Martial Cultivator Chapter 617: Bodhisattva Lowers Its Gaze

As early summer approached, White Deer Prefecture entered its rainy season, known for its abundant rainfall. For the common people, such weather allowed them to steal some leisure amidst their busyness. Meanwhile, scholars seized the opportunity to venture out of the city in groups, indulging in countryside excursions.

Where in White Deer Prefecture did these scholars favor most? Apart from the structures preserved from previous dynasties, Deercry Monastery was undoubtedly the most welcome destination.

Deercry Monastery was one of the oldest sects in existence across the world. Only the Infatuation Daoist Temple could compare in terms of how long it existed, yet even then, it still fell short of Deercry Monastery’s history.

Situated among the mountains by a river, Deercry Monastery maintained a low profile. Most monks who joined the temple would never leave for the rest of their lives.

However, Deercry Monastery was exceptionally accommodating to the common people, never forbidding their entry. Deercry Monastery even established a front temple area where monks delivered daily lectures, explaining buddhist teachings to visiting devotees.

It was thanks to these devotees that Deercry Monastery, with its monks who did not engage in production, managed to sustain itself.

Amidst the drizzle, a group of scholars climbed the mountain path. Leading them was an elderly man with white hair and beard, followed by mostly young men. They walked leisurely, occasionally reciting verses from the works of predecessors, embodying a refined and elegant atmosphere.

At the foot of the mountain path, several well-dressed women glanced curiously at the group ahead.

Though Deercry Monastery did not impose any mandatory donation requirements on its visitors, most who came were either wealthy or of noble status.

In contrast, a middle-aged man dressed in black and carrying a peachwood sword on his back seemed rather unremarkable. Judging by his appearance, he looked to be in his early forties, though his black-and-white-streaked hair made it hard to be certain. What stood out even more was his unusual choice to carry a peachwood sword to Deercry Monastery, giving the impression he might be a daoist from some distant temple.

The world held countless cultivation schools, but ultimately, the three schools dominated. Among these, the distinctions between their sects were well-known to all. While Deercry Monastery and Daoism had no history of conflict, when had there ever been a daoist visiting such a sacred Buddhist site?

While the onlookers were surprised, the middle-aged man with the peachwood sword reached the entrance of the front temple. There were no monks to greet him, instead, the sound of a lecture on buddhist scriptures echoed faintly from somewhere nearby.

The visitors to the temple moved about quietly.

The middle-aged man stood beneath the eaves, gazing silently at the courtyard’s buddhist pagoda.

It was said that when the eminent monks of Deercry Monastery passed away in meditation, they would leave behind a relic[sarira]. Their relics would be enshrined in the temple by later generations. However, it was clearly impossible to be housed in this particular pagoda.

After a brief pause, the middle-aged man walked deeper into the courtyard. It did not take long before he reached the back gate.

Here, no visitors were present, there was only a middle-aged monk standing guard here.

Upon seeing arrival, the middle-aged monk raised his head and lamented, “What a fine sword, the sharpest in the world.”

The peachwood sword was blunt, it was naturally unworthy of being called sharp. Clearly, the makes sense monk was not referring to the weapon itself but to the man carrying it.

Simply standing there, the man was already the sharpest sword in the world.

“The Sword Sect’s Sect Master has arrived at our humble monastery. What brings you here?”

The middle-aged monk looked at the middle-aged man before him, having already recognized his identity.

This was actually not difficult. In recent days, the Sword Sect’s Sect Master had occasionally left traces of his movements in the world. People knew he was seeking enlightenment in a sword art that transcended the mortal realm. Although Deercry Monastery refrained from involving itself in worldly disputes, it did not mean the monks were unaware of major events happening in the world.

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master looked at the middle-aged monk, whose identity was unknown but whose cultivation had definitely already reached the Nepenthe Realm. He spoke calmly, “I’ve heard that Deercry Monastery houses an eminent monk with an extraordinary cultivation realm. I wish to meet him and hear the master’s teachings on buddhism.”

Deercry Monastery was the oldest sect in existence, and the old monk within it might well be the longest-living person in the world.

The middle-aged monk smiled and shook his head. “Sect Master is the sharpest sword in the world. Here, we merely meditate and study Zen. I’m afraid there is little we can offer to Sect Master.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master’s expression remained unchanged as he replied coolly, “I trouble you to pass along my request.”

The middle-aged monk was unmoved and just stood in place, looking at this man who was the pinnacle of Sword Dao, the number one figure in the world of swordsmanship. 𝙍�

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master raised his head to look at the middle-aged monk.

The middle-aged monk’s robes began to ripple without wind.

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master spoke softly, “Forgive my offense.”

As the words fell, countless sword intents surged forth from his gaze. Within a span of ten feet in front of him, an intricate web of sword qi rapidly accumulated and then suddenly erupted. The middle-aged monk clasped his hands together in a gesture of prayer and softly chanted. Behind him, a bodhisattva dharma idol began to take shape, slowly materializing. However, just as it started to appear, it shattered abruptly.

It vanished in an instant.

The dharma idol dissipated completely in the blink of an eye.

The middle-aged monk’s expression became ugly as he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood. His entire body collapsed powerlessly onto the ground. The prayer beads on his chest snapped, scattering countless beads like pearls that rolled in all directions.

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master took a single step forward, his figure dissolving into nothingness. When he reappeared, he was already beyond the rear gate, walking along the winding path of blue stone slabs that led toward Deercry Monastery’s true mountain pass gates.

The middle-aged monk sat cross-legged on the ground, his gaze falling upon a nearby blue stone. The surface bore crisscrossing sword marks. It was precisely the residual force of that single sword strike from the Sword Sect’s Sect Master.

Though the middle-aged monk had long reached the Nepenthe Realm and was one of the few powerhouses in the world, when faced with the number one person in Sword Dao, the gap was clearly too great.

There was an insurmountable chasm between them.

Life and death could be decided in the blink of an eye.

Such was the distinction between an ordinary Nepenthe Realm cultivator and one at the end of Nepenthe.

……

……

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master ascended the mountain at a slow pace. It was not that he lacked speed, but as he climbed, faint sounds of buddhist teachings being recited echoed from the surroundings.

He slowed his steps, wanting to listen a little longer to the sermon.

After taking just a few more steps, the Sword Sect’s Sect Master shook his head lightly and continued toward the end of the mountain path, where Deercry Monastery’s mountain pass gates awaited.

However, before the Sword Sect’s Sect Master could reach the gate, a figure appeared on the path ahead.

An emaciated old monk came into view.

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master stopped and stood in place.

“Sect Master has come to my monastery uninvited and even harmed one of our monks. This doesn’t seem appropriate.”

The old monk spoke softly, his voice faint, yet it sent ripples through the air, like a stone cast into a tranquil, mirror-like lake.

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master raised his head and asked, “May I ask who you are, Master?”

The old monk replied calmly, “This old monk is Pingdu.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master said with vicissitudes of emotion, “So it’s the Abbot Master.”

As the abbot of Deercry Monastery, the monk Pingdu’s status in the cultivation world was not far removed from that of the Infatuation Daoist Temple’s Temple Master. One presided over all daoists, while the other was regarded as the leader of all monks. However, in terms of worldly renown, the two could not have been more different.

“I wish to meet that old monk.”

The old monk’s dharma name was likely unknown to most in the world, but a select few were aware that such an old monk existed in Deercry Monastery.

“That senior has long withdrawn from worldly matters. If he doesn’t wish to meet someone, then no one can force a meeting.”

The old monk Pingdu looked at the Sword Sect’s Sect Master before him and said calmly, “The sword that Sect Master seeks to gain enlightenment on is the greatest instrument of slaughter in the world. Deercry Monastery desires only peace for all under heaven and does not wish to see this sword art come into being. Therefore, please go back, Sect Master.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master said calmly, “I have studied this sword art for many years, devoting my life’s work to it. The sword art is now nearing completion, I don’t want my previous efforts to be in vain. Today, I simply wish to meet the senior and listen to a few words of his teachings. I humbly ask Abbot not to stand in my way.”

The old monk Pingdu listened, his two white eyebrows fluttering slightly despite the absence of wind. He smiled faintly and asked, “Must Sect Master force people against their will?”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master nodded. “For the sake of this sword, all else can be forsaken.”

After a moment of silence, the old monk Pingdu said calmly, “Then allow this old monk to ask Sect Master: when the sword is perfected, against whom will it be unleashed?”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master replied, “There are few in this world worthy of this sword.”

The old monk Pingdu continued, “Does Sect Master have confidence that this sword could slay the Demon Emperor?”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master remained silent for a long time before shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

The old monk Pingdu nodded and said, “Then this old monk understands.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master raised his head to meet Pingdu’s gaze.

The old monk Pingdu clasped his hands together and said, “I heard that Sect Master is the sharpest sword in the world. I fear that there are few things in this world that could withstand the might of Sect Master’s sword. However, this old monk has cultivated bitterly for many years and gained some insights. This old monk wonders if Sect Master’s sword could cleave this ordinary mortal body of mine.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master smiled and replied, “Abbot Master’s Great Bodhisattva Realm is hardly an ordinary mortal body. However, even the so-called golden body may not necessarily block me if it truly tries to stand in my way.”

Pingdu was unfazed and glanced around. “It must be tested, of course. If your sword cannot yet be perfected, it would be good to let me see the power of this incomplete sword.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master said nothing more, merely looking at the withered old monk in front of him. Sword intent was continuously birthing and extinguishing in his eyes.

Old monk Pingdu’s gaze fell upon the Sword Sect’s Sect Master’s back. He suddenly lamented, “The Infatuation Daoist Temple even brought out the Dao Ancestor’s sword artifact, truly… very shameless. Does Sect Master really wish for the current generation’s Sword Sect to be held in someone else’s palm?”

“I only want to master that sword art. As for after the sword is complete, the sword will naturally belong only in my hand.”

The Sword Sect’s Sect Master spoke calmly, and then a gust of wind suddenly rose beside him.

Between heaven and earth, sword intent gathered.

The old monk Pingdu pressed his palms together and softly recited a buddhist chant, “Amitabha.”

As these words left his mouth, a resplendent Buddha image slowly formed behind him.

The Buddha image gradually took shape, and in the blink of an eye, it rose dozens of feet high, reaching half the height of the mountain.

Suddenly, several exclamations rang out on the mountain path.

Seeing this unusual scene, countless people were so stunned they could not speak.

A young man dressed in black happened to be climbing the mountain. Sensing something, he happened to look up and saw the brilliant Buddha image shining down on the mountains.

The young man paused and quickly took note of the enormous Buddha image, which at that moment had yet to open its eyes.