Unlike passive communion with the divine, there was no dense fog swirling around.
Before me still stood the Great Hall, majestic and spacious, with bricks, stone, and wood carvings exquisitely detailed, yet not a soul was inside.
Including the abbot Mingzhu, all the monks had vanished.
However, the hall was far from desolate.
The statue of Shakyamuni, showing him reaching enlightenment, still had blood streaming from its eyes, but now it seemed to come to life, turning its head with a thunderous noise to look around.
Next to it stood two statues of Bodhisattvas.
One with a five-knotted crown on its head, holding a treasure sword, and mounted on a green lion.
The other adorned with a jewel crown, holding a lotus, and mounted on a six-tusked white elephant.
They were none other than Manjushri and Samantabhadra Bodhisattvas.
Beyond them, there were eighteen Arhats.
