An old monk with a compassionate face walked slowly in from outside the door. His kasaya was tattered and torn, contrasting sharply with the abbot’s luxurious garment. Barefooted, his grizzly eyebrows hung down to his shoulders.

"It’s you again, you bald donkey!" the abbot on the ground suddenly let out a strange noise.

The voice seemed both male and female, yet carried a despairing, eerie power that echoed throughout the temple.

At that moment, Shanxing seemed to witness the most terrifying thing in the world, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

"Amitabha Buddha, last time I let you, this fiend, escape, but this time, I won’t make the same mistake again," the old monk muttered to himself.

He looked around and saw corpses everywhere; the bright red blood made the entire hall stink and hard to stand.

The sacred hall of the Buddhist Sect was thus desecrated by this Demon Head.

"Quite the big talk. Let’s see if you can live up to it," the abbot had gotten up from the ground.

His body was riddled with holes, like a worn-out puppet, which would have been dead had it been an ordinary person.

However, after being possessed by the Demon Head, he seemed to gain a bizarre strength, and despite the damage, his body still clung to life.

The abbot’s face had been marred beyond recognition from violent impacts, and his bloodstained visage resembled a ghastly demonic mask.

He began to laugh eerily, making a disturbing sight.

However, the old monk seemed to see nothing of the blood and horror, his eyes remained downturned as he silently recited scriptures into the air. It was Kṣitigarbha’s Soul Ferrying Sutra, meant to guide souls to ascend to heaven.

"You bald donkey, don’t bother, their souls are mine now. If you want to save them, you’ll have to ask if I agree," the abbot’s body said.

With those words, the abbot’s body began to swell, his flesh turning inside out, remarkably transforming into faces—the faces of the monks who had died in this temple.

"Brother!" Shanxing could not help but cry out in pain at the sight—each face meant the world to him, yet now they were separated by life and death.

And their souls were still subject to torment by the Demon Head before him, forced into endless agony.

In that moment, Shanxing despised his own weakness. If only he had been powerful, he could have avenged his brothers and torn the heartless Demon Head to pieces.

"Almost forgot, there’s still a little thing here. Don’t worry, I will enjoy dealing with you later!" the voice of the abbot echoed in the hall.

"Master, the formation is ready!" a clear voice announced.

Seven young monks walked in. It turned out the old monk hadn’t come alone, but brought along seven disciples.

The Demon Head frowned at this sight. He remembered these seven—they were the ones he had been toying with, only to be rescued by the old monk.

Realizing the turn of events, he no longer wished to tangle with the old monk and disengaged from the abbot’s body, attempting to fly into the sky.

At this point, the Demon Head was intangible, able to pass through objects, very elusive and difficult to deal with.

Yet, as he approached the top of the great hall, he saw a golden net envelop the entire hall. The moment he touched the net, agonizing pain surged through him, and he fell to the ground, reassuming the abbot’s form.

This turn of events caught the Demon Head off guard. He questioned the old monk, "What exactly have you done to me?"

"How did I become such a wretch as the abbot again?" the Demon Head could feel the limitations of this body on his power, it had greatly reduced his strength.

Suddenly, he saw Shanxing curled up in the corner and understood.

"It’s you!"

The Demon Head hadn’t expected that he would shoot himself in the foot. The fear and hatred he had instilled in the Little Monk Shanxing, had oddly become the strongest anchor point, fixing his form onto the abbot’s body.

If it were an ordinary day, it wouldn’t matter much, as killing this Little Monk would naturally lift the restrictions, but now a group of Monks watched him with fierce intent.

"Die!"

The Demon Head bellowed and charged towards Shanxing in the corner.

The old Monk would not let him get his way. Karma had manifested, and the time to slay the Demon Head was now perfect.

Shanxing could not die; with his demise, the Demon Head’s anchor would vanish, and he would revert to that intangible and eerie form, making it much harder to kill him afterwards.

The old Monk extended his palm, and a golden Stupa appeared in his hand, emitting Buddha’s Light.

Gently tossed, the Stupa flew above Shanxing’s head, cascading down thousands of Buddha’s Lights, enveloping him within.

Upon touching the Buddha’s Light, the Demon Head seemed to encounter raging flames, emitting a sizzling sound from his body. He wailed in agony but did not choose to back down. Victory or defeat depended on this move, and as long as he could kill this Little Monk, he would regain the initiative.

Shanxing stared fiercely at the Demon Head approaching him, still vaguely recognisable as the abbot behind that ferocious face.

This made the Little Monk even more fearful and angry, and the Demon Head felt his body solidify a bit more.

He suddenly understood; this was the so-called karma. The old Monk had always been waiting for this moment. The consequences of his heart-manipulating ways had fallen upon this Little Monk, and the old Monk had grasped it with precision.

The Demon Head knew this was his mortal trial. If he could overcome it, he would be at ease; if not, he feared his spirit would scatter and he would vanish completely from this world.

At this moment, he was determined to break through this barrier by any means necessary and kill the Little Monk.

"You think you can kill someone in front of me?" The old Monk bellowed, and with Buddha’s Light suddenly appearing on him, he flashed to the Demon Head’s side.

There was a loud thud as the Demon Head’s body was thrown backwards, hitting the walls of the grand hall hard. Then, seven young Monks surrounded Shanxing, knowing this Little Monk had become the key to the outcome of the battle.

As long as they could protect him, they would witness the Demon Head’s demise.

With eyes full of hatred, they looked at the Demon Head. Events like those that had happened at this monastery had also occurred in the ones they belonged to, where this vicious Demon Head had tormented everyone in the same way.

Their hatred and anger seemed to turn into chains, solidifying the Demon Head in the abbot’s broken body.

This was karmic retribution; under the influence of the Buddhist Sect, this rule had taken root and sprouted in the Xiniu Continent, and now was the time to exhibit the retribution.

An endless might began to envelop the Demon Head, making him feel as if a great disaster was imminent.

At this moment, he felt extraordinarily weak. The abbot’s old and broken body severely restricted his performance.