Little Journey to the West 018

Yang Jian looked up in confusion, then instantly understood.

“You mean...”

“I think I remember that kid’s name—Lingjizi, right? Quick-witted, much sharper than his master.”

“Lingjizi... who was his master?”

“Jingfan.”

Yang Jian sucked in a sharp breath. “Jingfan? The one who descended to the mortal world to spread goodwill and teach the Dao, only to be burned alive by common folk?”

“That’s the one. That stubborn mule ended up completely obliterated.” Lord Lao shook his head. “If it had been me in that wager, I’d have called it off on the spot, but that Jingfan was as obstinate as an ox.”

In the capital of the Sui Dynasty, Daxing City, a young monk carrying a bundle on his back walked out of the temple gate.

“Xuanzang, the journey ahead is long and perilous. Remember the teachings well.”

The monk turned back. “I will, Master.”

“The Emperor said yesterday he wanted to provide you with some ceremonial escort. I declined on your behalf. A man of the cloth needs none of that. Since you are determined to seek the scriptures, set out. If your heart is sincere, Vulture Peak won’t be far.”

“Yes.” The young monk glanced around, then sidestepped the arriving pilgrims and hurried off in one direction.

He believed with all his heart that he would reach the Western Lands and bring back the true scriptures.

Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi and the others were lost in a sea of yellow sand.

The old fox Eight-Tails clutched a map he’d picked up from somewhere and mumbled to himself.

Sun Wukong, unable to stand it any longer, flew high into the sky to scout the terrain. When he descended, he shook his head at Fang Zhiyi.

“Sand everywhere, as far as the eye can see. A vast expanse.”

The worst off was Sha Wujing, whose body had visibly withered. Fang Zhiyi had begun to wonder if the fish monster had already turned into dried jerky.

Watching Sha Wujing being carried on the horse, Fang Zhiyi frowned. “Speaking of yellow sand, it reminds me of someone.”

The scripture-seeking party decided to pitch camp on the spot, as if unconcerned about finding their way out. Eight-Tails had bought plenty of dry rations and water at a shop earlier, so they could hold out for a while.

The wind picked up, getting fiercer, so that every time Fang Zhiyi opened his mouth, he got a mouthful of sand.

He gave up talking and focused on peeling off the dead skin from Sha Wujing.

Eight-Tails kept studying the map, while Sun Wukong closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“Damn it! That bastard tricked me!” Eight-Tails suddenly bellowed, startling the others into staring at him.

“This is a treasure map—not a navigation map! Ugh!”

“Tch.”

Eight-Tails grimaced. “Looks like we went off course... This place is all desert.”

“No kidding,” Sun Wukong said, rolling over and ignoring him.

Sha Wujing’s mouth opened and closed without sound, but Eight-Tails could tell he was cursing.

Only Fang Zhiyi spoke calmly: “We didn’t go off course. Someone wanted us to lose our way.”

Eight-Tails didn’t understand.

He only felt the wind growing fiercer, as if it were swirling specifically around them.

Watching Sun Wukong drift off to sleep, Eight-Tails thought to himself, The Great Sage really lives up to his name, being able to sleep through this.

But complaining was useless. With the sandstorm raging, they couldn’t leave.

So Eight-Tails squeezed in beside Sha Wujing, curled up, and drifted into a haze.

He didn’t know how long passed, but a tiger’s roar jolted him awake. He leaped up and found the sandstorm had stopped.

What terrified him more was that no one else was around—only the half-dead Sha Wujing and the horse. Fang Zhiyi and Sun Wukong were completely gone.

In the distance, a figure was sprinting. Eight-Tails, with sharp eyes, immediately spotted the flash of a crimson cassock.

“Damn! Old Sha! The King’s been captured!”

Sha Wujing groggily opened his eyes, muttered something, tried to stand, then plopped back down.

“You— you... Ugh! Where did the Great Sage go?” Eight-Tails felt utterly lost.

At that moment, Sun Wukong stared coldly at the fierce wind surrounding him.

It seemed to have a will of its own, whipping sand into his face. He couldn’t dodge; his eyes stung and he couldn’t open them. But he kept a firm grip on his golden-banded staff, relying on his ears to pinpoint the enemy’s approach.

Whatever was hiding in the sand, however, didn’t seem intent on attacking him.

Fang Zhiyi, being carried by the tiger demon, jolted so much he wanted to vomit but somehow held it in. After what seemed ages, the tiger demon leaped off a cliff, and when they landed, Fang Zhiyi saw that the base of the cliff hid another world: crumbling walls, ravaged by wind and sand.

Several massive Buddha statues stood carved into the cliffside, silently telling stories of the past. As the tiger demon advanced, they passed through a village long abandoned by humans.

A door creaked open, and Fang Zhiyi was thrown to the ground.

“Great King! I’ve brought the scripture-seeker!”

Fang Zhiyi winced and scrambled to his feet, looking around. This had once been a temple, now ruined. Where the Buddha statue should have been stood a chair, and on it sat a shifty-eyed creature with glowing red eyes fixed on Fang Zhiyi, a grin full of sharp teeth.

On both sides were lesser demons, unlike any they’d faced before. Their faces were cruel and excited, and as Fang Zhiyi scanned them, they ground their teeth, sending a chill down anyone’s spine. Drool mixed with the grinding sound dripped onto the floor.

“So this is the scripture-seeker... Ha! Caught so easily. That Monkey, as I heard, is formidable but brainless. All it took was a formation to trap him.”

It rose and walked toward Fang Zhiyi. “By the time he finds you, there’ll be nothing left but bones.”

“Just as I thought... They can’t act directly, so they raise the difficulty,” Fang Zhiyi said, sitting cross-legged. “After all, a scripture-seeker should die in the trials.”

As he spoke, he stared steadily at a stone Buddha in the corner—a half-head statue, its lone eye fixed on him with pity.

“Done giving your last words?” the Yellow Wind Monster glanced at the tiger demon, who nodded and raised its huge claw to strike.

It was certain this monk would die from that blow.

“Amitabha...” At the sound of this Buddhist invocation, the tiger demon found its claw stopped by the monk’s raised hand. No matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t press down another inch.

Fang Zhiyi blocked the claw with one hand while pressing his palms together with the other. “The proper steps had to be followed. If I hadn’t played along, I’d probably starve to death trying to find your lair by myself.”