It seemed that the Primordial Spirit was circulating within him, as Stick Monk Thirteen remained vigilant.
This was precisely the will of the living Buddha, passed down through the Western Regions Buddhism for a millennium, seemingly howling, wanting this old monk to join them, to become an item of legacy, to seek a new host once more.
The old monk, however, appeared unaware, raised the wine jug, tilted his head back, and took a sip of wine:
"So bitter..."
He set the wine jug down.
He laughed softly:
"Divine Martial King."
"This humble monk has come to fulfill the appointment of that day."
His already shattered body crumbled completely, and under the last burning force of the Buddhist Sect, he transformed into flowing light and soaring rainbow, ascending to the sky, unwilling for his death to frighten the passing townsfolk.
That trace of divine thought passed down through the Western Regions Buddhism for a millennium was thus dispelled by him.
