Chapter 45: The Poor Monk Gives Up Fetching Sutras; the Poor Monk Is the Sutra

Poison Enemy Mountain, Pipa Cave.

There was no demonic aura soaring to the heavens as expected, nor the solemn killing of golden spears and iron horses.

Only a faint scent of powdery perfume, mingled with… the smell of a burning knife?

"So that's it?"

Kong Xuan disdainfully covered his nose with his sleeve.

As a child of the phoenix, she is fastidious. Though this place isn't as disgusting as the Nether Blood Sea,

the sweet, cloying fragrance makes her feel as if she had fallen into a mortal brothel.

"The smell is off."

Sun Wukong landed at the cave entrance.

He did not draw the Golden Cudgel.

At his current realm, dealing with these petty mountain‑lord demons is just a breath‑away task.

What puzzled him, however, was that in the message from Monkey Hair, the Tu Lu's emotion was neither Fear Heart Demon nor despair.

Instead it was a kind of… exhilaration after Deathly Silence?

"Tu Lu!"

Sun Wukong didn't even knock; he lifted his foot and kicked the two stone doors engraved with mandarin ducks playing in water.

"Boom!"

Shards of stone splintered outward.

The massive stone doors burst open like paper, slamming straight into the depths of the cave dwelling.

Smoke and dust rose everywhere.

A few little demons carrying fruit trays shrieked in panic, rolling and crawling into the corners.

Sun Wukong strode into the cave.

Kong Xuan, hands clasped behind his back, followed; his demeanor resembled an inspecting superior rather than a rescuer.

Deepest part of the cave.

Red candles burned high, a brocade canopy hung low.

On a wide stone table covered with tiger skin lay an array of mountain delicacies and sea fare.

No human flesh.

Only proper roasted chicken, grilled lamb leg, and several jars of fine wine whose clay seals had been broken.

A monk in a red kasaya faced away from the entrance, sitting cross‑legged on a stone stool.

He held a large sea‑bowl in his hands.

Opposite him sat a beauty‑to‑the‑extreme female spirit.

The spirit cradled a pipa, gazing at the monk with rapt fascination, occasionally offering him a full serving.

"Master?"

Sun Wukong called out tentatively.

In the past, if Tu Lu were captured, any sound would have made him wail "Sun Wukong save me" in a desperate cry.

Why is he acting deaf today?

The monk's hand paused.

He slowly turned around.

His pure, handsome face bore an abnormal reddish glow.

His gaze was hazy yet startlingly bright.

"Here?"

Tang Seng glanced at Sun Wukong.

He showed no excitement, no rebuke, not even a shift of his seat.

He lifted the sea‑bowl and waved it toward Sun Wukong.

"Want a drink?"

Sun Wukong was stunned.

Kong Xuan was also stunned.

Is this still the same pedantic monk who, at the scent of wine, mutters "sin, sin" for ages?

"Tu Lu, did a donkey kick your brain?"

Sun Wukong darted forward a few steps and seized Tang Seng's wrist.

Chaos Realm demonic Qi slipped in through his meridians.

His body was not possessed.

Nor was he caught by the soul‑confusing technique.

This is Tang Seng, whose soul is as pure as a blank sheet; even the so‑called "Golden Cicada" Original Spirit seal is frantically pulsing on the brink of awakening.

"I'm not mad."

Tang Seng gently slipped out of Sun Wukong's grip.

He raised the bowl, tilted his head, and gulped a large mouthful with a glug‑glug sound.

The strong liquor ran down his mouth corner, soaking the brocade kasaya that symbolized the glory of Fómén.

"Refreshing."

Tang Seng wiped his mouth.

He looked toward the still‑somewhat bewildered scorpion spirit opposite him and smiled.

"Then play music, then dance."

The scorpion spirit glanced at the fierce Sun Wukong, then at the uncharacteristic Tang Seng, clutching the pipa tightly in its hands, unsure whether to play it.

"Wukong."

Tang Seng also ignored it.

He reached into his chest and pulled out a piece of meat—a chicken leg.

He took a hard bite.

"You sit too."

Sun Wukong squinted, sizing up this cheap Master.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Breaking precepts."

Tang Seng chewed the chicken, speaking unclearly.

"Wine and meat pass through the gut, but does Buddha Patriarch remain in the heart?"

"Pfft!"

Tang Seng suddenly slammed the chicken bone he held onto the ground.

"Snap!"

The crisp sound made the scorpion spirit shiver.

"Buddha Patriarch?"

Tang Seng staggered to his feet.

He pointed west, where Ling Shan lay.

"Where is Buddha Patriarch still?"

"Wukong, don't think this humble monk is a fool."

"Along this road, demons and monsters that have a backer are escorted away; those without a backer are killed with one blow."

"This humble monk has recited scriptures for 108,000 li and worshipped countless temples."

"What is being sought?"

"Is it the universal salvation of all beings? Or to give those lofty clay statues gilded Golden Bodies?"

Tang Seng's eyes reddened.

Not from drunkenness.

But from crying.

Two streams of clear tears ran down his cheeks, dripping into the wine cup.

"A few days ago, Heaven collapsed."

Tang Seng pointed to the top of his head.

"That day it was all dark, and blood rain fell as if water were being splashed."

"The voice in this humble monk's heart told me Ling Shan is gone."

"The Tathagata… is also gone."

Sun Wukong fell silent.

He hadn't expected that this mortal monk's perception could be so keen.

Perhaps it is the instinct of the Golden Cicada of the tenth generation's cultivation, which, at the moment Faith collapsed, completely broke through the seal.

"Since the boss has already closed down."

Tang Seng suddenly laughed.

He laughed uglier than he cried.

"This scripture, who will this humble monk still take to show?"

"Take it back to the people of the Great Tang, tell them that even if they bump their heads, in the end they can only worship a bunch of worthless beings who can't even protect themselves?"

He tore off his brocaded kasaya.

This treasure bestowed by the Tathagata is impervious to water and fire, and shuns no evil.

But in Tang Seng's eyes at that moment, it was just a footwrap.

"Rip!"

Tang Seng gave a hard yank.

The kasaya wasn't damaged.

Its quality truly was good.

Tang Seng felt awkward for a moment, then, embarrassed and angry, rolled the kasaya into a ball and hurled it into the nearby fire pit.

"Hoo!"

Flames rose.

The Buddha Patriarch's treasure burned, emitting crackling sounds.

"Ah!"

The scorpion spirit let out a startled cry, tried to rescue, but was repelled by a glance from Tang Seng.

"Burned clean!"

Tang Seng watched the flickering flames, his gaze gradually clearing, the decadent drunkenness fading quickly.

In its place was an unprecedented resolve.

"Wukong."

Tang Seng turned around, looking at this immensely powerful senior disciple.

The poor monk won't leave.

This Poison Enemy Mountain is quite good, and this Pipa Cave is also quite spacious.

He pointed at the Scorpion Spirit beside him.

Although she is a demon, she is more genuine than those Arhats who mouth compassion.

She wants to sleep with me, and she truly wants to, unlike those Bodhisattvas who clearly want incense offerings but pretend to bestow blessings.

The Scorpion Spirit's face flushed red in an instant.

Although she is a female demon king, she can't stand such frank words.

Do you want to return to secular life?

Sun Wukong raised his eyebrows.

No.

Tang Seng straightened his somewhat disheveled middle garment.

He clasped his hands together.

This time.

He did not bow to Heaven, nor to Earth, nor to any Buddha.

He bowed to himself.

The poor monk wishes to cultivate my Buddha here.

Not Hinayana, not Mahayana.

It is the True Buddha.

To save oneself is to save others.

A faint golden light seeped out from Tang Seng's mortal body.

It was not the merit golden light of Fómén.

But a pure light belonging to humanity.

The memory of the Golden Cicada Child, long suppressed in the depths of the consciousness sea, awakened fully at this moment.

But he did not become the Golden Cicada Child.

The Golden Cicada Child is him, and he is also Tang Seng.

The two became one, with no distinction between them.

Interesting.

Sun Wukong grinned and laughed.

This is what he wanted to see.

If one does not undergo utter despair and collapse, how could a new order be built upon the great ruins?

The timid Tang Sanzang who only knew how to chant the tightening spell died.

The one who survived.

He was a flesh-and-blood person who dared to love and hate....

Do you want to stay here as the Stronghold Lady?

Sun Wukong joked.

That is the king.

The Scorpion Spirit suddenly interjected.

She plucked up her courage, walked over, held Tang Seng's arm, and gave Sun Wukong a provocative glance.

Not only is this Pipa Cave...

Next door is the Western Liang Women's Kingdom.

The queen's younger sister had long said that as long as the younger brother-in-law is willing to stay, the king's position will be his.

From now on, all within a radius of ten thousand li will be his dojo.

Sun Wukong looked at Tang Seng.

Tang Seng did not refute.

He merely calmly looked at Sun Wukong, and from his bosom took out the already rusted purple-gold alms bowl.

Wukong.

This alms bowl, take it.

If one day you pass through the Great Tang, please deliver it to the Tang King for me.

Just say...

Tang Seng paused.

The light in his eyes shone as brilliantly as the stars.

Xuanzang is dead.

The True Scriptures... need not be sought.

Because the poor monk stands here.

The poor monk is the scripture.

The wind stopped.

The candles in the cavern stood still, unmoving.

That once timid silhouette, now in the firelight's glow, appeared extraordinarily tall, like a new monument rising from the ruins.