Indra's Net

A boy sat motionless cross-legged in a lotus position, his body glowing in a dim halo of light. His breathing was faint, so faint it could've belonged to a statue, yet the air around him...

His mind dissolved into stillness, a boundless ocean of emptiness.

"It's still too far," the words echoed within his consciousness, though his lips never moved. He was still far from attaining First Bhumi.

With a slow blink, he turned his gaze toward the floating, glowing screen beside him. Numbers shimmered across its translucent surface, his karma value blazing high enough to keep him tethered to the material plane. He could wander far from his anchor point, but his mission remained unchanged.

Seo Joon-young has existed in this world for at least 1,300 years—dying and reincarnating into countless bodies, but always bound to the same purpose:

To polish and feed Indra's Net.

He was born in Seoul, Korea, year 2125, in an age when reality blurred with simulation. His world revolved around computers, code, and games—worlds within worlds. From boyhood, he dreamt of building universes woven with lore, history, culture and faith, just like the master creators he idolized.

As a young game developer, he poured every fiber of his being into his first great project—a VRMMORPG called Mythic Nexus.With a small but passionate team, he sculpted an infinite world. Every stone, every legend, every forgotten god—each detail bent to his vision.

He was exacting. Perhaps too much so.

His colleagues grumbled at his control, but he was driven — obsessed with creating a living world that meant something.

He wove in a lot of D&D mechanics and lore but streamlined them with familiar fantasy elements common to MMORPGs. While he heavily altered the lore to fit his vision, he maintained the spirit of the game. Though to another D&D fan, this might not have been obvious.

Finally, the VRMMORPG he and his team had been working on—Mythic Nexus Pantheon—went live. He was happy. His team was happy. Everyone was happy.

But then came the changes. He was pressured to bend to the company's demands: subscription models, gated areas, and paywalls that opened zones from Elyndor to Nex Arcum, from the Twin Sanctums to the Nine Hells, all the way to the Ash Sea.

The infinitely free world he and his team had crafted—with the aid of advanced computers, AI, and countless hours of sweat and tears—was now being forced behind a paywall, with the risk that much of it would never be discovered. Even the randomization feature he had included for players who preferred not to craft their own lore had become the default character creation path. Meanwhile, the intricate character customization and lore integration he had poured his heart into were now secondary, hidden behind subscription fees.

The hidden Easter eggs he had scattered throughout the world for fun were now accessible only to VIPs, who paid exorbitantly for early access and insider perks. His creation, like so many others, had been commercialized and wrung through paywalls to maximize profit. The game itself was already expensive, not to mention the immersive deep-dive pods, so adding yet more paywalls felt profoundly unfair to the players who just wanted to enjoy his world.

He tried to fight this monetization through the game's content, but the company's control was absolute. So he turned to the one tool he knew he could wield: the game itself. He designed a powerful final boss as a deterrent against pay-to-win abuse. He had created a playable character—the Crimson Matron—hidden behind the guise of an adorable young girl. She was a World-Eater–level threat, capable of devouring the world through Night Lunarael. What begun as a whimsical gimmick—a little girl holding ultimate power—might now be his only means of discouraging exploitation.

He coordinated all of this through his AI assistant, Alara, who helped him build the world from the ground up.

Seated comfortably in his apartment, mission set, he dived into the world. But something went wrong. He was in Velanora when darkness suddenly engulfed him, and when he woke up, he found himself in the body of an infant. And that was how he arrived in this world.

His first life—both in his previous world and in this one, which was… let's just say, different from all his other lives over the past thousand years—had lasted over a millennium. If it weren't for Alara keeping him company, he might have gone insane. But that no longer mattered. His mission now was clear: to awaken Buddhahood in as many "characters" as possible, especially those responsible for the phase shifts of Yin and Yang in the world.

A ripple disturbed the stillness.

"Looks like I found one," he exclaimed.

His Dharma Eye—an ability akin to divine sense on the Dao path—opened unfurling like a lotus in mud detecting faint traces of a lesser Yin manifestation and a potential fade into darker territory.

In an instant, he warped the space around him. Within a blink, he was surrounded by the stench of suffering, pain, and negative energy. Amid this oppressive aura, a cocoon of darkness contained one of the three manifestations of the Yin-Yang shifters.

Without hesitation, he let his essence melt the cold darkness, infusing warmth into the area—for both the afflicted and the lesser Yin manifestation itself.

Being an Ahrat of the Mind Cultivation Path—the Buddhist equivalent of Body integration, Daoist cultivation—he was one of the strongest beings on the material plane. Yet even he had his limits. His mastery over the Six Superknowledges and other extraordinary abilities granted him immense power, but there were boundaries he could not cross.

And now, once again, he was preparing to teach another soul, as he had countless times before. He was, after all, a Grand Abbot.

Using Paracitta-jñāna (Knowledge of Other Minds), he could perceive the thoughts, emotions, and intentions of others with perfect clarity and compassion—no deception could hide from such awareness. This was one of the Six Superknowledges. Coupled with Pūrvanivāsānusmṛti-jñāna (Knowledge of Lives—past, present, and possibly future), he possessed all the insight he needed to polish Indra's Net.

"Do you wish to escape samsara?" His voice rang out, clear and resonant.

Between him and his target—Ye Huan, the manifestation of the Lesser Yin through the law of duality—stretched a darkness. It was a space separate from the world outside, yet existing within it.

Ye Huan, suddenly pulled into this space, was engulfed in confusion and disarray.

He repeated his words, this time heavier, deeper.

"Ye Huan, do you wish to escape samsara?"

At last, Ye Huan regained her composure, her body shifting instinctively into a defensive stance.

"Quite confident of you, bringing me into my own domain," she remarked snidely as shadows slithered out from her form. The darkness writhed and pulsed, reaching toward Seo Joon-young, trying to seize him.

Yet the boy remained seated, utterly calm. A low, sonorous chant resonated from within him, though his lips did not move. Suddenly, a golden light swept across the darkness, dissolving it as the very fabric of space bent to his will.

Darkness peeled away like smoke. The domain twisted — its colors inverted — until the suffocating void gave way to warmth, light, and scent.

Ye Huan blinked against the sudden brilliance.

She was no longer in the city.

Now she stood before an immense stone statue—an ancient figure seated in meditation, towering beneath a sky blazing with the golden hues of midday. The air carried the scent of incense and pine. Birds chirped faintly in the distance. Between her and the boy stood a small tea table carved from sandalwood, steam rising from a delicate porcelain pot.

"W–Where am I? Is this another illusion?" Ye Huan asked, her voice trembling.

The boy was already seated cross-legged on a woven mat, the teapot and two cups neatly arranged before him.

"Sit," he said gently. "I'll explain."

Ye Huan hesitated, her expression twisting into wary defiance.

"I have no time for tea. I don't know who you are, but I am not to be taken lightly."

A ripple of dark energy surged around her.

She was activating her Trait: Interference, trying to dispel whatever this illusion was. Whether this was another Reverier like herself—or perhaps the previous one, Fei Xian, returning with new motives—she couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she couldn't afford to be caught off guard again.

But when she reached for her power, she found no connection to it. No—she could feel the link faintly, but it was smothered, as though an immense weight pressed down upon her. It was like trying to move her arm with a boulder crushing it. All she felt was resistance.

She clenched her fists, fighting the growing panic.

"Young one, compassion and virtue are far more effective than violence and negativity in this domain," the boy said calmly.

Ye Huan, realizing her powers were useless, decided to probe instead. "Young one?" she sneered. "Who are you to call me that? Have you even looked at yourself?"

"I would expect someone as familiar with illusions as you to know," he replied evenly, "that appearances are rarely what they seem."

Ye Huan studied him for a long moment, as if trying to confirm something, before finally speaking again."Who are you, and what do you want with me?"

The boy gestured toward the empty cushion across from him. "Please, have a seat."

Ye Huan glanced around the area, her gaze sharp and wary. After a moment, she stepped forward slowly and took the seat opposite him.

Once seated, she reiterated, "Now answer me. Who are you, and why have you summoned me to this place?"

The boy lifted a porcelain cup to his lips, taking a slow sip of tea. He let the taste linger before speaking.

"Have you ever gazed at your reflection in water—or in a mirror?" he asked.

As he spoke, the teapot beside him moved of its own accord, gracefully pouring tea into the cup before Ye Huan, as if guided by a conscious will.

"Who hasn't?" Ye Huan snapped. "Who wouldn't, when one is blessed with beauty as profound as mine?"

The boy chuckled softly. "Please, have some," he said, motioning toward the freshly filled cup.

Ye Huan eyed the tea suspiciously.

"You don't have to worry," he said gently. "It's not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I possess more than enough means—far beyond your comprehension. So, please… take a sip."

Ye Huan slowly lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. As the warm liquid touched her tongue, a strange jolt rippled through her—a sensation both foreign and calming.

"It's… good tea," she murmured softly.

"Indeed," the boy replied with a faint smile. "As you said, you've seen your reflection in many places—water, mirrors, polished metal. But have you ever seen your reflection through another's eyes?"

"Another's eyes?" Ye Huan asked, brows furrowing. "Who would use someone else's eyes as a mirror?"

The boy lifted his cup for another sip before answering.

"If you haven't, then try it now. Look into my eyes—and see yourself through them."

Ye Huan blinked, puzzled by the strange request. "Why would you ask me to do that?"

"Please," he said softly. "Grant me this simple request. It will make sense soon enough—and then you'll be free to go."

After a moment's hesitation, Ye Huan leaned forward and met his gaze.

His face seemed radiant—imbued with a faint, divine glow. The light that emanated from him was gentle yet carried an otherworldly pull. As her eyes focused on his, she thought, for an instant, that she saw a faint sigil — something like a third eye shimmering faintly on his forehead—but the vision vanished as quickly as it appeared.

She looked deeper into his half-lidded eyes. They were a calm, earthy brown—ordinary at first glance, yet vast and profound, like gazing into a boundless ocean.

And then, she saw herself.

"What do you see?" the boy asked quietly, his voice steady and calm as he looked back at her.

She blinked, caught between awe and confusion. "…Myself," she said, almost reflexively. "My beautiful self."

"As do I," the boy replied with a faint smile. "Tell me, have you ever heard of Indra's Net?"

He broke their locked gaze, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip.

"Indra's Net?" Ye Huan echoed, confused. She leaned back into her seat. "What's that?"

The boy took a breath, savoring the lingering taste of the tea before setting his cup down.

Immediately, countless droplets of water rose into the air around them. Each bead caught the sunlight, scattering it into dazzling hues. Then, thin threads of silken light stretched between them—connecting every droplet to every other, forming a vast, luminous web that shimmered with quiet grandeur.

Ye Huan sat frozen, utterly stunned by the sight

"Imagine reality as a web of infinite interconnectedness," the boy began, his voice calm and resonant. "Stretching endlessly in all directions. At each intersection of this vast net rests a dewdrop—each one reflecting the morning sun."

As he spoke, his finger pointed toward the hovering beads of water around them. Each droplet shimmered, casting radiant reflections that danced in the air.

Ye Huan listened intently, her eyes tracing the threads of light connecting the droplets.

"Within these countless dewdrops, what do you see?" the boy asked.

"I see reflections," Ye Huan replied softly. "Light passing from one drop to another."

"Indeed," the boy said with a nod. "Each droplet reflects the next, continuing infinitely. This is the interconnectedness of the universe—the same interconnectedness within all living beings. Just as you saw yourself through my eyes, and I saw myself through yours, so too does every being contain a part of every other. There is no I in the universe—only we. Each of us is a fragment that, when gathered together, forms the whole."

Ye Huan frowned slightly. "Wait—what are you doing? Are you trying to convince me of something?"

"I am merely showing you that the gift you possess can become something far greater," he replied gently.

"What do you mean?"

The boy took a slow breath, and with a wave of his hand, the suspended dewdrops drifted down, merging once more with the grass. The golden web dissolved, and the tranquil garden returned to its former stillness.

"Your power—your Reverie—is bound by the same principle as Indra's Net," he said.

Ye Huan's eyes narrowed. Her lips parted as if to protest, but then she paused, her expression shifting as she considered his words. There was truth in them—though she wasn't yet ready to admit it.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" she asked finally.

"Your powers—and the path they follow—are born from darkness, emotion, desire, and suffering," the boy said quietly. "These are not evil by nature, but they are dangerous. Their allure can consume the self entirely. Yet, there is a way to walk that path without losing who you are."

"Are you saying my powers are evil?" Ye Huan snapped.

"In one is all, and all is in one," the boy replied softly. "The small does not obstruct the great, nor the great the small."

Ye Huan blinked, confused. "Huh…?"

He smiled faintly.

"Desire reflects compassion. Pain reflects wisdom. In every tear is the cosmos entire. The Shadow is not sin—it is the unlit face of the Jewel. To feel all is to mirror all. To mirror all is to awaken."

"Are you piling riddles on me just to stop me from killing that wretched woman?" she demanded.

"Young one, calm your heart," he said. "Karmic ties resolve as all things do—by cause and effect. Whatever bond you held with her in a past life is not what matters now. What matters is the bond you have in the present."

"Are you telling me all my suffering was for nothing? You don't know what you're talking about." She sprang to her feet, ready to leave—but she did not know how to go.

"Karma is a seed. When the right season comes, you will see its fruit. For now, still your heart. Do not lose yourself to intoxication. Remember: you are only part of a whole."

He rose, crossed the small table, and placed his hands against her forehead. A warm golden shimmer flared, the world around her fractured like glass, scattering into motes of radiance—and Ye Huan was suddenly back in the infirmary. Princess Haitang, her bane, tended the sick with steady hands. Rage flared in Ye Huan; she could have struck then and there. Instead she turned away.

"Not now. But soon," she whispered.