Journey to the West: Please Call Me the White Bone Demon

Before dawn the next day, the bronze bell on Mount Ling, which had been silent for a long time, rang again.

The bell tolled deep and resonantly, one sound after another, echoing from the mountaintop to the foot of the mountain, striking back and forth several times.

The monks on Lingshan Mountain haven't heard the complete gathering bell for a long time. When they rushed to the Mahavira Hall, they found that there were far fewer people than expected.

But these thousand or so people represent all that Lingshan can muster right now.

There are still seven or eight Arhats left in the Vajra Division, and a dozen or so monks in the Prajna Hall. The rest are mostly novices and laypeople who are not senior, not experienced, and have nowhere else to go.

They, who usually stood at the back, had all come to the front, exchanging anxious glances, none of them knowing what the bell was going to announce this morning.

When the Buddha appeared, everyone fell silent without prior agreement.

He sat upright on the lotus platform as always, his gaze slowly sweeping over every face in the hall, as calm as a pool of water reflecting the sky.

After a moment of silence, Tathagata slowly spoke: "You have all seen the situation on Mount Ling recently, so I don't need to say more."

"Manjushri is gone, Samantabhadra is gone, Avalokiteshvara is gone, Maitreya is nowhere to be found, and Baoguang is also gone. Those who have left or not left, those who are moving or wavering, and those who are watching and waiting, have emptied most of Mount Ling in the past few months. Those of you standing here now are the last group of people who have not left."

He paused, his gaze filled with a calm resolve: "But what I want to tell you today is that I will no longer stay at Mount Ling."

A low murmur arose in the main hall; some people subconsciously took a half step forward, while others gripped their prayer beads tightly.

The Buddha didn't give them a chance to interrupt, and continued, "As the World-Honored One of Mount Ling, I proclaim to the Three Realms that from this day forward, Mount Ling is officially merged into the new Buddhist sect. All disciples who remain here, those who wish to follow me, will become members of the new Buddhist sect; those who do not wish to go may leave on their own, and Mount Ling will not stop anyone."

As these words were spoken, the entire hall seemed to be struck by an invisible bolt of lightning.

First came a chilling silence, then a voice cried out, its voice trembling with sobs: "World Honored One! What are you saying! Mount Ling is our foundation!"

Then, like a floodgate opening, all sorts of sounds poured out.

"World Honored One, please reconsider! The lineage of Mount Ling has endured to this day; how can it be merged so easily!"

"World Honored One, I have cultivated on Mount Ling for thirty thousand years. This is my home. Do you want me to abandon my home?"

"Was it those rumors that drove us to this? World Honored One, please don't listen to those who spread such nonsense. As long as our disciples are still here, Mount Ling will never fall apart!"

One plea, one dissuasion, and one question after another surged from the crowd. Some people had red eyes, some had trembling voices, and several older monks knelt down and prostrated themselves on the ground.

Those who remained on Lingshan Mountain, to some extent, still had a sense of attachment and belonging to the mountain; otherwise, they would have run away with the previous groups long ago.

Hearing the Buddha say that they should be incorporated into the new Buddhist order was like being stabbed in the chest by a close relative.

It hurts, and I feel lost.

The Buddha sat serenely on his lotus throne, his expression unchanged. His calm eyes gazed upon the surging monks below. Only after the commotion subsided did he speak, his tone still composed: "I know you are reluctant to part with him, and so am I."

"But what's the point of having an empty shell if you can't bear to part with it?"

"The foundation of Mount Ling has long been rotten. Those scriptures, those golden statues, those layers upon layers of rules—from the very beginning, they were just pavilions built on sand. You think that staying here is guarding a legacy, but have you ever asked yourselves what is actually contained within that legacy?"

His voice never rose, but every word he uttered was like a heavy stone falling down, leaving those people speechless with their mouths agape.

Several people who wanted to continue arguing were pulled back by the sleeves of those around them and shook their heads.

The Buddha then said, "I have already read the new Buddhist charter. All beings are equal, promotion is based on merit, regardless of birth, and cultivation depends entirely on one's own diligence."

"There will be no distinction between the noble and the lowly. All disciples will have a place to stand. After you go there, you will not have to start from scratch. Those with duties will continue to perform their duties, and those with special skills will continue to perform their special skills. It will only be better than the current situation of Mount Ling."

As he spoke his last sentence, his gaze suddenly sharpened for a moment: "Those who wish to come with me, stand to my left. Those who do not wish to go, stand to my right and descend the mountain immediately. Ling Mountain will not keep any more guests. All monks must make their choice before noon today."

These words caused another uproar.

But in that uproar, there was little energy left for argument; instead, there were mostly whispers of bewilderment and helplessness.

The crowd looked at each other, but no one took the first step.

After a stalemate lasting about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, finally one person in the crowd made a move.

He was an elderly monk, hunched over with a face full of wrinkles. His cultivation level was not high, but he had accompanied Mount Ling for many years.

He walked shakily out of the crowd, neither going to the left nor the right, but stopping in the middle. He bowed deeply to the Buddha and said in a hoarse voice, "World Honored One, this old monk is too old to move. Whether it is a new Buddhist sect or an old Buddhist sect, this old monk will not go anywhere."

"This old monk intends to descend the mountain and find a small temple to spend the rest of his days in. Today's bow is a farewell to the World-Honored One and to Mount Ling."

Without waiting for Buddha's response, he turned around, hunched over, and walked step by step toward the mountain gate.

The morning light stretched his shadow long and thin. Several young novices looked at his back with tears in their eyes, but no one asked him to stay.

Once there's a first, there's a second.

Immediately afterwards, a middle-aged monk stepped out from the crowd, clasped his hands in a gesture of respect to the Buddha, and said, "This disciple is disheartened and no longer wishes to be involved in these matters. This disciple will also descend the mountain. Take care, World Honored One."

Then the third, and the fourth.

There weren't many people who chose to leave, only a few dozen in total, but each of them walked out with a broken silence.

These people were reluctant to leave Mount Ling, but they were also unwilling to follow the Buddha into a new Buddhist sect that they knew nothing about. In the end, they could only choose this path, which was neither staying nor betraying the Buddha, but simply extricating themselves from this turmoil.

The Buddha watched as those figures disappeared one by one at the end of the stone steps, without trying to stop them.

After those dozens of people had gone far away, he looked again at the remaining thousand or so people in the hall.

Those people didn't leave; they stood there, their expressions gradually shifting from initial panic to resignation after being cornered.

Some people sighed softly and walked to the left, while others hesitated for a moment, biting their lips, before following suit.

Soon, the crowd seemed to be pushed by an invisible tide, slowly and steadily converging towards the left.

The more than 1,000 monks eventually gathered in a scattered group on the left side of the square. Although no one spoke, their silence itself was an answer.

The Buddha looked at them and finally nodded slightly, his voice softening: "Since you are all willing to come with me, then pack your belongings. From now on, Mount Ling will no longer exist, and you will all be members of the new Buddhist sect."