Finally, Ji Zongcheng said everything, and this last bit of attachment and persistence dispersed completely.
He felt immensely exhausted, stumbled suddenly, and sat down.
Surrounding him, heaven's thunder and earth's fire, all sorts of strange phenomena dispersed, leaving only the wind blowing across the lotus pond with him sitting there, face pale as a sheet, before a tall yet solemn monk, the only disciple sent from Central Earth's Buddhist Sect who was valued by a living Buddha, holding a teapot.
Ji Zongcheng held a teacup in his hand, and Stick Monk Thirteen stood upright with one hand, pouring him tea. Ji Zongcheng stared dazedly, lost in thought, as the stick monk calmly inquired:
"Unattached to anything, unchanged by anything; all appearances are illusory."
"Benefactor, you have died, and yet you are still unwilling to let go?"
Ji Zongcheng murmured, "Let go..."
