Chapter 8: Cunning Words, Clever Scheme: The Monkey King Questions the Patriarch

In the lecture hall, Patriarch Bodhi saw Sun Wukong’s behavior and immediately called out to him: “Wukong, why are you dancing wildly in your row, ignoring my teachings? What is the meaning of this?”

The surroundings fell utterly silent; Sun Wukong, having snapped out of his ecstatic state, stopped dancing and hurried forward to report: “Disciple sincerely listened to your teachings. When I heard your wondrous words, I could not contain my joy, and thus involuntarily danced in delight. For this breach of decorum, I beg Patriarch’s forgiveness!”

“Since it was an unintentional lapse, no need to dwell on it.” The Patriarch nodded slightly, not pressing the matter, but asked instead: “You recognized the wondrous tone—your karmic connection must have arrived. How long have you been in this cave?”

“Thank you, Patriarch, for sparing me punishment.” Sun Wukong bowed slightly, thought a moment, then said: “Disciple was once ignorant, unaware of time’s passage. I only recall going to the back mountain to chop firewood, and by chance saw a fine peach tree. To this day, I have eaten seven full meals of its peaches.”

“Hmm. Seven full meals?” Patriarch Bodhi stroked his beard. “That mountain is called Rotting Peach Mountain. Its peaches ripen once a year. If you’ve eaten seven times, you’ve been here seven years. You’ve been my disciple long enough—surely you’ve formed your own thoughts. What Dao art do you wish to learn from me now?”

Sun Wukong thought long and hard, unsure what to seek, and finally said: “Whatever my Master teaches, if it leads to the Great Dao, I am willing to learn.”

Patriarch Bodhi listed various peripheral arts one by one, but Sun Wukong asked only one question: “Can it grant immortality?”

Finally, Patriarch Bodhi grew angry, rose, and walked to Sun Wukong with his wooden ruler.

“Crack! Crack! Crack!”

Three sharp strikes landed on his head, jolting the disciples’ spirits.

Then Patriarch Bodhi stood, clasped his hands behind his back, said nothing, and walked straight into the inner chamber, leaving the bewildered disciples standing there.

The disciples exchanged glances, utterly confused.

“What did the Patriarch mean by that?”

“He was teaching so well—why did he suddenly leave?”

“Could it be he’s angry at Sun Wukong for his improper conduct?”

Wu Ming snorted, stood, and scolded Sun Wukong, still grinning foolishly: “Sun Wukong! You rascally monkey—when the Patriarch teaches, how solemn it is! Yet you danced and flailed about—what decorum is this? Now you’ve angered him so he stormed off. Do you know your fault?”

Sun Wukong had just returned from his profound insight. Hearing Wu Ming’s words, he offered no rebuttal, only grinned foolishly.

He had grasped the Patriarch’s “puzzle of the dish”—his heart was glowing with delight; he had no time to bicker with Wu Ming.

Only Su Chen understood clearly.

He glanced at the smug monkey, then at the scowling Wu Ming, and his plan was set.

After the lecture ended, the disciples returned to their cultivation.

Su Chen grabbed Sun Wukong as he turned to leave.

“Monkey Brother, come here a moment.”

He dragged Sun Wukong to a secluded corner, his expression solemn and grave as never before.

Sun Wukong, startled, asked: “Little brother, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Su Chen did not answer directly but asked: “Monkey Brother, during the lecture, what did you realize from the Master’s words?”

“Heh, I got something. Got something.” Sun Wukong scratched his head, proud but cautious.

“Good.” Su Chen nodded, then lowered his voice, speaking with grave seriousness: “Monkey Brother, we’ve been brothers. I won’t hide it from you—my cultivation has hit a problem.”

“What?” Sun Wukong’s eyes widened in alarm; he grabbed Su Chen’s arm urgently: “What kind of problem?”

Su Chen shook his head, a bitter expression on his face: “For seven years, I chopped firewood daily, believing my ‘Axe Dao’ had made minor progress, and my cultivation was smooth. But just now, hearing the Master’s teaching, I was suddenly terrified!”

He looked at Sun Wukong: “I realized my ‘spirit’ and my ‘qi’ are beginning to separate.”

“I used the axe to refine my spirit, my body as the furnace—I should have unified spirit and qi. But now, my spirit is too sharp, my qi too sluggish. If not resolved, I may lose all cultivation—or worse, my spirit and soul will be destroyed!”

Su Chen’s words were half-truth, half-deception.

He truly felt his cultivation bottleneck—his ‘Axe Dao’ overly emphasized spiritual focus, while his physical essence accumulated too slowly; left unchecked, it was indeed dangerous.

But he exaggerated the consequences tenfold, making them terrifying.

Sun Wukong, ignorant of cultivation subtleties, turned pale at the words “spirit and soul destroyed.”

“What do we do? Should we go find the Master now?”

“No!” Su Chen immediately rejected it. “The Master is burdened with countless duties. How could I trouble him with such a trivial matter? Moreover… my ‘Axe Dao’ is a back-alley path. He took me in as a disciple already—what grace! If I now trouble him with this unstable foundation, he may deem me unworthy and expel me.”

Sun Wukong paced frantically: “This won’t work, that won’t work—do we just watch you perish?”

Su Chen had been waiting for this.

He “hesitated” a moment, as if making a final decision, leaned close to Sun Wukong’s ear, and whispered so only they could hear: “Monkey Brother, only you can save me now.”

“Me?” Sun Wukong pointed at his own nose, bewildered.

“Yes, you!” Su Chen’s gaze burned. “You just had a sudden awakening in the lecture hall—you must have deeply grasped the Master’s true method.”

“The Master struck you three times, then turned his back and walked through the central gate. There must be hidden meaning. I suspect—he intends to secretly teach you the true Great Dao tonight, at the third watch, through the back door.”

Sun Wukong stared, stunned: “How did you know?”

“I guessed.” Su Chen’s face remained calm. “Monkey Brother, this is your great karmic opportunity—and my lifeline! When you meet the Master tonight, you must help me.”

“What help? Tell me!” Sun Wukong patted his chest.

“Listen to me.” Su Chen pulled him close and explained in detail.

Sun Wukong scratched his head, frowning: “Little brother, I can’t remember all that!”

“You must remember!” Su Chen’s face hardened. “This is about my life and death. Memorize it by rote. When the Master teaches you, find a chance to say: ‘I have a younger brother, Wu Chen, who faces a great cultivation crisis,’ then repeat exactly what I taught you, and beg the Master’s guidance.”

“But what if the Master gets angry?” Sun Wukong still fretted.

“Don’t worry!” Su Chen encouraged him. “The Master is compassionate. You’re asking for your fellow disciple—how could he be angry? He’d be delighted!”

Hearing those final words, Sun Wukong’s hesitation vanished instantly.

“Fine! I’ve got it!” Sun Wukong smacked his thigh, his eyes firm. “Just a few words—I’ll say them clearly to the Master tonight!”

Watching the monkey’s determined expression, Su Chen quietly exhaled.

This move hinged on two bets.

First, Sun Wukong’s brotherly loyalty.

Second, Patriarch Bodhi’s reaction.

He believed the Patriarch, with his boundless cultivation, would instantly see through his trick.

But would the Patriarch be angry? Su Chen thought not.

His words were no fabrication—they accurately described his real cultivation dilemma, merely amplified.

This was a disciple, facing a cultivation obstacle, using a clever method to seek his Master’s aid.

In itself, this was an expression of “devotion to the Dao.”

If the Patriarch truly admired his stubbornness in “cleaving the immortal path with a simple axe,” then perhaps he would not punish this unorthodox plea.

Night deepened; all sounds faded.

At the third watch, Sun Wukong quietly rose, followed Su Chen’s instructions, slipped out of his stone hut, and headed for the back gate.

Su Chen sat cross-legged in his room, eyes closed, spirit sharply focused, listening intently to the outside.

Success or failure rested on this moment.

At the back gate, Sun Wukong saw it slightly ajar—his heart leapt; he pushed it open.

There, Patriarch Bodhi lay on his bed, feigning sleep.

Sun Wukong dared not disturb him, kneeling before the bed.

After a long while, the Patriarch “awoke,” murmuring: “Hard! Hard! Hard! The Dao is most mysterious—don’t treat the Golden Core as trivial. Without the true master’s secret, your tongue dries and your mouth grows silent!”

He rose from the bed, saw Sun Wukong kneeling, and asked knowingly: “You rascally monkey, why aren’t you resting in front? What brings you here?”

Sun Wukong beamed, bowing deeply: “Master, I’ve understood the puzzle of the dish. I beg you, in your boundless mercy, to teach me the method of immortality!”

The Patriarch chuckled inwardly: “This monkey is truly born of heaven and earth—understands at a single hint.”

He paused, then said: “Very well. Come forward—I shall teach you the method of immortality.”

Sun Wukong beamed, about to bow in thanks—then suddenly remembered Su Chen’s request.

He glanced sideways and said: “Master, I have a favor to ask—may I speak?”

“Oh? What is it?” Patriarch Bodhi regarded him with interest.

Sun Wukong strained to recall Su Chen’s words, stumbling: “I have a younger brother, Wu Chen, who entered with me. He faces a great cultivation crisis… I beg you, Master, in your mercy, to save him.”

Sun Wukong blurted it all out, tense, fearing the Patriarch’s wrath.

Patriarch Bodhi said nothing, only gazed steadily at Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong grew uneasy, sweat breaking out.

Oh no, oh no—little brother tricked me!

The Master must be furious!

Just as Sun Wukong braced for disaster, Patriarch Bodhi smiled.

He extended a finger and lightly tapped Sun Wukong’s monkey head.

“You rascally monkey—you’ve got loyalty. And Wu Chen? A slippery little devil.”

He sighed long, tone unreadable.

“Very well. Very well.”

“Tell him to come in as well.”