A flick of the finger, thirty years have passed.
Great Snow Temple, Lecture Plaza.
Tens of thousands of monks sat cross-legged in silence beneath the plaza, calming their hearts and listening intently to the teachings.
Atop the high platform stood a young monk.
With distinct eyebrows and eyes, red lips, white teeth, his aura was pure and ethereal, exuding a transcendent Zen rhyme.
It was none other than Chen Sheng, who had long shed the skin of a red snake and solidified his human form.
Suspended between his brows was a transparent relic, its luminous glow rippling gently, as dazzling Buddhist light surged from it, transforming into countless Sanskrit scripts that spiraled and floated, scattering in all directions.
Chen Sheng's voice was gentle and warm, unhurried and steady, each word striking deep into the hearts of the monks:
"When beings cling to forms, they fall into reincarnation; when the heart is unburdened, it attains rebirth..."
