Saying one thing and meaning another, a guilt-tripping young monk, and a conceptual question

As his words fell, the gentle, kindly old monk suddenly became hideously vicious. Purple-black veins bulged on his bald head and began throbbing, one after another.

Countless spiteful wails poured from his seven orifices, and thick black baleful energy instantly filled the underground chamber. It coiled around the stone walls, corroding even the smooth white jade pool walls into mottled pits.

The Chaos Spirit Liquid churned and boiled in the pool, its pure fragrance instantly overwhelmed by a foul stench. Countless distorted, weeping faces surged across its surface-the innocent souls who had died beneath the old monk's blade hundreds or thousands of years ago.

The old monk's withered hands clutched his robes tightly. His face twisted out of shape with pain, and cloudy tears mixed with black blood slid from the corners of his eyes. His voice sounded as hoarse as though it had been scraped with sandpaper.

"These wronged souls have trapped me my entire life. Now that my life is nearly spent, I can no longer suppress them. If they escape, ten thousand miles of the Western Desert will become a lifeless wasteland where not a blade of grass grows. Benefactor Yun, strike. For the sake of all living beings, put an end to this final sin of mine."

Watching the old monk suddenly flash toward him, Yun Che's brow twitched. He could not quite tell whether the man was sincere or pretending.

His tone clearly suggested that he wanted to sacrifice himself, yet the attack he launched at Yun Che was utterly savage and ruthless.

"Since you have repented, Master, I will grant your wish."

As he spoke, Yun Che flashed to the old monk's side. Gray-gold divine power flickered over his fist as he smashed it toward the old monk's ribs.

Yet Buddhist light suddenly burst