Conversation

Six hundred and fifty years later...

In a desolate corner beneath the Five Elements Mountain, a monkey and a monk sat quietly, staring at each other.

Slowly, Tripitaka withdrew his hand from the monkey's forehead, pressed his palms together, and though his face remained calm, a weariness seemed to settle over him.

Above, the stars twinkled in the sky, and all around, the world was bleak and barren.

It wasn’t the five hundred years he’d always heard about, but six hundred and fifty. One hundred and fifty years spent in unconsciousness, followed by five hundred more under the mountain.

Who could imagine that the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the King of Ten Thousand Demons, would spend such long, lonely years in this deserted place, worrying over something as simple as reaching a piece of fruit?

"Have you seen enough? Any thoughts?"

The monkey sneered, his eyes growing red.

Eight hundred years—it had been eight hundred years since he left Blossom Mountain, a past too painful to look back on.

Desperately trying to hold onto everything, to protect everything, but in the end, only losing again and again—left all alone...

With a faint sigh, Tripitaka quietly said, "Your experiences have truly surprised me. It turns out that what you hate isn’t the Heavenly Court, but the Buddha himself."

The monkey glanced at Tripitaka, his tone cool: "Hate?"

"Don’t hate?"

The monkey paused for a moment, then smacked his lips and said, "I’m not sure. Trapped here, I’ve thought about everything—over and over, until I’m sick of it. I don’t even know if I still hate. But if you let me out, I suppose I’d still go to Spirit Mountain and fight him."

Tripitaka squinted and smiled: "But that’s not what you just told me. You said you practiced cultivation for immortality, and once you got out, you’d burn the Heavenly Court."

The monkey turned away, muttering, "Getting old—can’t even remember who I’m supposed to hate. Is that so wrong?"

"Oh?" Tripitaka leaned back against the cliff, gazing up at the stars. He sighed, "Let’s set that aside for now. At this point, let me ask you again: are you willing to come out?"

Shakyamuni, of course, was not to be trusted. Likewise, what he said about the Heavenly Dao’s script lacking the Western Scripture Pilgrimage, and about the spread of Buddhism being of no benefit to him—those were all questionable.

"Please listen carefully. What I’m asking is: are you willing to leave this Five Elements Mountain?"

The monkey took a deep breath, lazily lifted his eyelids to look at Tripitaka, and said, "What do you mean by that? If I refuse the Western Scripture Pilgrimage, would you still let me go?"

A beetle crawled slowly, bending the blades of grass.

Tripitaka lowered his head, smoothing his sleeve. After a long pause, he sighed softly, "When I first came, I doubted whether I could persuade you to travel west with me. But now, that doubt has vanished."

"What do you mean? Aren’t you afraid I’ll get out and bash your head in?"

Tripitaka laughed out loud: "Life and death, death and life—what do they matter? If I feared death, would I have traveled all this way west? Do you really think I endured all this hardship just to become a Buddha?"

As he spoke, Tripitaka smiled at the monkey, his eyes curving like a crescent moon.

The monkey was momentarily stunned, and his gaze toward Tripitaka grew more wary.

From the moment he woke and found himself sealed under the Five Elements Mountain, he had already guessed the reason behind it all.

The Buddha, of course, was not to be trusted. Likewise, what he said about the Heavenly Dao’s script lacking the scripture-fetching episode, and about the spread of Buddhism being of no benefit to him—those were all questionable.

Yet the monkey truly didn’t understand what fetching the scriptures meant for Buddhism.

You—! The monkey slammed his fist into the ground, took two deep breaths to calm himself, and said coldly, "I’m not interested in arguing with you. I don’t want to hear anything you say, I don’t want to leave, and I definitely don’t want to go west on the Western Scripture Pilgrimage. Just stop bothering me. That’s all."

What’s with this setup? Is this bald monk really planning to pester me to the bitter end?

Tripitaka shrugged off his robe and sat down beside the monkey, holding out a flat cake: "Well, want to try a piece? It’s no delicacy, but after centuries without, you might just like it."

Without hesitation, the monkey slapped Tripitaka’s hand away.

Seeing this, Tripitaka didn’t insist. He gazed up at the stars, munching his flat cake, and cheerfully said: "Just kidding. We should be able to set out before dawn—no need to linger here too long."

The monkey didn’t reply, just hugged his head, acting as if Tripitaka didn’t exist.

After a while, once Tripitaka had slowly finished eating and drinking, he brushed the crumbs from his hands and sighed, "Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s get back to our earlier topic. I’ve seen your memories; now let me show you mine, all right? Once you’ve seen them, I’ll let you out. Whether you want to go east, west, north, or south—or even kill me on the spot—it’s up to you."

What?

Without waiting for the monkey’s reply—or even a reaction—Tripitaka grabbed his hand and placed it directly on his own forehead.

Gazing into Tripitaka’s smiling eyes, the monkey’s brow twitched.

Slowly, the scene around them shimmered and shifted like rippling water—a temple appeared before the monkey…

With his one remaining hand, the monkey hugged his head and ignored him.

Tripitaka sighed helplessly, picked up his staff from the cliffside, and slowly walked toward the white horse.

"You’re really leaving?" The monkey snuck a glance at him.

Tripitaka walked to the horse, strapped his staff to its side, took off his travel bag, pulled out a bamboo canteen and a few flat cakes, then walked back toward the monkey.

"Why the hell are you coming back again?"

"Did I ever say I was leaving?" Tripitaka raised his hand to show the bamboo canteen and flat cakes. He smiled: "Unlike you, I don’t have a Heaven’s Way golden body. I’m just a mortal, so I can’t escape eating, drinking, sleeping, and all that. After watching all day, I’m hungry and need a bite. By the way, do you want some?"

"Eat rations... and then? Keep talking circles with me?"

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"Of course. Unless I persuade you to leave the mountain, I won’t give up." Tripitaka nodded solemnly and pointed to his bag. "There are blankets in there. If I can’t convince you tonight, I’ll camp here. By the way, I checked before coming—there’s a village five li from here. If I run out of food and still haven’t convinced you, I’ll go beg for alms. It’s only an hour’s walk round trip, no trouble at all. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just build a temple here, take disciples, farm the land, and live off what I grow. Whenever you’re ready to leave, I’ll move on. There are seeds in my bag too, though it’ll take some work. You don’t need to worry about me."

The monkey was left dumbfounded.