Chapter 161: Buddhist Disciple 21

Wuxin and his group stayed at the West Mountain Temple.

The decision to stay was not made by Wuxin or Qian, but by Venerable Master Yinhe.

The local villagers’ essence had been taken by the demon bull, leaving most of them weak and ill, with their lifespans greatly shortened. Venerable Master Yinhe decided to stay and use his medicine to help the people in the area.

Although Venerable Master Yinhe appeared cold on the outside, he was actually a very kind and soft-hearted person. Before he became a Buddhist cultivator, he was a highly respected doctor. Later, due to fate, he became a Buddhist cultivator and was widely praised as a monk who healed with medicine.

Over the years, temples in many places have honored him as a healer, and in some areas, he was even revered as the Medicine King Bodhisattva, modeled after him.

It was not just him—many Buddhist cultivators from Bodhi Mountain left behind different legends as they traveled through the mortal world. They were revered by the people, and over time, a unique system of deities and buddhas was formed.

Even Wuxin, as a Buddhist Disciple, had contributed to more than one Bodhisattva prototype.

Coincidentally, the demon-slaying Bodhisattva originally enshrined in the West Mountain Temple was modeled after Wuxin. He had driven away the Demonic Race when they invaded the human realm, and the people at the time had sculpted the statue to express their gratitude. The statue had been passed down in several states and counties, gradually becoming one of the regular statues in the temple.

The demon-slaying Bodhisattva statue that had been shattered by the demon bull no longer resembled Wuxin at all. Even the Magic Staff he held had been transformed into a magnificent golden staff with the words “Demon Suppression” written on it.

Wuxin collected the shattered pieces of his statue while Mingzhen busied himself cleaning the West Mountain Temple. Qian and Mingde were taken by Venerable Master Yinhe to the foot of Little West Mountain to clear land.

At the foot of Little West Mountain, where the West Mountain Temple was located, there was vast wasteland that could be cultivated for medicinal herbs.

The wasteland here was left uncultivated, partly because of the demon bull.

After the demon bull had completed its cultivation, the people not only had to offer gold and silver, but also couldn’t use oxen for plowing because they had offended its prototype. So, they had to rely on human labor for farming.

Unfortunately, after the demon bull drained their essence, the villagers grew weak and sickly, unable to farm, which led to the land becoming barren.

Now that the demon bull was removed, it would take at least ten years for the people to recover and for the land to begin to flourish again.

Qian sat on the demon bull’s neck, holding onto the neck ring, her little feet in cloth shoes swinging as she called, “Giddy up! Giddy up!”

Every time the demon bull slowed down, she would start kicking her feet, her heels banging against the bull’s head, urging it to go faster. This irritated the demon bull, but there was nothing it could do.

The demon bull could only maintain its original form, with the neck ring and nose ring that were magical tools created by Venerable Master Yinhe, preventing it from using its demonic power.

If it resisted, the magical tools would immediately take control, leaving it to suffer the humiliation of having a child ride on its head like a draft animal, forced to work the land.

Furthermore, Venerable Master Yinhe was nearby, also digging up the land, so it couldn’t slack off.

It couldn’t resist, and it couldn’t even entertain ill thoughts.

Every time it became filled with resentment, the sound of a wooden fish and chanting seemed to echo in its ears.

Now it knew—what had captured it were the Buddhist Disciples from Bodhi Mountain. Even if they were not near, that chanting could still reach its ears, penetrating every pore and making its suffering even worse.

From morning until night, while the others went back to eat and sleep, the demon bull had to continue working in the wasteland, unable to stop or escape. The power it had gained from its evil deeds turned into sweat that soaked the fields it plowed.

According to Venerable Master Yinhe, the demon bull had taken the villagers’ essence, and only by giving the land back could it be healed. Later, the herbs grown from this land would be used for medicine, to help restore the essence lost by the people.

Qian had been entrusted by Venerable Master to oversee the demon bull, so she took her role as supervisor very seriously.

The demon bull’s original form was larger and fiercer than an ordinary ox, but Qian was not afraid. She rode it every day, walking around the fields.

The news of this soon spread. The people nearby, half-believing, secretly came to watch. They saw the once-dreaded bandits who had caused chaos at the West Mountain Temple now wearing coarse linen clothes, with their heads shaved, humbly digging in the fields.

A young monk stood nearby watching them, causing these fierce-looking bandits to lower their heads, too afraid to even look up.

These former bandits, who used to feast on meat and fish, now went hungry every day and had to work continuously, their faces ashen and pale.

They had thought of rebelling or escaping, but when they saw their greatest strength—the so-called “Demon Bull King”—was now working the fields, they didn’t dare run away.

The villagers also saw the demon bull, which had once forced them to offer sacrifices at the cost of their lives. They had been too afraid to even mention its existence.

Every household had lost someone because of the demon bull. The nearby low mountains, apart from Little West Mountain, were all filled with tombs, mostly for those who had died from illness or hunger. The people had almost become numb to the suffering.

But now, the demon bull had been subdued and was working the fields just like a normal draft ox.

The villagers felt both hate and fear for the demon bull. They dared not approach, but seeing Qian sitting on the demon bull and walking around every day, their fear gradually diminished.

The child, fair and beautiful, would sit on the demon bull’s back, tugging on its nose ring to make it go wherever she wanted. She looked so majestic.

It was said that the demon bull had been subdued by a great monk, so this child must surely be a little attendant to a Bodhisattva, someone with magical powers. After all, how else could she control such a demon?

The villagers, watching Qian command the bull, felt both grateful and relieved.

Over the past few days, Qian had seen the villagers, pale and emaciated, watching her from a distance. Some even knelt and bowed towards her, while the bolder ones approached. Qian heard them whispering blessings.

Over time, she got used to it. When others waved at her, she waved back. When people bowed to her, she also bent down and returned the gesture, bowing across the field in a mutual exchange.

The West Mountain Temple, now cleaned and tidied, saw people coming from afar to offer incense, and some even brought a new statue of the Bodhisattva. The new demon-slaying Bodhisattva now had a chubby little attendant standing beside it.

Venerable Master Yinhe prepared herbal prescriptions with the medicine in his hands, brewing it into herbal tea every day and distributing it to the villagers who came to the West Mountain Temple, helping them to expel their illnesses.

Occasionally, when there were patients, he would also take a look and provide aid. Soon, word spread from one person to another, and people began saying that a skilled medicinal monk had arrived at the West Mountain Temple, and that the medicine would cure all ailments. More and more people came every day.

Some even came by carriage from further away. This frequent movement created a well-trodden path, and on either side of this path, where it met the Little West Mountain, large tracts of medicinal fields had been cultivated.

Everyone who passed along this road could see a little child riding the demon bull. They would see it and bow, and it became a habit.

The small child statue in the West Mountain Temple became increasingly popular, with incense offerings burning brightly. The relic bone beads around Qian’s neck became more and more luminous, even emitting a faint glow at night.

Qian didn’t really understand what this relic bone was or what it represented, but ever since it began to glow, she couldn’t put it down. Every night, she would hide under her blanket and admire it, asking Wuxin to look at the “night pearl” with her.

During the day, apart from riding the bull and playing, Qian would also carry a small hoe and follow behind Venerable Master Yinhe, learning to plant seeds and cultivate the land along with Mingde.

Venerable Master Yinhe brought many medicinal plant seeds and also harvested herbs from the mountains to transplant them, slowly filling the cultivated fields with medicinal plants.

These plants grew well and fast, leaving the villagers amazed. They also heard that these herbs would be dried and processed to be distributed for free to them in the future. So, many simple villagers spontaneously came to help, pulling weeds, watering the plants, and so on.

Qian was especially popular. The villagers believed that if they got close to her, they would attract good fortune, and their own children would grow up as white, chubby, and healthy as she was.

Before long, a group of children began to gather around Qian. They were all the children of nearby villagers, sent to her to gain her good fortune.

The children didn’t care about the “little attendant of the Bodhisattva” title. When they gathered together to play, there were inevitably squabbles. The usual “Bodhisattva’s little attendant” role was forgotten as they fought and cried, as children often do.

After one such chaotic battle, Qian became the leader of the group. Under the age of ten, she had no rivals, and she didn’t even need a stick. Children three or four years older than her couldn’t beat her.

If anyone truly did have the strength to defeat her, Qian had her number one little brother, Mingde. As soon as she called, he would rush over. Though Mingde still looked a bit slow-witted, he was almost a head taller than Qian now, and his strength was remarkable.

With so many playmates, the demon bull began to suffer. Farming was nothing extraordinary, but the demon bull was unique.

The adults, whether passing by or coming to help, dared not approach the demon bull. But Qian wasn’t afraid, so her “little brothers” followed her and began to approach the demon bull too.

In just a couple of days, the demon bull was surrounded by a group of mischievous children. Its original form was large, and there was plenty of space for ten or more children to hang on.

Qian, like a seasoned driver, would take the “bull cart” every day, leading them around the fields on patrol.

The children tugged at the bull’s horns, ears, fur, tail, and even its nose, causing it both pain and annoyance. It could only endure.

After being played with by the children, who had once been small snacks in its eyes, the demon bull would glare fiercely at the distant white horse leisurely grazing and trotting, with its head lowered to eat grass.

Both were demons, but while it was forced to work the fields, the horse demon could live freely, even being groomed by the monks, who treated it kindly.

The white horse demon noticed the bull’s gaze and disdainfully snorted. It hadn’t committed any evil, and a high monk from Bodhi Mountain had personally invited it to accompany children in their play. It was even a divine white dragon horse granted by Qian herself. How could a vile demon like this bull compare?

Soon, a group of children followed Qian, laughing and running, each with a handful of grass, rushing to offer it to the white horse to see whose grass it would eat.

The child whose grass was eaten by the horse would cheer with delight. Qian told them it was a white dragon horse that could transform, and the children believed it, feeling proud that the white horse ate the grass they had chosen.

In the evening, Qian said goodbye to her little friends and returned to the temple with Mingzhen and Mingde for dinner.

The more than twenty bandits who had worked hard all day followed behind, their steps heavy. In the short time they had worked, their appearance had changed dramatically. Many of them, who had once been in their prime, now had streaks of gray in their hair, showing signs of aging.

“Why have they aged too, just like Father?” Qian asked.

“It’s the punishment given to them by Wuxin Shibo,” Mingzhen replied.

Most of these bandits had committed evil acts such as killing and abducting women. Like the demon bull, they bore marks of their crimes. Every day, as they worked, the essence of their vitality flowed into the land, weakening and aging them.

The more evil they had committed, the faster they aged, and the more pain they suffered.

Qian blinked, the Buddha relic bone around her neck emitting a faint glow in the shadows.

She looked up to see her father, Wuxin, calling for her to come eat. She let go of Mingzhen’s hand and climbed up the stairs, running up to hug Wuxin’s leg.

“I watched the bull carefully today too!”

“Good job,” Wuxin said, patting Qian’s head. “After we eat, we’ll do the evening sutra.”

Qian’s “evening sutra” was different from Mingzhen and Mingde’s. It was something she had started doing after arriving at the West Mountain Temple. Qian called this “watching the stars.”

During the evening sutra, she would sit on the cushion next to Venerable Master Wuxin. He would strike the wooden fish, and she would close her eyes.

Once she closed her eyes, Qian could feel many stars in the sky. Unlike what she saw with her eyes, these stars had different colors.

At this time, Venerable Master Wuxin would ask her if there were any particular stars she liked, and whether she could touch that star.

Qian felt that all the stars looked the same and seemed so far away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t touch any of them.

Always unable to catch a star, Qian became a bit anxious, squirming around. Wuxin gently pressed her head down, comforting her, “Don’t rush, the right time hasn’t come. Take it slow.”