My name is Tang Sanzong. In the eyes of the world, I am pedantic and cowardly. I always rely on my disciples, and even mistakenly believe in demons out of compassion. But they have all forgotten that my true body is a six-winged golden cicada. I was the top murderer in the prehistoric era and ranked first among the five ancient insects. I feed on creatures of the six paths. I am invulnerable to water and fire. I am invulnerable to the five elements. All living beings are just the cause and effect that I chew up.
But that day, the Buddha's light suddenly enveloped my retreating shell. He said that was called compassion, compassion? Compassion is the guide, the chain that I put on when I was weak, the book of scriptures at the Bon Gathering that I could never fully memorize, and the three words that rolled in his throat when he called me Jin Chanzi with a smile, tool man. They asked me to walk westward wearing a brocade cassock, but they didn't tell me that the silk of this cassock were cicada wings that were skinned alive during my ninth reincarnation. Before setting out on the road, Guanyin told me that seeking Buddhist scriptures is a way to save lives. What's the result? The yellow wind monster is the mink of Lingji Bodhisattva, the green bull spirit is the cow of Taishang Laojun, and even the monster in Shituoling is Tathagata's uncle. It turns out that the tribulations in Lingshan were never meant for ordinary people. Those tribulations with backgrounds have become KPIs in the merit book. Only sins without a backer are worthy of death under Wukong's stick. The more I hold my Zen staff, the more it looks like a murderous weapon, killing ants passing by and protecting relationships with heaven.
I redeemed the souls of the dead, but tempered my farewell sighs into pearls. I spurned the six-winged golden cicada to devour flesh and blood, but under the lotus seat of Lingshan Mountain, no one stepped on the corpses to become a Buddha.
