Taoist Master, wishing for a sacrifice-based system

Chapter 57 The Highest Level of the Thief Crying "Stop Thief!" "I vow that the evil Taoist will be utterly destroyed!" The old abbot's deadly oath.

"I make a wish."

There were 2.5 million viewers in the live stream.

At the same time, it became quiet.

Qin Du's hand.

He gently placed the enamel mug down.

No sound was made.

He looked at the old monk kneeling in the courtyard.

Waiting for him to finish speaking.

"I make a wish—"

Jueyuan's voice rang out in the afternoon sunlight.

hoarse.

Low-pitched.

But every word is like a nail stained with poison.

He did not close his eyes.

His eyes were wide open.

It was covered in blood vessels.

The pupils are dilated.

No focal length.

It doesn't look like someone is making a wish.

It's more like a final curse.

"I make a wish—"

He held the three incense sticks even higher.

The smoke rose straight into the sky.

"I wish for divine thunder to descend from the sky."

A divine thunderbolt struck from the sky.

These four words came from the mouth of a monk.

It is already full of irony in itself.

A person who has devoted his entire life to Buddhism.

Ultimately, it wasn't Buddha who they sought.

It's not about saving all living beings.

What I'm seeking is thunder.

What they seek is destruction.

Qin Du's eyelids lifted slightly.

Su Nian's breath hitched.

There were 2.5 million viewers in the live stream—but not a single person typed.

There wasn't a single comment.

Everyone was waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Jueyuan is not in a hurry.

He spoke very slowly.

very slow.

It was as if every word was being squeezed out one by one from between his teeth.

"Let everything—"

His lips twitched.

"Wearing the cloak of religion —"

"Those who amass wealth through fraud and harbor evil deeds —"

"The Demonic Way----"

"And hypocrites."

The two words: "demon Taoist".

He bit down really hard.

It was so heavy it felt like a layer of skin was scraped off the tongue from those two words.

It was covered in blood.

Then he turned his head away.

He stared intently at Qin Du, who was sitting on the armchair.

There was hatred in that look.

He's crazy.

There is an almost perverse, twisted belief that "I win by destroying you."

But Qin Du just looked at him.

His expression remained unchanged.

It's like watching a trapped beast banging its head against the bars in a cage.

Bystanders.

Jueyuan took a couple of breaths.

go on.

The sound grew louder and louder.

taller and taller.

In the end, it was almost a scream.

"immediately!"

"Completely disgraced!"

"To be reduced to ashes!!!"

The last three words were spoken.

Jueyuan seemed to have exhausted all his strength.

The whole person leans forward.

I almost fell over on the incense burner.

But he held on.

He trembled as he inserted the three incense sticks, one by one, into the incense burner.

The first stick.

Second note.

Third note.

After inserting.

His hands fell to his sides.

It was as if all the bones in his body had been removed.

He collapsed to the ground.

His eyes were unfocused as he stared ahead.

Qin Du sat in a grand chair.

It didn't move.

His field of vision was in the lower right corner.

System panel.

Bright.

[Ding. Your wish has been granted.]

[The person making the wish: Jueyuan (in a state of mental breakdown).]

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

[Wish: May divine thunder descend from the heavens, instantly annihilating all those charlatans and hypocrites who use religion as a guise to swindle money and deceive people, and who harbor filth and evil.]

Qin Du silently closed the system panel.

Raise your head.

Looking at the old monk slumped on the ground in the center of the courtyard.

Jueyuan was still muttering to himself.

He was chanting scriptures.

It is not the Rebirth Mantra.

It is the Great Compassion Mantra.

A Great Compassion Mantra that doesn't recognize itself in a single line.

He recited it in fragments.

It looks like a phonograph that has been struck by lightning.

Qin Du looked at him for a few seconds.

Then he slowly turned his face.

They looked in the direction of Daenji Temple.

Halfway up the mountain.

A faint, almost invisible column of smoke was still drifting in.

It's been burning since early this morning.

It's been more than ten hours.

The smoke is already very thin.

But it hasn't completely gone out yet.

at the same time.

Halfway up the mountain.

Daen Temple.

The ruins.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

A new black minivan slowly drove into the parking lot.

Four people got out of the car.

They were not wearing uniforms.

They were all dressed casually.

But posture, expression, and eyes.

You can tell at a glance that he's not an ordinary person.

The one in the lead was in his forties and was wearing a dark gray jacket.

He was holding a black folder in his hand.

There was a red stamp pressed on the side of the folder.

under the sun.

The seal reflected a very special red that only experts could recognize.

He walked up to the fire and police officials who were conducting an on-site investigation.

He flashed his ID.

Then he only said one sentence.

"From now on, this site is handed over to us."

That document.

The district captain who was conducting the on-site investigation glanced at it.

I only glanced at it.

His back straightened up.

He didn't speak.

He simply turned around.

He yelled at his men, "Everyone! Retreat outside the cordon! Hand over the scene!"

The dozen or so police officers who were conducting an on-site investigation were stunned for a second.

Then execute it immediately.

Well-trained.

Without asking why.

Only execute.

Because in their careers, there are occasions where the platoon leader can "retreat outside the blockade line".

not much.

very few.

So few that you could count them on one hand.

But I encountered it today.

The man in the gray jacket didn't say anything more.

He walked into the ruins.

The three people following behind him included one wearing white gloves and carrying a sealed box.

One of them was carrying a complex piece of equipment on his back.

He didn't take anything; he just looked around.

Dodge each corner for two seconds.

Like a scanning instrument.

The man in the gray jacket walked straight to the center of the main hall.

That golden Shakyamuni Buddha statue, which was once worth eight million.

It's now a ruin.

The Buddha statue was blown to pieces.

Copper ingots and gold leaf were scattered all over the ground.

But the base of the Buddha statue—

The base that was directly attached with explosives—

It wasn't completely blown to pieces.

The base is made of pure copper.

It is very thick.

The force of the explosion blew the Buddha's body into the air.

But the base was blown apart.

The top of the base was cracked into several pieces.

Like a cracked bronze lotus flower.

From the crack.

You can see the inside of the base.

And the inside of the base.

It's not empty.

The man in the gray jacket squatted down.

The gloved assistant handed over a powerful flashlight.

He looked into the base.

Then his hand stopped.

He remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he stood up and whispered to his assistant behind him, "Take a picture of every inch of this base."

"Every inch."

The assistant acted immediately.

He pulled out a professional camera.

The flash went off with a "pop".

Another one.

Another one.

More than one hundred photos.

They filmed continuously for ten minutes.

After the filming was finished.

The man in the gray jacket put on his gloves.

Squat down.

From the crack in the base.

Carefully, he took out the first item.

It was a stack of cash.

It wasn't ten or twenty thousand in cash.

It was a neatly bundled box of one million dollars, sealed with plastic tape.

He pulled out a bundle.

Held in his hand.

The plastic wrap is still new.

The banknotes showed no signs of having been used.

It looks like it was just moved from somewhere.

It's hidden here.

"Let's take a look," the man in the gray jacket said.

The assistant squatted down and began counting the bundles one by one.

When we reached the fifth minute...

He raised his head.

"We've counted 120 bundles so far. Conservatively speaking, we should be able to dig out another half."

One hundred and twenty bundles.

One million per bundle.

120 million.

This is only what has been unearthed so far.

It's not finished digging yet.