"Crack!" As the jade symbol shattered, a deep black glow expanded from the palm of the small figure, casting a veil of darkness over all the objects in the room. The room's furnishings began to warp—tables, chairs, fine wines and dishes vanished, replaced by simple stone slabs for the floor, and the ceiling by a coffer painted with Buddhas and bodhisattvas. The bright candles burned quietly and steadily. They found themselves in a spacious, elegant Buddhist hall. Almost instinctively, everyone turned their gaze toward the Buddha statue that rose all the way to the ceiling, dressed in golden robes, appearing gentle and kind at first glance, yet with a subtle, fierce intensity hidden in the half-closed eyes. Nothing had changed. In silence, they gradually turned their attention to the seated figure in a green robe, sitting beneath the statue. It seemed everyone shared their own fear that Master Wuhen might lose control—upon entering the hall, they all instinctively looked at the Buddha first. Zhang Yuanqing noticed several cushions had been added, perfectly matching the number of guests present. To the left and slightly ahead, a full-length mirror, framed in bronze and carved with floral patterns, stood upright. Its surface, however, remained hazy "Amitabha!" Master Wuhen's steady, resonant voice, bearing the weight of his suffering, echoed: "Please stand before the mirror, clarify your mind, and behold yourself." "Yes, Master!" Xiao Yuan bowed deeply, clasped her hands, and was the first to approach the full-length mirror. When she stood before it, the hazy surface of the mirror suddenly became clear, revealing her image. Her features were refined; in her bright eyes, a quiet warmth shone, and a gentle smile curled at her lips, as though brimming with anticipation for the future. The others exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of admiration, envy, surprise—and genuine relief. "Excellent!" Master Wuhen murmured, deeply satisfied. Xiao Yuan calmly stepped back, glanced at Zhang Yuanqing without drawing attention, and then bowed to the group. The others returned the bow. Self-awareness is a woman's 'Xiang Yu's Farewell'—she strides forward with her sturdy frame, full of enthusiasm, embracing Xiao Yuan tightly: "Last year, when I saw you in the mirror, you were cold and distant, hardly approachable." This year, you've suddenly become so adorable, sister—congratulations! What exactly has dispelled the resentment lingering in your heart? Congratulations aside, don't squeeze my little round one, even if you think of yourself as a woman—Zhang Yuanqing silently protested in his heart. Honestly, he doesn't particularly want to interact much with this so-called "sister," since she constantly flirts with him—maybe, while she's holding my little round one, she's secretly thinking of him too. "The sourness of romance..." Kou Beiyue mumbled. "What did you just say?" The overall commander, Lin Chong, gave him a pat on the shoulder. Kou Beiyue slumped down, shaking his head vigorously, "Nothing. I said nothing." Meanwhile, the junior high student with the Lingjing ID Zhao Xintong approached the full-length mirror. She was a delicate and charming girl, fair-skinned with gentle, shallow dimples, rarely smiling, yet always obedient and pleasant. Yet, the reflection in the mirror showed a girl with a gloomy expression, a strange, cold smile playing at her lips. The smooth mirror now bears a faint grayish-black hue, as if slightly contaminated. "Has Xiao Tong become even more irritable than last year?" Mr. Yang, whose hair has turned white, furrowed his brows. "All around school are teachers and classmates—can't it be that they're intensifying your temper?" The junior high girl quietly stepped away from the mirror, her voice cold. "Are all teachers truly good people? Are all classmates truly good people?" "Being a role model, how could they not be good people? Your classmates are just like you—still children. You shouldn't speak like this," Mr. Yang said, slightly displeased. "Mr. Yang, you've been a teacher all your life—don't you know that children are the real demons?" Zhao Xinhong interjected, then silently settled onto the cushion. Next came Mr. Yang himself. In the mirror, his image was that of an elderly man weeping, his eyes filled with loneliness and solitude, his hands stained with blood. The mirror now glowed with a blood-like radiance. Lin Chong, the head trainer, appears in the mirror as a stern, fierce figure with a harsh gaze—aggressive, brutal, like a lone wolf in the forest, glaring fiercely at everyone. Then comes "The King of the Warlords Parting from His Consort"—the mirror reveals a graceful, beautiful woman, with facial features reminiscent of the famous "King of the Warlords Parting from His Consort," yet more distinctly feminine. This elegant, sensuous woman, as she moves with poised grace, radiates not charm or allure, but rather cold determination and contempt. The mirror itself has also taken on a faint, bloodstained hue. One by one, each of you is showing serious issues—so it seems, Hua Xintong actually has the lightest profile. That’s my assessment, Zhang Yuanqing thinks internally. One by one, the sixteen members approach the mirror. Kou Beiyue has already resolved her inner conflicts, free of burdens, and appears in the mirror as a restless, spirited young pup—only slightly so. Yet, three of the members’ mirror images surprise Zhang Yuanqing. One is a middle-aged man wearing black-framed glasses, appearing modest and composed—like a refined mathematics teacher or an ordinary office worker. Yet in the mirror, he appears wildly unhinged, clutching his forehead and laughing maniacally. The mirror is streaked with a thick, vivid glow of blood, signaling his fierce lethality. After finishing their mirror reflections, the members offered constructive feedback on one another's "selves," offering enthusiastic congratulations to those who showed improved mental states and gentle encouragement to those whose "conditions" had worsened. The scene had clearly transformed into a peer-to-peer support gathering. "How can you be this timid?" Kou Beiyue quietly expressed her dissatisfaction. The plump member looked embarrassed, forcing a smile and shifting the conversation: "The master is about to begin his teachings, boss—let's take our seats now." Kou Beiyue nodded and was about to turn when she suddenly remembered that Yuan Shǐ Tian Zun hadn't yet done his mirror reflection. "Yuan Shǐ Tian Zun, it's just you left." The others turned to look at Zhang Yuanqing. As Yuan Shǐ Tian Zun wasn't a strict team member, it made sense that he wouldn't be expected to lead this team-specific ritual—only after the main members had completed their reflections would he have the chance to experience it. "Someone worthy of the Magician of the Divine Eye's special attention—must surely be a radiant, shining angel, right?" "Perhaps even a Little Magic Fairy from the Barla-la series." "Maybe even with a crescent moon Lin Chong and the sweet-hearted red demon exchanged a few playful remarks. I've rarely held strong, biased thoughts lately—since acquiring the ghost mirror, I've maintained calm every day, full of hopeful aspirations for life and life itself... Zhang Yuanqing took a deep breath and strode confidently toward the full-length mirror framed in bronze carving. Everyone's gaze turned to the mirror's surface. There, they saw a figure—splintered, fragmented. A person split in two: one side stiff and reserved, the other side enigmatic, with a cold, mocking smile. This more charismatic personality was fierce, irritable, defiant, and perilous. Between the two distinct personas lay dramatic fissures, as if the mirror itself were cracked like stained glass. A deep, rich darkness now spread across the mirror's surface—darker even than the previous time when Fang Yi was present. Everyone stood still, stunned, gazing at the celebrated prodigy, at the moral paragon regarded as a peer by the magical eyes. Was he—after all—more evil than they had imagined? Such an irritable person, yet still a Lawful occupation—what exactly has Yuan Shǐ Tian Zun endured? And yet, this person so deeply resentful and burdened, disguises themselves with a smile and sunshine, warming others in the process... Fang Ai's eyes gleam with surprise, while Hong Mo and Ji Ji are stunned and compassionate. Yang Bo blinks slowly, Zhao Xin Tong looks afraid, and the middle-aged man adjusts his glasses, a gentle smile forming. Kou Bei Yue and the younger man are both speechless; the latter murmurs softly, "Who exactly is the true evil occupation?" Is this me? Is this really me? Zhang Yuanqing stands motionless before the mirror. Was I always like this? So irritable, so passionate, so fragmented, so mentally torn—this is me? A person whose irritability surpasses even the Evil occupation? "May it be so," the master Wuhen says, breaking the silence. One by one, the guests free themselves from their unusual emotions and move silently toward the cushions. Zhang Yuanqing takes a deep breath and walks toward the cushion at the very end. "This isn't your place!" they all said in unison. Lin Chong, full of sorrow, led Zhang Yuanqing to the cushion closest to the Master of Unmarked Presence. "This is your place," he said. The others cast pitying glances toward Yuan Shǐ Tian Zūn. Yuan Shǐ Tian Zūn was already a family man. That explained his deep alignment with the Master of Unmarked Presence's vision, and why the Master allowed conservative professions to serve as peripheral team members—Yuan Shǐ Tian Zūn, like them, was simply a fellow traveler on the path of redemption. Zhang Yuanqing: "...". The others were deeply moved, yet the Master of Unmarked Presence remained silent, as if a statue of a Buddha, calmly seated, observing the world's joys and sorrows with quiet detachment. After everyone had taken their seats, the abbot's resonant, yet patient voice, bearing the weight of his own suffering, began to chant: "Observing the Bodhisattva who is self-aware, practicing profound Prajna wisdom, sees that all five aggregates are empty, and thus transcends all sufferings..." Zhang Yuanqing had read several Buddhist sutras the night before and immediately recognized this as the renowned *Heart Sutra*, whose central teaching emphasizes the inherent emptiness of nature and the power of Prajna to overcome all suffering, ultimately leading to final Nirvana and the attainment of Buddhahood. Delivering this scripture to a group of individuals seeking personal salvation seemed perfectly fitting—yet Zhang Yuanqing, with little understanding of Buddhist doctrine, found himself utterly confused. He thought to himself: how could such a dull, worldly disciple, so greedy for wealth and pleasure, possibly grasp such profound teachings? Yet gradually, Zhang Yuanqing felt an invisible force, like a gentle spring breeze, flowing through his heart, dispelling his restlessness and gloom, and bringing a sudden sense of ease and clarity of thought. The abbot’s voice, once calm and deep, now seemed both majestic and sacred. He suddenly The void (the heart demon) can awaken deep-seated blockages within people's hearts and, through its own strength, soothe their emotions and dissolve their attachments. The chanting echoes layer upon layer, reaching every member's ears and resonating deeply within their souls, leaving Zhang Yuanqing with a profound sense of spiritual purification. As if momentarily forgetting the concerns of the present, no longer preoccupied with the myriad challenges around him—the shadow of the Demon King, the encroaching aura of the Night Rose, Cai Elder's vengeance, the disapproval from headquarters, the leverage now held by the Commander of the Army—everything fades into memory. "Thus have I heard: all things are empty." Without realizing it, the chanting ceases. Zhang Yuanqing opens his eyes, feeling as though he has just woken from a dream that lasted a lifetime. He is both bewildered and serene, glancing around. Most faces bear traces of tears, yet their expressions are remarkably at ease. Facing away from the gathering, the Master without traces speaks softly, "Each of you may now offer your own repentance." At that very moment, Zhang Yuanqing felt a strong urge to pour out his secrets, as if releasing the accumulated pressure would make him light—just like a fat man squeezing out two hundred pounds of oil from his body. A loud "Oooowww!" escaped the little fat man, who wiped tears from his face and sobbed uncontrollably: "Master, I need to repent. I need to repent. I shouldn't have followed the delinquent boys. I shouldn't have let them bully my classmates. I should have studied diligently and given back to society..." Even now, with his composure calm and steady, Zhang Yuanqing found himself wondering: among all of you, who hasn't carried a tragic past? Who hasn't endured a painful memory? All of you are deeply suffering, deeply burdened—yet here you are, repenting for not studying hard during your student years. Isn't that a bit disrespectful? "I was really shy during my high school years, especially because I was tall and overweight, which made me feel deeply insecure. As a result, I was frequently bullied by the school's top students. At first, they demanded money from me—when I wouldn't tell the teachers, they intensified their pressure and started physically assaulting me. It began in my dormitory, and later, it moved to the classroom." "Eventually, they began to take pleasure in tormenting me, forcing me to ask popular girls in the school out on dates, making me humiliate myself in front of everyone, and even compelling me to meet with the English teacher. Whenever I refused, they would beat me up." "I had to go to their rooms every day to carry hot water, deliver meals, and do laundry. To avoid being beaten, I constantly tried to please them, yet I still ended up getting hit unexpectedly—what they saw as a form of entertainment. Once, the beating was so severe that my wounds didn't heal by the weekend, and my parents noticed." "My parents went to the school and made a big scene. They threatened me that if I spoke up, they would kill me. But under the pressure from my parents, the teachers assured me that I "I believed the teacher and came forward to speak about all the students who had been bullying me. The teacher was deeply satisfied and solemnly promised the parents that they would handle the matter properly. Yet the school's response amounted to simply calling the parents for a verbal reprimand and then issuing a formal warning to the group of unruly students." "Until one day, I met a group of idle, unruly kids in a game hall. They were skilled at playing video games and had earned the respect of Gao, who was their elder and himself a young tough. In my eyes, he was a real big shot. Gao asked me to follow him and said I’d have to send him one hundred yuan every month." "I told Gao that the money had already been taken by the school’s top students—the school bullies. Gao was very principled. On weekends, after school, he would gather his people and block off those bullies, dragging them to the school playground where they’d get thoroughly beaten until they ended up in the hospital." "From then on, the school bullies would deliberately avoid me. Indeed, they were just paper tigers—only able to show off their strength within the school walls." "I started hanging out with the off-campus kids, spending time at game halls and internet cafes, learning to smoke and drink. When my money ran short, I’d ask my parents for help. I became known among teachers and classmates as a bad student—but I never got bullied again." From then on, he embraced the role of a tough guy, took pleasure in bullying others, regarded evil as his faith, and committed many things that could never be forgiven. He made great efforts to forget the past, yet the experiences from his youth remained like a disfiguring, hard-to-heal wound—still bleeding vividly whenever recalled. "I must have a leader," he said, "once I lose that leader, the timid, insecure version of myself will rise from the depths of my soul, like an unkillable, uneradicable ghost. With a leader, I feel at ease; even if my enemies are formidable, I dare to fight them to the end." The plump young man knelt on the ground, weeping profusely: "Master Wuhen, I wish to kill off that weak version of myself. I wish to become a good student." Master Wuhen raised both hands in a gesture of reverence and said slowly: "Amitabha Buddha! To recognize your true self is the first step toward reconciling with the past—congratulations, disciple." Others also raised their hands in unison, expressing admiration and heartfelt joy: "Congratulations, disciple." After a moment, seeing no one else offering "repentance," Master Wuhen spoke calmly, "This concludes our session. I hope everyone will return next year..." A voice interrupted him: "Master, your Buddhist wisdom is profound; you have attained enlightenment. Shouldn't you also be repenting? If you wish to repent, I would be honored to give you the opportunity." The hall fell abruptly silent. Everyone stared at the speaker—Yuan Shi Tian Zun—with a look of "have you gone mad?" Could it be that the master's soothing words had not only failed to heal his inner wounds, but had actually worsened his condition? Xiao Yuan gazed at him in bewilderment, unable to understand what had gone wrong in his mind. Master Wuhen remained composed, his voice echoing throughout the hall, "What do you mean?" Zhang Yuanqing gazed steadily at the back of the green robe, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Liyang and Anying!" As the words settled, the golden Buddha, previously gazing down with serene dignity, suddenly opened his eyes—his eyes now blazing with wrath.