“I heard more people went missing from White Tiger Village up ahead.”
“Such a tragedy. That village may be the richest one around here, but it’s cursed to sit at the foot of White Tiger Ridge. With a man-eating demon on the mountain, folks live in constant fear!”
“Why on earth would those missing people go up White Tiger Ridge looking for death?”
“Because of lust, that’s why. They say the demon up there is breathtakingly beautiful—one look and your soul gets snatched clean away! Proves that old saying: die beneath the peony, and even as a ghost you’re living the dream!”
“What’s worth more than your life? Forget it, forget it—let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s bad luck!”
The voices faded as two farmers in straw hats and hoes slung over their shoulders walked further into the distance.
The portly monk in black robes watched their retreating backs, then turned to the monk seated on the white horse. “Master, those farmers just said there’s a demon in the village ahead. It’s nearly the Hour of the Monkey already—should we rest here for the night? Walking through White Tiger Village after dark seems unwise.”
The monk on the white horse had a handsome face—bright brows, star-like eyes. A string of smooth, deep-brown Buddhist prayer beads hung around his neck, and he wore snow-white monk’s robes with intricate golden patterns embroidered at the collar and cuffs.
He lowered his gaze slightly in thought. Warm sunlight fell across his face, making him look like a piece of warm jade that had been steeped in sandalwood incense within the quiet halls of a temple—radiating the gentleness and compassion of the Buddhist faith.
After a moment’s deliberation, the monk spoke slowly. “Wukong, go ahead and see if there’s a place for us to rest.”
“Yes. Bajie, Junior Brother Sha—look after Master.” The monk called Wukong was a handsome man with a golden fillet around his head. His features were firm and resolute, his slightly-too-long hair tied back in a loose, careless knot that lent him an air of easygoing independence and untamed spirit.
“Don’t worry, Senior Brother. Go quickly—Second Brother and I will watch over Master,” promised the burly red-haired man gripping the Demon-Subduing Precious Staff, thumping his chest in assurance.
Sun Wukong nodded and summoned the Somersault Cloud, heading toward White Tiger Village.
The moment Sun Wukong left, Zhu Bajie set his Nine-Toothed Spike Rake on the ground and dropped onto a rock, fanning his face with his wide sleeve.
It was the sixth month. Though the afternoon was half gone, the sun had yet to set in the west. It blazed like a giant furnace, the scorching rays baking the ground until the very air seemed thick with a sticky, suffocating heat.
“Master, have some water.” As soon as Tang Sanzang dismounted, Sha Wujing produced a water flask and handed it over.
Just then, from the direction they had come, a figure slowly approached.
Zhu Bajie was facing Tang Sanzang, so the person was still some distance away. Looking past his master’s shoulder, he could only make out a slender figure in white.
By keen instinct, Zhu Bajie sensed that the newcomer was a stunning beauty. He sat up straight and used a transformation art to change his appearance.
In the blink of an eye, the big-eared, fat-faced monk in black became a handsome young man.
Sha Wujing’s eyes went wide with shock at Zhu Bajie’s sudden change in face and form. “Second Brother, why did you suddenly change your appearance?”
Zhu Bajie glanced at him and grinned. “I was once Marshal Tianpeng, don’t you know—a handsome man renowned throughout the Celestial Realm. Now I’ve been reborn into a pig’s womb and ended up with this wild boar’s face. Seeing your genuine shock at my true form the first time we met—well, it’s rather amusing.”
Sha Wujing blinked, still bewildered. “What made you suddenly change back to your original appearance?”
At this, Zhu Bajie snapped open a folding fan with a flourish and gave it a gentle wave, the picture of refinement. “When there’s a beauty before you, one must present one’s most proper self.”
Tang Sanzang gave Zhu Bajie a faint glance but said nothing. Sha Wujing, however, furrowed his brow in confusion. “Beauty?”
Zhu Bajie shook his head with a smile and gestured for Sha Wujing to look behind him.
Sha Wujing turned—and froze.
The slender white-robed figure had drawn closer. When Zhu Bajie signaled him to look, he himself was caught off guard, his gaze crashing headlong into a beauty so breathtaking it stole the breath from his lungs.
The figure was slender and graceful, a cascade of black hair spilling down their back. Skin like ice and jade, a face like a lotus blossom in spring, eyes clear and luminous as black glass soaked in spring water. Every glance, every expression radiated a delicate, tender allure.
As if startled by the two strangers’ fixed stares, the white-robed beauty halted mid-step, shrinking back slightly. Then they timidly raised their eyes and cast a soft, sidelong glance at Zhu Bajie.
It was the most ordinary of looks, yet it carried an inexplicable tenderness and springtime charm.
The foolish pig was spellbound by that glance, his worldly heart stirred. The folding fan slipped from his fingers. In his daze, he completely failed to notice the beauty’s flat chest and tall stature. He strode forward until he stood right before them and blurted out, “Bodhisattva, where might you be headed?”
[Bodhisattva? Little Hong, do you have a lot of question marks right now?]
[Shut up. The Weakling System has no right to speak.]
[Understood. Please continue your performance.]
Fu Zhenhong frowned and shot Zhu Bajie a glare. “I’m a man. What do you mean, Bodhisattva?”
The voice was clear and melodious as a mountain stream flowing gently over stones—utterly pleasing to the ear, but unmistakably male.
“A… a man?” Zhu Bajie’s tongue tangled in his shock.
By now Sha Wujing had recovered himself and hurried to apologize. “The young master is simply too handsome—my second brother and I mistook you for a lady.”
“You’re monks?” Fu Zhenhong addressed Sha Wujing, but his gaze slipped past the burly man to settle on the white-robed monk with his back turned.
Sha Wujing nodded. Seeing the man’s eyes fixed on his master, and noting the disheveled state of his clothes, his wariness spiked. He quickly stepped forward to block the line of sight.
Senior Brother had gone to find lodging, and without the Fiery Golden Eyes, there was no way to tell whether this man before them was human or demon.
Sha Wujing thought to himself: I promised to protect Master well. I can’t let a demon get the better of us.
Zhu Bajie, however, had no such reservations. He had always loved beauties. Now that he knew this white-robed vision was no woman—though the spring water of his heart had slowly settled—it didn’t stop him from being warm toward beautiful people.
“Young master, my name is Zhu Wuneng. We are monks from the Eastern Great Tang, bound for the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures from the Buddha.” Zhu Bajie spoke with feigned elegance, ignoring Sha Wujing’s protests as he led Fu Zhenhong over to Tang Sanzang.
“This is my master, Tang Sanzang.”
Fu Zhenhong stepped before Tang Sanzang and crouched down for a better look at his face. Tang Sanzang, who had been sitting in meditation with his eyes closed, opened them the moment Fu Zhenhong crouched.
Their gazes collided—direct and unflinching.
Fu Zhenhong’s current illusory form, though not as striking as his true appearance in this world, was enough to make anyone who beheld him call him stunning.
And yet, as the monk met his gaze, his eyes were unexpectedly calm.
His brows and eyes were serene, his refined face betraying no surprise whatsoever. His whole being radiated a solemnity and an otherworldly loftiness, as though he had long since shed all mortal concerns.
His eyes were like dark jade, reflecting Fu Zhenhong’s face with perfect stillness.
Fu Zhenhong caught the faint scent of white sandalwood drifting from the prayer beads around the monk’s neck—calm, quiet, settling in the nose and filling one with a sense of peace.
[This Tang Sanzang is really handsome—just not quite what the database files described.]
[Data discrepancies are nothing new. That’s why I call you a Weakling System.]
“Elder Tang,” Fu Zhenhong lowered his eyes and spoke softly, “I heard from your disciple that you are eminent monks traveling from the Eastern Great Tang to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures. Buddhists are compassionate. I have no home to return to—I am alone and destitute. My heart’s wish is to join the Buddha’s fold and travel west with you.”
Tang Sanzang shook his head. “The road to the scriptures is long. This is no child’s play.”
Zhu Bajie couldn’t help chiming in. “Young master, becoming a monk means giving up the freedoms of ordinary life—no wine, no meat. What could have happened to make you so desperate?”
Fu Zhenhong sighed softly. “Half a month ago, famine struck my hometown. I was the only one left in my family. I set out to seek refuge with relatives, but they dressed me up as a woman and sold me to a household to be a wife.”
He paused, saw that Tang Sanzang was listening earnestly, and continued with a slight furrow of his brow—part unwillingness, part helplessness. “I am a man. Even if I have a feminine face, I could not bear such humiliation. When I heard they planned to drug me unconscious, I pretended to comply, secretly switched the medicine, and seized the chance to escape.”
“A pitiful soul indeed.” Zhu Bajie’s gaze toward Fu Zhenhong had already softened with sympathy.
Even Sha Wujing, who had been on guard this whole time, found his suspicions seven or eight parts dispelled by this account.
The man’s clothes were somewhat disordered—clearly he had been running. When he first saw them, he had flinched back in fear like a startled bird. His overall state was consistent with someone who had just escaped a harrowing ordeal.
Moreover, if this handsome young master were a demon, there was no way he would waste so much time circling around them—because once their Senior Brother returned, everything would be settled.
With that thought, Sha Wujing’s gaze toward Fu Zhenhong softened. He offered a well-meaning warning: “Young master, the journey is grueling. With your delicate constitution, how could you endure such hardship? Besides, my master has already shaken his head—he won’t take you in.”
“Isn’t Buddhism supposed to be compassionate?” Fu Zhenhong’s voice caught slightly. He looked at Tang Sanzang, his eyelids faintly red, the corners of his eyes glistening with the barest hint of tears—like a peach blossom nourished by morning dew, carrying a fragile, tender charm. “Elder, my heart is set on the Buddha. Won’t you take me with you?”
