After the Slaps Weren't Enough, I Pulled Out a Gun!

Yaoshi Buddha felt his Buddha heart tremble violently. It was the most primal instinctive reaction to the fear of the unknown. The older one grew, the more timid one became—this saying applied just as well to an old Buddha who had lived for who knew how many tens of thousands of years.

The longer one cultivated, the higher one's status, the more one feared losing what one already possessed. Yaoshi Buddha had struggled to climb to his current position. How could he willingly throw everything away over a few slaps?

Forget it... forget it... Let him slap me... Let him do it... My dignity is already completely gone; it can't get much worse. Once he's done and his anger fades, this will be over... I'll just consider this taking a beating for my leader. When I see Tathagata later, I'll have something to say—Buddha Ancestor, look at me. To prevent the Dragon Clan tragedy from happening again, I endured more than three hundred brutal slaps from him. My face was beaten into a pig's head! With such loyalty, such awareness of enduring humiliation and bearing heavy burdens, who in all Western Heaven besides me, Yaoshi Buddha, can compare?!

Thinking of this, Yaoshi Buddha actually felt a measure of tragic heroism.

He straightened his back—though his face had been slapped until it was nearly unrecognizable—closed the eyes that could barely still let light through, and thought: I've already taken the hits. One slap and a hundred slaps are no different in essence. Let him hit me. So what if I spin like a top? It's just swaying from side to side, isn't it? I've cultivated for countless ages. What hardship haven't I endured? Could a few slaps really make me cry?

He stood there, allowing Lin Zhu's slaps to land rhythmically