The Gathering of the One Billion
On the evening of the twenty-ninth day of the fifth month, San San alongside his household and fellow practitioners assembled before the gates of the Chinese Embassy to participate in the global dispatch of Righteous Thoughts.
The sky of the surface plane turned leaden, yet within the alternative dimension, a macroscopic battlefield had anchored its formations. San San’s Celestial Eye monitored the giant slate stationed at the demonic headquarters, detailing the metrics of troops deployed into this war zone touching "one billion"—a billion evil spirits.
Cohorts of demons riding phantom warhorses and hoisting hostile banners converged like a cascading flood alongside the volatile hive-shaped hybrid entities. Amidst the swirling mountain of dark clouds heavy as raven feathers, the vicious countenances of a colossal fourteen-headed demonic hound materialized.
As the vanguard disciples performed the standing exercises prior to the designated hour, the impure forces unleashed their technical phalanxes wielding magnifying lenses and specialized weaponry to shatter the buttons of the audio player, aiming to cut the cadence of the Fa-music. Upon the mortal plane, the audio stream commenced to fracture and stall repeatedly.
No soul fell into confusion; San San and his companions united their minds to send forth Righteous Thoughts, extinguishing cohort after cohort of the phantoms across twenty minutes to defend the purified training field.
As the collective hour to eliminate the cosmic debris arrived, the old forces deployed a venomous stratagem. They mobilized arrays of drifting ghosts, engineering a freezing wind that rushed violently toward the practitioners. The gale whistled, dropping a frost heavy as ice water to pierce their bones. Though the human world was navigating the heat of a summer June, the bone-deep chill caused the minds of the seekers to be continuously besieged by the concept of "Cold."
Yet the disciples refused to waver under the weight of the frost. Not a single entity took a backward step, and no mortal moved a muscle—every practitioner standing perfectly straight like golden statues of Deities.
Master sat enthroned upon His lotus pedestal since the preliminary hour, monitoring the entirety of that unyielding fortitude. He executed a mudra above the blossoms, commanding the Great Deities and the Eight Phalanxes of Heavenly Dragons to launch an advance. He had silently placed an invisible canopy blanketing the entire dimension prior to the clash; the demonic cohorts consuming stolen immortal elixirs frantically rushed into the battlefield, entirely unaware that they had entered a trap where no entity could exit, and no foreign force could enter.
San San resisted the piercing gale, executing the erect palm stance to chant the formula aloud:
“The Fa rectifies the cosmos; the impure forces are completely eliminated.”
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The Nuclear Radiance of the Fa-Light
From the physical body of each disciple, tens of thousands of powerful blades of light shot continuously into the four quadrants, resplendent and majestic, transcending the eruption of an atomic blast. The arena drowned within electric currents and flashes of lightning.
San San emitted gong power to shatter a major demonic master; the stolen sacred core blazing inside the beast's chest disintegrated instantly into ash. The billion demonic troops suffered absolute dissolution, purified thoroughly inside Master’s canopy.
The remaining shattered remnants fled frantically to safeguard their existence; upon the ordinary plane, their movement manifested as banks of dark clouds shaped like warhorses dissolving toward the two edges of the horizon. The war closed its gates, the temperature slowly rising as the sunbeams gradually poured a magnificent light onto the disciples.
As San San slowly exited his meditation, the boundless battlefield collapsed out of sight within a fraction of a second. The nine-year-old boy opened his eyes, monitoring his young sister who had maintained the double-legged lotus posture beside his frame for an hour, weeping softly due to the agony in her legs.
San San smiled gently at her form, extending his ten small fingers that had been stung crimson by the phantoms across the alternative dimension to console her: "I navigate more than the pain in my legs; even my hands were stung crimson by the demons. Weep no more, my sister."
The innocent, altruistic smile of the child dissolved the residual trauma of the great celestial war, drawing all creations back into the warm breath of domestic sentimentality.
The Great Realignment of the Dual Spheres
At this hour, heaven and earth commenced the heavy shifts belonging to the final chapter of the era.
Beyond the perimeter of the physical globe, the alternative dimensions now stood exceptionally pure, magnificent beyond measure, as the Celestial Kingdoms danced and rejoiced to establish their permanent peace. San San raised his gaze toward the canopy of heaven; his eyes monitored two colossal red fireballs bearing the three golden characters—Zhen, Shan, Ren (Truthfulness, Compassion, Forbearance)—emitting a radiance that stretched across ten thousand yards, shooting past the Moon to advance close toward the Earth.
The exact heartbeat those two spheres touch the earth, the protective canopy wrapping the globe across the eons will vanish, swinging wide the gates for the magnificent day of triumph belonging to the new universe.
Yet that stands as the chronicle of the future. At this fated hour, within a small village bordering the Eastern metropolis and a suburban neighborhood of the Western city, the formless axis of heaven and earth had officially anchored itself straight at a perfect angle. The Deities and Buddhas silently departed, for the young disciples independently knew how to maintain a firm footing upon their own path.
The grand song of the Great Fa continues its unyielding march, its resonant bridge echoing through each minute deed, every untainted thought, and the most ordinary breath of the mortal world.
Canto CXII ‒ The Song of Triumph
A billion demons swarm the fortress wall,
The winds of June demand the mind to fall.
Ten thousand blades of light turn clouds to dust,
The Master’s canopy subdues the trust.
The Embassy reveals the fading horse,
The crimson hands maintain the joyful course.
The ancient axis stands aligned and straight,
The ordinary song unlocks the gate.