Chapter Text
The pilgrims had spent countless grueling weeks crossing the wilderness — braving storms, hunger, and the constant threat of yaoguais lurking just beyond the edge of sight. At last, they reached the gates of a great imperial city. The thought of warm food, a soft place to sleep, and a chance to wash off the dust of the road brought a rare flicker of peace to their weary hearts.
To avoid drawing attention to their unusual appearances, as Sanzang carefully put it, they wrapped themselves in long robes and kept their heads down, doing their best to blend in with the crowds. Even Wukong, normally impossible to restrain, kept a low profile, though he couldn’t help the occasional mischievous grin as they wove through the winding streets.
With little money to spare and the thought of an inn far beyond their means, the pilgrims quietly made their way through the city’s streets, humbly seeking shelter and food. Sanzang took the lead, speaking softly and respectfully, bowing his head with every request. From one alley to the next, from market stalls to temple courtyards, their polite requests were met with polite refusals.
As they passed through a particularly busy street, Bajie trudged behind, muttering complaints under his breath. Just then, a high-pitched giggle drifted through the air and caught his attention. Across the road, lanterns burned red and soft music spilled from behind painted curtains. Laughter echoed from shaded doorways where heavily made-up women leaned out with teasing smiles.
It was a place that promised pleasure to the common man and shame to any respectable family.
“What are you staring at, piggy?” Wukong’s voice snapped.
Bajie quickly turned his gaze on the Monkey, A grin spread across his round, pig-like face. “Nothing, dear elder brother.”
Wukong raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing. “Then hurry up.”
Bajie sighed and picked up his pace, falling back in step with the others.
By early afternoon, after hours of fruitless searching, an old couple of peasants took pity on them, offering them a place in their modest farmhouse beyond the busy heart of the monastery's city.
“We are deeply grateful for your generosity, Bodhisattva,” Sanzang said, bowing low.
“Please,” the old woman said with a wave of her hand, “no need for such humility. It’s only a little rice and an old roof. But kindness,” she added, “should be given freely—especially to those who walk the path of Heaven.”
Wukong smirked but said nothing. As the others settled in, his golden eyes continued to scan their surroundings.
The elderly woman looked at the colorful bunch and said, “You have journeyed far, and your clothes are worn and covered in dust. Please, allow me to wash your garments.”
Sanzang offered a gentle smile. “There is no need to trouble yourself. You have already given us warmth, food, and refuge from the cold nights.”
“I insist,” she replied firmly but kindly, “as a small offering to honor your sacred quest.”
Sanzang returned the smile, nodding. “Then at least permit me to assist you with the laundry.” The woman inclined her head and gathered their soiled robes, carrying them off to wash.
Sanzang turned to his disciples, his voice calm but firm. “While we stay here, I expect you all to behave. No trouble.” His eyes met Wukong’s as he spoke the last words.
He continued, “We still have some money left for provisions. Can one of you visit the market to purchase food and supplies?” His tone was somewhere between a question and an order.
“I will go, Master,” Bajie volunteered without hesitation.
“Thank you, Bajie,” Sanzang said softly before following the elderly woman.
Once their holy master had left the room, Wukong sprang to his feet with the ease. In one swift motion, he slung an arm around Bajie’s thick neck from behind, pulling him down slightly.
“Brother,” he said, voice dripping with mock sweetness, echoing the polite tone Sanzang had used with the elderly woman, “please, allow me to accompany you.”
“No need, no need,” Bajie replied quickly, waving his hand. “I merely wish to contribute to this sacred journey.” he said, imitating the reverent tone from the earlier exchange with a hint of piggish sarcasm.
Wukong studied the pig’s face for a long moment, then gave a dramatic sigh. “Ah, Brother, what would we do without you? Such selfless devotion—staying behind to rest while nobly fetching food and supplies.” He grinned, releasing Bajie and with a single bound, vaulted up to the thick crossbeams supporting the roof, where he stretched out in the cool shadows.
Bajie grunted, adjusting his belt. He hesitated for a breath, then picked up the last of their coins and a few empty sacks. With one final glance toward his lounging companion, he stepped outside and made his way toward the bustle of the city streets.
Bajie trudged down the narrow path that led back toward the city, the sun now hanging high above and bathing the rooftops in a golden glare. The crowds had thickened since morning, the market buzzing with shouts, clattering baskets, and the heavy scent of spice, sweat, and fresh catch. He found himself at the far end of the marketplace, where butchers barked prices and fishmongers swung cleavers with theatrical flair. The air here was sharp with brine and blood — and just beyond, hidden behind beaded curtains and painted signs, the edge of the red-light district waited with open arms and soft giggles.
Bajie’s trot slowed ever so slightly.
“You know,” came a voice from behind, smooth and smug, “I don’t think the Boss would approve of this… bold new diet of yours.”
Bajie flinched, then turned, already grimacing. “Elder Brother!” he said, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here? You should be resting with the others—you deserve it the most out of all of us.”
Wukong stepped out from the shadows between two meat stalls, arms crossed, tail flicking lazily behind him. He narrowed his eyes. “Spit it out, pig. I know you’re up to something.”
“No, I swear, Brother! I just wanted to, uh…” Bajie begins to sweat under the sharp eyes of his elderly brother. “Get a good look at all the goods they offer here before buying anything. You know how tight money is.”
Wukong raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A long pause stretched between them, then the Monkey King let out a small huff — half laugh, half snort — like a trickster who’d already won the game. “Ha! And you were going to let your poor brother miss all the fun?”
He leaned closer, grin wide. “Come on. What do you have for me?”
Bajie sighed, shoulders slumping. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “But if you tell the holy kid, I’ll say you dragged me there.”
Wukong just grinned wider, his eyes already glinting with mischief.
“You see that alley across the road?” Bajie said, nodding toward a narrow, lantern-lit passage tucked between two crooked buildings. “That, my brother, is heaven on earth — for us yaoguai, at least. Gambling, music, flesh, drink, fine food... Everything we’ve sworn off in the name of the Buddha.”
He spoke like a man reciting scripture, half joking, half yearning.
“We’ve come so far, you and I. Fought more battles than ten lifetimes could hold. I say we deserve a little reward now and then.”
Wukong said nothing, only raised an eyebrow and let the pig talk.
“As our dear Master always says—‘acknowledge pleasure, acknowledge happiness.’ And I, for one, will acknowledge this opportunity.”
A pause followed. Wukong’s gaze lingered on the alley.
Then he let out a sharp laugh. “Ha! And you think we’ll get away with it? You’re humouring me now.”
Bajie smirked. “Oh, I know the divine beings will know. But come on, do you really think the punishment’ll be that bad? Like, say, being sealed under a mountain for 500 years?”
Wukong’s smile vanished. “Watch it,” he said stern.
Bajie held up his hands, grinning. “I’m just saying, we’ve done worse. You especially.”
The Monkey King’s eyes narrowed.
“But listen,” Bajie went on, lowering his voice as he leaned in. “I think we can turn this into a benefit. For all of us. In this corner of the city, coin flows like wine — if you’ve got the brains to follow it.”
Wukong’s smirk returned, wider this time, sly and dangerous. “Good thing one of us has a functional brain, then.”
Without waiting, he turned and strolled toward the alley.
Bajie grumbled something under his breath about monkeys and their egos, then hurried after him.
In the lantern district, Wukong and Bajie walked through narrow, dimly lit alleys. The pig’s eyes darted left and right, taking everything in.
Red lanterns bathed the street in a murky glow. Steam rose from food stalls thick with spice, mixing with the stench of sweat. People traded and sold strange goods.
Women leaned in doorways, luring passersby into their brothels. Music clanged from tired instruments. Dice rattled, coins clinked, and drunken laughter rose above the market din. The whole place buzzed with noise.
A sharp, metallic tang caught Bajie’s nose. He sniffed, squinting toward a smoke-wreathed butcher’s stall.
“Ha!” he grunted. “I didn’t think a city like this would reek of sin. But that’s human flesh, no mistake.”
Wukong gave a half-laugh, something dry and amused.
“Not just monks live in cities, brother,” he said, casually. “I sensed yaogais the moment we crossed the city wall. They’re everywhere.”
He gestured subtly with his head toward the crowd ahead. “What a sight.”
Bajie followed his gaze. Demons passing openly through the bustle — some glamoured in rough disguises, others bold and beast-faced. No one batted an eye. Humans, merchants, and monsters mingled like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“No wonder no one stopped us at the gates. Some holy city.”, Wukong remarked.
They stopped outside a noisy tavern.
Wukong tossed the money pouch once in his palm. “Let’s turn this into a good deed.”
Sanzang and the old woman worked quietly in the sun-warmed yard, hanging freshly washed robes on a swaying bamboo line. The silence between them was peaceful. Buckets sloshed, wooden pins clicked, and the monk’s sleeves rolled wet to his elbows.
The woman broke the quiet first, “Your disciples are... quite unique,” she said gently, lifting a stiff strip of tiger-striped cloth still stained with a bit of dried blood. “You must be very brave, traveling with such creatures.”
Sanzang did not look up as he hung another robe.
“Yes, they are hard to look at,” he said, voice calm. “But they have their use. Without them, I would have never made it this far. I’ve faced yaogai, fierce ones, drawn to me by hunger and their desperate empty wish for immortality.”
The woman gave a slow, thoughtful smile.
“I never would’ve imagined demons turning to the Buddha. You must be a remarkable teacher.”
He said nothing to that. They worked the rest of the laundry in silence.
Later, they sat together on the porch, two cups of warm tea between them. Green fields rustled under the afternoon sun.
“Your land is beautiful,” Sanzang said softly. “You and your husband have poured much into it.”
The soil remembers every hand,
Each seed a promise, humble, planned.
The rain may stray, the sun may roam,
But toil and time will bring it home.
The woman smiled with quiet pride, and the wind rolled over the fields like a whispered prayer.
"My teachings had to change, once I met my disciples," he broke the silent. "They’re unlike any students I was ever taught to guide. They struggle with simple morals, bend under their hands like dry reeds. Yet, I understand now why the Bodhisattva chose them."
The woman said nothing, her hands folded around the warm clay cup, listening with the stillness of the earth.
"They’re strong, each of them in their own way," Sanzang continued. "And so different from one another. From me."
He fell quiet for a moment, then added, "The pig and the monkey are the worst of the bunch—restless, impulsive, unruly. Especially the monkey. But… I believe he’s beginning to see the light in the teachings. Slowly. Like a stone catching fire. He is very smart, I'm sure he will walk the right path."
The woman let his words hang in the air, then answered with a soft voice.
"The way you speak of your disciples tells me everything, Master Tang. You are already a fine teacher. Still young—but you will grow, as they grow beside you."
Sanzang turned to her, a quiet smile forming on his face. Her words reached a place in him he hadn’t realized needed comfort.
"Your kindness… feels like a blessing from the Buddha himself."
The woman smiled back, gentle and luminous.
After the tea and heartwarming conversation, Sanzang ask the Old Woman for a quiet place to meditate.
The woman led him to a calm, shaded spot behind the house—where wild grass met the edge of the tilled fields, and the wind played gently with chimes and bamboo.
Sanzang gave her a thankful nod, then took his seat on the earth, adjusting his robes and preparing to begin his prayers.
Before he could mumble one word, footsteps approached. Wujing came forward without a word.
Sanzang, eyes still closed, raised his hand in silent welcome. “Come, disciple. Join me. Let us quiet our minds together.”
Wujing gave a single nod and sat down beside his master—twice his size, his broad back casting a calm shadow over him.
They sat in silence, the world around them hushed but alive with the sound of wind through the stalks and distant chimes swaying from the eaves.
After some time, Wujing broke his stillness and spoke quietly. “Master, I think I will go help the husband in the field. I need to move my body.”
Sanzang, still deep in his meditation, gave a faint smile. “You did well today, Wujing. Longer than last time.”
Wujing gave a humble bow and rose to his feet, disappearing toward the open land behind the home.
The sun sank lower, casting long golden lines across the soil. The hot-summer air began to cool down.
Eventually, Wujing returned, a large sack slung over his shoulder filled with fresh taro, rice and stalks of green.
“Master,” he said, “the old man said I could keep a portion of the harvest. For our journey.”
Sanzang opened his eyes at the good news and offered a small, grateful smile—but it faded with a flicker of concern.
The sun was dipping fast beneath the hills.
Wukong and Bajie had yet to return.
“I’ll go look for them,” Wujing offered, adjusting the sack on his back.
Sanzang gave him a solemn nod and folded his hands once more, returning to his meditation.
Wujing made his way into the city at late dawn, keeping a low profile beneath his robes. He moved quietly, asking stall after stall in the bustling marketplace.
“Have you seen a pig yaogai and a monkey?”
Most shook their heads, wary or uninterested. But at the far end of the market, a men pointed eastward.
Wujing nodded and set off. As he entered the Lantern District, the mood shifted. An unholy energy buzzed in the air, subtle but undeniable. He straightened to his full height now, no longer bothering to blend in. His eyes scanned everything.
Then—“Brother!”
The voice came from his right. Monkey and Pigsy sat outside a tea house, laughter spilling from their lips.
“We’re here! Come, come!” Monkey waved.
Wujing crossed the street with heavy steps. “What are you doing here? The Tang monk is starting to worry,” he said, his deep voice calm but firm.
Pigsy grinned, unbothered. “Brother, old Sun Wukong is winning without trouble. We’ve doubled our travel funds already.”
“Come,” said Bajie, patting the bench beside him. “Sit. Enjoy the joy we were given.”
Wujing sat down. Pigsy slid a plates of steaming food and a pot of wine toward him. Without much thought, he began to eat.
Bajie leaned back with a smirk. “I would've thought you wouldn't agree to this, let alone be deceived.”
“Deceived?!” Wukong scoffed, waving his cup. “Don’t be ridiculous, brother. I can’t be deceived.”
He leaned forward, voice lower but with a spark in his eye. “Even without your idea, I would’ve found something. Anything. The way the monk told me ‘no trouble’—” he mimicked the phrase with a dramatic frown, “—it was like daring me to do something. You know how I am. Tell me not to, and I will.”
“You just can’t help yourself,” Wujing muffled amused with his full mouth.
“I’d rather stir up a storm than sit still on command.”, said the Monkey.
They laughed and slipped into casual chatter as the lanterns burned brighter, the clinking of glasses and the hum of music only grew louder.
Wujing leaned back in his seat, his bowl half-empty, when a shadow fell over the table.
“You’ve started without me,” said a smooth, tired voice.
Pigsy perked up. “Ao Lie! About time!”
The dragon-turned-horse stood there, arms crossed, clearly fresh off his duties. His robes were dusted with dry dirt, and his hair clung to his forehead with sweat.
“Massage first,” he muttered, walking straight to the nearest open seat. A courtesan giggled and gestured for him to sit down, her hands already working the knots from his shoulders.
“Now this is what the mortal world’s good for,” Pigsy said, raising his cup.
The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon. Crickets chirped through the grass, and fireflies hovered above still water.
Sanzang paced anxiously in the courtyard. “Still not back,” he muttered to himself, glancing once more at the darkened path.
He walked to the stable. The horse was gone too.
His expression tightened.
That settled it.
He turned back toward the house just as the elderly couple from earlier passed him at the gate.
“Leaving so late at night?” the woman asked, concern.
“Yes. I have no choice,” Sanzang answered. “My disciples have a tendency to draw in trouble.”
The old man gave a dry chuckle, then his voice lowered.
“The city’s face changes after dark,” the old man said. “Best stay unseen. Someone like you shines too bright in a place like that. Be careful.”
Sanzang bowed his head in thanks, then stepped out into the night.
The streets were just as full as by day, but something in the air had shifted. Laughter sounded sharper. Faces blurred.
He moved with quiet purpose, asking vendors, couriers, and lantern-lighters if they had seen his disciples. The answers were vague, but each one deepened a feeling already blooming in his chest.
At last, an older man, eyes bleary with wine, squinted at the monk’s description and pointed toward a narrow alley threading into the deeper dark of the city’s eastern quarter.
“There. That way,” he slurred. “All the noise comes... *hick* —from there tonight.”
Sanzang’s jaw tightened. He offered a quick bow, then turned in the direction of the alley.
Before entering, he cloaked himself in old robes and tilted his straw hat down to hide his face. He walked quietly, avoiding the light.
Lovers swayed under red silk banners. Vendors calling out, lanterns glowing softly over spices, silk, and steaming food stalls.
Sanzang weaved through it all — focused, determined — but not unaffected. His pace slowed when he passed a golden idol surrounded by drunk devotees, and again when he saw a child asleep on a vendor’s mat, unattended.
His brows furrowed.
This city… it distracts. It devours.
Tang caught the sharp, familiar laugh—unmistakable. Wukong.
He stepped forward, ready to confront them, ready to scold. But their voices slowed his feet.
“Incredible, elder brother!” Wujing said, wide-eyed, observing the match. “You won again? You only started learning 'Go' two days ago!”
“Well,” Wukong said, placing the final stone and grinning as he scooped up the wagered coins from a grumbling peasant, “the Boss finally taught me something useful and fun.”
He leaned back, smug. “Not that it’s hard. I beat the monk in our first game.”
“I think he went easy on you,” Wujing remarked. “He’s got a soft spot for you.”
Wukong snorted. “That dainty monk? Helpless. No way he could beat me even if he tried.”
“So cruel,” Wujing said, shaking his head.
After a pause, he added, “We should head back soon. The monk’s probably worried sick.”
“Bet he thinks we’re lying dead in a ditch,” Bajie chimed in, wine sloshing in his cup.
“Pfft,” Wukong chuckled, “he’d just chant our souls back to safety.”
“More for us, then,” Bajie grinned, an arm lazily around a laughing woman.
Sanzang, a little wounded by their words, took in the scene before him. Dozens of plates and jugs were stacked on top of eachother. Coins lay scattered across the table, their money pouch already too full to close. Around Bajie, two beautiful women clung to him, giggling and pouring more wine.
All three were clearly deep in their cups. Wukong couldn’t even sit straight, yet he still hovered over the Go board, waiting for a new opponent to defeat and feed his pride.
Sanzang took a seat at the other end of the board. None of his disciples recognized him.
In his drunken haze, Wukong leaned forward with a lazy grin. “How about a challenge? If you win, you can keep every single coin I’ve made. But if you lose—you give me everything you’ve got.”
Sanzang said nothing. He simply nodded.
They began to play. Slowly, Wukong’s smirk faded. He leaned in, focus sharpening. He hadn’t expected a real challenge. The match was close—stone by stone—but in the end, Sanzang won.
Without a word, he picked up the coin pouch and stood. Then he turned and walked away.
For a moment, Wukong just stared at the board, struggling to register his loss. When it finally sank in, he jumped to his feet.
The others turned, startled.
“Why would you make such a stupid bet!?” Bajie snapped. “How are we supposed to pay for all this now? We can’t go back empty-handed!”
Wukong clenched his jaw. Then, without another word, he bolted out the door, chasing after the stranger who had just beaten him.
Wukong caught up quickly. His strong hand gripped the stranger’s shoulder and spun him around.
To his shock, he found himself staring into his master’s face.
Sanzang winced at the grip, and Wukong instantly recoiled, yanking his hand away as though burned. He dropped to his knees, head bowed in shame.
The others arrived moments later, out of breath and froze as they, too, recognized their master. No one spoke.
Sanzang looked at them, his expression carved in disappointment and anger. He opened his mouth to scold them… but no words came. Instead, he turned and began walking away, out of the alley and toward the edge of the city.
His disciples followed in silence, not daring to speak.
As they passed a beggar huddled by a wall, Sanzang came to a stop. He turned to face them. Then, without a word, he took the heavy coin pouch from his sleeve and poured every last coin into the beggar’s bowl.
The disciples watched, stunned. But the monk just turned around and kept walking.
By the time they reached the farmhouse, the moon had risen high. Fireflies still drifted like lanterns over the quiet fields.
Sanzang walked into the farmhouse, his steps firm but quiet. Before any of his disciples could follow, he slammed the door shut behind him.
The three stood frozen outside.
None of them spoke. Wukong’s jaw clenched as frustration swelled in his chest. He kicked a loose stone across the ground, letting out a low, guttural grunt.
Bajie dropped onto the step with a heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his face and muttered, “Wow… never thought the kid would give us the silent treatment.” He shook his head. “I’d rather be yelled at.”
Sha Wujing said nothing, his arms crossed, eyes on the shut door.
Wukong frowned, then wordlessly turned and walked off into the night. To confront his master.
Wukong slipped into Sanzang’s room without a sound. His master sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned, shoulders still.
The monkey hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he stepped closer.
Before he could say a word, Sanzang spoke—his voice colder than Wukong had ever heard it.
“Leave me alone, Monkey.”
Wukong’s brows furrowed. His voice came out rough.
“Why are you act like this?” he growled. “I know I messed up. So just yell at me, hit me, whatever—Don’t treat me like a stranger!”
Sanzang didn’t turn around.
“What do you want me to do, Wukong?” he asked quietly.
“ACT NORMAL!” Wukong barked. His arms flung wide in disbelief.
Still, no response.
Frustrated, Wukong reached out, grabbing his shoulder. But Sanzang slapped his hand away, sharp and without hesitation.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” he hissed. “You’re not in the right state of mind for a conversation. I’d only waste my breath.”
Silence fell.
“Now leave,” Sanzang muttered. “I want to rest. You should too.”
He laid down, back to Wukong.
Wukong stood there, frozen. Then he clicked his tongue, turned, and left the room, the door creaking shut behind him.
Wukong stepped back outside. His brothers looked up from where they sat.
“Well? What happened?” Bajie asked.
Wukong didn’t answer. He walked past them without a word, leapt up into a tree, and settled on a thick branch, away from the others.
Bajie snorted. “Ha. Not good, then.” He lay back with a sigh, patting the hard ground beneath him. “No soft bedding for us tonight.”
A little later, Ao Lie wandered over, looking confused. “Hey… I didn’t even see you leave. What happened?”
No one spoke. But from the silence and their faces, he could guess.
Bajie muttered, “Count yourself lucky. Master doesn’t know what you look like in that human getup.”
Ao Lie raised a brow, then quietly took a seat nearby. Silence fell again, and one by one, they drifted to sleep beneath the open sky on a warm summer night.