In an instant, purple light surged and flowed before his eyes, clouds and qi steamed upward, now swelling, now shrinking, now strong, now weak, now near, now far. The spectacle was grim and indescribable.
Cloud-qi rolled like a tide, sweeping across the heavens; golden flowers drifted down from the void in a soft shower; a faint fragrance wafted about, seeping into the lungs and viscera; purple haze churned and spread in every direction. Papiyas spat out demonic incantations, and circles of Vast Pressure suddenly erupted, rising through the pure qi of the nine skies and plunging down into the frigid abyss of the netherworld. Waves of heart-bewildering sounds from heavenly demons echoed again and again between heaven and earth.
"Since you claim to have seen through the ten thousand zhang illusions of the mortal world, do you dare step into the depths of these purple clouds now? To prove whether what your heart thinks and what your mouth speaks are truly one and the same?"
Papiyas's voice came not from a single place, but rang out all at once from the four poles, the eight wastes, the Nine Heavens and Ten Lands. The demonic sound burst like thunder, raising a three-foot qi wave from thin air and shaking the earth veins until they hummed, its lingering echoes winding on without end. All beasts fled in terror, the mountains and forests trembled with rustling shudders, birds flapped about in wild disorder, and panicked cries filled the ears.
"Amitabha."
Shakyamuni chanted his Buddhist name softly, his fingertips moving over his prayer beads. Clear radiance fell like rain, fine and silent. The cracks in heaven and earth quietly closed; the scattered immortal luan birds folded their wings and circled low, while the startled beasts lay upon the ground, panting, and returned to peace.