The midday sun scorched the earth, so fiercely that the stone bricks beneath their feet seemed ready to smoke.
The monks placed in the very center of the square were so hot that each one stuck out their tongue, panting.
But the real problem wasn’t the heat; it was the dryness. Locked in this place, not even a sip of water to drink, after just a few hours of exposure, their sweat had long dried up. Some were already showing signs of fainting.
Countless soldiers rotated shifts, keeping their longbows drawn and aimed at the square’s center.
Every so often, a squad of soldiers would patrol the perimeter, and every pair of eyes was fixed on Tripitaka. From beginning to end, Tripitaka simply sat cross-legged, eyes tightly shut.
Marshal Silver and the others stood guard at his side, unmoving.
A monk with large, protruding ears and shifty eyes glanced around, then furtively lowered his head, using his sleeve to shield his face.
"Water! There’s water!"
Someone suddenly shrieked, and at once, countless eyes turned toward them.
The big-eared monk was so startled that the waterskin in his hand clattered to the ground.
Clear water gushed out, quickly soaking the ground.
Instantly, every monk’s eyes went wide.
Before the big-eared monk could reach out, a stout, broad-faced monk had already snatched up the waterskin.
"Give it back!"
The big-eared monk snorted coldly, glanced at the waterskin in his hand, then grinned at the panicked, flustered big-eared monk.
"Give it back—now!"
With a furious shout, the big-eared monk lunged at the stout monk. But his small, skinny frame was no match for the other’s bulk.
The stout monk held off the big-eared monk with one hand, while pouring the water into his mouth with the other.
Water trickled down the stout monk’s mouth.
"Water... it’s water..."
"Give me some... just a little!"
Soon, the monks around them reacted as well, each rushing toward the two, quickly turning the scene into a mass brawl.
Amid screams and cries, an elderly abbot stood to the side, waving his arms to break up the fight, but was repeatedly shoved away, stamping his feet in frustration. In the end, he collapsed to the ground, wailing in despair.
In the midst of chaos, Tripitaka slowly opened his eyes and spoke softly: "Third Prince, could you summon rain to ease the monks’ suffering?"
Prince Adrian lifted his head to glance at the sky, then looked at the soldiers outside the square, their bowstrings taut, and finally turned to Marshal Silver: "To bring rain, I’d have to ascend to the clouds. I told you before, there’s someone pulling strings behind these mortals... Summoning rain isn’t hard, but if I go, I may never come back."
As he spoke, Prince Adrian turned to his cousin Jack Rivers, lying nearby: "Thirsty?"
Jack Rivers hurriedly shook his head. "I... I’m fine..."
Hearing this, Prince Adrian rolled his eyes at Tripitaka: "It’s fine. They won’t die. Before we came, they worked in the quarry every day and didn’t die, did they? It’s not that easy to die."
"This is different from before," Tripitaka replied softly. "They used to have water, even if their work was hard. Now they’re trapped here—if anyone succumbs to heatstroke..."
"That’s their problem," Prince Adrian turned away, refusing to look at Tripitaka. "Don’t talk to me about universal salvation. It’s your quest, not ours. Besides, didn’t you say before, when helping villagers write letters, that unless gods or demons are involved, you can’t rely on us? If you depend on us for everything, how will those who follow after you walk your path?"
With that speech, Tripitaka was left speechless.
After a brief hesitation, Tripitaka could only look helplessly at the struggling monks, sigh, and close his eyes once more, his brows tightly furrowed.
Seeing this, General Curtain quietly walked over to Prince Adrian and gave him a discreet kick.
"What?"
"Just call down some rain. Everyone would feel better. Aren’t you hot enough to feel your throat burning?"
"Not going." Prince Adrian shot him a glare and retorted, "If you want to go, go yourself."
"If I could go myself, would I need you?"
"I’m not going, no matter what. If it’s that serious, wait for the Great Sage to come back." Prince Adrian glanced at the monks still struggling, "If they can last until the Great Sage returns, they’ll be saved. If not, it’s just their bad luck."
Seeing he could not persuade him, General Curtain turned to Marshal Silver, about to speak, but saw Marshal Silver signaling him with his eyes not to say anything.
Helpless, General Curtain could only sit down beside them, bowing his head.