Chapter 225 — Desperate Struggle (Part Two)

Hearing the words of Maitreya Buddha, Zhou Xuan's expression grew uglier and uglier. Liao Yanqiao had refined the supreme demonic body and achieved the form of a great shaman—half of it owing to the Chiyou bloodline within him, the other half to the Heavenly Dao Scroll that Zhou Tan had created. The two had fused into one complete whole. Never mind whether the fat monk's words were true; even if they were, if the Chiyou bloodline were truly washed away, Liao Yanqiao would not merely lose all his divine powers—he would likely not even keep his life, let alone attain the true fruit of enlightenment.

Even if the Buddhist Dharma were boundless and could preserve Liao Yanqiao's life, Zhou Li would not let anyone snatch his disciple away for no reason. All the more so since the other party, for all his courteous tone, was in truth applying force and threat. Even a little Yellow-Browed Boy beneath his seat dared to slay demon kings and take demon soldiers under his command—he truly did not hold Zhou Xuan in any regard.

Had it been anyone else, Zhou Xuan would long since have struck without another word, blasting the offender's form and spirit into nothing. But of this Maitreya Buddha's dharma power, Zhou Xuan had no confidence at all in his heart. Not to mention that he was no match for this Buddha—even if he barely escaped with his life, the foundation he had built through such hardship would inevitably be razed to the ground. Of the power of the Western Paradise of Ultimate Bliss, Zhou Que knew full well.

Zhou Que smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. This was truly hard to handle; only with strength could one have a voice, and without it all was empty talk. These Buddhist bigwigs were every one of them seasoned old hands—even if they spoke flowers into the sky and made golden lotuses spring from the earth, it was all in vain.

Besides, when it came to the art of talk, Zhou Ji was hardly a match for this Eastern Buddha who was forever expounding sutras, so that a bead of spittle from his mouth grew into a lotus.

Maitreya's smile was affable, utterly guileless and comical—yet in Zhou Que's eyes it was no less than an ancient primeval beast baring fangs and claws before him.

Seeing Zhou Xuan slow to speak, Maitreya summoned auspicious clouds and once more ascended high to seat himself upon the nine-grade lotus throne, looking down from his height upon Zhou Xuan and his disciples. The eight Yellow-Browed Boys likewise stood to either side of the lotus throne. By this display of might alone, he firmly pressed Zhou Jin beneath him.

"Young friend, this poor monk governs the Eastern Heaven of Ultimate Bliss. All living beings look up to it; hundreds of millions attend upon it. The Pool of Eight Virtues, the Forest of Seven Treasures, the Lapis Lazuli Realm—these are the Pure Land of Buddhism, of serene and effortless bliss. There too the Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons stand guard, and the Five Directions Revealers ever attend at either hand—boundless and immeasurable. Should you, young friend, take refuge in my Buddha, it would be merit without limit: escape the demonic hindrance, and you attain the true fruit of a Bodhisattva."

Seeing that Zhou Xun had spoken, Maitreya turned his words toward Liao Yanqiao behind him. His tone was full of enticement. As Maitreya spoke, five-colored lotuses welled up in the void, wave upon wave, their rare fragrance sweeping over and covering the whole sky for ten thousand li in every direction. The five-colored lotuses emitted rays of subtle light, within which image after image appeared: celestial maidens scattering flowers; the lapis lazuli realm of bliss; paired phoenixes of many hues in the heavens; green luan immortal birds beating their wings; golden dragons rolling in the Pool of Merit upon the ground; auspicious vapors and purple clouds drifting in silken threads; lofty mountains and numinous terraces, ancient pines coiling like dragons, upon them immortal cranes bearing lingzhi in their beaks; and within the Thunder Sound Precious Temple, sharira suspended on high, illumining the great thousand worlds, while golden-bodied arhats pressed their palms together and chanted in Sanskrit, their voices carrying outward and cleansing away all worldly thoughts.

The illusion surpassed reality itself. Zhou Xuan and his disciples, placed within it, felt as though they stood there in person—they could even see the arhats coming and going, nodding slightly to them.

"Heh heh, heh heh. I have received my master's teaching and entered his gate; what I cultivate is the Dharma of the Daoists, what I revere is the moral teaching of the Two Sects, what I worship is the Three Pure Ones—I am a disciple of the Daoist gate. Pleasant as the Western Paradise may be, after all the schools differ. Besides, in the Paradise one must bow to the Buddha and practice meditation, cultivate merit—far less free than my Daoist gate. I dare not obey." Liao Yanqiao laughed his heh-heh laugh. Anyone could tell the fat man's intentions were not good—to say he would take him away and take him away, was that not treating him like goods for trade?

Having cultivated into a great shaman, Liao Yanqiao had imperceptibly acquired Chiyou's own aura: seeing an immortal, slay the immortal; seeing a Buddha, slay the Buddha; his will iron-firm. Add to that Zhou Shuo secretly employing his dharma power to shield the minds of the disciples, and naturally none of them fell prey to the temptations of the Western Paradise.

Toward this fat man, Liao Yanqiao seemed to feel a deep dislike—and not only toward him, but toward other immortals and cultivators as well. This was the remnant consciousness of the great shaman Chiyou's bloodline. Yet the disciples of the Shuyang Sect all practiced the Heavenly Dao Scroll, which bore some resemblance to the aura of the shamanic gate, and so Liao Yanqiao felt rather a sense of kinship instead. Especially toward Zhou Xuan, who bore the aura of the Twelve Ancestral Shamans, which gave Liao Yanqiao the feeling of belonging to an elder.

"Oh? My Buddhist gate must bow to the Buddha and practice meditation, cultivate merit, and is less free than the Daoist gate—might I ask you, young friend, in what way is the Daoist gate free? Every day the Daoists toil: sitting in meditation and refining qi, harmonizing the primal emanations, adjusting yin and yang, kan and li, building the golden elixir and forging lead and mercury—not a moment's leisure—and they must still endure the four-nine heavenly tribulations. Whereas my Buddhist gate cultivates only merit, transferring karma and hindrances through rebirth, guarded by Ksitigarbha, free of calamity and tribulation; one need only be sincere of heart to attain the golden-body true fruit. You have keen eyes, young friend; surely you can see this for yourself. Why then speak such words against your own heart?"

Maitreya brought his specialty into play—lotuses blooming from his mouth, every point reasoned through. Liao Yanqiao, though glib enough himself, had no grounds to refute him, and could only say: "A teacher for a day is a teacher for life. To make me leave my master's gate—unless my master consents, no. Though I bear the great shaman's bloodline, my master has erased it with supreme Daoist dharma; now I set my heart wholly on cultivating the Way, and I have no intention of bringing harm to the Three Realms. Those words of the Buddha about ferrying demons across can only fool the foolish masses of believers—there is no need to seek such pretexts. If you mean to compel me by force, then I would sooner be shattered jade than a whole tile."

Liao Yanqiao simply resorted to shamelessness.

Maitreya was at once at a loss for words. In debate, Liao Yanqiao could not hold a candle to him—but the other had laid his cards plainly on the table, displaying the true nature of a rogue, and there was no reasoning with him.