“Only Tripitaka? This is getting more and more suspicious!” Monkey let out a long sigh, and without greeting any of his hidden companions nearby, he leaped straight into the air and flew out.
A flash of white light, and when he landed again from the sky, he had already transformed into a flying insect, fluttering his wings as he drifted toward Tripitaka, who was slowly making his way along the path.
In that instant, Venerable Lucas Ling in the rear hall seemed to sense something and paused, slightly stunned.
Beside him, a tall, thin monk in golden robes quickly glanced in Tripitaka's direction, muttering to himself, “He isn’t hiding his aura?”
Moments later, Lucas Ling slowly smiled and sighed softly, “Why hide it? Aren’t we unhidden as well? The Westward Quest itself is an open scheme—for us, for them, it’s all the same. Get ready to receive our honored guest. After all, he is... the Golden Cicada.”
“As you command, Master.” The tall, thin monk pressed his palms together in a formal salute, bowed, and withdrew from the hall.
Before long, Tripitaka arrived outside the door. Led by the monk, he stepped into the rear hall, one step at a time.
Seated calmly on his meditation cushion, Lucas Ling glanced—whether intentionally or not—at the silent flying insect resting on Tripitaka’s shoulder, and smiled faintly.
Step by step, Tripitaka walked up to Lucas Ling, pressed his palms together, and said, “Tripitaka pays respect to the Buddha!”
With that, he prepared to kneel.
Seeing Tripitaka about to kneel, Lucas Ling quickly pointed, and the meditation cushion moved away on its own.
Tripitaka froze, momentarily stunned, and stopped his motion.
Only then did Lucas Ling curl his finger, moving the cushion back beneath Tripitaka’s knees. He sighed softly, “Such ceremony—I cannot accept it. After all, you are Senior Brother Golden Cicada. Since you’re here, please sit.”
“Thank you, Venerable Lucas Ling, for the seat.” Tripitaka instantly understood his host’s identity. He nodded silently, sat upright on the cushion, and said no more.
The tall, thin monk soon brought two cups of hot tea, placing them at Lucas Ling and Tripitaka’s sides.
Brushing his sleeve lightly, Lucas Ling gazed at the tea before Tripitaka and said, “Try it. This is genuine Spirit Mountain premium tea, specially brought for you.”
“Thank you, Venerable Lucas Ling, for the tea.” Tripitaka silently bowed again, then picked up the cup of hot tea.
From start to finish, his every movement was perfectly composed—perhaps even a bit cold.
Holding the cup, Tripitaka gently breathed on it twice, then took a light sip.
After that sip, his brows furrowed slightly.
“No flavor?” Lucas Ling asked softly.
This question made Tripitaka even more puzzled. He slowly shook his head and answered, “No flavor.”
“That’s exactly right.” Lucas Ling chuckled. “All things are empty in Buddhism; how could Spirit Mountain’s tea have flavor? But the best tea from Spirit Mountain should be brewed with Spirit Mountain’s water. Water from the mortal world always has some impurities—not pure enough. Good tea deserves good water, otherwise it’s wasted.”
Tripitaka lowered his head and tasted two more sips, then set the cup down, still staring straight ahead in silence, as if he hadn’t heard Lucas Ling’s words at all.
Seeing this, Lucas Ling sighed again. “Buddhist Law and Spirit Mountain’s fine tea have much in common. The true Way leaves no trace, true Dharma is boundless; plainness is truth. Once anything gets entangled with the dust of the mortal world, its flavor changes.”
With that, Lucas Ling gazed at Tripitaka with deep meaning.
After a long moment, Tripitaka finally looked up and asked softly, “Venerable Lucas Ling, do you mean something by this?”
Lucas Ling couldn’t help but laugh. “Did Senior Brother Golden Cicada really think I came here just to drink tea with you?”
“If not for tea, then what?”
“To debate Dharma.”
“What Dharma shall we debate?”
“Buddhist Dharma!” With a sweep of his sleeves, Lucas Ling declared loudly, “Spirit Mountain is already before us; atop Spirit Mountain stands Great Thunderhill Abbey, and within that Abbey are all the Buddhas. Senior Brother Golden Cicada, if you wish to debate Dharma at Great Thunderhill Abbey, why not first pass Lucas Ling’s gate here in this ‘Little Thunderhill Abbey’? If you can out-debate me, I will accompany you up the mountain to present your new Dharma before all the Buddhas. If not… if you cannot even surpass me, then I ask you to turn back!”
With that, Lucas Ling slammed his palm on the table and rose to his feet. His eyes widened, round as bronze bells, staring fixedly at Tripitaka—a classic stance for Buddhist monks about to debate Dharma.
Once this stance was set, it signaled the start of the debate.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Tripitaka remained cold-faced and unmoving, seated in silence.
For a moment, the atmosphere seemed to freeze; the great hall was utterly silent.
......
“Reporting, Venerable One.” On Spirit Mountain, a monk knelt before Lord Buddha and said, “Tripitaka has arrived in Thunderhill County and met Venerable Lucas Ling—the debate has begun!”
At these words, the assembled Buddhas erupted in commotion.
“The debate has begun—what’s going on?”
“Is Lucas Ling really trying to force a Dharma debate with Tripitaka before he even reaches Spirit Mountain?”
“Lucas Ling is far too reckless. Why couldn't he consult with us first before rushing ahead?”
Amid the commotion, Lord Buddha simply sat quietly atop his lotus throne, eyes closed, smiling faintly.
“Reckless? I’m not so sure.” The speaker was Manjusri.
At once, all eyes turned toward Manjusri.
He sighed softly and said, “Tripitaka has not yet attained the Way. If he debates Dharma with Lucas Ling now, defeat is all but certain.”
At this, the assembly turned their gaze to Earth‑Store King and Saint Raymond.
After a moment’s silence, both nodded in agreement with Manjusri’s assessment.
From the crowd, someone sighed quietly: “If that’s the case, this is a killing move. Tripitaka is in grave danger.”
Just then, another monk entered the hall.
The Buddhas assumed more news had arrived, and all eyes turned to him. The monk shuffled over to Earth‑Store King and whispered, “Venerable, the person has been delivered.”
“Very well, you may go.”
After those simple words, the monk withdrew from the great hall.
For a moment, the Buddhas were left puzzled.
...
Meanwhile, in Little Thunderhill Abbey, Tripitaka and Lucas Ling still faced off.
One side bristled with tension; the other remained calm and composed.
A long silence passed before Lucas Ling slowly lifted his hand from the floor, leaned back, and sneered, “In the old days, Senior Brother Golden Cicada heard the Dharma before me. Whenever I saw you, I had to call you ‘senior brother.’ Not once did I win a debate against you at Spirit Mountain. Are you afraid today?”
“Afraid?” Tripitaka smiled faintly, and countered, “What does Tripitaka fear?”
“You fear defeat!”
“Does Tripitaka fear defeat?”
“If you do not, then why refuse the challenge?” Lucas Ling’s voice rose sharply.
At this, Tripitaka only sighed gently and replied, “In this life, there is only one thing I fear.”
“And what is that?”
“I fear failing to ferry all beings across suffering.” Supporting himself on his knees, Tripitaka slowly stood. “If Venerable Lucas Ling wishes for a Dharma debate, simply wait at Spirit Mountain. There’s no need for this extra move.”
With that, he turned to leave.
Seeing this, Lucas Ling shouted, “Stop!”
At his shout, Tripitaka halted, his back to Lucas Ling.
For a moment, the hall fell silent. The two stood motionless, locked in a standoff.
After a long pause, Lucas Ling gritted his teeth and said, “The thunderclouds over Phoenix County that brought no rain—I conjured those with my own magic.”
Tripitaka stood perfectly still.
Lucas Ling drew a deep breath and continued, “Just a little rain cloud, and the Old County Prince and his people rejoiced. When it vanished, they grieved. They even consoled themselves that it was a test from Lord Buddha. Hmph... Such ignorance, Golden Cicada—why didn’t you save them?”
Tripitaka remained unmoving.
“It was I who sent dreams to persuade the king to grant the new fief, and I who made this wasteland flourish.”
Tripitaka said nothing.
“There are three thousand paths. Thousands wandered out of Phoenix County for years, yet never found a place to rest. When granted favor, all they knew was gratitude. They have no idea their fortune or misfortune hinges on the outcome of a Dharma debate. Just a little disturbance, and it could all vanish. Such shallow people, Golden Cicada—why didn’t you save them?”
Tripitaka remained silent.
“You think what they need is water, but water cannot save them! Their cowardice and ignorance are innate—even with water, they only prolong their miserable existence!”
Drawing a deep breath, Lucas Ling went on: “Universal Salvation ought to enter the world. This abbey was built on that principle. Yet, alas—a bustling temple, full of pilgrims, is like this cup of tea. Even Spirit Mountain’s finest tea, brewed in the dust of the mortal world, loses its original meaning. A crowded temple cannot empty itself; how can it save others, or speak of true Dharma?”
With that, he leaned back and laughed at Tripitaka’s retreating figure.
After a moment, Tripitaka slowly turned around, bowed respectfully, and said, “In Venerable Lucas Ling’s eyes, Dharma is Spirit Mountain’s tea, and the people of the dusty world are mere water. Fine tea mixed with common water is wasted.”
Lucas Ling sneered, “Exactly.”