Standing in Jiangchao Temple, Xiao Hua watched this grand spectacle unfold before his very eyes, and bitterness rose in his heart. Every last detail had been designed long ago, every last arrangement made in advance. Beneath this grand occasion, who knew how much bloodshed was hidden, how much scheming lay concealed? Perhaps this was the beginning of an age shrouded in Buddhist light—but who knew whether it was not the end of that light's extinction? Who knew... how many people would fall in this so-called grand occasion, and who would care about its protagonists?
Within the Buddhist light, monks filed out of the Mahavira Hall one after another. At the edge of the Vast Righteous Qi, Confucian cultivators in tall crowns and long robes approached from afar. It was as though the murderous intent accumulated between the Immortal and Buddhist Sects over decades had vanished the instant Chun Zang tore down the Buddha decree, as though the Immortal-Buddha War was no more than a joke on people's lips.
Amid this disgraceful collusion between Immortals and Buddhists, Xiao Hua suddenly felt filthy, unworthy of such a lofty ceremony. He turned away indifferently and drifted out of Jiangchao Temple.
Xiao Hua's departure did not go unnoticed. Yet the watchful Confucian cultivators assumed Xiao Hua was a trial arranged by the Buddhist sect, while the Buddhist sect believed he was a pawn of the Confucian cultivators. As both sides relaxed their guard, Xiao Hua had already vanished from their sight.
Only after leaving Jiangchao Temple did Xiao Hua have the chance to carefully examine Changsheng Town, the place where his legend had been written. Unfortunately, Changsheng Town was now entirely different from what he remembered. The roadside tea stalls were gone. The shop where Xiao Hua had bought grain was gone. The little