Chapter Eighty-Four: The Ocean of Karma, A Startled Heart Before the Buddha

On the banks of the Ganges, in the ancient city of Varanasi.

The air was thick with a unique blend of sandalwood, floral scents, and the river’s dampness. Countless devout believers bathed in the waters, chanting ancient scriptures, as if the entire city was shrouded in a dense, almost palpable atmosphere of faith.

I held Yi-Yi’s hand, walking down the stone path that led to the ancient Buddhist temple.

My heart was heavier than it had ever been.

Since my rebirth, whether facing the weapons of modern technology, the sacred light of the Holy See, or the curses of the bloodline, I had never wavered. For I knew that in the face of absolute power, all else was nothing but clay chickens and straw dogs.

But this time, it was different.

The force emanating from the temple was not mere energy. It was a law, a collection of concepts—cause and effect, samsara, karma, willpower… These intangible yet undeniably real forces that bound all beings in this world were condensed together, forming an invisible “Sea of Karma.”

And the Eye of Brahma was the vortex at the heart of that sea.

What unsettled me even more was Yi-Yi’s reaction.

Her small hand was slightly cold in my palm; usually lively, she was now uncharacteristically quiet. Instead of gazing curiously at the sights around us, she stared, dazed, at the temple spire in the distance, as if something there was drawing her in.

“Yi-Yi, what’s wrong?” I asked her gently.

She looked up, confusion flickering in her clear eyes. “Father, I think… I hear so many people talking. They’re crying, laughing, making wishes… It’s so noisy.”

My heart sank abruptly.

She could hear what mortals could not. This proved her resonance with the Eye of Brahma was even deeper than I had anticipated. Her soul was as pure as untouched paper, and for that reason, she was all the more susceptible to the complexities of this “Sea of Karma.”

We arrived at the temple’s entrance.

This temple was so old its origins could no longer be traced. Moss and the marks of time covered its walls. There were no monks at the gate, only two stone statues of wrathful guardians, their faces bearing a faint, almost imperceptible trace of compassion.

Crossing the threshold, I felt as though I had passed through an invisible curtain of water.

All the surrounding clamor vanished instantly, replaced by a bone-deep silence.

Inside, the incense burned endlessly, yet not a single monk or worshipper could be seen. Only countless ever-burning lamps swayed eerily in the windless great hall.

In the hall’s center stood a massive stone statue of the Buddha, eyes closed.

The Buddha’s face seemed to smile and weep at once, an unspeakable strangeness in its expression.

Embedded in the statue’s brow was the so-called Eye of Brahma.

It was neither a gemstone nor a crystal. In appearance, it was like a living, breathing eye. Its pupil was unfathomably deep, like a black hole, as if it could draw in one’s very soul.

The moment I looked at it, the “eye” seemed to look back at me.

I saw no images, but in that instant, I felt the endless suffering and despair of billions of beings through countless cycles of rebirth, the mountain-high accumulation of desires and obsessions.

Even more frightening, my own heart—usually as solid as bedrock—rippled with a barely perceptible tremor.

My inner alarm blared and I immediately withdrew my gaze, using the power of my nascent soul to shield my mind.

But when I lowered my head to look at Yi-Yi, my pupils contracted sharply.

Yi-Yi was staring, entranced, at the Buddha statue. And between her brows, a faint, illusory image identical to the Eye of Brahma had appeared!

“Please wait, benefactor.”

Just as I was about to take Yi-Yi and leave this uncanny place, an old, calm voice drifted from the shadows of the hall.

I turned to see an elderly monk in a tattered robe, who had appeared without my noticing. He was gaunt—so thin that a gust of wind could have toppled him. His eyes were tightly closed, and he held no prayer beads, standing there quietly as if merged with the temple itself.

Though his eyes were shut, it was as if he could see everything about us.

“Are you the abbot here?” I shielded Yi-Yi behind me, my voice cold.

“I have no name. I am but a caretaker of tombs,” the old monk replied with a slow shake of his head, his voice devoid of worldly warmth. “I guard this Sea of Karma, and I guard this Buddha of Heart-Demons.”

“Buddha of Heart-Demons?” My brow furrowed.

“Buddha has no fixed form, but is born of the heart,” the old monk answered obliquely, his voice slow. “When people worship the Buddha, they do not worship the Buddha, but their own desires. Wealth, power, love, rebirth—all these countless obsessions gather here, and so the Buddha becomes a demon.”

His words were nothing short of heretical, yet they matched my own observations perfectly.

“This Eye of Brahma is the root of all this,” I stated directly.

“It is not the root—merely a mirror,” the old monk corrected me. “It reflects the karma of all beings, the sufferings of samsara. You, benefactor, have transcended the three realms and are no longer bound by the five elements. Why do you come to entangle yourself in this endless web of cause and effect?”

“I came for it,” I declared, pointing at the spirit stone in the Buddha’s brow.

“You cannot take it,” the old monk shook his head. “It has long since merged with the karma of the countless beings here. To forcefully remove it would be to shoulder all their causes and effects. Even a golden immortal would find their heart stained and fall into the cycle of rebirth.”

“My Dao does not believe in cause and effect, nor does it enter the cycle of rebirth,” I said proudly. “I believe only in myself.”

“And that is the divergence between the path of cultivation and the path of Buddhism,” the old monk sighed. “Cultivators seek ‘having’—they seek power, life, eternity, always taking, striving to stand above heaven and earth. We Buddhists seek ‘emptiness’—to give up, to extinguish, to find stillness, always letting go, returning in the end to the world itself.”

“Your path defies the heavens. Yet this thing follows the heavens and gathers the karma of all beings. By nature, you are in conflict.”

“So what of it?” I laughed lightly. “If our paths differ, then let power prove itself.”

“You are mistaken, benefactor,” the old monk remained calm. “Here, your ‘power’ is useless. The more you struggle, the deeper you sink. Like a man trapped in quicksand: the more he fights, the faster he drowns.”

He “looked” at Yi-Yi behind me.

“Your daughter’s soul is pure as unmarked paper. That is why she resonates with the Eye of Brahma. It bears no malice—it merely wishes to reflect, through her, a self that has not yet been stained by desire.”

“But such reflection is a burden no mortal can bear. In time, she will lose herself in endless illusions of reincarnation, never to find her true self again.”

Every word the old monk uttered struck at my deepest fears.

“What do you propose?” I asked, my voice heavy.

“The one who tied the knot must untie it,” the old monk replied slowly. “The matter of the Eye of Brahma can only be resolved through Buddhist practice. If you trust this humble monk, remain here for three days. After three days, perhaps I can offer you an answer.”