In the next instant, a succession of faces flashed before him—Tripitaka’s mother, his father, his grandfather, Master Fabian, Abbot Goldenpool, the Tang Emperor... Each one, without exception, repeated the same phrase.
"The red-dust world is a Sea of Suffering; better to become a Buddha..."
The phrase repeated endlessly, like a mantra—sharp blades stabbing straight into Tripitaka’s heart.
In that moment, pain surged from the depths of his soul, spreading through his veins to every corner of his body. Tripitaka’s entire form began to collapse; even his breath failed him, the agony beyond endurance. He clutched his ears tightly, staggering, nearly collapsing to his knees.
No one could see the bitter struggle within Tripitaka’s heart; no one understood the torment he endured at this moment—just as, from the beginning, no one had ever truly understood his resolve to journey west.
Everyone simply stared, vacant and powerless—watching, but unable to help.
Inside the great hall, Lord Buddha’s lips parted ever so slightly, chanting over and over: "The red-dust world is a Sea of Suffering; better to become a Buddha..."
"No... No—!" Tripitaka cried out, his voice breaking. "If this poor monk becomes a Buddha, if I become a Buddha, who will deliver all beings!"
His thousand-Buddha crown had already fallen to the ground, rolling slightly. In the breeze, his monk’s robe fluttered softly. Tears burst from his eyes.
Such a loss of composure had never been seen before. Even when he learned the truth about his father’s murder and his mother’s death, he had not broken down like this.
Everyone stared in stunned silence—even Monkey King himself. The heavy stone that had once been lifted from their hearts now weighed them down again.
"If all beings were wise and could achieve salvation, why would you be needed?" Lord Buddha retorted.
Tripitaka trembled, curling up on the ground. Though his eyes could no longer see, he still inched westward, bit by bit. He kept repeating the words he had once spoken to the Tang Emperor in the palace: "If the Buddhas of the West will not save all beings, then I will. If the Buddhas of the West will not send the scriptures, then I will fetch them. If the masses do not seek the Dharma, then I will deliver it. If all beings cannot save themselves, then I will save them."
"You wish to deliver all beings—but with what will you deliver them?" Lord Buddha drew a deep breath, tilted his head, and closed his eyes. "Eight hundred years ago, you questioned my Dharma and wished to debate with me. I allowed it. In the end, you fell into deviation and lost your Buddha light. You could have spent a hundred years rebuilding your cultivation and ascended again, but you chose instead to fall into reincarnation and taste the suffering of all beings."
"After eight hundred years, ten lifetimes of reincarnation, and tasting every hardship under Heaven, I thought you would see your error and return to the shore. Instead, you chose to journey west, to debate Dharma with me once more."
"On your journey west, whom have you truly saved, and what Dao have you actually proven?"
At this moment, the voice was no longer confined to Tripitaka—it resounded in the ears of every living being across the Three Realms.
The High Sky Throne Hall was silent; demons exchanged glances, the Buddhas in the heavens wore unreadable expressions. In the pavilion, the Four Great Buddhas also remained wordless.
Everyone listened quietly, eyes widening.
"Cartwright Kingdom, once a land of peace, was plunged into chaos by your coming. Whom did you deliver?"
"Dharma-Quest Kingdom—the king there sought the Dharma with all his heart, yet what he gained was death. The people put their faith in you, yet fell into the cycle of reincarnation. In the next life, it all begins anew. Whom did you deliver?"
"All of this began because of you—not to mention releasing the demon monkey from beneath Five Elements Mountain." Lord Buddha sighed softly and continued, "Look at Heaven and Earth now; see what ruin has come. Was this not the result of your original intention? If not for your obsession, the world, though imperfect, would not have ended up like this. Even good intentions can yield evil fruit."
Lord Buddha’s words resounded throughout the Three Realms; everyone listened in silence.
In Tusita Palace, Lord Lao bowed his head, quietly rubbing his fingers together.
In Nuwa Temple, Master Sage Subhuti gently stroked the Emerald Wall, waiting in silence.
In the wilderness, the wounded Nine-Headed Wyrm slowly raised his head, supported by Princess Marina Azurewave.
Deep in the forest, Belle Whitebone, her clothes in tatters, looked about blankly.
At that moment, Clara Heart was rushing toward Oxen Continent as fast as she could; Anna Yang led Many-Eyes the Centipede, King Roc, and King Liontusk, all hurrying toward Oxen Continent as well.
Tripitaka curled up, murmuring, "Even if... even if good intentions can yield evil fruit, does that mean one should not seek the Dao? Should one not strive for Universal Salvation for all beings?"
"Indeed." Lord Buddha replied firmly, "But the premise is that you must have the power to govern all this. Do you? You failed to control the demon monkey, yet released him. You could not steer the fate of the Three Realms, yet still cast a stone that stirred up endless waves. To this day, you refuse to admit that all this was caused by your recklessness?"
Tripitaka gritted his teeth, trembling; his lips were drained of all color. Beads of sweat slid slowly from his forehead.
He slowly stretched out a hand, fingers digging deep into the soil. The pain in his body and heart had long exceeded what he could bear. Yet he did not faint—because Lord Buddha was sustaining him with divine sense.
He was forcing him.
The Buddhas wanted a result, and so did Lord Buddha.
Off in the distance, Monkey King raised his head and slowly smiled.
How fitting, how ironic. Was this not exactly how his own Dao heart was once broken, his cultivation scattered, by such debate?
Lord Buddha slowly opened his eyes and continued, "The world is murky, its intricacies beyond the reach of mere passion. From the day you chose reincarnation, you lost your divine powers, lost your grip on fate. You lost the possibility of proving the Dao and delivering all beings."
In agony, Tripitaka cried out, "But, may I ask, Lord Buddha—if I had not entered reincarnation, how could I understand the suffering of all beings, how could I regain my obsession, how could I deliver them?"
"Exactly." Lord Buddha smiled faintly and continued, "That is why this is a dead end. Only by letting go of obsession can you become a Buddha. Only as a Buddha can you possess divine powers. With divine powers and a long lifespan, freed from mortal dust, you might deliver all beings. Yet to become a Buddha means abandoning deliverance, choosing self-salvation."
Tripitaka opened his mouth; veins stood out on his forehead. He trembled, eyes wide, unable to utter a word.
In the pavilion, the Four Great Buddhas stood in silence.
Saint Samuel gazed at the teacup on the table and let out a long sigh.
"You wish to journey west and fetch the scriptures. I will tell you now: there are no scriptures you seek along the Westward road. My Great Thunderclap Temple holds none. They have never existed in the Three Realms, and never will. Everything ends here. Better to become a Buddha."
"No... I cannot become a Buddha... I... cannot... become... a Buddha..." Tripitaka protested weakly.
After prolonged physical and spiritual torment, he had grown numb.
Seeing this, Lord Buddha could not help but smile slowly.
"Close your eyes, cover your ears? Only those obsessed can hear without listening, see without seeing. But can you wither your heart? If your heart withers, you become a Buddha. If it persists, you cannot escape my questioning!"
Tripitaka did not answer; he could not. He could only struggle, inching toward Spirit Mountain.
Rocks tore his monk’s robe; blood seeped into the dust, blooming slowly.
At this moment, everyone understood—the Westward Quest was already a defeat. All that remained was the struggle of a trapped beast.
But what could anyone do?
All anyone could do was wait in silence for the final outcome of the Westward Quest. Even Monkey King slowly closed his eyes.
Yet at that moment, a flash of spiritual light streaked by. Even Lord Buddha opened his eyes wide. A phantom appeared behind Tripitaka.
A human head, a serpent’s body—vast, shifting between light and shadow, without substance.
Everyone was stunned.
Nuwa!
In the temple, Master Sage Subhuti pursed his lips in a gentle smile, his gaze on the Emerald Wall growing moist.
Before all eyes, Nuwa stretched out her hands, condensing a sphere of light in the air, enveloping Tripitaka.
"Child, let me, as your mother, guard you through this final stretch. Go do all the things you wish to do. You are right; no one may deny you, not even Lord Buddha, no matter how right his words sound."
In an instant, all of Tripitaka’s pain vanished; every illusion was dispelled!
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