot transform them, cannot liberate them. As long as they are upon him, he must suffer. As long as they are upon him, he must destroy. As long as they are upon him, he must bring about the Dharma Ending Age."

Lu Mingyuan stood there, standing. He remembered the words of the An Emperor—'I am not I, I am them.' He hadn't understood then, but now he did. An was not a person; he was the resentment of all who died in the Seven Great Calamities. He did not wish to destroy; he was compelled to destroy. He was not evil; he was ill. Not an enemy, but a patient.

"Then what can be done?" Lu Mingyuan asked. "How can he be cured?"

"Mend him. Liberate him. Transform him. Use love to mend his lack, use compassion to transform his resentment, use light to illuminate his darkness. But this is difficult. Extremely difficult. Because his lack is too vast, vast beyond measure. His resentment is too deep, deep beyond fathoming. His darkness is too heavy, heavy beyond light. Your love is too small, small as a grain of sand. Your compassion is too shallow, shallow as a drop of water. Your light is too weak, weak as a firefly. A grain of sand cannot mend a desert. A drop of water cannot transform an ocean. A firefly cannot illuminate the night."

"Then what should I do?"

"Grow. Let your love grow, let your compassion deepen, let your light brighten. But this requires time. A very, very long time. Perhaps ten thousand years, perhaps a hundred thousand years, perhaps a million years. Are you willing to wait?"

"I am willing. But the Dharma Ending Age cannot wait that long. The Three Realms cannot wait that long. Sentient beings cannot wait that long."

"Then do not simply wait. Wait while acting. Grow while mending. Deepen while liberating. Brighten while transforming. Do not think too much, do not think too far, do not think too grandly. Think only of today. Today, how much can you mend? Today, how much can you liberate? Today, how much can you transform? Mend one, that is one. Liberate one, that is one. Transform one, that is one. One, is also mending. One, is also liberation. One, is also transformation."

---

Lu Mingyuan stood there, standing. He remembered the words of the An Emperor—'Your love cannot mend my lack.' He remembered his own words—'A grain of sand can gather into a pagoda.' He remembered Bai Ze's words—'One, is also mending.'

"Bai Ze," Lu Mingyuan said. "I have one more question."

"What question?"

"You said earlier that Houtu manifested Reincarnation to give the dead a place to go, to give the living hope to look forward to. What she mended was not the heavens, but the heart. If the heavens are lacking, they can be mended. If the heart is lacking, how can it be mended?"

"Mend it with the heart. Use your heart to mend another's heart. Use your love to mend another's lack. Use your understanding to mend another's resentment. Use your tolerance to mend another's hatred. But this requires you to first mend your own heart completely. Only when your heart is whole can you mend another's heart. Only when your heart is vast can it contain another's lack. Only when your heart is bright can it illuminate another's darkness."

"Is my heart whole?"

"No. Your heart still lacks. Your lack is haste. You are too hasty. Hasty to mend the heavens, hasty to liberate demons, hasty to transform An. But haste is a lack. Haste is a leak. Haste is incompleteness. You must first mend your own haste before you can mend another's lack. You must first liberate your own restlessness before you can liberate another's resentment. You must first transform your own attachment before you can transform another's hatred."

Lu Mingyuan was stunned. "I also lack?"

"Yes. Everyone lacks. You do, I do, Sun Wukong does, Yang Jian does, the various sages do, all sentient beings do. Lack of love, lack of understanding, lack of tolerance. Lack of patience, lack of faith, lack of resolve. Lack this, lack that, lack east, lack west. But lacking is not frightening; what is frightening is not knowing one lacks. Once you know, you can mend. If you do not know, you will lack forever."

"Then how do I mend my own lack?"

"Take it slowly. Walk slowly, stand slowly, guard slowly, mend slowly. Do not be hasty. If you are hasty, you will become chaotic. If you are chaotic, you will make mistakes. If you make mistakes, you will backtrack. Backtracking is resistance. Resistance is feeding. Feeding makes An stronger. If An is stronger, the Dharma Ending Age becomes more urgent. Haste will only make things worse. Slowness can make things better."

Lu Mingyuan stood there, standing. He remembered Xuanweizi's words—'Cultivation is walking. Walk the path beneath your feet well, and you will naturally know how to walk onward.' He remembered his own words—'Walk on, walk until the day it is mended.' He remembered the words of the An Emperor—'Your love cannot mend my lack.' He remembered Bai Ze's words—'One, is also mending.' He remembered Bai Ze's words—'Slowness can make things better.'

"Good. I will take it slowly. Walk slowly, stand slowly, guard slowly, mend slowly. Not hasty, not restless, not attached. Walk one step, that is one step. Stand for one day, that is one day. Guard one inch, that is one inch. Mend one, that is one."

Bai Ze looked at him, looked at this scholar who walked out of Heyin City, at this man who debated and won against the various sages in Zixiao Palace, at this man who stood without retreating at the South Heaven Gate. There was no longer any ash in his eyes, only light. That light was very weak, weak as a firefly. But that light did not extinguish, no matter how strong the wind, no matter how deep the darkness, no matter how heavy the despair.

That light was called patience. That light was called faith. That light was called resolve. That light was called Lu Mingyuan.

---

Mount Buzhou Ruins, night.

Lu Mingyuan stood alone on the mountaintop, gazing at the stars in the sky. There were already thousands of them, yet the sky remained black, black as ink, black as night, black as despair. But he was no longer afraid. Because he knew the stars would grow more numerous. One more each day, three hundred and sixty-five more each year. Thirty-six thousand five hundred more in a hundred years. Three million six hundred and fifty thousand more in ten thousand years. Mending and mending, they would become many. When they become many, there will be light. When there is light, the night will recede.

He stood there, stood atop Mount Buzhou, stood between darkness and light, standing. In his heart, that small tree was still growing. Seven feet, eight feet, nine feet. Very slowly, slow as a snail crawling. But it was growing, growing within the darkness, growing within the resentment, growing within the despair. As long as it grows, it will become great. Once it becomes great, it can mend more. Once it mends more, it can shine brighter. Once it shines brighter, the night can recede.

Above Mount Buzhou, the wind rose. That wind carried the scent of blood, the scent of sweat, the scent of tears. But within that wind, there was also something, the light emanating from those who stand. That light was very weak, weak as a firefly. But that light did not extinguish, no matter how strong the wind, no matter how deep the darkness, no matter how heavy the despair.