Requiem of the Manjushahua

With a final, anguished cry, the black mist surrounding the massive palm weakened. A single sword strike shattered the imprint, and the figure cloaked in darkness immediately fled, vanishing into the distance.

"You have completed your task. Return to the sect and report," came Jian Wu Zhēnjūn's voice, calm and powerful, echoing directly into their minds. He had already taken off in pursuit of the fleeing enemy.

The disciples of Tianjian Sect struggled to their feet, still a bit disheveled. As they looked in the direction Jian Wu Zhēnjūn had vanished, their faces were covered in disbelief. They could all hear the faint excitement in his voice.

"Amitabha. So you are disciples of Tianjian Sect. No wonder you have such courage," said Luo Kong Zhēnrén, who had already retrieved his prayer beads. He gave them a respectful nod.

"You flatter us, Luo Kong Zhēnrén," Jian Dan replied, now a newly ascended Jīndān Zhēnrén. She stepped forward and returned the greeting.

"Well then, since the target has escaped, I'll be off."

Yan Su Zhēnrén spoke with a lazy drawl once again. With a wave of his hand, a pitch-black falcon dove down from the clouds. With a sidelong glide, Yan Su landed neatly on its back. The bird let out a piercing cry and soared back into the skies with him.

"Yan Zhēnrén is always in such a hurry," Luo Kong explained with a gentle smile.

"We are grateful for Luo Kong Zhēnrén's assistance today," the group said in unison, cupping their fists in respect.

"No need for thanks. It was only because Tianjian Sect's disciples had the bravery and wisdom to tear open the formation that we were able to intervene at all."

Jian Dan stepped forward. "Luo Kong Zhēnrén, I am Shan Yunzu, an outer sect disciple of Tianjian Sect. These are my fellow disciples." She took a moment to introduce them one by one.

"Luo Kong Zhēnrén, this village, Luoxia, is my birthplace. Though I have no family left here, I hope the souls of those who once lived alongside me may find peace and enter the cycle of rebirth. May I ask for your aid in performing the rite?"

"Amitabha. This is a duty I must not refuse. You may rest assured, Shan Zhēnrén," Luo Kong replied solemnly.

Jian Dan stood before the now-fully broken formation, her gaze distant and layered with emotion. She had inherited Shan Yunzu's name and karmic ties. This mission was hers to complete.

"Do any of you carry instruments?" she asked.

He Jintang, Kong Yu, and Cao Chenfeng all shook their heads.

Jian Dan stepped to the village entrance and looked out at the still, lifeless land. Her heart felt heavy. She formed a hand seal, and from her palms bloomed a single red flame, shaped like a Manjushahua flower. With a wave, the flame floated outward, multiplying—two, three, four, countless blooms—spreading toward the scattered white bones throughout the village.

She walked into the center of the village, heading for the location she remembered from the illusion earlier. There had been an old pagoda tree, once the heart of the village where elders gathered, children played, and neighbors met.

With each step she took, the Manjushahua flames rippled outward from her, gently touching the remains scattered on the ground and turning bones to ash with peaceful release.

Among the ruined walls, Jian Dan found a broken seven-string zither, though several strings were snapped. It was likely the only instrument left in the village.

She restrung the zither as best she could, then sat cross-legged at the base of the dried and broken pagoda tree. Resting the instrument across her lap, her left hand pressed the strings while her right hand began to pluck them. A series of desolate notes rang out.

At first, the music was swift and piercing, but soon it softened into graceful, meandering tones. It shifted again, carrying sorrow, as if whispering grief, and finally settled like water spilling into the ocean, sending gentle ripples outward—fading, spreading, drifting.

The melody, infused with spiritual power, echoed through the village. The Manjushahua flames glowed like scattered petals across the land. Occasionally, wisps of black smoke drifted from underground, only to be consumed the instant the flames touched them.

Luo Kong Zhēnrén, having heard the music begin, walked silently to Jian Dan's side and sat in meditation. He released the soul remnants contained within his prayer beads.

The moment the dark souls emerged, they roared in anger. But as the music swelled, their rage was purified. The black mist peeled away, revealing the faces of the villagers once more.

Luo Kong began turning his 108 prayer beads and closed his eyes in solemn focus. He recited the Rebirth Mantra:

"Namo Amituofo, dā tā gā duō yè, dā dì yè tā, ā mí lì dū pó pí..."

The Sanskrit chant flowed with the music, resonating far and wide.

At first, the souls drifted aimlessly through Luoxia Village, as if searching for something. They wailed, confused, lost. But slowly, their rage gave way to sorrow, their unwillingness turned to quiet acceptance. Their forms grew more transparent.

"Amitabha. Go forth, all of you, and enter the cycle of rebirth," Luokong murmured.

The Manjushahua flames bloomed in radiant splendor, painting the village in crimson light. At the far end of the flame-filled field, a dark gate slowly opened in the void. One black-robed and one white-robed figure stood silently on either side.

The villagers' souls began drifting toward the gate, drawn as if called by an unseen force.

When the last soul passed through, the gate closed. The two figures turned and offered distant bows to Jian Dan and Luo Kong before vanishing from sight.

The zither on Jian Dan's knees crumbled into dust. The Manjushahua flames disappeared in a blink. Luo Kong turned pale, and both of them slumped slightly—completely drained, their meridians aching faintly.

At that moment, golden light of merit descended from the sky, enveloping the two of them. As they entered deep meditation, the light quietly seeped into their bodies, restoring their spiritual energy and divine sense.

Jian Dan's cultivation directly advanced to the mid-stage of the Golden Core realm. Her core expanded again, now laced with golden motes in addition to the Ninth Grade Core marks.

Luo Kong Zhēnrén also broke through to mid-stage Golden Core. Bathed in merit light, he now exuded a solemn and radiant aura, even more like a true monk of the Buddhist path.

The remaining three stood silently nearby, offering quiet protection as the two meditated. Half an hour later, Jian Dan and Luo Kong opened their eyes at the same time and exchanged a smile.