"I carved this Buddha statue myself."
Howard Zhang looked at Lord Shenyan in disbelief, and Rachel Lan also seemed to notice the immense murderous intent hidden within the Buddha statue in Howard's hands.
Howard Zhang looked apologetic and very seriously presented the Buddha statue to Lord Shenyan with both hands.
After Lord Shenyan took the Buddha statue, his expression darkened. He stared quietly at the statue, as if lost in thought.
"Amitabha, Lord Shenyan still can't let go of everything, can he!"
Lord Shenyan silently nodded, and then all of us turned to Master Frank Yuan, hoping to learn something from him.
"Speaking of which, this poor monk nearly died at Lord Shenyan's hands. Although he meant no harm at the time, the murderous intent was real. Sometimes unintended consequences take root. You should let go of everything from your past lives."
Lord Shenyan gave a bitter smile.
"Although Benefactor Yin died because of you, he never seemed to resent you. In fact, he has already forgiven you for what you did, but you still refuse to forgive yourself."
Lord Shenyan's brows furrowed. Just then, a chorus of birdsong rang out. We looked over and saw the Azure Luan slowly flying toward us. It landed beside Lord Shenyan, as if sensing his sadness, stretched its neck, and gently rested its head on his knee.
"In this life, your karma of killing is too heavy. I told you the first time we met, if you sincerely devote yourself to Buddhism, one day your sins will be absolved."
Lord Shenyan nodded, then shook his head. He stood up and mounted the back of the Azure Luan. With a rush of wind, the Azure Luan soared into the sky, carrying Lord Shenyan toward the waterfall that flowed against the current.
"When I first met Lord Shenyan, I was only twenty. Because of the chaos in the world and the suffering of the people, my master sent us down the mountain to do good deeds."
Master Frank Yuan glanced at the Buddha statue, sighed helplessly, and began to speak.
Because of mankind’s lust for power, the era became turbulent, and it was always the lowest people who suffered. War and disaster were endless.
Three years had passed since the young Frank Yuan left the mountain, and all he saw was devastation. The thing he'd done most was bury nameless bones—some he couldn't even record the names of, only silently perform rites for their souls.
He had built thousands of nameless graves with his bare hands. Everything in this world left Frank Yuan powerless, and each day he walked in silence among the corpses.
One day, Frank Yuan arrived at a bustling town. Compared to the war-torn regions, it was much more stable, but the poor still suffered exploitation from the upper class. After finally entering the city, the only thing of value Frank Yuan had—his alms bowl—was confiscated as tax.
At that time, Buddhism was just emerging in the world, and few people knew of it. Some even thought monks were strange. Throughout his journey, Frank Yuan endured much ridicule, but he ignored it, focusing only on doing good.
He passed many shops, begging for alms everywhere, but was treated as a beggar and driven out. Still, he did not lose heart and kept begging until he came to a large shop. There, no one chased him away, but the situation inside looked grim.
A sharp-eyed, long-haired man sat with a strange red sword strapped to his back, surrounded by people who clearly bore him ill intent.
"Lord Shenyan, hand over Master Mo Di’s Mozi Compendium."
Someone finally lost patience, stood up, and glared viciously at the man called Lord Shenyan. Yet he showed no sign of panic. Frank Yuan didn’t know why, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot. The dozens of people inside the shop stared at Lord Shenyan in terror, not daring to breathe.
The man who had just stood up and shouted seemed petrified. With a bang, Lord Shenyan set down his wine jug.
"I don’t have it, nor have I ever possessed it. But if you want to try your luck, then die here."
Like a wild beast, Lord Shenyan sitting on the couch didn’t regard these people at all, at least not in Frank Yuan’s eyes.
Violence erupted. Inside the shop, Frank Yuan stood motionless at the door, his mind blank. He couldn’t understand how people could kill so easily, as if slaughtering chickens or ducks.
Soon the shop fell silent. With a swift motion, a red sword thrust toward Frank Yuan—Lord Shenyan’s eyes wild with bloodlust, unable to distinguish friend from foe. Yet in that instant, Lord Shenyan stopped himself.
"Sorry, this has nothing to do with you."
The shop was thick with the stench of blood. Crowds gathered at the door. Frank Yuan trembled as he wiped fresh blood from his face, uncertain what kind of being stood before him. City guards arrived, saw the carnage, but their leader recognized Lord Shenyan and left without a word, ordering the shopkeeper to dispose of the bodies.
“Why didn’t you spare even one?”
Unable to contain his doubts any longer, Frank Yuan finally spoke. Lord Shenyan smiled, his sharp eyes locking onto Frank Yuan.
“If they aren’t killed, there will only be more people like that woman’s husband dying in the future—used without limit, then tossed aside like rags. The truly vicious deserve death.”
It was a simple, direct answer. At first, Frank Yuan wanted to explain some Buddhist teachings, but he gave up, knowing this beast-like man would never listen.
After that, for reasons he couldn’t explain, Frank Yuan began to follow Lord Shenyan from place to place.
He never killed an innocent, nor spared a single evildoer. That was Lord Shenyan in Frank Yuan’s eyes.
But perhaps all things must end. Lord Shenyan killed a reckless young master hated by the locals—Yin Choujian.
For the first time, Lord Shenyan killed someone who didn’t deserve to die. Frank Yuan was baffled by Yin Choujian—he couldn’t tell if he was good or evil. His ways seemed wicked, but the outcomes were often good.
Lord Shenyan, as if something vital inside him had collapsed, became obsessed with finding evildoers, immersing himself in killing. Frank Yuan watched silently, unsure how long this would last, or when Lord Shenyan would finally fall.
“I’m tired.”
One day, Lord Shenyan could walk no further. He couldn’t even hold his sword, looking like a dying stray dog. Frank Yuan began to care for him.
He started to find small opportunities to explain Buddhist teachings to Lord Shenyan, gradually easing the pain in his heart.
It was then that Lord Shenyan began carving Buddha statues. The first he carved was filled with murderous intent. He grew fond of carving, but no matter what he made, every statue was fierce and brimming with violence—just like his heart.
Good and evil always reap their due. Though Lord Shenyan acted for justice, taking lives is still evil. In the end, he died tragically on this path of justice. I still remember, before he died, he asked me if there was a way home after death. I asked if he’d repeat this endless journey if given another chance. He nodded, and died before my eyes.
“How true...”
Even my cousin put away his usual playful attitude, his expression growing serious.
I thought that after all these years, Lord Shenyan might have changed, but now it seems he’s exactly the same as before—if anything, his obsession runs even deeper. There’s no end in sight. Amitabha.