Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Arcane Sage Who Became a Trickster

Fang Mu looked at Yan Xian’s grave expression and, sensing he was about to reveal something serious, answered in the same tone, “Who exactly is it?”

Both of them were so solemn that the air between them grew tense.

Yan Xian’s face had gone serious as well. “The Wicked Buddha.”

A second passed. Two seconds. Five. A gust of wind swept through.

Fang Mu remained serious. “I’ve never heard that name.”

The stern mood snapped. Yan Xian’s expression was priceless, as if he had just swallowed something foul.

“How could you not have heard of him, the Wicked Buddha…” Yan Xian said, gesturing as he spoke. “He is the kind of thing that makes people shiver.”

Fang Mu spread his hands. “I’ve only been a Mystic Adept for a little over a month. How could I know?”

“Oh… I suppose that explains it. Wait…” Yan Xian paused, then looked at him in surprise. “Brother Fang, you’re saying you became a Mystic Adept only a month ago?”

Fang Mu nodded with full seriousness.

At that moment Yan Xian felt an unexpected stab of disappointment. What a fall from expectation. He was a prodigy with two heavenly talents, already at the Dragon Gate Zenith at a young age—and yet this was what Fang Mu had just said. Yan Xian nearly wondered if he had misheard.

Six months, and in six months someone can turn you into a stranger to yourself? Who was this man?

From Yan Xian’s expression Fang Mu could read him clearly and gave a crooked smile. “Honestly,” he said, “I just happened to reach the Dragon Gate Zenith by accident. Compared with true prodigies, I’m still a long way off.”

Yan Xian gave a useless, wordless look. Was that humility, or a subtle form of self-praise?

“Then you still haven’t told me what this Wicked Buddha is,” Fang Mu reminded him.

Yan Xian came back to the point. “The Wicked Buddha is a Trickster Adept—an overwhelmingly powerful one. Speaking of him means mentioning his origin. He was once a Buddhist-school Mystic Adept, and an extraordinarily formidable one. He was known as Master Ersi.”

“Mystic Adept?” Fang Mu frowned. “You mean this Master Ersi eventually became a Trickster Adept?”

Yan Xian nodded. “His given name was Hu Ersi. He later had a rift with the Buddhist order and, in one night, entered the path of the Trickster Adepts.”

When he said it, Yan Xian looked deeply regretful. “A Mystic Adept of the Bu-Yu Realm, yet because of the six knowledges and six objects, he fell into the ranks of the tricksters, and even said things like, ‘What is real may not be true, and what is strange is strange indeed.’”

The words struck Fang Mu like a blow. The Bu-Yu Realm—if that was true, he was terrifyingly strong. But then a question formed.

“What are the six knowledges and the six objects?”

“The six knowledges are sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and mind,” Yan Xian explained in simple terms. “The six objects are form, sound, fragrance, flavor, texture, and dharma. The six knowledges engage the six objects. The six objects strike them, the knowledges discern and store them in memory, and then they reappear from memory as clinging desire. Through this exchange and return, the stream of birth and death flows endlessly. The aim of purifying the six roots is to sever and transcend this unending current of life and death.”

Fang Mu nodded gravely, at the same time scratching the back of his neck.

Yan Xian asked, eyes wide, “Brother Fang, did you understand that?”

Fang Mu shook his head seriously. “No. I only didn’t want to embarrass you. But I do understand what we experienced—those must have been the six objects.”

Form with the eye. It had matched that fake Yan Xian.
Sound with the ear. It was the bony thing that made noise.
Touch with the body. It was that freezing chill.
Fragrance with the nose. It was that strange scent.
Flavor with the tongue. It was the pool.

After making that list, Fang Mu realized one was missing—law, or dharma.

Yan Xian faced the darkness ahead and said, “The Wicked Buddha’s greatest strength is precisely the six objects. He hides men’s minds in a six-sense illusion. If you cannot pass, you die. If you do pass, a dark hand remains and drags you onward to the next trial, and at the final threshold, everything erupts at once.”

Fang Mu nodded inwardly. It was much like what had happened to him. At the last moment, without the cool touch of the white jade hairpin, he might have fallen into the trap.

No wonder he could not trigger the Corpse-Touch Art there; everything was false, how could such a technique be activated?

As he thought this, he looked up at the sky.

Yan Xian blinked, perplexed. “Brother Fang, what are you doing?”

“Let’s get out of here.” Fang Mu narrowed his eyes. “I’m not even Dragon Gate level, and to fight a Bu-Yu Realm’s strength—that’s not even a reasonable fight.”

He was only at the Dragon Gate stage. To go straight at a Bu-Yu adversary, was that not inviting ruin? He had no hero’s blessing, no miraculous power-up whenever he met an enemy. To clash with a Bu-Yu master directly was absurd.

Yan Xian grabbed Fang’s sleeve. “Brother Fang, let me finish. I haven’t said everything yet.”

Fang Mu shrugged him off. “Then say it quickly. Don’t string me along. Or I’ll buy you a drink and we can talk while we drink.”

Yan Xian sighed. “The Wicked Buddha has long since become as infamous as an old rat in daylight. Why would he dare such trouble now? And if he truly was that Wicked Buddha, the six-sense illusion wouldn’t be so simple.”

Fang Mu frowned. “You mean there is another person behind this six-sense illusion?”

Yan Xian nodded. “The Wicked Buddha took many disciples. I believe this is one of them. Something about this feels off—wrong, even.”

“No, this is not the Wicked Buddha.” Fang Mu’s voice was upright and righteous. “To exterminate evil and defend the Way is our duty. For just now, you saw nothing.”

“Then for now,” Yan Xian said with practiced blindness, “we still have one more barrier—the law. Let’s move forward first.”

They did not linger. They walked on into the blackness ahead.

The path was otherwise silent, their footsteps the only sound.

After a while, the sound of wind rose.

It was wind, and it told them the canyon mouth was near.

As they walked, Fang Mu kept thinking. If this had been made by one of the Wicked Buddha’s disciples, then what did it have to do with the Five Gods Church? The Five Gods stand for metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, while the six objects are form, scent, taste, touch, sound, and dharma. Why would the Five Gods Church be here?

He settled on two possibilities.

The first was that the two had some kind of connection, though he could not yet see exactly what.

The second was that they had no connection at all, and that the Five Gods Church was simply trying to pry its way into this place for some coveted reason.

Either way, Fang Mu kept a careful eye. He would watch not only the so-called Wicked Buddha but also every move of the Five Gods Church.

Once he made that choice, his steps quickened.

The wind grew stronger. After a long stretch, a narrow opening appeared in front of them.

Fang Mu and Yan Xian exchanged a look, then walked toward it.

After crossing the opening, they entered a vast chamber. The scene spread out before them all at once.

Fang Mu drew his butchering cleaver, his brows pulling into a hard line.

At the open ground ahead stood a tree, perfectly still.

It was no ordinary tree.