"It's Amitabha again. You chant those four words at every turn. You're driving me crazy!" The bandit flew into a rage, grabbed his half-finished bowl of wine, and hurled it straight at the little boy's head.
The bowl struck its target, smashing into the little boy's head. At that moment, something strange happened. A flash of golden light gleamed from his head, protecting his skin. The bowl shattered, yet his head was unharmed.
The bandits were not at all surprised by this sight.
They had long known that this little boy was extraordinary.
Years ago, a legend had gradually spread through a nearby town, claiming that a "Holy Child" had appeared there. This Holy Child was protected by heavenly gods and could not be harmed by blades or spears.
After hearing the legend, the bandits had been three parts curious and seven parts malicious. Once they had made their preparations, they raided the town with great fanfare and seized the so-called Holy Child.
To verify whether the legend was true, the bandits had tested the Holy Child on the spot, subjecting him to all manner of cruelty—slashing him with blades and burning him with fire.
Yet no matter what methods they used, they could not harm the Holy Child in the slightest. Whenever he faced danger, golden light bloomed from his body.
This Holy Child was the little boy before them. His parents had named him Shan Jixiang.
Once the legend had been proven true, the bandits had initially been frightened. They had thought the Holy Child might truly possess heaven-shaking powers and would punish them.
But later, they discovered that the Holy Child was only immune to blades and weapons. He had no other abilities and posed no threat whatsoever.
Simply put, they could not hurt Shan Jixiang, but