Chapter 225 — Desperate Struggle (Part Two)

Liao Yanqiao was exceedingly tense. This wager might well concern his life and fortune, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. "Damned bald monk! You are the stronger today, but one day I'll twist your head off and use it for a stool!" A violent, murderous aura surged in Liao Yanqiao's heart.

Behind him, Wen Yanlan, Lan Shen and the others were also beside themselves with tension, but there was no help for it—all of them charging in together would only give the other side an excuse. To be bullied at one's own door and still have to negotiate terms so very carefully—there was no describing the smoldering fury in their hearts.

Maitreya Buddha's palm had already transformed in the sky to a hundred li across, and that grain of sand swelled with it, becoming a small mountain. Zhou Xuan leaped up onto it, and before Maitreya Buddha could even speak, he gathered his body and shot away, transforming into a beam of golden light.

"Heh heh, the Emperor Lord seems a trifle impatient!"

Maitreya Buddha laughed from upon the lotus throne. His palm expanded with all speed; in the blink of an eye Zhou Jin had flown three thousand li, and still he was at the edge of the palm. It seemed that wherever he flew, the palm expanded to match. Such divine power as Maitreya's Zhou Xuan had never seen—even Niu Yan, he supposed, would be swatted dead by Maitreya like a fly.

In three breaths Zhou Xuan flew tens of thousands of li, and still could not break free of the palm. Behind him the Sanskrit chanting rose loud; that grain of sand began to change, transforming into a world—with groves of bodhi trees, with precious temples and golden halls, with countless arhats and monks within reciting sutras, and with a few dragon cries, the Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons circling and guarding above the heads of the sutra-chanting arhats, much like the Spirit Mountain Maitreya had conjured before.

A Buddha-land within a single grain of sand! At last Maitreya had made his true move. Unlike before, this Buddha-land was no illusion but substance: the arhats and the Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons within were all of his own retinue, summoned by divine power and built into a Buddha-land within the sand.

This world grew larger and larger, a sheet of auspicious light sweeping up behind Zhou Xuan. If Zhou Xuan paused even slightly, he would be drawn into the Buddha-land within the sand—and to escape from it then would be sheer delusion; the wager would be lost.

"At this speed, there's no escaping this laughing monk's palm no matter what!" Zhou Xuan fled with every ounce of dharma power in his body, and still it was no use—always at the palm's edge, able to see the world outside, yet unable to break free. Suddenly he heard below the crashing of the sea tide.

"So I've reached the sea. It seems I've used all my strength—if I don't stake my life, there's no hope!" Zhou Xuan gritted his teeth. The Buddha-land behind drew nearer and nearer; the sutra chanting, the long cries of the Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons, seemed right at his ear, unsettling his mind. Fortunately Zhou Xuan's will was firm and not the least shaken—otherwise, did he slow but an instant, he would be drawn into the Buddha-land.

"Let the Emperor Lord bring forth whatever means he has—this poor monk will receive them. If the Emperor Lord has no means left, then count it a loss." Maitreya Buddha's voice came drifting over, seeming still to come from where he had been.

Liao Yanqiao and the others were still in the air before the mountain. They saw Maitreya Buddha seated upright on the lotus throne, his great hand thrust into the void—at first they could still see it emerge in the distance, but after a few breaths not a speck of it could be seen. Now, hearing Maitreya speak thus, they all grew anxious for Zhou Xuan.

The transformation of Heaven's Dao! Zhou Xuan lunged violently forward, his body swelling to several hundred zhang in height, transforming into the likeness of an ancestral shaman—human-faced and bird-bodied, four fleshy wings at his back, six claws at breast, belly and both legs, exactly like the demon god that Yunxia had summoned at the eye of the North Sea to seize the Holy Wisdom Wolf.

With a thunderous crash, black blood flowed from all seven orifices of Zhou Yan's face, and his body swelled tenfold again, growing to several thousand zhang—truly a demon god cleaving heaven and earth apart.

A black qi burst from his body and actually ignited, forming black flames.

Zhou Xuan forcibly poured the endless force of the Underworld King Banner into his body to sustain this ancestral shaman transformation and motion.

The transformation was complete in an instant. With one beat of the four fleshy wings, Zhou Yan's speed leapt a hundredfold, as though the distance of space itself were cut short; in a single stride he vanished, and was already two or three hundred thousand li away.

Maitreya Buddha still wore his smile, yet could no longer sit still. The lotus throne flashed, and his form vanished with it—even the Yellow-Browed Boys at his side vanished, no one knew whither.

The Twelve Ancestral Shamans of the primeval flood were of course overwhelmingly mighty, but each ancestral shaman had besides a special faculty of its own. The ancestral shaman Zhou Xuan had transformed into excelled above all in speed. Sustained by the Underworld King Banner, his body on the verge of bursting apart, Zhou Xuan fled wildly forward, burning off dharma power as he went, until his speed reached an inconceivable pitch. Maitreya Buddha could no longer sit still; he threw his full dharma power into expanding his palm, striving to trap Zhou Xuan.

"Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons!"

At Maitreya's dharma decree, several hundred great birds flew out from the Buddha-land and swooped forward; one of them, a great bird with a fleshy tumor on its head, swallowed all the rest in a single gulp, beat its two wings, and gave chase to Zhou Xuan fleeing ahead. Over these few breaths, no one knew how many hundreds of millions of li had been covered. Even Maitreya Buddha's mighty dharma power could not command a whole realm; straining his full power, he could just barely keep Zhou Xuan within his hand, but could only maintain the present state—so he could only send Garuda of the Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons in pursuit, to slow Zhou Xuan a little, and then close his palm and shut Zhou Xuan in.

These Eight Classes of Heaven Dragons were Maitreya's own true retinue, not to be mentioned in the same breath as those Zhou Xuan had summoned earlier.

Suddenly there came a ripping sound from midair, a flash of golden light—and that Garuda pursuing Zhou Yan was seized away out of empty space. Maitreya Buddha started, and in that instant of distraction, Zhou Jin made a leap and vanished, no one knew where.

The nine-grade lotus throne reappeared. Maitreya Buddha withdrew his palm—empty and bare. Where now was any shadow of Zhou Yan?

Immortal music sounded in waves; the strains of a zither rose. An emperor's seven-fragrance chariot came from the heavens, surrounded by dozens of immortal maidens playing the zither and burning incense, bearing all manner of instruments in their hands. Beside the seven-fragrance chariot stood three goddesses, each leaning on a sword: one held a sword, one held the Golden Flood-Dragon Shears, one bore the Primordial Golden Dipper.