You Can't Escape Saṃsāra

Crumbling Throne

Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead, casting radiant beams that painted the surroundings in vibrant hues. The green leaves, grass, and an array of flowers in shades of red, white, yellow, and blue adorned the landscape. But let's shift our focus to the pilgrim!

Pigsy lay sprawled lazily on the ground, his hands cradling his head as a makeshift pillow. Sandy squatted close by, captivated by a wriggling caterpillar on a tree's bark. Meanwhile, Sanzang sat on the grass, legs crossed, delicately sipping from a small white bowl filled with snow fungus soup.

Across from Sanzang, Wukong observed his master's actions with care. Lately, his body had been aching terribly, a sensation he couldn't explain. After attaining immortality by striking his name from the Book of Life and indulging in the heavenly peach for an added dramatic flair, he had been free of physical discomfort, even during the most strenuous fights. But now, every battle left him needlessly sore. Moreover, he found himself dozing off more often, a fact that even Pigsy had mocked him for, claiming Wukong was lazier than he was (the nerve!).

As Wukong attentively watched Sanzang sip his somewhat lackluster soup, he felt his eyelids grow heavy, threatening to close. Shaking his head vigorously, he tried to fend off the feelings of drowsiness. But his body seemed to betray him, tilting forward as if on the brink of collapse.

"Wukong?" The familiar voice snapped the stone monkey out of his weary stupor.

"Y-yes, Master?" he mumbled, feigning normalcy. He didn't want to alarm his Master, especially since he was the only competent fighter in the group. He doubted Sanzang would risk even a wink of sleep if he knew the Great Sage wasn't feeling his best. Not to be cruel, but Sandy and Pigsy were about as effective at battling demons as a cat would be against a dragon– in other words, practically useless. Wukong was certain that Sanzang would agree with him; he was just too kind-hearted to voice it. But Wukong knew. Sanzang trusted him more than anyone in their company. He clung to Wukong's side like a stubborn child clutching the leg of their guardian, no matter where they went.

"Are you feeling well? You seem... more fatigued than usual," Sanzang's tone softened, his brows knitting in concern.

"No, no, I'm perfectly fine, Master. You needn't worry about me," Wukong responded with his customary haughty laugh, swatting the air dismissively. Beneath that arrogant grin and his signature laugh that caused even the Jade Emperor to groan in annoyance, his body throbbed. Longer than it should. When he undressed for a shower, he'd spot bruises on his skin, a perplexing occurrence. Despite his epic battles against the mightiest of demons, enduring burns, boiling, being flung about, stabbed, and slashed, he had always emerged unscathed, his fur pristine. Yet now, he resembled an overly handled peach, marred by bruises.

"Very well," the venerable elder sighed, buying in to Wukong's elaborate act.

"Alrighty!" Wukong sprang to his feet abruptly, his tail swaying energetically. "I'm gonna go piss."

Sanzang emitted a low groan and rubbed the bridge of his nose in mild embarrassment. "You don't have to make an announcement every time... Just go."

"But, it's funnier when everyone knows!" Wukong's mischievous laughter echoed, relishing in teasing the Buddhist monk. "If anything goes wrong, just shout. Though, I doubt you need me to tell you that; you're always ten steps ahead," the Great Sage playfully taunted before striding away to answer nature's call.

Sanzang rolled his eyes and set the now-empty bowl on his lap. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the day. It was warm but not sweltering, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, creating a soothing symphony. There was an unusual tranquility that perfectly enveloped everything.