Chapter 108: Compassion (1/2)

From the golden-glowing wall behind me, a small, slender old monk slowly emerged. His hands were joined in prayer, his face kind and serene, with long white eyebrows that gave him the aura of a martial arts novel's holy monk.

"Is that a Dharma image?" I whispered in surprise.

For any cultivator, explained scientifically, when one reaches a certain realm, their spirit enters higher-dimensional space, sometimes leaving behind a sort of consciousness imprint. There are many true events like this — dreams from departed loved ones, mysterious phone calls — all caused by intersections between different dimensions.

But this monk before me? Using my spiritual insight, I could see he had no soul or spirit; he resembled more a projected image, like a programmed hologram designed to perform a set task. When I tried to touch the corpse, it must have triggered a mechanism, and the Dharma image appeared to stop me. An ordinary person would have been terrified and fallen to their knees, much less touch a corpse.

Out of respect, I bowed. The white-browed monk smiled gently and said, "The flesh is but an outer shell. You may take it if you wish, but my bones are here to seal the head of the Yellow Dragon. If my body is disturbed, the Yellow Dragon will once again bring disaster to the people."

My heart tightened — could the legend be true? As a Feng Shui master, I understand the power of talismans. The Guanyin stone slab above is one kind; the Black Tortoise and this old monk are also talismans. I never expected this monk to be the figure from legend.

The monk looked at me a moment, then continued: "Those who reach here only come for my relics. But if you remove the relics, it will disturb my body, and the evil dragon will wreak havoc once more. I have a solution: you must sever my head with a blade, then use my skull to suppress the Yellow Dragon. Seeing my head still intact, the dragon will not dare to cause trouble. You may then take my body and refine the relics."

I was stunned. This was true compassion beyond flesh and appearance, a monk who devoted himself to saving others even after death. There is a saying, "A man fights for his breath; the Buddha receives a stick of incense." Those whose bodies became Buddhas are covered in gold and revered by the people, and their relics are treasures of the Buddhist faith.

Many heroes fear being beheaded after death; tombs are full of traps and mechanisms to prevent that. Yet this monk asks me to sever his head, take his body — a profound act of faith and duty.

The white-browed monk looked kindly at me, joined his hands, and bowed slightly: "Amitabha, may you accumulate virtue and kindness, and never release this evil dragon. I, the humble monk, thank you on behalf of all the people for your compassion."

When the monk disappeared into the rock wall, my heart could not settle for a long time. This was true great compassion — he guarded against the evil dragon in life and death, never abandoning his post, embodying a sense of responsibility that commands respect. Even if he had not attained Buddhahood, in the hearts of the people, he already was Buddha.

In the corner of the chamber lay a butcher's knife. Observing more closely, I saw a round space in the center resembling a turtle shell.

The Black Tortoise is here, but how was the Frostblight formed? Perhaps an evil ghost tried to steal the relics and got trapped? This thought barely formed before my attention was caught by decayed skeletons in the corner.

High monks' relics carry endless legends. The bones here, clad in tattered monk's robes, likely belong to a disciple or close follower. The truth, however, remains unknown.

Time is pressing. Holding the butcher's knife, I stood before the monk, moved by his compassion. I clenched my fist so hard my nails broke my palm, a painful yet sobering reminder.

With the knife raised, I prepared to sever the head. If he were just an ordinary corpse, I might have less guilt. But now hesitation crept in.

Taking a deep breath, I knelt — not bowing to Buddha or Dao, but to this man who guarded the evil dragon for a millennium, devoted to the safety of the people.

"Great Master, your compassion humbles me. But today, to save lives, I have no choice. I vow to restore your golden body so that the people may honor you."

With that, I slowly bowed my head and gently struck down, severing the monk's head with a single clean cut.