In the City of Departure’s temple, Grandpa Mark led a group of eminent monks, watching as Quinn, the Demon Ape, and Brightheart were drawn up into the Buddha‑Realm by Buddha‑light. Their own cultivation was too high to be easily summoned; only these three, whose power was ‘neither too high nor too low,’ could enter the Buddha‑Realm without difficulty.
“Mark, are you sure they won’t be in danger?” Old Monk Brightmirror asked.
“There will naturally be danger, but not too much. The Heavenly Court is surely monitoring the Buddha‑Realm, trying to control it, and will suppress our disciples from Great Thunderclap Temple, not letting them return with the scriptures.”
Grandpa Mark smiled, “That’s why I sent Cult Master Quinn with them. With Quinn there, the danger is much less.”
Old Monk Brightmirror pondered for a moment, unable to work out all the subtleties, but could sense the danger. He said, “May I ask Mark to explain?”
Grandpa Mark replied, “The Buddha‑Realm is still the Buddha‑Realm. They’ve gone to seek the scriptures; even if the Heavenly Court wants to target them, they won’t just use overwhelming force, or the Buddhas would intervene. With so many Buddhas present, certain formalities must be observed. As long as they don’t use overwhelming force, Cult Master Quinn can handle it. There’s a saying in boxing: ‘Open with one punch to avoid a hundred later.’ Quinn is the one who throws that first punch.”
Old Monk Brightmirror considered this, then smiled. “Then Brightheart is the one who makes peace.”
Grandpa Mark nodded. “Quinn throws the punches, Brightheart mediates. If the other side decides to ‘righteously’ condemn or execute them, then it’s Battle‑Void’s turn. When it comes to dharma debate, Battle‑Void can leave them speechless.”
Old Monk Brightmirror was deeply impressed and bowed respectfully. “Mark truly deserves his reputation for great wisdom.”
In the Buddha‑Realm, atop the sacred mountain of Everlight Temple, the giant ‘relic’ spun from the mountain gate all the way up to the summit. The young monk standing before the great hall was shocked and enraged. He whirled his hands, unleashing the Dragon‑Elephant‑Tiger Triple Brawling Art—dragon, elephant, and tiger forms manifested around him, exuding fierce and domineering power!
Whoosh—
The light from the ‘relic’ engulfed him, and instantly his robes fluttered away like butterflies—he was left stark naked except for his shoes.
A moment ago, the young monk had arrogantly ordered Quinn’s group to kneel their way up the mountain, threatening to beat them if they refused. Now, his swagger vanished. Sensing danger, he tried to bolt, but two beams of light shot from the ‘relic,’ and his knees buckled—he dropped to the ground, immobilized.
Ashamed, the young monk hurriedly flattened himself to the ground, not daring to show his face.
Above the Golden Summit, the silhouettes of great Buddhas appeared in the void, seated high and looking down, all frowning deeply.
One Buddha flicked his finger, and the young monk suddenly found his legs able to move again. He quickly covered himself and dashed away.
Suddenly, a resonant Buddha‑name rang out. A huge golden hand flew from Everlight Temple’s main hall, meeting Quinn’s ‘relic’—clearly a manifestation‑type divine art.
The golden hand clashed with Quinn’s ‘relic,’ producing a metallic clang that echoed through the mountains.
Beneath one of the great Buddhas sat a white‑robed monk, auspicious clouds billowing above his head. The golden hand had flown out from those clouds, blocking Quinn’s Sword Pill. “What relic? It’s just a sword pill!”
The white‑robed monk looked at the giant ‘relic’ and laughed. “Petty tricks—nothing but a joke! Watch how I capture your sword pill!”
From the auspicious clouds above his head, another lotus flower flew out, descending in layer upon layer to envelop Quinn’s giant Sword Pill.
Suddenly, the mountain shook violently. The white‑robed monk felt the tremors underfoot before he even heard the sound—Quinn had already charged up the mountain path, moving so fast that vapor streamed off him. Though running uphill, he came like a downhill tiger, breaking the air with one fist as thunder roared!
All of Everlight Temple seemed to fall into a sea of thunder—wherever Quinn’s fist struck, thunder cracked and lightning flashed!
The white‑robed monk raised his hand to block, but instantly his limbs and bones felt about to explode, his brain as if it might burst from his skull. He heard a deafening crash—and he was already slammed hard into the sanctuary wall!
The wall of the main hall caved in a foot or so. The white‑robed monk was embedded in the wall, limbs splayed, surrounded by a web of cracks. Lightning crackled wildly inside his body.
Quinn raised his hand, and the Sword Pill spun back to him. As for the white‑robed monk’s giant hand and lotus‑flower divine arts—they’d already been shattered by the Sword Pill.
The white‑robed monk forced his bloodshot eyes open, dazed and unable to see Quinn clearly.
“Brother, your Buddha‑dharma is lacking.”
Quinn’s voice pierced his ears: “Divine arts aren’t the purpose of cultivating Buddha‑dharma. The goal is to dispel afflictions, gain wisdom, transcend life and death—divine arts are just external skills. So whether I use a relic or a sword pill, what difference does it make?”
The white‑robed monk tried to speak, but coughed up blood, utterly spent.
From midair, a Buddha with a fat face and big ears boomed, “Twisted reasoning! You’re not a disciple of the Buddha‑gate—how dare you flaunt divine arts before our Buddhas?”
Quinn activated the Grand Buddha Mahayana Scripture, his bearing solemn and dignified, and saluted the Buddhas. “Buddha‑gate? This disciple is ignorant, but does Buddha need a gate to keep out the beings outside?”
The Buddha chuckled. “A slippery tongue.” He did not answer Quinn’s question directly.
In the air, the great Buddhas sat unmoving. Quinn looked around, unable to tell which one was Dharma King Morlun.
Another Buddha laughed. “Buddha certainly needs no gate—it’s mortals who do. But you stripped the monks of their robes on your way up, made my young disciple kneel, and now you’ve injured another. Are you here to seek dharma, or to stir up trouble? Buddha too has nameless anger—aren’t you afraid?”
“That’s Dharma King Morlun!”
Quinn’s gaze landed on Dharma King Morlun: tall and thin, with a kind face that made people feel as if bathed in spring breeze.
“May I ask, does Buddha require disciples to kneel?” Quinn asked.
Dharma King Morlun shook his head. “No need.”
Quinn asked, “Then why did you have us kneel as we climbed the mountain?”