They mocked him without restraint; some even began to pelt Tripitaka with rotten eggs and vegetable leaves.
Monkey stood quietly in the street, watching, teeth clenched in fury.
Yet Tripitaka persisted, continuing his incomprehensible plan. His face was vacant, as if he were a walking corpse.
...
On Spirit Mountain, a monk knelt before Lord Buddha. All eyes flickered with subtle emotion.
I thought he would only lose the Dharma-Quest Kingdom, and still continue west. But this Tripitaka... he’s been utterly defeated. Truly unexpected.
Defeat was inevitable. In such a situation, the so-called Way of Universal Salvation is nothing but a lie.
What’s surprising is that the Daoists still chose this moment to stab him in the back.
Why be surprised? Our paths are different. If they had the chance, who’s to say they wouldn’t stab us in the back?
But why is Tripitaka so obsessed with chanting for the dead? Has he truly lost his mind?
At this question, everyone in the hall fell silent, their brows furrowing.
"He is ferrying himself." A deep voice echoed through the hall.
All eyes turned to Lord Buddha.
Lord Buddha slowly closed his eyes and sighed: “To ferry beings across the Sea of Suffering is like rescuing a drowning person. When you reach out your hand, you place yourself in danger. The act of salvation is a contest between rescuer and the one being rescued. If the rescuer is strong and skilled, both survive. But if the drowning one struggles wildly, the rescuer may be dragged under as well.”
At these words, all the Buddhas and Arhats in the hall were startled, their eyes wide.
Someone asked urgently, “By your words, has Tripitaka already been dragged into the water, sunk deep in the Sea of Suffering?”
Lord Buddha nodded slightly.
At once, the hall was filled with exclamations of surprise.
Someone murmured, “So that’s it. Tripitaka chants not to soothe the dead, but to soothe himself. He claims to ferry others, but in truth he ferries himself. Thousands died or were wounded in the city—the guilt… Though he did not wield the blade, he cannot escape responsibility.”
More terrifying than the people’s misunderstanding is his own inner accusation. That’s why he does not explain himself. Even if the people forgave him, he could not deceive his own heart. Better to tear away the veil and expose the bloody side than to decorate it.
The Way of Doing Good is itself a lie. In all Heaven and Earth, has anyone ever attained the Great Dao by doing good alone? To preach goodness without power is a dangerous gamble. Tripitaka’s suffering is the predictable harvest.
The hall buzzed with discussion; everyone was moved.
Looking back, Tripitaka’s earlier move of borrowing secular power was clever, but merely a side door—incapable of deciding the grand game.
Amidst the hubbub, someone suddenly asked, “Now that even he himself is sunk in the Sea of Suffering, what will Tripitaka do next?”
At this, the previously lively Arhats were stunned, exchanging glances and unable to answer. They could only look toward the Buddhas.
This time, neither Lord Buddha, nor the Four Great Buddhas, nor any lesser Buddha answered.
...
In the royal kitchen, Barry Bear furiously overturned the table.
He grabbed the cook by the collar, lifting him off the ground. “What’s the meaning of this? Not even a vegetarian meal for Tripitaka?”
“I—I have no say… No one from above gave orders, I’m just a cook, I can’t decide anything.”
Barry Bear glanced at the cowering cooks in the corner, gritted his teeth, and threw the head cook heavily to the ground before storming out.
"Master Tripitaka said... he said he won’t eat." Barry’s voice was thick with worry, almost breaking.
...
Rushing to Monkey’s side, he said in a low voice, “Great Sage, the royal kitchen didn’t prepare any vegetarian food for Master Tripitaka. I… I’ll go find something for him.”
After a long silence, Barry Bear blinked and spoke, uncertainty trembling in his voice: "Master Tripitaka said... birth, aging, sickness, death; meeting what one hates, parting from what one loves, failing to get what one seeks, and the suffering of the five skandhas—what he endures is only the pain of flesh, barely worth mentioning next to the suffering of the people. If he cannot withstand even this, what right has he to speak of Universal Salvation, or proving the Way?"
Monkey glanced at Barry Bear, then at his bear paw smeared with vegetable bits.
Monkey stared at Marshal Silver, incredulous. "He can even twist it like that—what kind of logic is this? Does he need to starve himself to reach enlightenment?"
"No," Marshal Silver said, blinking and frowning, his voice low and troubled. "There’s something wrong here."
But you still used force?
At this, Barry could only lower his head.
The Way of Doing Good is itself a lie. In all Heaven and Earth, has anyone ever attained the Great Dao by doing good alone? To preach goodness without power is a dangerous gamble. Tripitaka’s suffering is the predictable harvest.
The hall buzzed with discussion; everyone was moved.
Looking back, Tripitaka’s earlier move of borrowing secular power was clever, but merely a side door—incapable of deciding the grand game.
Amidst the hubbub, someone suddenly asked, “Now that even he himself is sunk in the Sea of Suffering, what will Tripitaka do next?”
At this, the previously lively Arhats were stunned, exchanging glances and unable to answer. They could only look toward the Buddhas.
This time, neither Lord Buddha, nor the Four Great Buddhas, nor any lesser Buddha answered.
...
In the royal kitchen, Barry Bear furiously overturned the table.
He grabbed the cook by the collar, lifting him off the ground. “What’s the meaning of this? Not even a vegetarian meal for Tripitaka?”
“I—I have no say… No one from above gave orders, I’m just a cook, I can’t decide anything.”
Barry Bear glanced at the cowering cooks in the corner, gritted his teeth, and threw the head cook heavily to the ground before storming out.
...
...
Rushing to Monkey’s side, he said in a low voice, “Great Sage, the royal kitchen didn’t prepare any vegetarian food for Master Tripitaka. I… I’ll go find something for him.”
Not far away, Tripitaka had just been thrown out of another house.
Monkey glanced at Barry Bear, then at his bear paw smeared with vegetable bits.
I thought you’d just beat them up and take the food.
Master Tripitaka said not to start a conflict with them.
But you still used force?
At this, Barry could only lower his head.
Master Tripitaka hasn’t eaten a single thing for a whole day and night. I’ll go find him something to eat.
As General Curtain turned to leave, Marshal Silver grabbed him by the arm.
Shaking his head slowly, Marshal Silver said, “No need. Just tell him the truth.”
Marshal Silver gestured toward the direction where Tripitaka was.
"Tell him that..."
General Curtain and Barry Bear exchanged glances.
"It’s nothing to tell him," Monkey said, picking his ear and sighing. "Whether you say it or not, it’s all the same. Besides, he’s the one who wants to save all beings. Is it right to hide this from him?"
Urged on by the others, Barry Bear finally shuffled over to Tripitaka and truthfully told him everything he had seen and heard.
Tripitaka paused, glanced toward Monkey, said something to Barry Bear, and then continued on to the next house.
Barry Bear scratched his head as he walked back.
"What did he say?"
"Master Tripitaka said... he said he won’t eat."
"Huh?" Prince Adrian cried out, "Does he want to die?"
Everyone frowned, quietly watching Barry Bear.
After a while, Barry Bear blinked uncertainly and said, "Master Tripitaka said... he said: birth, aging, sickness, death; meeting what one hates, parting from what one loves, failing to get what one seeks, and the suffering of the five skandhas—what he endures is only bodily pain, insignificant compared to the people’s suffering. If he can’t bear even this little suffering, how can he talk about Universal Salvation and proving the Way?"
Everyone was stunned by this.
Monkey looked at Marshal Silver in disbelief. "He can even connect it like that—what kind of twisted logic is this? Does he need to starve himself to enlightenment?"
"No," Marshal Silver said quietly, frowning and thinking hard. "Something’s wrong."
"What? You understand it?"
Marshal Silver shook his head. "I still don’t get it, but… I just feel something isn’t right."
Tripitaka was already reaching the corner ahead.
To keep Tripitaka in sight, the group hurried to follow him.
Seeing this, even the injured King Macaque shook his head and hobbled after them, leaning on a stick.
Tripitaka’s journey of chanting was a jagged one.
The townsfolk’s prejudice had hardened; they’d grind his bones if they could. Yet he refused to explain, bearing all the curses alone.
Gray clouds hung overhead as fine rain began to fall.
Tripitaka was kicked out of another house; as he stepped out, the owner booted him into a puddle at the door.
"If you dare come again, every time you show up, I’ll beat you. Next time I’ll—"
The man’s tirade cut off as soon as he spotted Monkey lurking at the corner. He shrank back inside, slammed the door, and trembled.
The world went silent. Tripitaka lay motionless in the puddle.
Behind the shutters, countless eyes peered at him.
"Is he dead?"
"Probably not. It’s not that easy to die."
"Hard to say—he hasn’t eaten or drunk in a long time, and chanting like that would tire anyone to death."
Whispers rippled through the alley. The person most terrified was not Monkey’s companions, but the householder who kicked Tripitaka.
If Tripitaka died like this, what would happen to him?
Remembering how Monkey fought gods, his legs went weak.
Just then, he saw Monkey striding through the rain, grabbing Tripitaka’s collar and hauling him up.
"I knew you weren’t dead. If I’m not good at anything else, I’m still pretty accurate at sensing breath."
Tripitaka stared at Monkey, dazed, coughed heavily, and crawled under the eaves to huddle out of the rain.
Monkey leaned on his staff and sat down beside him. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked softly, "So how are you now? I know what happened hit you hard, but if you keep this up, you’ll kill yourself."
"Why don’t you all go back? You to Flower-Fruit Mountain, Marshal to Gao Village—everyone, return to where you belong."
"What?" Monkey cried out.
Staring at the rain, Tripitaka sighed blankly. "Perhaps I shouldn’t have dragged you all along. I should… walk the road to the West alone."