Volume One, Chapter Eighty-Two: Taste My Mana Blade

Chapter 82: Taste My Manas Blade

Shakra feigned anger and declared, “Hand over the corpse of Emperor Tuzhe to me, and I promise you safe passage.”

The Dragon King Teitoulaizha let out a cold laugh. “Do you think the lords of the heavenly realms are truly trustworthy? I give him to you, and then you all attack me together—do you really think I’m that foolish?”

From behind Teitoulaizha, Long Yi immediately stepped forward. “My king, you should leave first. I, Long Yi, will hold them off with my life. Surely, in a few breaths, you will reach safety.”

Mara’s hair bristled in rage. “And who do you think you are? Go to hell—”

His voice thundered like a storm; Long Yi was nearly blasted to pieces, blood streaming from his seven orifices, barely staying upright.

Teitoulaizha waved his empty hand, a wave of dragon might enveloping Long Yi as he bellowed, “Old demon, don’t go too far! If worst comes to worst, we’ll all perish together—no one will win!”

Shakra asked, “Then what do you propose?”

Teitoulaizha’s dragonish visage twisted into a sinister smile as he eyed Mara and Mahesvara. “That depends on what you two want. Do you desire Tuzhe’s corpse, or the old dragon’s life, hmm...?”

Mahesvara, not one for words, nonetheless spoke with steely resolve. “State your terms.”

Teitoulaizha arched a dragon brow. “My terms are simple. I’ll take the corpse with me. Shakra, you may follow, and once I reach a place where you can no longer harm me, I’ll let you bring the body back.”

Mara’s demonic eyes flickered. “Why not me, or Mahesvara?”

Teitoulaizha burst out laughing. “Old demon, have you lost your wits? If you or Mahesvara followed, what could this old dragon do? What’s the difference from the current standoff? Only Shakra—no offense, but his power is just a bit lower—poses no threat to me. Enough talk! Yes or no—give me a straight answer!”

Mara and Mahesvara exchanged glances, just as from the depths of the void came a thunderous roar. They turned, eyes wide with disbelief.

So too did the countless heavenly hosts, silently watching the images unfold across the sky, find it unimaginable.

Before the eyes of billions, a cloud of black smoke exploded from the depths of the void, and from it, nonchalantly, stepped Tuzhe—who had appeared nothing more than a charred husk.

At the same moment, both Teitoulaizha and Shakra stared in astonishment at the charred fragment in Teitoulaizha’s hand.

If Tuzhe had emerged from the smoke, then what was this charred lump in his grasp?

Within the city of Mahabodhi, Yuanyi threw herself into old Rahu’s arms, exclaiming, “Father, I knew you were the greatest—!”

Old Rahu patted her head, boasting, “Of course—who do you think your father is, haha...”

Meanwhile, before the palace of the Golden Shepherd on Mount Sumeru, a crowd of sobbing Yakshas suddenly cried out, “The little emperor lives—!”

The Golden Shepherd, collapsed in grief, sprang to his feet, “Where? Where is he?”

Heaven above! Your eyes are still open—ahhhhhhh—

And then, overcome, he fainted again.

Hulu Zina nearly bit his tongue in disbelief as he watched Tuzhe step from the smoke. What on earth was happening?

Kumbhakarna gave him a lazy sidelong glance. “The situation is simple—Tuzhe is alive, and in fine form, hmph!”

It was only then Teitoulaizha realized that the Tuzhe he’d held was nothing but a piece of condensed primordial energy, shaped to resemble charred remains.

With a furious dragon’s roar, he crushed the “Tuzhe” in his hand, which turned to black smoke and vanished.

Now, Tuzhe stood at a distance, his nine-hued Buddhist robes shining brilliantly, long hair flowing with radiant light, his eyes holding the rising and setting sun and the drifting moon. With a lazy, roguish smile, he called out:

“Old demon serpent, you’ve beaten me enough. Now, it’s your turn to taste my Manas Blade!”

Striding from the mists thousands of leagues away, Tuzhe’s nine-colored robes, wrought from pure Buddhist essence, shone with a dazzling light, faintly depicting myriad celestial beings.

Buddhas sat cross-legged in the colorful clouds, reciting scriptures, with almost cosmic scripture sigils drifting from their lips.

Wrathful Vajras wielded thunderbolts, carving heavenly scars in the ether, each stroke hinting at the path of the heavens.

Supplicant monks offered incense and prayers, while bodhisattvas floated in clouds of sandalwood smoke, streams of faith emanating from the monks’ crowns to join the bodhisattvas’ halos, making the sun-like radiance even more brilliant.

Kinnaras played celestial instruments, singing of the Buddha’s glory, their music drifting like sacred incense.

Garudas, Gandharvas, and other fantastic beings, all swirling on his robes, made Tuzhe appear nothing less than a god.

This was the outward manifestation of a profound understanding of cosmic truths, a continual, almost unconscious communion with the Dao—something not even the emperors themselves had achieved. Yet now it was present in Tuzhe.

Ahhh—!

The little emperor Tuzhe truly lives—!

Ahhh—!

His level is unfathomably strange—!

Ahhh—!

It seems he has been reborn yet again—!

Ahhh—!

He is challenging the great dragon king Teitoulaizha, an emperor-level being—!

Ahhh—!

He said he would let Teitoulaizha taste his Manas Blade—!

But what is the Manas Blade?

The multitudes of the lower heavens had no idea what the Manas Blade was. But could Shakra, Teitoulaizha, Mara, or Mahesvara not know?

Manas—

It is the seventh of the eight consciousnesses. Between the six external senses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind) and the eighth, the Alaya consciousness, Manas acts as the bridge.

The Manas consciousness delivers all that the six senses perceive—regardless of good or evil—straight to the Alaya consciousness. All the delusions and negative emotions that can cloud and obscure the true path are funneled to the Alaya through Manas.

Thus, its chief function is transmission—and pollution.

For any great being to cross the chasm between their spiritual sense and the Alaya consciousness, to perceive the essence of the world and its laws, the greatest obstacle is the Manas consciousness.

Surmount it, and one’s spirit grows boundless, drawing infinitely near to the Dao.

Fail, and one remains forever at best an Arhat—never advancing further.

For all the mighty, the Manas consciousness is something to avoid or expel; who would dare to approach, understand, or even develop its potential?

Who could guarantee they would not be tainted in the process?

And what happens if one is tainted?

Even the Martians know—one falls into madness and demonization.

Across the three realms, there were tales of those wielding their spirit as a weapon, but who had ever heard of a blade forged from the Manas consciousness?

Never in history had anyone forged such a weapon from the Manas consciousness.

So when Tuzhe, with a roguish and languid air, declared that Teitoulaizha was about to taste his Manas Blade, their astonishment was inevitable.

But was it only astonishment?

Was there no fear? No terror? No bone-deep chill that seized the soul?

And, perhaps, not even a shred of disbelief in anyone’s heart?