The Xiang Marquis gazed at the statue, seemingly lost in thought, and said, “This drop of true blood does indeed come from an Arhat, but the Ariya-phala he proved is not one already recognized within Buddhism. That is all I can tell you.”

After a moment, the Xiang Marquis seemed to snap out of his reverie and smiled faintly. “If I were to give you a drop of a Buddhist Arhat’s true blood, you’d likely become an Arhat yourself in a few hundred years. The Immortal Lords of your Palace of Absolute Beginning would certainly destroy me for it.”

“Isn’t this drop of true blood also that of an Arhat? How could it be any different?” Wei Yuan asked.

The Xiang Marquis replied meaningfully, “Ever heard of the saying, ‘Those not of the orthodoxy do not deserve to enter the cycle of rebirth?’”

Wei Yuan immediately lost interest in hearing more. When it came to Buddhist matters, the less one knew, the better—this was common sense. The moment a person learned of such things, they automatically became entangled in karma, not to mention the high monks of Buddhism were notoriously unreasonable.

The Xiang Marquis said, “Let us begin. The true blood of the Arhat is here, but not in this realm. The true blood carries its own Ariya-phala and has formed a realm of its own. This is merely the entrance.

“Many years ago, a young man came here, received the inheritance, and...