Chapter Two: The True Revelation of the Great Sun Tathagata

The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata

The old man looked at the jade pendant that Wu Hong handed over, took it casually, and nodded in satisfaction. Wu Hong grumbled inwardly—if only he had pawned the jade pendant sooner, perhaps he could have scraped together enough silver to see out his days. From beginning to end, Wu Hong never believed this old man would bring him any kind of fortune.

Perhaps the old man sensed Wu Hong’s discontent, or some other emotion flickering across his face. He put away the jade pendant and said, “Young friend, since you were willing to present such a precious item in the midst of your distress, I can hardly treat you unfairly!”

With that, the old man bent down and picked three books from the ground. “But as I’ve said, I only sell my books to those with whom I share fate. Normally, each book costs one tael of silver. Yet you, without silver, have traded me something so valuable—I mustn’t appear stingy!”

He arranged the three manuals before Wu Hong. “These are my prized collections. Even for those destined to receive them, I would not part with one for less than a hundred taels of gold. Your jade pendant is worth about the same; I’ll take the loss. Choose whichever you like.”

Wu Hong glanced at the three books and couldn’t help but laugh wryly. Profound Arts, The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata, and The Supreme Sovereign Art of Heaven and Earth!

This old man was shameless—after receiving such a precious jade pendant, he was still intent on peddling his worthless books.

Paying no heed to Wu Hong's frustration, the old man continued, “These three manuals cover the secrets of demons, Buddhism, and the Dao. Each was once a sect’s treasured scripture, personally compiled by me. Master any one, and you could summon clouds with a flick of your wrist, call forth rain with a turn of your palm. With a single thought, you could shatter the heavens and stars. Young friend, choose wisely.”

Clearly, the old man was a madman, spouting nonsense. Wu Hong picked up The Supreme Sovereign Art of Heaven and Earth and flipped through the outline. Its introduction was grandiose: “He who masters this divine skill shall be sovereign above all, commanding the gods and immortals, ruling the earth as the Supreme Heavenly Emperor.” Thumbing through, it told of the Jade Emperor’s miraculous exploits in the human and spirit worlds, ending with his ascension to the throne of the king of immortals.

Wu Hong had seen countless such books on street stalls—impressive stories, sometimes only three coins for a copy, meant to swindle children with fanciful dreams. But Wu Hong was no child.

He had no interest in the so-called Profound Arts either, which claimed that with mastery, one could reforge the body of Pangu. Utter nonsense.

Resigned, Wu Hong picked up The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata without even looking inside. “I’ll take this one,” he said to the old man.

The old man looked at him with surprise. “You don’t wish to see what’s inside?”

Wu Hong waved him off. “Thank you for the steamed bun, old man. I’m tired and would like to rest now!” The old man’s chatter was growing tiresome.

Were it not for the bun that had saved his life, Wu Hong might have leapt up and tried to thrash this rambling old fraud, though he doubted he could win.

With a gentle smile, the old man replied, “Very well. I won’t disturb you further. Fate has brought us together; rest well, young friend. I have other matters to attend to.” With that, he stepped outside.

Wu Hong had expected him to continue his endless babbling, but to his surprise, the old man left without another word.

Only after a long while did Wu Hong suddenly realize, “Oh no! I gave him my jade pendant. If he sells it, my identity could be exposed. I need to leave at once.”

Wu Hong was no fool. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to find other means of living, but the forces hunting him were simply too powerful—second only to the royal family of the Great Qian Dynasty was the Prince of Martial Might’s estate.

He sprang to his feet. Thud—a cloud of dust rose as The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata, the book the old man had given him, tumbled to the ground.

“Whatever it is, I paid dearly for it,” Wu Hong sighed, picking up the yellow-covered book and stepping out of the dilapidated temple.

In his panic, Wu Hong failed to notice that he was moving much faster than usual. Ragged and alone, he strode through the sun-blasted streets, the oppressive heat making every breath a torment. Suddenly, dizziness overtook him, and he collapsed in the midst of the throng.

“Is that beggar dead?” Wu Hong’s sudden collapse drew a crowd, not out of concern for him, but for fear that a corpse rotting in the summer heat might spread disease.

People were terrified of plagues born from corpses. That alone explained the gathering.

A braver soul touched Wu Hong’s nose and found he was still breathing—most likely just fainted. With that, the crowd dispersed; not a single person offered help to the frail beggar.

As the street emptied, Wu Hong lay face-down in the bustling road. At that moment, a sedan chair borne by eight men stopped before him.

A maidservant, seeing a beggar blocking their path, rushed over and kicked Wu Hong. “Hey, beggar, wake up! Why are you lying in the middle of the road?” When he didn’t respond, she checked his breathing, then hurried to the sedan. “Miss, there’s a beggar fainted on the road ahead!”

The young lady lifted the curtain and peered out. She was strikingly beautiful, enough to make passersby pause, but when they saw the livery of the sedan-bearers, all quickly stepped aside. Each bore the insignia: “Huang Estate.”

“It’s the Huang family. The lady inside must be one of their womenfolk!” the crowd whispered.

“Cuilian, see to it that the beggar is brought back and revived. Let him work as a servant in the estate. Today I have just finished making offerings; it would be inauspicious to leave him by the roadside,” said the lovely young lady, her interest in Wu Hong already spent as she returned to her seat.

“Yes, miss!” the maid Cuilian replied, quickly instructing the servants to carry Wu Hong away.

In his unconsciousness, Wu Hong drifted through endless darkness. “Where am I? How did I get here?” The unending void nearly drove him mad. He floated for what felt like an eternity, his mind on the brink of collapse.

Suddenly, at the end of the darkness, a glimmer of gold appeared.

Wu Hong found himself flying swiftly toward it. As he drew near, he was shocked—there, seated in the void, was an enormous Buddha.

The Buddha pointed upward with one hand and downward with the other, ruling over the infinite darkness as if he were its sole master.

Gold radiance streamed from the Buddha, illuminating the gloom with infinite light. Yet blood, bright and crimson, oozed from wounds on his hands and feet. The golden light tirelessly sought to heal these gaping wounds, so deep that the gleaming Buddhist bones within were visible, and Wu Hong felt an answering pain in his own wrist.

Instinctively, Wu Hong raised his hand to look—and was stunned to see it shining with golden light, a wound at his wrist slowly closing as blinding gold light healed it, the flesh knitting before his eyes.

“Is this a dream?” In an instant, Wu Hong’s form transformed into that of the Buddha, his body towering to impossible heights, seeming to hold up the endless dark. It felt as if a mere flick of his finger could shatter the heavens and earth.

His body brimmed with boundless strength, the pain in his wrist fading as the wound vanished. Once again, he was alone in the infinite darkness, but now he was the towering Buddha himself.

Calming himself, Wu Hong cried out, “Let this darkness vanish!” He raised a Buddha-arm and jabbed a finger upward into the void.

A thunderous roar echoed, as if the world were being created anew. Chaos swirled, and a ray of light appeared above.

“Brother Niu, why hasn’t this fellow woken up yet? Did the young lady rescue a vegetable?” A pageboy spoke to a burly man in the woodshed, having already poured more than ten buckets of water over Wu Hong’s face, all to no effect.

“Forget it. Drag him to the back hills and let fate take its course. If the young lady asks, we’ll say we couldn’t revive him,” the muscular man said.

Wu Hong slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window, and saw a servant reaching toward him.

“Who are you?” Wu Hong asked in alarm, confused by his surroundings and the strangers before him.

“Well, I’ll be! The lad woke up after all—tough luck to kill him,” the pageboy exclaimed, startled by Wu Hong’s sudden awakening as if he’d seen a ghost in broad daylight.

The strong man, brandishing a cleaver in one hand and a short-handled sledgehammer in the other, stepped forward. “Since you’re awake, boy, come do some work with us.”

Wu Hong, still bewildered, asked, “Who are you?”

“Who are we? Where do you think you are? This is the Huang Estate, the residence of Master Huang Hu! Our young lady saved your life.”

The pageboy, impatient, explained curtly.

Wu Hong quickly pieced things together: he had fainted on the street and was rescued by a young lady from the Huang family.

He dared not be rude. Since they had saved him and offered him work as a servant, perhaps this was a blessing from heaven. After all, as a cripple hunted by the Prince of Martial Might, he had nowhere else to go.

If he could hide safely as a servant in a wealthy household, perhaps he could survive. Maybe, someday, he’d have a chance for revenge.

Wu Hong leapt up, his body unexpectedly agile, startling both the burly man and the pageboy. Who would have thought that this scrawny beggar could move so nimbly? They wondered why such a lively young man had been reduced to begging.

Wu Hong himself was amazed by his newfound agility. He lifted his hand, staring at his wrist.

His pupils shrank—where there should have been a hideous wound, the skin was now smooth, without a trace of a scar.

A wave of shock crashed over him. Impossible! What could have happened? Could it be the effect of The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata?

He pulled up his trouser leg to check his ankle. The skin was flawless, without any sign of old injuries.

“Hey, snap out of it! The young lady didn’t save you so we could serve you. You’re here to work with us,” the burly man said, slicing the air with his gleaming cleaver, the flash snapping Wu Hong out of his daze.

“Ah—yes, big brother, what do you want me to do?” Wu Hong hurriedly replied.