Ding Ling saw this.
He was solemn and silent.
The Golden Pen continued to write swiftly.
"But I also do not wish him dead. For if he were to die, the Buddha would dwindle while demons flourish; the inevitable decay and corruption by demons like those of autonomous realms would pervade the Ten Thousand Realms, and by then, no world, including mine, could escape this fate. Hence, I hope he can live well."
Ding Ling was puzzled.
"If the Buddha were to die, how could Poxun be safe?"
"This I do not know," it wrote with a slight tremor of the golden line, and continued,
"After all, it's highly likely that Poxun is just a thought of the lord of the autonomous realms. I cannot sense whether the true being, or Poxun for that matter, is truly dead."
"Who was the fierce demon I clashed with in the Different Space-Time?"
