Early morning, Dharma-Quest Kingdom.
Tripitaka was seated at the stone table in the courtyard, meticulously preparing for his final sermon. He carefully arranged bamboo slips—each one marking a key point—in neat rows across the tabletop, pausing to ponder over them. Every so often, he dipped his brush in ink and made careful corrections on the silk scroll in his hand, utterly absorbed in his work.
In the corner, Barry Bear blinked, gazing from afar. There was a strange bewilderment in his eyes.
"What’s wrong? Still thinking about becoming a disciple?" Prince Adrian seemed to appear out of nowhere, lounging lazily on a nearby stone bench and yawning. "Honestly, what’s so great about joining the Buddhist Order? Isn’t it better to be a demon king? If you ask me, it’s best not to get accepted. If you really do, you’ll have plenty of regrets later."
Barry Bear shot Prince Adrian a sideways glance and retorted coldly, "Master Tripitaka gives everything for the salvation of all beings, undaunted by hardship. How could I, Barry Bear, put my own desires first? If I ever have the honor of bowing under his robe, I will have no regrets."
"No regrets?" Prince Adrian couldn’t help but laugh. "Do you know... that once you join the Buddhist Order, you’ll have to be vegetarian?"
Barry Bear fell silent.
"And you can’t marry in the Buddhist Order either. They call all that ‘worldly attachment’ and demand you sever every desire, cut off all ties to the mortal world. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t just have a wife—you could have several concubines if you wanted. Tsk tsk. Don’t be rash, young man."
Barry Bear’s face, already dark, seemed to grow even darker.
Prince Adrian kept muttering endlessly by the side, his imagination running wild: "Just think—wine, feasts, servants at your beck and call, living the life of luxury and glory. But once you join the Buddhist Order, all of that’s gone. Do you know what a monk’s life is like? Every day, it’s just a single lamp, tapping a wooden fish, chanting scriptures. Oh, and those sutras—all that Sanskrit looks like rows of ants, enough to give you goosebumps. The only leisure is sweeping leaves in the courtyard. Picture it: you, in monk’s robes, sweeping leaves... How odd would that look? You say you won’t regret it, but that’s because you haven’t lived it yet. The day you really join, you’ll see—just staying alive is a kind of torment."