Chapter 48: The First Ancestor of Buddhism

Xiao Yang pulled Zhou Yan behind him.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m here,” he whispered reassuringly.

Such a gruesome sight was clearly too much for Zhou Yan to bear; she retched repeatedly.

“It’s your turn, boy,” Zhao Wude rasped, his gaze settling on Xiao Yang.

Xiao Yang merely glanced at him indifferently, then replied coldly, “Old man, this is your last chance—pay up, now! If you don’t, don’t blame me for forgetting to respect my elders.”

A terrifying murderous intent erupted in Zhao Wude’s eyes—if looks could kill, Xiao Yang would have died a hundred times over.

“Fine, I’d like to see what you can do!” he spat.

Zhou Yan clung to Xiao Yang in fear, her body trembling. She was clearly terrified. Though Zhou Yan had always been brash, no one in the sect had ever dared to touch her. Such pure killing intent—she was encountering it for the first time.

“Old man, you’ve frightened my junior sister. You’ll have to pay extra for that,” Xiao Yang said irritably, his eyes narrowing. Look at how scared his dear Yan’er was—he’d have to extort a hefty sum for this. So he thought.

“Hmph!” Zhao Wude snorted, clearly unwilling to waste more words. He wanted to break Xiao Yang’s limbs and make him kneel at his grandson’s bedside until Zhao Youde could rise and walk again.

“Well done!” Without hesitation, Xiao Yang activated the Martial Marquis Experience Card in his hand. A wild surge of power flooded his body.

In Xiao Yang’s eyes, the scene before him shifted—countless martial icons appeared: gods and buddhas in the heavens, the lords of the underworld, and all manner of legendary images from novels—dragons pulling coffins, severing the ages, and more.

“So user-friendly! You can actually choose directly,” he marveled, both dazzled and shaken. But he forced himself to remain calm and clear-minded—the right martial icon could turn the tide.

His experience card only elevated him to the first rank of Martial Marquis, whereas Zhao Wude was a third rank expert. The martial icon he chose would have to possess the power to overturn heaven and earth.

“You’re a Martial Marquis?” The sudden shift in aura made Zhao Wude falter for an instant, but he quickly recovered.

“Heh, even if you’re a Martial Marquis, you’re only at the lowest level. I’ve long since reached the third rank,” he sneered. As he spoke, the martial icon behind him grew clearer—Zhao Wude was getting serious.

“Last warning, old man—pay up and I’ll act as if nothing happened,” Xiao Yang said, his gaze sweeping over the icons until one caught his eye—a martial icon that absolutely suppressed asuras.

“Enough!” Zhao Wude’s patience snapped. He struck without another word.

Almost simultaneously, Xiao Yang’s eyes narrowed, a faint smile curling at his lips.

He uttered two words, “The Buddha!”

As those words rang out, Xiao Yang was instantly transformed into a figure of pure gold. The dazzling golden light was blinding to behold, yet upon the skin, it felt incomparably soothing.

In that instant, half the city of Beimo was bathed in golden radiance.

As all were struck dumb with awe, a blind old man suddenly felt his eyes cool, and through the haze, he caught a glimpse of the world outside. Before long, his sight was fully restored. Tears streamed down his face.

“I can see again...” he murmured, staring in disbelief at his own hands. Looking toward the Buddha’s light at the city’s heart, he knelt and bowed in thanks.

“Thank you, thank you, Living Buddha!” he cried, kowtowing repeatedly.

But an invisible force gently lifted him. In his ears sounded a voice: “Amitabha.”

The old man’s fervor grew only stronger. Soon, half of Beimo City was swept up in feverish devotion. Many who suffered hidden injuries found themselves cured after bathing in the golden light. A one-armed youth, praying sincerely beneath the Buddha’s radiance, watched in awe as his severed arm slowly began to regrow.

“What’s happening? Someone tell me!” roared Jin Buhuan, the city lord of Beimo, beside himself with rage. The whole city was in turmoil, yet he, the lord, knew nothing.

Name: Icon of the Buddha
Race: Human
Trait: Buddha—Supreme Patriarch of all Buddhist and Daoist paths, suppresses all evil and darkness
Description: Forefather of all Buddhas
Potential: Unknown

Xiao Yang glanced at the panel without much interest. However fine the attributes, nothing mattered more than strength in battle.

The golden radiance gradually faded, revealing Xiao Yang’s form once more. Now, a vague shadow hovered behind him—a figure indistinct to the eye, save for a gleaming bald head that caught one’s attention.

The Buddha’s icon stood with palms pressed together and head slightly bowed, radiating a sense of gentle warmth, as if one were basking in a spring breeze.

“What martial icon is that?” Zhao Wude asked warily, his eyes flickering with dread. He had witnessed everything—the healing Buddha’s light emanated from this icon.

“Buddha,” Xiao Yang replied simply, saying no more. He did not know whether a Buddha truly existed in this world, but to avoid unnecessary trouble, he kept the truth to himself.

“Hmph! Nonsense. Die!” Xiao Yang’s indifferent bearing finally provoked Zhao Wude’s wrath. He launched his attack.

In the next moment, a pair of blood-red hands lunged toward Xiao Yang.

“Senior brother!” Zhou Yan stepped forward, shielding Xiao Yang, even as the bloody hands descended. This strike—if not fatal, would at least cost her half her life.

“Die!” By now, Zhao Wude’s mind was no longer his own, overtaken by a lust for slaughter—his thoughts reduced to a single word: kill.

“Amitabha.” Xiao Yang calmly pressed his palms together, intoning a Buddha’s name.

“Benefactor, your murderous intent is too heavy,” he said.

Zhou Yan stared blankly at her senior brother, confusion written all over her face. What was happening to him?

But Xiao Yang did not answer. Watching the bloody hands approach, he slowly extended a single finger.

“Scatter.”

With that simple word, the blood-red hands instantly shattered with a boom. Zhao Wude suffered a violent backlash, spitting blood, his senses briefly restored. He stared at Xiao Yang in disbelief.

“You, you, you...”

“Benefactor, your sins are too deep. Why not seek refuge in the monastery?” Xiao Yang said coolly, unmoved.

At these words, Zhao Wude’s body trembled uncontrollably.

“No, no, no! I admit defeat—I’ll leave at once!” Even as he spoke, he turned to go.

“Wait, benefactor,” Xiao Yang called after him.

But Zhao Wude now felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom; not for a second did he wish to linger. He bolted for the door.

“It seems you want me to use force,” Xiao Yang mused.

“Young man, don’t push me too far!” Zhao Wude, driven to desperation, roared in defiance.

But Xiao Yang merely twitched a finger.

Rays of golden light gathered, and in the next instant, dozens of great golden hands appeared.

Zhao Wude, turning, saw this scene—and a chill swept down his spine, nearly causing him to faint. Because he cultivated the path of slaughter, his senses were especially keen; he could feel that if any of those golden hands struck him, he would be gravely wounded, if not worse.