Next, he felt Lady Lianhua's temple again—extremely cold.
"Contemplation Zen doesn't die."
Even though Zhou Xuan had confirmed that Lady Lianhua was dead beyond any doubt, he still stubbornly clung to his own view.
And just then, Zhou Xuan's gaze fell upon the flesh tumors on Lady Lianhua's body.
Lady Lianhua's appearance was naturally grotesque—the enormous body aside, like a small hill, it was covered all over with flesh tumors.
Each of these bulbous lumps was larger than a normal person's head.
Yet it was precisely these lumps of flesh that, in rare years of drought and famine, had saved the lives of countless commoners.
Those peasants who had no grain to eat survived only because of the tumor-balls on Lady Lianhua's body.
And it was these very flesh tumors that built up Lady Lianhua's vast Buddha name.
Zhou Xuan's hand lightly reached toward a flesh tumor; he could still sense that inside those lumps, "something" showed signs of slowly writhing.
