Nightwatcher

Chapter 292: The Power of the Masses

Chapter 292: The Power of the Masses

# 292. The Power of the Masses

Chu Caiwei pursed her lips, her bright almond-shaped eyes following that figure until he disappeared into the golden bowl. The big-eyed beauty still couldn’t shake off the scene she had just witnessed.

*So majestic...* she thought.

"Young Master Xu is simply a divine being," the white-robed arcanists sighed in genuine admiration.

To them, such a display of grace and grandeur was too avant-garde, too innovative. It left an immense impact on their hearts.

In comparison, their Senior Brother Yang, who could only repeat his catchphrase, "There are none like me upon this land," seemed utterly lacking.

As this thought crossed their minds, both the white-robed arcanists and Chu Caiwei instinctively turned to look at Yang Qianhuan, only to see him trembling all over.

“So this... this is how it can be done... This is how it can be done... In front of countless people from the capital, before the great officials and nobles of the Great Feng, to drink boldly, to recite poetry with grandeur, and to face battle valiantly.

“Just imagining it makes my brain tremble. This... this is the extreme I have been pursuing, the feeling I desire... I never imagined he could achieve it so easily.

“No... this was my opportunity... my chance... Jianzheng... You... you... deceived me.”

On the rooftop of a nearby tavern, Chu Yuanzhen sighed, "Impressive, truly impressive. This kind of showmanship can be said to be the pinnacle throughout history. Even when I succeeded in scoring the zhuangyuan in the Palace Exams, I wasn’t this celebrated."

“Amitabha, this is why Sir Xu is a unique individual,” Hengyuan said with a smile.

Sir Xu's personality was far more interesting than the rigid scholars and much more agreeable than the brash martial artists who resorted to violence at the slightest disagreement. This was likely one of the reasons why the oiran of the Jiaofangsi were so fond of him. It wasn’t just his poems that attracted them, but his personal charm too.

“He's gone inside.”

Amid the crowd, a commoner pointed towards the “painting” projected in the air. At the foot of the towering mountain, a cloaked figure had appeared.

...

*I'd give myself a 99/100 for that grand entrance, one mark docked for feeling awkward... But, if I pretend it wasn’t awkward, then it's a flawless, gleaming golden performance... Occasionally indulging in some melodrama feels pretty good…* Xu Qi'an thought, reviewing his showy performance while surveying his surroundings.

The world he entered felt as real as reality itself. Perhaps it was real—a small world created by the profound powers of a great Buddhist figure.

Before him was a towering Buddhist mountain, shrouded in clouds and mist, like a mystical realm beyond the mortal world.

Faint chanting echoed in the air, calming the heart and inspiring peace. It made one forget all worldly concerns, leaving only tranquility and joy.

Before him stretched a winding stone staircase, leading into the mist.

Xu Qi'an extended his senses for a moment but detected no signs of life—no insects, birds, or beasts.

"Monk Jingsi is guarding halfway up the mountain, so the first trial shouldn't be him. What could the first trial be?"

With this thought in mind, he began his ascent.

After walking for some time in peace, Xu Qi'an came upon a small stone tablet beside the stairs. On it were inscribed two characters: "Eight Sufferings."

...

“The Eight Sufferings of life—birth, aging, illness, death, separation from loved ones, encountering enemies, failing to attain desires, and the suffering of the five skandhas…[^1]”

Master Du'e's voice, filled with compassion and empathy, echoed in the ears of the audience, "This first trial is the 'Eight Sufferings Formation.' Only those with firm resolve can continue the climb and be tested by further Buddhist teachings."

At the Bagua Platform, Emperor Yuanjing, clad in a Daoist robe, stood at the edge, overlooking the square. He asked solemnly, "I have heard of this formation before. Jianzheng, how powerful is this 'Eight Sufferings Formation'?"

"It's not about power; it's the kind of formation that wears you down," the Jianzheng replied, sipping wine as he explained to the emperor, “If a child were to enter the formation, they would easily walk out. The more one has experienced in life, the harder it is to break through. In Buddhism, this formation is used to temper the minds of monks.

"Some emerge with their hearts and minds more complete than ever, while others are shattered by the Eight Sufferings, their Buddhist heart destroyed."

Emperor Yuanjing immediately became serious. "Even high monks struggle with this formation. How can he possibly succeed?"

The Jianzheng chuckled, "How could competing with the Buddhists be so easy? Just a single 'Eight Sufferings formation'—there are few in the capital who could pass through unscathed."

The emperor’s brows tightened upon hearing this.

If as the Jianzheng had said, the number of people who could make it through this formation was merely a handful, he didn’t believe that Xu Qi’an would be counted within that group. This had nothing to do with talent but with one’s heart, comprehension, and even the system they practiced.

How could a martial artist survive an formation meant to temper a Buddhist monk’s heart?

If Buddhism advocated for an enlightened, pure heart, then martial artists were the opposite—rough and unrefined.

*If we lose this battle, our alliance, which was once equal, will begin to tilt…* Emperor Yuanjing thought.

That was his true concern. Compared to twenty years ago, the Great Feng had grown considerably weaker and could no longer compare to the Western Buddhist Sect. This was an unspoken truth, but if they lost this match, it would become an undeniable fact written into history.

Historians studying this era would conclude that in Emperor Yuanjing’s later years, the Great Feng had declined in power, casting him not as a revivalist ruler but as an incompetent one.

"We cannot lose. No matter what, we must win. We have three chances. If Xu Qi'an fails, you must select a capable candidate for the next attempt," Emperor Yuanjing said coldly.

...

“Is this formation really that terrifying?”

Chu Yuanzhen, having listened to Hengyuan’s explanation, was shocked.

"With Xu Ningyan's temperament, I’m afraid he won’t pass the Eight Sufferings test," Chu Yuanzhen muttered, deep in thought.

"Perhaps you should be a little more confident and drop the word 'afraid,'" Hengyuan replied helplessly.

"This 'Eight Sufferings formation' is used to temper the hearts of meditating monks. For warrior monks, it can cause their minds to shatter, leading to madness or even complete loss of reason."

"Is the Buddhist sect really this ruthless? Are they trying to destroy Xu Ningyan?"

…

*There is no fluctuation of energy, no sign of danger. The Eight Sufferings Formation won’t attack me,* Xu Qi’an stood by the stone tablet, hesitating to take a step forward.

*Well, never mind. Let’s break the formation first.*

Xu Qi’an stepped onto the stone steps, entering the formation. In an instant, his surroundings changed. The sacred Buddhist mountain and steps faded, swallowed by darkness.

“Wah wah…”

He immediately heard the cry of a newborn, the sound tearing through the darkness. He saw white walls, white bedsheets, and a crowd in white uniforms.

A nurse was holding a newborn baby, carefully cleaning the child.

Lying on the bed was a woman with a pale face, drenched in sweat—her features delicate and all too familiar.

“Mum…”

Involuntarily, Xu Qi’an called out.

This wasn’t the birth of Xu Qi’an of the Great Feng. It was the birth of Xu Qi’an, who had grown up under a banner of red, in a New China.

The child grew, enjoying a happy and carefree childhood before being forced into school. Day after day, year after year, schoolwork dominated his youth.

Finally, he made it to graduation, reaching adulthood, ready to step into society.

At this point, his noticeably aging parents patted his shoulder and said, with a hint of guilt, “You’ve finally graduated from the police academy. Your parents can’t give you anything. You’ll have to work hard yourself. Buying a house, a car, and getting married is all up to you.”

He entered the workforce, working tirelessly day and night to save enough for a deposit on a house. After many years of grueling effort, he finally managed to make the deposit.

Then another problem arose—no money for renovations...

Xu Qi’an made a tough decision, leaving his job to go into business. After a failed venture, he spent the next decade struggling to get back on his feet.

Ten years later, he finally had a well-furnished home and some savings. It was time to start a family.

But then, his father fell ill… a serious illness that nearly drained him of all his savings. His father’s health deteriorated, and Xu Qi’an had to take on the responsibility of caring for both his aging parents.

Because of this, his long-time girlfriend left him.

*Isn’t this where I should’ve died from drinking too much...* He wanted to laugh at himself, but the weight in his heart only grew heavier.

The scene shifted. Before the age of forty, Xu Qi’an finally got married to a reasonably decent woman. The next year, they had a child. The couple quarreled endlessly over how to get their child into a better school.

From that moment on, they lived solely for their child, raising him, supporting his education, until one day the child said, “Mum, Dad, I’m getting married, but I need a house. My fiancée doesn’t want to live with you two.

“Oh, and before that, you need to prepare a hundred thousand yuan or so for the dowry. Dad’s retirement funds will do.”

Fine, they thought. They would cut back on their own spending and give their lifelong savings to help their son with the mortgage. That’s what life was all about, wasn’t it?

So, their son got married, had a house, and began his own life. Then, a grandson was born. His wife moved in with their son to take care of him and his wife, leaving Xu Qi’an to live a solitary life.

The last scene of this life was him lying in a hospital bed, nearing death. In his final moments, only his equally aged wife was by his side.

At that moment, Xu Qi’an felt an unexpected sense of relief, as if he could finally rest.

One cycle ended, and another began.

From birth to death, his entire life had been spent as a cog in the machine, always working to “live.” In his youth, he bore the weight of endless schoolwork. In his young adulthood, he struggled for his future. By middle age, he fought for his child. Even in old age, he was still working for his children.

Aside from those carefree childhood days, it wasn’t until his final breath that he finally felt “free,” as if he’d shed all his burdens.

*So this is the Eight Sufferings of Life—birth, aging, illness, death, separation from loved ones, meeting those you hate, unfulfilled desires, and the burning of the five skandhas… What’s the point of a life like this? This is not my life, not how it’s supposed to be.*

With each cycle, the urge to renounce worldly affairs and seek freedom grew stronger in Xu Qi’an’s mind. A voice inside him kept saying:

Rest, rest. A life like this is meaningless.

Let go, and you will be free.

*No, something is wrong… my will is faltering…* He quickly realised that his thoughts were spiralling out of control, as if he were developing a split personality.

One voice tempted him to give up and seek freedom, while the other firmly held onto his beliefs.

The two sides clashed within him, causing Xu Qi’an to clutch his head in agony.

*Think of something else… think of Fu Xiang’s snow-white bum…*

...

Every expression that he was showing was visible to the onlookers outside the formation, many of whom were deeply worried for him.

“What’s happening? He seems to be in great pain, yet nothing appears to be happening to him.”

The Eight Sufferings Formation worked on the mind, and outsiders couldn’t perceive Xu Qi’an’s inner struggles, so they couldn’t empathise with him.

“This is only the first stage, and he’s already suffering like this. How is he supposed to climb the mountain?”

A man from the Jianghu sighed. “The difference in skill is clear. This duel seems like a lost cause.”

They didn’t understand what the Eight Sufferings Formation was, only that Xu Qi’an had stepped into the “scroll,” began climbing the mountain, and after only a few steps, ended up in this state.

It was disappointing.

In the royal pavilion, Princess Lin’an clenched her fists tightly, her entire body tense as she stared unblinkingly at Xu Qi’an, fully expressing the tension in her heart.

Huaiqing held a teacup in her hand, never once putting it down.

“Mother, Big Brother seems to be in great pain,” Xu Lingyue said, her voice choking with tears.

Auntie quickly looked toward her husband, but saw his expression was deep as an abyss. She dared not ask him anything and instead whispered reassurances to Lingyue, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Your big brother is capable. He wasn’t afraid of thousands of rebels in Yunzhou; why would he fear a few bald monks?”

“Uncle, what’s happening to Big Brother?” Xu Lingyin asked, pointing at the sky.

“It’s nothing.”

Wei Yuan’s voice was calm, but the veins bulging on the back of his hand, gripping the armrest, told another story. His body leaned forward involuntarily, his eyes never leaving the “scroll.”

“The Eight Sufferings Formation!”

Prime Minister Wang Zhenwen snorted. “This formation is used by high-ranking Buddhist monks to temper their hearts. If a warrior falls into it and cannot break free, his spirit will shatter, leaving him as good as a cripple. If he passes the test, however, it shows that he has Buddha-nature. You’d then take the opportunity to bring him into your Buddhist order.

“Arhat Du’e is truly cunning. Such a blow to the Great Feng’s dignity—do they not fear our million-strong army?”

As the Prime Minister of the Great Feng, in the absence of the emperor, Wang Zhenwen was the one in charge.

He possessed broad knowledge and sophisticated political manoeuvring skills, and with just a few words, he laid bare the scheme of Arhat Du'e.

Master Du'e chanted a Buddhist mantra, speaking serenely, "Taking refuge in Buddhism is a form of fortune."

Only then did Chu Yuanzhen realise another function of the Eight Sufferings Formation, and why Number Six, Hengyuan, had hesitated earlier.

Arhat Du'e's plan was indeed quite insidious.

The first trial tested one's Buddhist nature. If Xu Qi'an lacked it, he would be destroyed—no matter, for Buddhism would still win. But if he possessed Buddhist nature, more trials awaited, aiming to convert him. This way, Buddhism would not only win but also strike a humiliating blow to the Great Feng.

Sending someone to engage in a contest only to have them converted into a Buddhist disciple would be a slap in the face, delivered with maximum force.

The dignitaries in the various pavilions immediately turned pale, and even the previously nonchalant noblewomen and young ladies stopped their idle chatter, growing serious.

Biaobiao, suddenly anxious, widened her slightly upturned peach blossom eyes and urgently said, "Huaiqing, Huaiqing, the Prime Minister said if he can't break the formation, running dog will be ruined. But if he breaks it, he’ll become a monk. What should we do?"

Huaiqing furrowed her elegant brows. Though she was well-read and knowledgeable, her cultivation was far from impressive, and the current situation was beyond her expertise.

"So, do you want him ruined, or turned into a monk?" Huaiqing asked in return.

"I..." Biaobiao opened her mouth but couldn’t voice her true feelings.

It wasn't just the dignitaries who were furious, but also the common folk. The commoners of the capital, living at the heart of the empire, took pride in being part of the Great Feng. Because of the recent provocations by the Buddhist monks Jingsi and Jingchen, resentment had already been brewing in their hearts. Today, with the Sitianjian agreeing to the contest with Buddhism, the area had been crowded with onlookers since before dawn.

"This is too much! The court is so weak, letting Buddhism walk all over us. Where are the experts? Why are they silent?"

One by one, gazes filled with tension and held breath locked onto Xu Qi'an.

Suddenly, Auntie heard a cracking sound—the sound of her husband's grip crushing the armrest of his chair.

She frowned, distressed. "Why did they pick Ningyan to enter the contest? What... what do we do now?"

Her husband had spent twenty years painstakingly grooming their nephew to build his foundation. If, as the old official had said, failing to break the formation would ruin Xu Ningyan, those two decades of effort would be wasted.

But even breaking the formation wasn’t ideal. Xu Ningyan was the only heir of his branch. If he became a monk...

Auntie glanced back at her son and daughter. Xu Xinnian was furrowing his brows, and Xu Lingyue was biting her lip, her delicate face filled with worry.

...

"There is a third way to break this formation."

Amid the excruciating torment of his mental conflict, a voice entered Xu Qi'an's mind—it was the voice of Monk Shenshu.

"Do not respond, do not think about anything related to me. Just listen. This formation is designed to temper the heart and mind of Buddhist practitioners. For those who enter, there are only two possible outcomes: either their minds become clearer, or they are shattered.

"If you are not of Buddhism, yet you can endure the Eight Sufferings Formation, it signifies that you possess a Buddhist nature."

*No wonder I felt the urge to renounce everything and join a monastery... This formation is meant to break my will...* he thought while enduring the torment of his fractured mind.

Monk Shenshu’s voice came again: "Apart from the two outcomes I mentioned, there is another way—break the formation with the power of the masses!"

Xu Qi'an waited for a moment, but Monk Shenshu said no more. Cautious, he did not call out to him in his mind.

*The power of the masses? What does that mean? The Eight Sufferings of life... so does this require the strength of the masses to overcome? But where would I get such power? That’s clearly not something a martial artist should possess...*

The cycles of life continued, and the Eight Sufferings Formation continued to "corrode" Xu Qi'an's spirit. Worse, while his thoughts of renouncing everything had not intensified, the clash between the two "personalities" within him made his mental state grow increasingly twisted.

This meant Xu Qi'an truly lacked a Buddhist nature, and if he could not break the formation, his mind would be shattered.

Xu Qi'an reviewed all his techniques: the Heaven and Earth One Blade Slash, the Heart Sword, the Lion’s Roar, the Face-Changing Technique, Nurturing Intent... *hmm?*

*Nurturing Intent?*

*The technique Chu Yuanzhen taught me, where I use my own emotions to empower the sword...*

*My current emotions are terrible, but they aren't enough to break the Eight Sufferings Formation... But what if I change my approach? Why must I only use my own emotions?*

*Why not try borrowing the emotions of others? Using their emotions to nurture my sword intent?*

Once this thought took root, it quickly blossomed.

Closing his eyes, he used the secret technique Chu Yuanzhen had taught him to sense emotions, but this time, instead of focusing inward, he turned his attention outward.

To his surprise, he sensed emotions from the outside world—those of the crowd watching in the capital. These emotions were like an ocean, filled primarily with tension and anger.

*Are you all angry too?*

*Then lend me your strength.*

Xu Qi'an submerged himself in the ocean of emotions, absorbing the anger. Gradually, an intense and boundless fury surged within him.

Like a wild tide, like thunder, like a raging fire.

Unconsciously, his hand pressed down on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to draw it.

"Not enough... it's still not enough..."

...

Qingyun Mountain, Cloud Deer Academy.

Suddenly, the statue of the Lesser Sage began to tremble, as waves of vast qi surged into the sky.

A red wooden box, suspended above the head of the Lesser Sage’s statue, also began to tremble. Whatever was sealed inside seemed as though it wanted to break free.

As the pure light flickered, the Dean, Zhao Shou, appeared in the temple, staring in astonishment at the red wooden box.

Moments later, three beams of pure light flashed as the three great Confucians, Li Mubai and the others, arrived to investigate.

"What’s happening? Why is the Lesser Sage statue moving again...?"

Li Mubai's voice abruptly stopped. He stared in disbelief at the red wooden box, stammering, "It... it’s..."

Academy Head Zhao Shou said softly, "Someone has invoked the power of the masses, and it is awakening."

The three great Confucians looked at Zhao Shou as if he had gone mad.

Zhao Shou ignored them, bowing deeply. "Please, remain calm, venerable one."

The three great Confucians came to their senses and followed suit, bowing deeply. "Please, remain calm, venerable one."

The red wooden box's trembling subsided, and it gradually returned to silence.

…

“He’s about to draw his blade!” someone rasped in the crowd.

Among the onlookers, there was a sense of relief. Xu Qi’an finally showed some action, no longer trapped in his pain. This settled the people, giving them peace of mind.

Having a plan of action was reassuring; the worst outcome would be losing without any resistance.

Wei Yuan was momentarily stunned, puzzled by Xu Qi’an’s actions.

It wasn’t just him—everyone who understood the Eight Sufferings formation was confused by what Xu Qi’an intended.

The Eight Sufferings formation wasn’t an enemy. What good was drawing a blade? Was he planning to slash himself?

“Father, what’s he trying to do?” Miss Wang asked quietly.

“He can’t do anything,” Wang Shoufu shook his head in disappointment. “The best outcome is if he can withstand the Eight Sufferings formation… I have no idea why the Jianzheng chose him.”

From the tall building above, Emperor Yuanjing spoke in a low voice: “Jianzheng, is this the person you’ve chosen?”

To him, Xu Qi’an’s actions seemed like a desperate move from a cornered beast.

“Your Majesty... have you felt nothing?” Jianzheng glanced at him, his eyes full of thinly veiled disappointment.

“Draw your blade! Draw it-” Biaobiao yelled out suddenly.

But before she could finish, she was stopped by Consort Chen, who rebuked her: “What racket, be proper.”

“Why won’t he draw it? Hurry up and draw the blade!” someone in the outer crowd shouted.

“Draw the blade!” another voice echoed.

Soon, more people joined in. The chant grew louder, and eventually, the calls for him to “Draw” filled the air like a tidal wave.

“Draw! Draw! Draw!…”

The voices crashed like waves.

…

“Enough!”

At that moment, Xu Qi’an drew his blade.

Sching...

In the serene Buddhist realm, a piercing light suddenly erupted. It was like the dawn breaking through the darkness, a beam of light splitting the chaos.

This light wasn’t drawn from Xu Qi’an’s strength, but from the united will of tens of thousands of commoners from the capital. The power of their solidarity.

Crack!

The stone tablet inscribed with the words “Eight Sufferings” was covered in cracks before shattering with a resounding bang.

Boom, rumble...

The entire Buddha Mountain trembled as if it were about to collapse.

This strike didn’t just cleave the Eight Sufferings formation. The formation drew its power from the Buddhist realm, so this blade had sliced through the power of the entire realm.

Crack!

Another sharp sound echoed—not from the mountain, but from the outside world.

Master Du’e looked down in shock, noticing a crack had formed in the golden alms bowl.

“The golden bowl has cracked! It’s cracked!” Biaobiao screamed, jumping up and pointing at the bowl, stomping her feet in excitement.

Her shrill voice echoed through the air.

Hearing her cries, the dignitaries in the pavilions instinctively lowered their heads to look at the golden bowl. Sure enough, they saw a crack running along its surface.

“What? The golden bowl has cracked?”

The common folk and the martial artists in the outer circle couldn’t see the golden bowl clearly. Their hearts raced as they urgently sought confirmation:

“Is it true? Has the golden bowl really cracked? We can’t see clearly.”

Some of the martial artists at the front stood on tiptoes, shoving those around them to adjust their view. Finally, they caught sight of the golden bowl beside Master Du’e.

Peering intently, they saw a crack on its surface.

“It’s true! The golden bowl has really cracked!”

With that confirmation, a wave of cheers surged through the crowd, louder and louder, cresting over itself.

“Damned monks, you think you’re so strong! Hmph! Did you really think our Great Feng has no one capable of standing up to you?”

“Go back to the Western Regions! The capital isn’t a place for you to throw your weight around!”

The crowd roared with joy.

While the commoners focused on shouting insults, the martial artists were more interested in Xu Qi’an himself.

Somehow, another brilliant young talent had emerged from the capital—someone no one had heard of before.

…

On the Stargazing Tower, Emperor Yuanjing watched the cheering crowds below, a smile spreading across his face.

“Not bad at all,” he remarked approvingly, then turned to ask, “Jianzheng, what was that blade? Since when has Xu Qi’an become so powerful?”

The Jianzheng ignored him.

In the pavilion, Miss Wang bit her lip and turned to her father, Prime Minister Wang Zhenwen, asking quietly, “Father, didn’t you say he was sure to lose? You said the only way through the Eight Sufferings formation was to...”

“Enough, enough!” Prime Minister Wang hurriedly interrupted, waving his hand. “Father admits he misjudged the situation. Happy now?”

Despite his words, there was no trace of anger in his expression.

He relaxedly sipped his tea and added, “Wei Yuan has gained yet another fierce general.”

For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice.

Back in the Nightwatchers' area, Wei Yuan exhaled slowly, gently patting Xu Lingyin’s head. “That strike was decent. Adequate, I suppose.”

“Still,” he asked with a smile, “if it were any of you, could you have broken the formation with a single strike?”

The Gold Gongs lowered their heads in embarrassment.

Battle-obsessed Yang Yan couldn’t help but ask, “How did he do it?”

Wei Yuan’s expression froze slightly, then quickly recovered its usual calm demeanour. “You can ask him when he comes out.”

*So, Duke Wei already knew…* No wonder he’s been so calm this whole time. Realisation dawned on the Gold Gongs.

The happiest person was still Xu Pingzhi, who beamed with joy, the complete opposite of his earlier state.

“Not bad at all,” the middle-aged woman muttered to herself.

That rascal was indeed impressive, she had to admit it.

Atop a nearby inn, Hengyuan sighed. “What an incredible strike… How did Sir Xu manage it?”

He turned to look at Chu Yuanzhen, only to find Number Four staring blankly, muttering repeatedly, “Impossible... impossible...”

It was as if he had gone mad.

What kind of impact had Xu Qi’an’s strike delivered to make Number Four react like this?

Hengyuan was bewildered.

At that moment, Master Du’e’s voice rang out, each word clear as it reached everyone’s ears:

“The Eight Sufferings formation is only the first test. The second is the Vajra formation. This humble monk wonders, after unleashing such a strike, does this Silver Gong still have the strength to pass the second test?”

Upon hearing this, everyone immediately looked up at the “painting.”

Xu Qi’an was sitting on the steps, gasping for breath, his face deathly pale.

Even ordinary onlookers with no knowledge of cultivation could tell that Xu Qi’an was in terrible condition.

It dawned on them that they had celebrated too soon. This was only the first test; he was still at the foot of the mountain, with a long way to go before reaching the top.

---

[^1]: Buddhist terminology; the [“five aggregates of clinging”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skandha)