Chapter Seven: The Sutra of Brahma Meditation

The great monk suddenly smiled and said, “Amitabha, you are mistaken. It was not I who saved you, but you who saved yourself.”

This remark left Zhang Xiao utterly confused. Seeing his bewilderment, the monk pointed to Zhang Xiao’s own hand. When Zhang Xiao looked down, he was shocked to find himself holding the ghost-headed broadsword.

Startled, he quickly threw the sword to the ground. Zhang Xiao considered himself someone reborn; he had seen the flying swords of Mount Shu, the gold, silver, and bronze corpses of Mount Mao, the multicolored cloud sails of Kunlun—though he possessed none of these, he was at least familiar with them. By now, he was well-versed in the strange and supernatural. Yet what had just happened was truly bizarre.

Unable to make sense of it, Zhang Xiao could only turn to the monk for guidance. “Master, I hope you will help me see through the confusion.”

The monk picked up the ghost-headed broadsword from the ground and handed it back to Zhang Xiao. “Take up the sword once more.”

Zhang Xiao followed his instruction, reasoning that with the monk present, there was no real danger. Once he held the sword again, he felt none of the chilling aura he had before—as if it were merely an ordinary blade.

He quickly examined the broadsword’s attributes, but found no change in its name or properties; it remained the Resentful Ghost-Headed Blade, just as before. Yet, something was different—yes, the sinister aura was gone.

“You must have noticed the change,” said the monk, gazing at him with eyes that seemed to see through to his very soul.

In the past, Zhang Xiao’s temperament would have been mortified, even angry, to be scrutinized so by a monk. But now, his heart was tranquil, calm as still water, unmoved by the monk’s gaze.

Seeing this, the monk pressed his hands together in a gesture of reverence. “Congratulations, benefactor. A heart as calm as water is a sign of great wisdom. Amitabha, well done!”

Zhang Xiao returned the gesture. “Thank you for your praise, Master. Please continue to guide me.”

The monk nodded. “Previously, you were entangled by the resentment within the sword, which gave rise to hallucinations. The blood serpent you saw was in fact your own self.”

“Myself?” Zhang Xiao exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes,” the monk continued. “It was you. The resentment in your heart fueled the illusion—the deeper the resentment, the more real it became. You were consumed by your own resentment. Had you not awakened in the final moment, letting go of your obsessions, even I would have been powerless to save you.”

With these words, Zhang Xiao’s mind was as clear as a polished mirror. He quickly understood the cause and effect. Bowing to the monk, he said, “Thank you for your guidance, Master. Please, may I know your Dharma name, so that if we should meet again, I may properly express my gratitude.”

The monk laughed heartily, rubbing his bald head. “Your sentiment is received, benefactor. As for my Dharma name, I am but a ladle from the Azure Waters—not worth mentioning. If fate allows, we shall meet again.”

With that, the monk walked toward the door. When Zhang Xiao finally recovered and rushed after him, the monk was nowhere to be seen. Yet the monk’s voice echoed in his ear: “I have sat here in meditation for long, yet gained nothing. Today, seeing you comprehend the Way of Water from the depths of delusion, I have benefited greatly. I have left a Buddhist scripture before the altar for you to study.”

Zhang Xiao knew the monk must be a master of some kind. Since he did not wish to leave his name, Zhang Xiao would not press. But he was delighted to have received a scripture.

He approached the altar and found a scripture at the foot of the Buddha statue. Rather than take it immediately, he respectfully bowed to the statue. To have gained such enlightenment today before the Buddha—perhaps he truly was blessed.

Call it superstition if you like, but after the Heavenly Change, anyone not superstitious would be mad. With the Way of Heaven manifest, who could say there were no gods or immortals? In any case, it never hurt to pay one’s respects.

He picked up the scripture. He could not tell what material it was made from—it felt like silk, yet looked like paper.

On the cover were four bold characters: Prajna Meditation Sutra. Zhang Xiao had never heard of this scripture. He knew that Shaolin possessed the Tendon-Altering Sutra and the Marrow-Cleansing Sutra, two supreme texts that Shaolin disciples cultivated after the Heavenly Change.

Shaolin’s outer disciples trained with the Tendon-Altering Sutra, inner disciples with the Marrow-Cleansing Sutra. But these, Zhang Xiao knew, were not the true secrets; Shaolin surely had stronger scriptures.

Regardless of how fine Shaolin’s scriptures were, Zhang Xiao felt that none could match the Prajna Meditation Sutra now in his hands.

He flipped through the pages, and the scripture dissolved into a stream of golden light, merging into his body. He opened his attribute panel—there appeared a new cultivation skill: Prajna Meditation Sutra.

Seeing that dusk was approaching, Zhang Xiao decided to rest in the ruined temple for the night, and to practice the Prajna Meditation Sutra to discover its marvels.

As night fell, tiger roars echoed through the Tiger Valley, yet deep within, all was strangely quiet. A faint golden glow seeped from the temple door.

This golden glow came from Zhang Xiao himself—a thin threadlike stream of gold radiated from his body.

The once cold and dilapidated temple became warm and tranquil. Though the Prajna Meditation Sutra was not an offensive skill, it was a treasure for cultivation.

Having comprehended the Way of Water and a mind as clear as a mirror, his practice felt effortless. One night’s cultivation equaled ten days for others.

At dawn, Zhang Xiao opened his eyes and checked his attributes—he had reached Level 15. Yes, cultivation increased experience and levels; even without slaying monsters, training could advance one’s level, though much more slowly.

Attributes were automatically assigned, depending on the nature of the practice and one’s compatibility. If suited, the attributes added would be many; if not, few.

That’s why many outer disciples preferred killing monsters for rapid leveling and gathering materials to exchange for contribution points at their sect, which could then be traded for various items.

This, of course, was the regular method. If one cultivated a supreme scripture, the speed would be as swift as a rocket, and the attributes gained would be astonishing.

Zhang Xiao had never seen such scriptures himself, though he knew from his previous life that every sect possessed a supreme treasure—their most guarded secret.

He had never heard of anyone cultivating such a scripture; perhaps it was a sect secret. But after a single night, he had risen from Level 11 to Level 15.

He had only cultivated the first layer of the Prajna Meditation Sutra. With a total of 108 layers, if he mastered them all, the results would be unimaginable.

A supreme scripture, absolutely. If this wasn’t one, what would be?

Compared to the Mount Shu outer sect’s Three-Part Green Leaf Sword Technique he had practiced in his previous life, it could not even serve as a comparison—the difference was like heaven and earth.

Thinking of this, Zhang Xiao recalled Bai Yunfei. Perhaps this Prajna Meditation Sutra was his true fated opportunity. Many aspects of Mount Shu’s techniques aligned with Buddhist ones; with such a supreme scripture, progress would be doubled.

But now it belonged to Zhang Xiao, and Bai Yunfei’s fate was no concern of his. Though Zhang Xiao no longer cared for the past, to unexpectedly acquire a supreme scripture was cause for pride—otherwise, he would be doing himself a disservice.

Checking his attributes, he saw that after cultivating the first layer, not only had his level risen to 15, but all three main attributes had reached Small Perfection—each at 100.

Level 15 was a threshold; below it, one could not join a sect. At Level 15, if any attribute reached 100, it was considered Small Perfection.

Yet this Prajna Meditation Sutra had elevated all three attributes to Small Perfection—a true windfall.

With his advancement, there was no reason to linger. Calculating the time, the village would soon be crowded with people.

Soon, many would arrive from the city; when the military took notice, leaving would be far more troublesome.

With that thought, Zhang Xiao set out at dawn, the weather neither hot nor cold, striding back to the village.

Upon arrival, he organized the children’s books he had brought. The ghost-headed broadsword was now of little use to him—carrying it into the city would draw too much attention, so he left it in the temple; whoever found it, it was no longer his concern.

He had originally hoped to profit from those children’s books, but having obtained the Prajna Meditation Sutra, his perspective had changed—they were of little use to him now.

Still, he couldn’t simply throw them away. Slinging the bundle over his back, he sought out Old Wang to bid farewell—after all, he had received much care from him and couldn’t leave without a word.

Old Wang was reluctant to see him go. Though their time together was brief, they had treated each other sincerely. Still, Old Wang did not make a fuss. After their mutual farewells, Zhang Xiao left the small village where his fortune had begun.

Along the way, he encountered many fleeing the city. After asking around, he learned that chaos was erupting—people were either mad or looting. Many didn’t know how to cook and would storm supermarkets for bread. Police couldn’t use their pistols or even batons; at such times, they could barely protect themselves, let alone maintain order.

Though the army lacked weapons, soldiers’ attributes were far higher than ordinary people and could barely guard the city’s exits. Now, city residents hoping to escape stood little chance.

Word was that the army was training en masse in the mountains, and many mountain areas had been sealed off. Upon hearing this, Zhang Xiao was not surprised; it matched exactly the events of his previous life.

Many invited Zhang Xiao to join them for training, but he politely declined. He knew that his most important task was to enter the city; there was no time to waste.

Soon, the Second Heavenly Change would occur, marking the true beginning of the new era.