CHAPTER 247: CHAPTER 216 YOU ARE NOT AN OUTER HEAVEN DEMON

The nun casually extended her hand, and a red "Flower of the Afterlife" materialized within her grasp.

"Flower of the Afterlife," as the name implies, is a flower that grows on the other shore.

Fingering the vibrant red petals, she moved her lips slightly and asked a question:

"What kind of flower do you see?"

Chen Yi squinted his eyes and replied, "Flower of the Afterlife."

"But I see a white lotus," the nun said.

"A white lotus?" Chen Yi questioned.

The white lotus and the Flower of the Afterlife are nearly opposites: the former signifies enlightenment, transcendence from the cycle of reincarnation, while the latter is regarded as a flower of the underworld, a symbol of life and death.

"That’s correct," the nun confirmed.

Chen Yi realized she might be speaking in riddles, hinting at Zen, and thus grew more cautious, his hand subconsciously stroking his severed arm.

The nun asked, with a semblance of ambiguity, "Have you reached the other shore?"

"I’ve reached it," Chen Yi chuckled.

"If you’ve reached the other shore, then what do you see?" she questioned further.

"The Flower of the Afterlife," Chen Yi hesitated before answering.

"Then you haven’t truly reached the other shore," the nun declared.

Chen Yi asked, "You’re not me—how could you possibly know whether I’ve reached the other shore?"

"Since you’ve reached it, how could you still see the Flower of the Afterlife?" the nun replied softly.

Chen Yi narrowed his eyes in contemplation.

The Flower of the Afterlife—the flower of the other shore—only appears to those who have yet to reach the other shore.

To those who have truly crossed over, the other shore becomes this shore, and the Flower of the Afterlife transforms into the white lotus.

Such a clever play on Zen teaching!

At that moment, Chen Yi began to glimpse the Buddhist logic that the nun employed to guide others toward enlightenment.

Looking at him, the nun slowly said, "You tampered with her karmic threads. But after I clear away the ignorance in your heart, her karma will naturally return."

This was one of the reasons why the nun agreed to the wager in the first place.

"You seem confident," Chen Yi remarked with a faint smile.

"I have no confidence," the nun replied. "You, however, are full of it."

"If I’m so confident, how could I lack confidence?"

"I do not attach myself to my ego—where would confidence come from?"

She smiled faintly and continued, "You cling to your ego, hence your confidence."

With this, she pierced through Chen Yi’s attachment to his self.

Chen Yi showed no visible reaction.

After all, he and this nun were not on the same path.

It was precisely because his ego was deeply rooted that he had survived. If it weren’t, he would have long been eliminated in the process of severing the three corpses.

At this point, the nun seemed to shift the discussion to more serious matters, abruptly asking:

"Why do you know about the fissure in the Gate of Heaven?"

Chen Yi chuckled lightly and said, "Because I’ve experienced it once."

"Are you an Outer Heaven Demon?"

Chen Yi wasn’t surprised that she knew his origin. "Yes, I am an Outer Heaven Demon," he said.

However, the nun shook her head and said, "You are not an Outer Heaven Demon. In fact, there are no such things as Outer Heaven Demons."

Chen Yi frowned.

Could it be that even he misunderstood his own identity?

At that moment, he noticed a figure seemingly jogging up the mountain.

Looking up, he saw none other than Dong Gong Ruoshu. From the silly girl’s expression, he could tell at a glance that she had come to check on him after he had taken so long to return.

"Oh, there you are. Looks like you’re fine," Dong Gong Ruoshu waved as she spoke, then glanced at the nun. "And who might this be?"

The nun didn’t answer her. Instead, she asked directly, "What flower do you see?"

Scratching her head without any trace of vigilance, Dong Gong Ruoshu answered, "The Flower of the Afterlife, of course."

Turning to Chen Yi with a smile, the nun said, "Isn’t it true? She sees the same flower as you."

Chen Yi, curious to see where she was heading with this, replied, "And so?"

Smiling still, the nun said, "So, if you both see the same flower, how can you claim to be an Outer Heaven Demon?"

Staring at the Flower of the Afterlife, Chen Yi was momentarily taken aback.

Then, suddenly, he grasped a detail—something he had failed to notice until now.

This detail had been so subtle that he hadn’t even realized its absence before.

The panel...

How long had it been since it last appeared?

Once the thought crossed his mind, Chen Yi realized with a jolt just how oblivious he had been.

Turning his head slightly, he confirmed that he could no longer see any kind of panel.

What had replaced it was an ineffable, profound sense of perception.

Chen Yi looked toward Dong Gong Ruoshu, his spiritual senses seemingly bypassing layers of barriers, penetrating straight into her three souls and seven spirits. He could feel her emotions, not as raw numbers, but as something intuitive and nuanced.

Sunlight illuminated Chen Yi’s face, while the nun’s serene countenance grew both increasingly indistinct and radiantly solemn.

When Chen Yi returned to his senses, he fixed his gaze directly upon the nun.

"Heavenly Vision," he murmured.

With an air of nonchalance, the nun said, still fiddling with the flower, "What you see is nothing more than how the Heavenly Vision manifests, suited to your perceptions."

She then seemed to observe Chen Yi’s expression, waiting for his reaction.

To her surprise, his furrowed brow soon relaxed. There had been a brief flash of astonishment, but it was fleeting.

The nun studied him with a meaningful gaze.

"So, do you think your words could shake me?" Chen Yi asked with a mischievous grin. "That they might strike me like a bell and awaken me in sudden realization?"

In truth, having been reborn for so long, Chen Yi had pondered such possibilities before. The nun’s words neither confirmed nor denied anything for him. By now, he had already regarded his first "saved game" as a past life. What detachment could he possibly seek from this world?

Now the nun claimed that he inherently belonged to this world. Be it true or false, it didn’t matter. He would always remain himself—Chen Yi, named Zunming.

The nun, lowering her gaze slightly, said, "I underestimated you."

Chen Yi, without any modesty, chuckled and said, "Did you really think I’d be swayed by just a few sentences?"

The nun responded with a soft smile and a slight nod.

The Zen dialogue earlier was one of the Buddhist Sect’s methods of enlightenment.

She imitated Shakyamuni’s "flower-twiddling smile," presenting the same imagery. During her years of traveling across the world to preach, she had employed similar techniques, aiming to help the masses understand that what they called the "self" did not truly exist.

In the cycle of six realms of reincarnation, a single soul undergoes various lives—sometimes as a king, sometimes as a slave, occasionally as a heavenly deity, and at other times as something less than an animal. She journeyed across the four seas, revealing the full scope of a person’s past, present, and future lives. And yet, who could discern which "self" among them was the true one?

These "selves" were all inherently distinct. Once this realization dawned upon ordinary folk, they would awaken and cease to cling to the concept of the "self."

In confronting Chen Yi, the nun followed her usual approach but made subtle adjustments. Beginning with a hidden detail, she aimed to guide him to the realization of the "self’s" disunity.

Yet, the person before her, though his heart rippled, experienced only the most minute of disturbances.

He seemed as resolute as stone—more unyielding than the most ordinary of souls.

Nearby, Miss Donggong appeared somewhat bored. Having failed to comprehend anything from their exchange, she shuffled idly, glancing left and right, balancing on one leg while her other foot kicked at the fallen leaves.

With her untroubled, indifferent demeanor, it seemed she had never clung to the concept of the "self" to begin with.

The nun regarded Chen Yi with a deep, contemplative gaze, as though pondering something.

Chen Yi returned the gaze, equally deep in thought.

The tree wished for stillness, but the wind would not cease.