Chapter 55: The Sutra of the Extinction of the Dharma

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Xiaoyu Zhao gazed deeply at the exposed skin of the landlady. Though still tender and smooth, it showed subtle signs of sagging, and faint wrinkles had begun to form between her brows. With a soft sigh, she said, “You’ve grown old.”

The landlady casually removed the jade hairpin from her bun and lightly flicked it toward Xiaoyu Zhao. Despite the slight looseness of her skin, it remained as pure and white as jade. For a moment, it was impossible to distinguish between the person and the jade, the jade perfectly complementing her delicate features.

The speed of the jade hairpin was not terrifying, nor did it emit any light, yet it instilled in Xiaoyu Zhao an absurd sensation of being utterly exposed, as if there were nowhere to hide in this vast world.

A breeze rose within the chamber, only to vanish instantly. Clouds formed, then dispersed just as quickly—not because her magic failed, but because it was undone the moment it was cast.

Why had the landlady aged? Because she was in the era of the End of Dharma, where no one could truly grasp the Way.

She had finally glimpsed a trace of the true meaning of the End of Dharma amid the mortal world.

At last, the jade hairpin struck Xiaoyu Zhao’s brow, but no blood flowed, and the hairpin fell to the ground.

On the other side, the landlady had wrapped a red silk scarf around herself, revealing only her long legs and glimpses of smooth, alabaster skin beneath the folds.

A faint white light shimmered at Xiaoyu Zhao’s forehead, shaped like a lotus flower, blending seamlessly with her entire aura. Pure and sacred, she resembled a water-moon Guanyin—graceful and beautiful.

Xiaoyu Zhao smiled and said, “Senior sister, you’ve finally entered the threshold of the ‘Scripture of Dharma’s End.’ Congratulations.”

The Scripture of Dharma’s End was a secret practice of the Luo Sect, said to have the power to extinguish all dharmas when perfected. It could ultimately create a Dharma field of extinction, where even gods, immortals, and Buddhas who fell within would lose their cultivation and powers, reduced to nothingness.

Naturally, the landlady had not reached such heights; she had merely tasted a fragment of the Dharma’s true meaning. Yet the consequence was that she herself had to bear the suffering brought by that fragment, gradually growing old.

Legend said that in the world of the End Dharma, there were no gods or saints. The World Honored One, moved by the suffering of sentient beings, descended into endless reincarnation, thus experiencing birth, aging, sickness, and death, finally departing at the age of eighty.

“I cannot even fully break through the Dharma, let alone the lack of it. You have already stepped into the profound realm of ‘no Dharma, no thought,’ just a step away from the Nine Lotus Dharma Manifestation. What difficulty remains that you must come to me?”

Xiaoyu Zhao bent to pick up the jade hairpin, brushing off its dust. A trace of melancholy flashed in her eyes as she said, “You still keep this hairpin.”

“You always liked to snatch it from me before. The jade hairpin I had was broken by you; this one was newly bought by Master. It’s only an ordinary object, but I could never bear to part with it.” The landlady’s gaze softened as it fell upon the hairpin in Xiaoyu Zhao’s hand.

“No matter how much we quarrel now, Master will never return.” Xiaoyu Zhao spoke softly, tinged with deep remembrance, yet also a sense of letting go. Love and detachment intertwine; detachment and love blend. Truth and falsehood, falsehood and truth—the landlady could no longer discern.

She knew Xiaoyu Zhao had not come for old ties or grudges. None understood this terrifying junior sister better than herself.

“Speak then. What do you want from me?”

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“Help me strike once, to kill someone.”

“Who?”

“The Empress of the Great Zhou Dynasty.”

“I cannot kill that person.”

“You only need to make a move, even just once. But I hope you use your true skill.”

“I agree, but on one condition.” The landlady hesitated for a moment before finally consenting.

Xiaoyu Zhao seemed to have anticipated this, showing no surprise.

******

The Xiangji Temple stood on the mountains outside the Divine Capital, a range stretching for miles, its peaks shrouded in mist and clouds.

The temple could not be seen from the foot of the mountain. The mountain path had long been cleared, lined with towering ancient trees, where cicadas sang and insects chirped endlessly.

A refined young boy held the hand of a delicate little girl as they walked through the mountains.

Clear spring water splashed against the cold cliffs, distant sunlight filtered through the ancient trees, creating a serene and enchanting scene.

They alone enjoyed the landscape today, as no other pilgrims were present—the Emperor was inside.

The Empress favored Xiangji Temple, having visited many times. She had once bestowed a calligraphy inscription:

“Aspire to the Golden Garden, cherish the joyous traces.
Frequently approaching the Pure Monastery, renowned across the seas;
Or oft visiting the fiery and cold, abandoning the secret treasures of He Palace.”

These words were carved on a stone stele standing before Shen Lian and Ruo Xi.

The stele stood two zhang tall, pure blue as jade without any blemish—already a treasure, yet here it was merely a stone monument.

Behind the stele rose a tall pagoda, its circumference about two hundred paces, with thirteen tiers.

A thirteen-tier pagoda was already very tall. Buddhist pagodas, or “futu,” were sacred relics in Buddhist lore, capable of invoking Buddhas from all directions, protecting countless worlds, and warding off demons. Saving a life with a seven-tier pagoda was considered great merit; this was a thirteen-tier one.

Yet for an emperor who ruled a vast realm with a word to move mountains or fill lakes, a mere thirteen-tier pagoda was trivial.

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Kuhui had long awaited beneath the pagoda, his expression solemn and dignified. Ruo Xi’s dark, shining eyes looked up at the towering structure, needing to strain her neck to see the entire view.

Shen Lian seemed to respond inwardly, sensing a gaze from the thirteenth tier of the pagoda.

Shen Lian was no demon, nor was the presence atop the pagoda a Buddha.

Neither were mortals, yet both struggled within the Sahā world.

Kuhui greeted Shen Lian, “Your Majesty has been waiting for some time.”

Shen Lian nodded slightly, holding the little Ruo Xi’s hand as he prepared to ascend.

Kuhui reached out to stop him, “Why not leave the little girl with me? You need not worry.”

His intentions were kind, fearing that if Shen Lian clashed with the Empress, Ruo Xi would become a burden.

Shen Lian asked Ruo Xi, “Would you like to play with this master for a while?”

Ruo Xi shook her head, “No.”

She lifted her chin proudly, like a little peacock—beautiful and haughty.

Shen Lian smiled, “Then we’ll go up and see Her Majesty the Empress.”

Holding Ruo Xi’s hand, a faint invisible wind seemed to gently push Kuhui aside as they ascended the pagoda.

Once inside, Ruo Xi whispered, “Brother, are we really going to see the Empress?”

“Yes, didn’t I already tell you?”

“Uncles and aunties say the Empress has killed many people. Brother, when we see her later, let’s ask her not to kill so many anymore, okay?” Ruo Xi looked at Shen Lian.

She was beginning to understand what life and death meant, and that killing was wrong.