Chapter 2820 - Walker Of The Worlds

"Hmm." Monk Hushu gave a noncommittal hum. "What about me?" Lin Mu asked. "You? You're coming straight to the top with me," Monk Hushu said without hesitation. "The main temple, then," Lin Mu said, understanding. "Indeed. We should pay our respects to the Elders and the Abbot as soon as possible." Monk Hushu's voice held both reverence and nostalgia. He had not seen them in a long time and missed them deeply. "Then let's hurry up," Lin Mu said, taking the first step onto the mountain. The others followed behind, beginning their ascent. Forty thousand steps might seem daunting, but for cultivators, it was little more than a walk. Even Meng Bai could reach the top with effort, though he would be thoroughly fatigued by the end. Lin Mu, on the other hand, could scale it a hundred times without losing breath. After an hour, they reached the first temple. There, Meng Bai and Daoist Chu stopped and were led to a peaceful resting area by other monks. Lin Mu and Monk Hushu, however, were just getting started. Lin Mu and Monk Hushu continued their ascent in silence. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone steps, which had been worn smooth by the passage of countless pilgrims, monks, and seekers of truth. Though their pace was calm, each step brought with it a subtle shift in the air—denser, heavier, as if the very spiritual energy of the mountain grew more concentrated the higher they climbed. Above them loomed clouds, tinged gold by the rays of the late morning sun. The mountain was alive in a way few places in the world could compare. Birds with pure white plumage circled the peaks, singing harmonious notes that seemed in tune with the chants of unseen monks echoing from faraway halls. Lotus flowers bloomed in places no flower should bloom—on cliffsides, in crevices, between cracks in the stairs. And they glowed faintly, not with sunlight, but with inner light. "This place is something else," Lin Mu murmured, half to himself. Monk Hushu smiled. "Every stone on this mountain has witnessed prayer. Every breeze carries a mantra. It is a sacred place… but also a trial." "A trial?" Lin Mu asked. "Your body may not feel it yet, but your spirit is already walking through fire." As if to confirm his words, Lin Mu felt a slight ripple within his core. Not painful, not alarming—but like something deep inside was being stirred. Thoughts he hadn't considered in years drifted into his mind. Faces from the past. Moments of doubt, of shame, of hesitation. He shook his head. "What is this?" "The mountain reveals what's hidden," Monk Hushu replied calmly. "Not to torment, but to purify." They reached the ten-thousandth step. Here stood the second temple—a solemn structure of grey stone and gold-tipped roofs, surrounded by statues of the Thousand-Armed Avalokiteshvara. Monks in saffron robes chanted beneath the eaves, their voices low and steady. As Lin Mu passed, some of them opened their eyes, nodding in silent acknowledgment. One monk raised his hand and offered a single lotus flower. Lin Mu bowed and accepted it. "The fact they recognized you without introduction," Hushu whispered, "means they already saw your arrival in meditation." "Did they see what I'm supposed to do?" Lin Mu asked. "No one sees that but you." They did not linger. Monk Hushu only offered a passing prayer at the temple gates, and then they resumed the climb. With every step now, Lin Mu felt a subtle resistance—not in his body, but in his mind. The air buzzed faintly. His thoughts grew louder, clearer. Regrets came unbidden. Battles he'd fought. Words he wished he hadn't said. People he couldn't save. And then, they began to fade. His breathing calmed. His mind steadied. The weight that once sat in the corners of his soul lightened, as if each step unburdened him of some invisible chain. By the twenty-thousandth step, the third temple came into view. This one was massive, built directly into the side of the mountain. Great bells hung from its towers, their chimes resonating through the clouds. A vast mural carved into the cliff beside it depicted the Wheel of Samsara—birth, suffering, death, and rebirth—carved in astonishing detail. The mural itself exuded pressure, as if the stone held memory. Monk Hushu paused here. "This is where most monks stop," he said quietly. "To go beyond is not a matter of strength—but of truth." "Truth?" "About yourself. Your past. Your path. If you cannot look inward with clarity, the mountain will turn you away." "I'm not here to turn back," Lin Mu said. "I know," Monk Hushu smiled, "That's why I brought you." They passed the third temple and continued. The wind was stronger now, and not just wind—whispers filled the air. Chanting. Weeping. Laughter. All blending together into a soundless echo that one could feel rather than hear. At thirty thousand steps, Lin Mu stumbled. Only for a moment. But it was enough to make Monk Hushu turn his head. "You felt it, didn't you?" the monk asked. "Something inside me cracked," Lin Mu said. "But I don't know what." "Good," Hushu said simply. "That means you're beginning to understand." They walked again in silence. At thirty-five thousand steps, Lin Mu saw visions. He saw his younger self—brash, angry, lost. He saw people he had hurt—some by accident, some in the name of justice. He saw the faces of those who had hurt him. He did not look away. He let them pass through him, not holding, not rejecting. Just seeing. And when the visions faded, he found himself walking more lightly. By the time they reached the final temple—perched atop the summit like a crown of gold—the clouds had parted. The sky was vast and endless above them. The peak of the mountain stood as if piercing the heavens themselves, and the temple at its summit was no longer stone and timber alone. It glowed with spiritual light. Its columns shimmered, as if carved from moonlight. The bells rang with no wind. The banners fluttered with no air. A path of lotuses now led to the final gate, blooming beneath their feet with every step.