Lay It Down

The temple was thick with incense smoke. Bai Lingmiao sat cross-legged on the stone lotus platform, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. Though her jagged teeth still protruded from the corners of her mouth, and her white hair still concealed black hedgehog quills and green serpent scales, she was far better off than before. At least she now had exactly two eyes on her face—even if one of them was still a beast’s.

Surrounding Bai Lingmiao’s lotus platform were the monks of Zhengde Temple, seated on prayer mats in the Great Qi. They struck their wooden fish in steady rhythm.

As they struck, they chanted obscure sutras: “Lotus Pool Dharma Assembly, Tathagata of Infinite Life, Guanyin and Mahasthamaprapta seated on the lotus throne, guiding us up the golden steps, the great vow opens wide, vowing to lead all beings from the dust. Homage to the Lotus Pool, to the Bodhisattva-Mahasattvas of the Assembly…”

Under the sound of their chanting, Bai Lingmiao’s body began to change. The things that did not belong to her—the alien grafts—slowly writhed and began to melt into her pallid skin.

Many monks showed signs of animalistic possession on their own bodies, but they quickly suppressed it.

Two hours later, the transformation gradually ceased. When Bai Lingmiao lowered her hands and gently touched her face with all four palms, she found that her once-unrecognizable features had returned to their proper form.

She rose from the lotus platform and bowed respectfully to a kindly-faced old monk, offering a Buddhist greeting. “Abbot, thank you for all your trouble these past days.”

“Amitabha, madam, you are too kind. In this battlefield of the Asura Path, this humble monk can do little to help. I can only offer this small effort on such matters.”

After exchanging courtesies, Bai Lingmiao bid farewell to the abbot of Zhengde Temple and turned to leave the rear courtyard, walking into the bustling front hall.

In the main hall, a great statue of the Buddha lay on its side on a jeweled table, receiving the offerings and worship of the common people.

Bai Lingmiao picked up four sticks of incense, bowed three times before the Buddha like the others, and carefully placed them into the censer.

As she stepped out of the hall, a chaotic, bustling city spread out before her perception.

It was hard to imagine that just a month ago, this great city had been under the control of the Fa Sect. Now it had been seized and belonged to the Great Liang dynasty.

The black cloth strips and white headbands that once filled the streets were gone. What the people now wore, more than anything, was the white lotus seal on their foreheads.

“The Saint! The Saint is here!”

“Quick! Son, kowtow to the Saint! May the Saint bless your father and bring him home soon!”

Wherever there were White Lotus followers, they immediately fell prostrate, their bodies pressed flat to the ground. Nearly half the street knelt in worship.

As quickly as the Fa Sect had once expanded, the White Lotus Society now expanded faster—especially with the backing of the imperial court.

Notices had been posted all over the city: regardless of which faith you followed, you must follow one. Anyone who refused to believe would be beheaded on the spot.

It was a crude, brutal method, but it was highly effective against the Fa Sect’s infiltration. Once someone believed in Wusheng Laomu, they no longer pinned their hopes on the Child God.

Anything the Child God promised, Wusheng Laomu could also provide. So why not believe in the one that wouldn’t get your head chopped off?

Bai Lingmiao’s expression softened as she looked at them. She walked slowly through the crowd.

As her hand brushed over some people’s heads, they were seized with ecstatic joy, feeling that they had received Wusheng Laomu’s blessing through the Saint herself.

When she saw a wounded little beggar struggling to crawl toward her, Bai Lingmiao walked over and stopped before him.

His eyes were full of desperate longing. “S-Saint… my father, my mother, my eldest brother and second brother… they’re all dead. I’ve believed in the White Lotus. Can they really not become lonely ghosts? Can they really live well in the Native Land of True Emptiness?”

Looking at the maggots already writhing in his belly, at his unnaturally sallow face, Bai Lingmiao knew the child didn’t have many days left.

No matter how a war was fought, the same kind of people always suffered.

“Yes, rest assured. Your father, mother, and siblings are all in the Native Land of True Emptiness now.” She reached out and gently patted the little beggar on the head, and a genuine smile lit up his face.

“That’s wonderful. I’ll see them soon.”

Seeing him smile with joy, Bai Lingmiao took the drum from her waist and tapped it lightly. With the help of the Bai family’s spirit guardians, the boy’s complexion quickly improved.

“Your father and mother also said to let you live well. They’re still thinking about you having children and grandchildren.”

“I will! I will! I’ll rebuild our Yao family ancestral hall! I’ll find a wife and carry on the family line!”

Bai Lingmiao stood up and moved on to comfort others, one by one.

When she finally returned to one of the White Lotus Society’s gathering halls, she saw Lyu Xiucai earnestly answering cultivation questions from new converts.

Lyu Xiucai was completely transformed from the man who had first arrived. The left side of his face was sunken—all the teeth on that side were gone. His collarbone was wrapped in blood-soaked cloth where the skin had been stripped away.

His left sleeve was empty. His right hand had only four fingers left, all without fingernails. Paired with the scars covering his body, he looked utterly pitiful.

The Thousand Greats Record might have allowed Lyu Xiucai to survive that brutally bloody meat-grinder, but the price was paid in pieces of his own body.

When he saw Bai Lingmiao, Lyu Xiucai grinned broadly and waved his four-fingered hand at her. “Martial Mother! Long time no see! Are you looking for my master?”

The bitter, vengeance-consumed Lyu Xiucai seemed to have vanished. His boisterous manner made it feel like the old Lyu Xiucai had returned.

Bai Lingmiao looked at his unhealed wounds with a complicated expression. “Go back. Go back to Niuxin Village. Your father is only mad—he isn’t dead yet. And don’t forget your little niece.”

The smile on Lyu Xiucai’s face didn’t fade. “It’s fine. Gouwa and Zhao Wu will look after them. I swore an oath in front of my father. I haven’t killed enough of those Fa Sect bastards yet.”

“As long as the Fa Sect exists for even one more day, I can’t go back.”

The bitter, vengeance-consumed Lyu Xiucai hadn’t vanished at all. He had merely learned to hide some things deep inside.

Bai Lingmiao sighed softly. “Xiucai, against so many in the Fa Sect, having one more or one less of you won’t change anything. You should learn to let it go.”

She could see that if this continued, Lyu Xiucai would die in the near future. Too many from the Lyu Family Troupe had already died. She truly didn’t want him to walk an irreversible path.

At her words, the smile on Lyu Xiucai’s face slowly faded. He looked at Bai Lingmiao and asked in return:

“Then, Martial Mother... have you let it go?”