Far away, in the shadows beneath a great tree, the young novice Faming covered his mouth, his eyes bloodshot.
He had watched Reverend Baixin die beneath the King of the Underworld's sword.
The teachings Reverend Baixin had given him throughout their journey kept flashing through his mind.
He was not bright, and was even somewhat clumsy.
Yet Reverend Baixin had never blamed him, instead teaching him the wisdom of many Buddhist scriptures.
He was an orphan. In this age ravaged by war, there were many boys like him, but Faming had been fortunate.
He had met Reverend Baixin.
Reverend Baixin was his master, but in his heart, the man was like a father.
And now, Reverend Baixin had died beneath a demon's sword.
His tears poured out like a flood, and endless anguish filled his heart.
"Master!"
Unable to suppress his grief, Faming finally threw back his head and screamed.
The pain was so overwhelming that his body trembled, and even his chest twisted in agony.
He felt as though he were suffocating.
Clutching his chest, Faming collapsed in the shadows, gasping for breath, but the suffocating sensation was so intense that he could not control himself.
Just then, a gentle stream of spiritual energy flowed into the young monk's body, easing his pain.
An old woman carrying a quiver on her back and a longbow in her hand approached Faming.
"Reverend Baixin's sacrifice will not be in vain. At the very least, he depleted that demon's strength.
Little monk, leave now. Devote yourself to your cultivation, and avenge your master someday."
The old woman spoke gravely, her gaze fixed on Reverend Baixin's frozen body in midair and the King of the Underworld, whose oppressive might towered over all.
"Who are you...?"
Under the influence of that spiritual energy, Faming's