Jinchi stood at the edge of the ruins.
Morning light slanted in from the east, falling across him.
The corners of his mouth slowly curled up, then rose uncontrollably, revealing a smile of near-perfect exhilaration.
Everything felt so real, as though he had crawled out of an old shell that had lived for two hundred years and was touching this world for the first time with a young body.
He drew a deep breath. The cold morning air flooded his lungs, filling his chest. His whole body expanded slightly with his breathing, warm and vividly clear.
"Ha ha ha ha ha..."
His laughter surged from his throat, low at first, then growing louder and louder.
It echoed through the ruins, startling several birds perched on broken walls. They flapped away into the distance.
He laughed until he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, his shoulders shaking.
He laughed so hard that he coughed twice. Straightening up, he wiped at the corners of his eyes, but the smile on his face still would not fade.
It was his. In the end, it was his.
He had waited two hundred years, cultivated for two hundred years, worshipped for two hundred years. He deserved all of this.
That Chen Xuanzang from the Great Tang in the Eastern Land, that monk who had appeared out of nowhere halfway through—what right did he have to steal Jinchi's chance? What right did he have to take his place?
He was the one who should journey west for the scriptures, become a Buddha, and gain eternal life.
Now, everything had returned to where it belonged.
The young body, the identity of the scripture pilgrim, the Buddha Patriarch's favor—they had all returned, securely returning to the place where they belonged.
He adjusted his breathing and put