Volume 2: The Path That Can Be Told Chapter 114: Yan Ru Yi

Seeing that Wukong was truly formidable, the child dared not approach and shouted again, “Elder master, elder master, come and help me!” Wukong was speechless—this child must be from some powerful sect, with considerable backing.

At that moment, a majestic voice came from the sky: “Stop embarrassing yourself and come back to take the punishment!” Hearing this, the child pouted and almost cried. But he dared not disobey the voice’s command. He glared at Wukong once and then flew away on clouds. The Fire Phoenix and Golden Crow had already withdrawn from the battle zone, even faster than the child.

Seeing the three leave in such haste, Wukong couldn’t help but smile bitterly. This battle had been utterly chaotic. He tried to trace the source of that voice but found no trace at all—neither could he determine where it came from. It seemed as if the surrounding mountains, winds, clouds, and trees combined to create such a naturally harmonious sound. Wukong thought to himself that this person’s skills were far beyond his own. There truly were masters in the realm of combat, and he needed to be more careful in his actions.

It was already bright outside. With the fighting ceasing, the birds in the forest began to chirp again, and the roars of beasts resumed. This mountain range was vast, teeming with monsters, so Wukong naturally chose not to disturb them.

He saw a bird take off from a high branch and a swallow dive into the dense forest. Inspired, he flew low through the air, imitating the bird’s movements, touching the treetops briefly before rising again. After flying like this for a while, he found no more trees ahead—only a huge waterfall before him. The waterfall was magnificent, even more imposing than the one in the Water Curtain Cave of the Flower-Fruit Mountain. Its cold mist swept across the green peaks, and its flowing water stretched for hundreds of feet and rushed for miles. It appeared like flying lightning and vanished like a white rainbow. The gentle sound made it seem like a hanging curtain.

The hundred-foot waterfall rushed down violently, crashing into a huge deep pool below. Though called a pool, it had actually become a lake, dozens of miles in circumference. Even with the waterfall pouring into it, the water’s surface remained as smooth as a mirror.

Wukong flew over the lake and glanced down. That glance was quite dangerous—he almost fell in. There was nothing else in the lake except his own face, identical to how he looked when looking in a mirror in his past life. It turned out that, despite taking on the guise of a scholar in white, he had unconsciously reverted to his appearance from his past life.

Wukong landed by the lake and carefully examined this face, which should have been very familiar but now seemed utterly strange. Unconsciously, he reached out and touched the water’s surface. The ripples disturbed the reflection, and he could no longer see clearly.

Without waiting for the water to calm down, Wukong stood up resolutely and flew away, never looking back.

Chaos reigns within; years have passed since we last parted. Memories will inevitably fade with the passage of time, yet my heart still stirs—how can I forget that blurred face? Gazing across countless peaks, with lush green mountains and layers of clouds obscuring the view, Wukong, high in the sky, feels utterly alone, overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness.

I’ve been here for so long, thinking I no longer cared about past lives. Yet today, a glance at my reflection in the lake brought back so many memories.

Suddenly, Wukong felt chaos stirring within him, a sense of distress in his chest—something he had never experienced since attaining enlightenment. Could this be the instability of the Dao heart mentioned in legends? Was he on the verge of losing control?

Not daring to take it lightly, he immediately descended to a quiet place to meditate and calm himself.

Yet the more he tried to forget, the clearer the memories became. With his eyes closed, scenes from his past life emerged vividly in his mind, blending with his experiences in this life: the figure on the overpass turned out to be the Bull Demon King; flocks of white pigeons flying between buildings turned out to be giant eagles; Nezha’s wind-fire wheels appeared attached to cars… It was pure chaos.

Wukong was now extremely anxious. He didn’t know what consequences this turmoil might bring, only that it felt extremely uncomfortable. If left unchecked, it would surely lead to disaster.

At that moment, for some reason, he remembered a sentence he had once read: “Heaven and earth are temporary inns for all things; time is but a passerby through ages. Life is but a dream—how long can joy last…”

A temporary inn… a passerby… a dream…

Which is the temporary inn—Earth, or this very heaven and earth? Who are the passersby—them, or me? And what is the dream—past lives, or this life?

His inner state was in turmoil, his vital spirit confused. Suddenly, he remembered what Master Subhuti had said: “For us, the vital spirit is the foundation of life and death. When inner thoughts do not arise and external distractions do not enter, one remains truly in control—that is the vital spirit.”

But he didn’t even know the simplest “calming mantra.” How could he calm himself first? He recalled the method of “entering the state” from the *Mysteries of the Xuankong Method*—which involved forgetting oneself and calming a mind full of worries. Wukong silently recited its contents, and indeed, it had a miraculous effect; he gradually became peaceful.

With his mind now clear, he thought: Since I am here at this moment, I must take it as reality. If so, then past lives must be dreams. All those wild thoughts of mine are just dreams, dreams, dreams… But even if they are dreams, those deep impressions remain like burns, impossible to forget. It’s still hard to distinguish between reality and illusion.

In his desperation, Wukong had an idea: since this dream was so vivid, he would continue reading Journey to the West within it, turning falsehood into truth! At this thought, Wukong imagined himself holding the Journey to the West in his past life. “The poem goes: Before heaven and earth were separated, chaos reigned; vast and empty, unseen by anyone. Since Pangu split the primordial chaos, clarity and turbidity have been distinguished…” He had memorized these opening lines by heart long ago, and the plot of each chapter was firmly etched in his mind. After pondering less than half of it, his internal energy gradually stabilized, and it seemed as though he had truly entered the dream, falling asleep unconsciously…

My name is Red Boy—my own choice. Since birth, I have loved red deeply. My mother said she gave birth to me while holding a precious fan, the most yin substance in the world—a “Pure Yin Fan.” According to the laws of heaven and earth, one thing counteracts another; I was born with a pure yang constitution, naturally incompatible with that Pure Yin Fan. I didn’t know whether I was stronger or the fan was stronger.

I could walk and jump from birth, and I was very articulate. In the Tushita Palace, everyone liked me, but the one who liked me the most wasn’t my mother—it was that master who insisted I call him “grandpa.” Later, I learned that this master was the Supreme Lord Laozi, a very powerful figure.

Besides him, I had two other masters. The eldest master was kind but quiet, often sitting in silence. I had only seen him three times since birth. The first time, grandpa took me to meet him. He gave me a fire spear; I loved its blood-red tip, but I couldn’t hold it at that time, so I had to let grandpa store it for me. The second time, still with grandpa, he taught me a mantra to recite day and night. I didn’t know its purpose, but grandpa was very pleased when he heard it. The third time, he came to find me on his own. By then, I could hold the fire spear, and he taught me various spear techniques, which were extremely fun. When grandpa found out later, he scolded the eldest master, saying there was too much violent energy in those techniques—something I didn’t understand.

After staying in the Tushita Palace for some time, my father came to see me. He loved me very much and often carried me on his shoulders to travel between the realms. Then I realized that the mortal world was much larger than the Tushita Palace. Yet those people on earth couldn’t even fly on clouds—they must live such a hard life.