Chapter 78- The Savior Becomes Prey

Tripitaka, Sun Wukong, Bajie, and Shaoxing. They've left Shituo City, they're heading west, and it's been months. And now winter's properly hit. Ah, sounds tough. It is. The source gives this really vivid picture, like plum blossoms breaking, pond water freezing, you know, red leaves fallen, green pines renewed. It's bleak. Chilling to the bone, it says. Exactly. Light clouds, a hint of snow, withered grass, chilling to the bone. It really emphasizes the grind, the sheer endurance this journey demands. They're enduring the cold, braving the wind and rain. It's constant, isn't it? The physical and the spiritual tests together. Always. But then, after all that hardship... Ah, they see something. Yeah, finally. A city appears in the distance, you can almost imagine the relief. Oh, definitely. And Wukong, being Wukong, his first thought is purely practical. Let me guess, trouble or no trouble? Pretty much. Is it a big capital city? Because that means Kripitaka needs his passport checked, bureaucracy. Right, more delays. Or is it just some town they can pass through quickly? It grounds the whole thing, you know? Epic quest, but also passport control. Huh, yeah. So what happens when they get there? Well, they approach this gate called the Moon City Gate. And just leaning against the wall, catching some sun, there's this old soldier, fast asleep. Just asleep. Oblivious. Completely. It's such a quiet, almost anticlimactic start to what turns into a really weird situation. Okay, so I'm guessing Wukong doesn't let him sleep for long. Not a chance. He goes right up, shakes him, calls him officer, and the old guy just jolts away. Panicked. Totally panicked and groggy. He throws himself on the ground, bowing, and starts calling Wukong, Grandpa Thunder God. Whoa! Grandpa Thunder God. Yep. Lei Gong Ai. Wukong's like, whoa, hold on. He has to quickly correct him. You know, I'm just a monk from the east heading to the west for scriptures. That's actually pretty funny, but also that level of fear from just being woken up. Exactly. It's funny, but it's also a little off. It hints that maybe things aren't quite normal here, that fear is telling. So once the soldier calms down, does he explain anything? He does. And this is where it gets really puzzling. He tells them the city's name. It used to be called Bichu Country. Bichu Country. Okay. But now it's been renamed. It's called Xiaozicheng. Xiaozicheng. What does that mean? It means Boy City. Boy City. Wait, from Bichu, which means like a Buddhist monk, right? To Boy City. Exactly. You see the confusion straight away. Tripitaka especially is baffled. That clash of names, Bichu and Xiaozicheng, it's jarring. Yeah, that feels significant, like a deliberate contrast. What does Bajie make of it? Oh, Bajie. He immediately jumps to the most obvious, probably food-related conclusion. He figures, I must be a new young king, maybe hoping for a feast. Of course. Easy to guess his angle. But Tripitaka shoots that down pretty quick. It doesn't sit right with him. Xiaozicheng though, he's the practical one. Right. Good old Xiaozicheng. He just suggests, look, let's just ask around town. That old soldier was probably too scared to give us reliable info anyway. Smart. Don't trust the terrified gatekeeper. Pretty much. It's their first real clue that this city might be hiding something. It's not just another stop on the road. So they head deeper in. They do. Through three more gates and they enter the main city. And wow, it's impressive. How so? Description is just full of life. Wine towers and singing halls, noisy, colorful shops and tea houses with high curtains. It sounds vibrant. Filled with bustling, thousands of households, good business, six streets and three markets, vast wealth, people everywhere. Like ants buying gold and selling brocade. All focused on money and status. Prosperous then. Very prosperous. Immensely. Solemn manners, prosperous scenery, river clear and sea calm. A peaceful year. It sounds almost perfect. Almost suspiciously perfect. That level of prosperity and journey to the West usually comes with a catch, doesn't it? That's often the case. Yes. This overwhelming wealth and orderliness can definitely be a red flag. It often masks something darker. Facade. Could be. It challenges them and us, you know, to look past the shiny surface. That's a big theme. Okay. So as they're walking through this seemingly idyllic place, does anything jump out? Yes. Tripitaka, who's always observant, notices something really odd. A detail that just doesn't fit. What is it? Outside every single house, there's a goose cage. An Elon. A goose cage? Like for geese? That's what you'd think. And they're not just plain cages. Each one is covered with colorful silk. Fancy goose cages, basically. Okay. That is weird. At every house. Every single one. Baji naturally has a theory. Let me guess. Food again. Close. He jokes it must be for weddings or big parties. You know, maybe some local custom involving festive geese. Still thinking about feasts. But Wukong... Wukong's not buying it. His instincts are screaming that something's wrong. He immediately dismisses Baji's idea. He senses something deeper, something off. So he wants to investigate. Right away. But Tripitaka gets worried. Wukong's normal appearance can be a bit intimidating. Yeah, might scare people off if he starts poking around their goose cages. Exactly. So Tripitaka tries to stop him. But Wukong, you know, he's the great sage equal to heaven for a reason. He's got a trick up his sleeve. Always. He just does his transformation thing. Shrinks down, turns into a tiny bee. Buzzes off to investigate without anyone noticing. Ugh. Classic Wukong. Smart move. So the bee flies into the cages. Flies into several of them, yes. Eight or nine houses, the text says, just to be sure. What's inside the fancy goose cages? Well, it's not geese. Okay. I have a bad feeling about this. Yeah. Inside each cage is a small child. A little boy. What? Children? In cages? Yes. Little boys aged about five to seven years old. He sees them in different states. Some are playing inside the cage. Some are crying. Some eating fruit. Some are asleep. Oh my god, that's horrifying. In every cage he checked. Every single one. The pattern is consistent. These aren't goose cages, they're child cages. Wow. Okay. That beautiful, prosperous city suddenly looks very, very different. Completely different. It casts this incredibly dark shadow over everything they just saw. That whole picture of wealth and peace. Is built on this. How does Tripitaka react when Wukong reports back? He's deeply disturbed, as you can imagine. The contrast is just sickening. This prosperous facade hiding something so grotesque. It's a powerful, awful image. It really is. It feels like a commentary, doesn't it? About how societies can normalize awful things. Absolutely. It's a stark critique of how material wealth, that vast wealth the text described, can exist alongside or even depend on profound moral corruption. The prosperity itself becomes suspect. The city's peace is bought at a terrible price. Precisely. It's not just one monster they have to fight. It's something rotten within the society itself. So what do they do? They know this horrible secret now. Well, amidst all this, they still have practical needs. They need somewhere to stay. Food for the horse. Right. The journey has to continue. And just then, fortunately, they spot a place called the Golden Pavilion Post House. An official lodging place. Okay, a bit of luck there. Yeah. Tripitaka decides that's the plan. Head there, ask some questions about the area discreetly, feed the horse, get rooves for the night. Sensible. How are they received at the post house? More strangeness. Actually, no. They're met with really gracious hospitality. The postmaster, the innkeeper, they are very welcome. Really? Despite everything? Yep. They offer them tea straight away, get fodder for the horse, arrange a proper vegetarian meal for the monks, prepare clean rooms. It's all very proper and polite. That's almost more unsettling in a way. The normality of it. It is another layer of that deceptive charm, isn't it? This surface-level kindness and order coexisting with the caged children outside. So, this politeness, this normal interaction, does it lead anywhere? Do they find out more? Well, it sets up the next step. The innkeeper tells them something important regarding their travel papers. Ah, the passport again? Right. She says they can't get the passport verified by the king immediately. They'll have to wait for the official court session. When? Tomorrow morning's court. Ah, okay. So, a delay. Exactly. A forced pause. Yeah. They have to spend the night in this city knowing what they know before they can confront the king. After a meal, San Zhang, who's always so observant, right? Always. He sees something that just stops him in his tracks. Small children, not playing, but held captive inside what looked like goose cages. Yeah. And the innkeeper's reaction tells you a lot straight away. His initial fear is palpable. When San Zhang first asks, you know, gently about how children are raised locally, the innkeeper is guarded, sort of dismissive. Trying to wave it away. Exactly. But then San Zhang brings up the cages specifically, the children in the cages, and that's when the innkeeper's whole demeanor changes. He actually whispers a warning, like, mind your own business, move on. That fear, that immediate warning, it screams hidden danger, doesn't it? Totally. But San Zhang, well, he's San Zhang. He can't just ignore injustice. He insists on understanding. Right. He presses the innkeeper. So what happens? What's revealed? Yeah. I gather it wasn't easy getting the truth out. No, not at all. It was only later, after clearing the room, kind of under the cover of darkness, the innkeeper reluctantly spills the beans. And the truth is, uh, horrifying. He confesses this custom, this nightmare, is a direct result of the king's, quote, unrighteous ways. Unrighteous ways. So much so that the locals have this secret bitter nickname for the kingdom. Little Child City. Zhao Zicheng. Little Child City. Wow. Okay, so what are these unrighteous ways? How did he get this bad? Well, this is where the chain of events gets really striking. It apparently started three years before. A Taoist elder, you know, from a tradition often seeking longevity, immortality, that kind of thing. He presents the king with a young girl. Yeah. Just 16. Described as beautiful as Guanyin. Yeah, and the Bodhisattva of Compassion. There's some grim irony there. This is just... So the king becomes utterly infatuated, completely obsessed. He neglects everyone else, all his other queens, his duties. And because of this, well, excessive indulgence, he becomes sick. Gravely ill, emaciated, barely able to function, basically on death's door. So the king is dying from his own excess. And the same Taoist elder who brought the girl, he now offers a cure. Smells like manipulation. That's exactly the setup. This elder, who's now been given the title Royal Uncle, suddenly claims he has the answer. A convenient answer, I bet. What kind of cure are we talking about? He claims to have the secret longevity formula. From mythical islands overseas, you know the type of story. Powerful medicine. Okay. But there's always a catch with these things, isn't there? A horrific one. The drug primer, he calls it. The essential ingredient needed to activate this elixir. It requires the hearts and livers of 1,111 children. Oh my god, 1,000. Over a thousand kids. That's just monstrous. It's almost unimaginable. And this brings us right back to those cages San Zhang saw. Those kids. They're the ones. The intended victims. Precisely. They are the chosen ones. Kept confined in those goose cages. But why the cages? Why that specific public horror? That's a key point, isn't it? It signifies total control. The parents, they are paralyzed by fear. Fear of the king. Fear of the law. They don't dare object. They don't even dare cry out. The cages are a symbol of that brokenness, that absolute terror. So the parents are forced into silence, watching their children caged like animals for the king's grotesque cure. It demonstrates how complete fear can just shut down a society. A chilling picture of tyranny. I can see why the innkeeper warned San Zhang off. He tells him not to mention any of this at court, I assume. Absolutely. Too dangerous. But San Zhang, you know his reaction. He's utterly horrified. He just breaks down. Understandable. Crying, railing against this depraved monarch, sacrificing countless innocent lives for his own selfish, desperate reasons. There's a poem in our sources, actually, that really captures San Zhang's sorrow and his moral outrage. It hits hard. Oh, he's completely undone by it. The text says he's seething with anger and actually shedding tears. Oh, you can just picture it. Yeah. I mean, his whole thing is compassion. He says, as a Buddhist monk, the foremost priority is to act with compassion, you know, for others. This is just unrighteous, is the term used. Utterly wrong. A very clear moral stance. But, and this is where it gets really interesting, not everyone in his group reacts the same way. No, not at all. Take Zubaji Pigsy. His reaction is surprisingly cynical, or maybe just pragmatic. What does he say? He pretty much tells his master to stop worrying about it. He uses this phrase, like, you're carrying other people's coffins into your own house to cry. Wow. Harsh. And he even quotes a proverb, basically saying, subjects should obey rulers, sons should obey fathers, even if it means death. It's about loyalty and filial piety, however twisted the command. So his point is? He asks Tang Sanzang, what's it got to do with you? Essentially, not our problem. That is quite the attitude. Very different from Tang Sanzang. Pulls apart, really. But then there's Xia Wujing, Sandy. He often has a more measured take, right? Yes, exactly. And he offers something more insightful. He suggests maybe this royal uncle, the Xi who seems to be behind this plan, maybe he's not human. Ah, like a demon. Precisely. Maybe he's a demon trying to harvest human hearts for his own reasons. Okay, so that shifts things. It's not just the king being evil. Maybe he's being manipulated. Right. Xia Wujing focuses on a potential supernatural cause, which opens up a different way to intervene. It's smart, actually. Find the root cause, don't just treat the symptom. And speaking of smart, this is where Sun Wukong, Monkey King, comes in. He always has a plan, doesn't he? He certainly does. And this one is, well, it's brilliant. Multi-layered. So what's his thinking? Does he agree about the demon possibility? Yes, he leans towards Xia Wujing's suspicion. But his plan covers both possibilities. Okay, break it down for us. So option one, if the royal uncle is human, just misguided, Wukong plans to teach him the innate essentials, the gi, the true path, you know, guide him away from these awful false ideas. Like rehabilitation. Sort of, yeah. But option two, if he is an evil demon, then Wukong's going to capture him, expose him to the king. And reveal his true nature. Exactly. And then convince the king that real health comes from, like moderating desires, not from, well, not from killing children. That makes sense. Address the advisor, whether human or demon, but there's more, isn't there? Something immediate. Yes. And this is the crucial bit, the stroke of genius, really. Wukong tells Tang Sanzang, don't go confronting the king yet. Because tonight, Wukong is going to use his magic. He's going to first take the children in the goose cages out of the city. Who do now? All of them. The idea is when the king wants the children tomorrow for the medicine, there won't be any. Nothing to take hearts from. So it forces the king's hand. He has to pause, maybe question the royal uncle. Precisely. It buys them time. It creates an opening to investigate and act without, you know, being accused of just stirring up trouble or spreading rumors, which Tang Sanzang was worried about. That's incredibly strategic. Deal with the immediate danger first. Protect the vulnerable, then tackle the source. Classic Wukong, in a way. So the plan is set. What happens next? Wukong goes off on his own. Not quite. He tells Baiji and Sha Wujing to stay with the master, Tang Sanzang, and he gives them something specific to do. Which is? Chant Namo Medicine Buddha for saving lives. Keep the faith. Provide spiritual support while he handles the physical rescue. And then Wukong gets to work. Oh yes. And it's quite a display. He summons this huge assembly of deities and spirits. Like who? The city god. Wraiths. The local land god. Various spirits and protectors. The Five Directions Revealers. Four Duty Masters. Six Dingjia spirits. The Dharma Protectors. Basically, divine reinforcements. Wow. He's calling in the big guns. Definitely. And he gives them incredibly detailed orders. Such as? Take the children, cages and all. Hide them outside the city, in mountain hollows or deep forests. Keep them safe for a day or two. Hidden away. Yes. And crucially, give them fruit to eat so they don't starve. And keep them calm. Protect them in secret so they don't get scared or cry out. That's incredibly thoughtful. Down to the details. It really is. Protect them physically and emotionally. And then only bring them back once the evil, the demon or the bad influence is dealt with. And the king sees sense. The description of the actual rescue. It's powerful, isn't it? It is. Very vivid. The text talks about rolling eerie winds and bleak mist dissenting as the spirits arrive. Creates quite an atmosphere. It does. There's a poem, too, describing how the wind darkens the stars. The mist hides the moon. It starts kind of gently. Then becomes this rumbling, fierce operation. As they go house to house. Exactly. Searching each house to save the children. And it uses this phrase. Goose cages containing the blood and bone. Ouyen. It's a raw term for the kids. Chilling. What about the parents? The poem describes their fear and confusion. This cold air. This chill penetrating everything. Parents are bewildered. Siblings grieving. Sir. Imagine the terror and confusion overnight. But it ends on this note of hope. Though they are displaced tonight, tomorrow morning all will rejoice. Yes, Ouyen. The suffering is temporary. Salvation is coming. So the mission succeeds. Completely. Wukong returns. Finds the others still chanting their prayers. He confirms it. All the children are safe. Hidden away. Tang San Zhang must have been incredibly relieved. Immensely grateful. And finally, after all that, they can rest. What a story. It's not just a rescue, is it? There's so much packed in there. Absolutely. You've got the ethics. The different ways of responding to injustice. The pragmatic solutions. And underlying it all, this deep, deep compassion. There's another poem at the end, right? Summarizing things. Yes, it talks about Buddhist compassion being ancient and abundant. How righteous deeds lead to success. The importance of virtue and following the precepts. And it specifically praises Wukong's action. Calling it hidden virtue surpassing paramita. What does that mean exactly? Well, paramita refers to these transcendent virtues or perfections in Buddhism. Like generosity, morality, patience, wisdom. Things that lead towards enlightenment. So calling Wukong's act hidden virtue suggests it's this powerful good deed done quietly. Behind the scenes. Not for show. Not for glory. Exactly. It wasn't a big public battle against a monster. Though Wukong does plenty of that. This was a quiet strategic act purely to protect the innocent. That itself is a profound kind of virtue. Maybe even more profound in some ways. It really highlights that leadership or just effective action isn't always about being the loudest or the strongest in the room. Right. It often requires foresight, careful planning, understanding motivations. Whether human or, well, you know, demonic. It's about strategy as much as strength. Next morning, Tang Sanzang is getting ready for morning court in BQ City. And the source material really paints a picture, you know. He's wearing this brocaded, bat-adorned, precious Buddhist kasaya, very ornate robe. And the hat, too. The golden domed Virakana hat. It's all designed to look impressive, right? Definitely. He's got his nine-ringed monk staff. Carries his travel papers. The text says he looks like an arhat. Or maybe even a living Buddha. So he's projecting this deep spiritual authority. Almost divine. But of course, there's always Wukong in the background. He's not just letting Tripitaka wander in alone. He wants to check out this royal uncle they've heard about. So quick change. He turns himself into a tiny little cicada, flies onto Tripitaka's hat. Totally unseen. Right. Classic Wukong. Stealth mode first. So Tripitaka goes in, presents himself to the king to get his travel documents sorted. And the description of the king is quite striking. Emaciated appearance. Weary spirit. That's the quote. Oh, wow. So he's not well. Not at all. His speech is apparently intermittent. Like, he can barely talk. But he still manages to approve the document. Stamps it. Okay, so we have this picture. The pious monk looking the part. The hidden guardian monkey. And this very frail king. Seems straightforward enough. But then, just as the king's about to ask about the pilgrimage. You know, make small talk. An official announces someone important is arriving. The royal uncle. And this entrance just screams influence. The king, even though he's weak, struggles to get up. And he bows deeply to welcome this guy. That tells you a lot, doesn't it? It really does. And the description of the royal uncle himself. Wow. He's an old Taoist, apparently. He comes in swaying grandly. Not exactly subtle. Not at all. His clothes are very specific, too. Pale yellow scarf. This amazing cream cloak. Velvet belt. Special shoes. And he carries this big staff. A nine-section, dried, vine-coiled dragon staff. It sounds, well, formidable. And his face. Jade-like, radiant, pale beard. But then, golden eyes, flashing fire. Yeah, and long eyes extending beyond his eyebrows. It's a powerful image. Maybe a bit intimidating. Almost otherworldly. You definitely get that sense. And his attitude matches the look. He just struts in. Doesn't bow to the king. Doesn't even acknowledge Tripitaka's greeting. Just walks right onto the main floor. While all the court officials are bowing to him, they all greet him as he enters. Yeah, the power dynamic is crystal clear. Total contrast to Tripitaka's humble entrance. It really sets the stage perfectly for what happens next. Because the king, who's obviously under this guy's spell, he immediately asks Tripitaka this really pointed question. Right, the big one. Can being a monk lead to immortality? And worshipping Buddha lead to longevity? It feels like a challenge prompted by the royal uncle, you know? Almost certainly. And Tripitaka gives a very Buddhist answer. All about inner peace, quiet enlightenment. He talks about letting go of myriad attachments. How all dharmas are empty. So it's about the mind. When the mind is pure, it shines with solitary clarity. That kind of thing. Exactly. Mind pure, mind present, everything becomes clear. He mentions meditation, doing good deeds, giving grace. That's the foundation. And he directly pushes back against external fixes. He calls cultivating yin to nourish yang, probably meaning alchemy or certain Taoist energy practices, a fallacy. Okay. And taking elixirs for long life. Truly empty words, he says. Real longevity for him comes from inside. Discarding attachments, seeing things as empty, living simply with few desires. Then you naturally get endless life. It's about transformation, not taking a pill. A very internal, quiet path. But the royal uncle isn't having any of it, is he? Not for a second. He jumps in, calls Tripitaka's words full of nonsense, blind cultivation, and just dismisses it entirely. And he directly attacks Buddhist meditation. He even quotes this proverb, and it's, wow, it's quite a visceral put down. Sit, sit, sit, your butt breaks, fire is torment, leads to disaster. I mean, can you believe that in a philosophical debate? It's incredibly blunt. And then he launches into why his way, the Taoist way, is superior. He talks about achieving physically strong bones, a powerful spirit. So more active, more tangible results. Definitely. He mentions gathering hundreds of herbs to save people. Okay, fair enough. But then, seizing the essence of heaven and earth, gathering the refined essence of sun and moon. That's cosmic power gathering. Wow. And internal alchemy, too. Manipulating yin and yang to form the elixir. Yes. Aligning water and fire to condense the fetal essence. This is about literally creating an immortal energy or body inside you. And he boasts about, you know, ascending to the heavens, riding phoenixes, riding cranes to the jade capital, the immortal realms. It's very grand, very visual. It's a much flashier promise than Tripitaka's quiet way. Totally. And he finishes with this absolute mic drop. Among the three teachings, none is superior. Since ancient times, only Taoism has been honored as supreme. It's bold, it's confident, and it offers this fantastical result. You can see why a frail king might find that appealing. Oh, yeah. And the court's reaction, it tells you everything. The king, all the officials, they're totally delighted. They're, like, echoing him. What a splendid, only Taoism is venerable. They're completely won over. It's the charisma, the promise, maybe the sheer force of personality. And poor Tripitaka is just standing there, feeling, the text says, overwhelmed with shame. Publicly shut down. Even though his points were profound, just quieter. But then, Wukong makes his move. Ah, yes, the secret weapon. Still in the hat, right? It flies down to Tripitaka's ear. And whispers the crucial insight. Master, this royal uncle is a demon. Whoa, okay. And the king is afflicted by demonic influence. Game changer. Completely reframes that whole debate. It wasn't just philosophy, it was manipulation, illusion. Exactly. So Wukong tells Tripitaka, go back to the inn, I'll stay and figure this out. So the confrontation isn't just ideas anymore, it's about to get real. Tang monk's just leaving court. And this commander rushes in, reporting something truly bizarre. A cold wind just swept through the city. And whisk away children, still in their cages, from homes all over the place. Oh wow, cages. Yeah. And the king, he's distraught. He thinks it's like heaven trying to destroy him. Especially since he was just about to use a child's heart and liver as a primer for his medicine. Like that very day at noon. And what's really telling is the royal uncle's reaction to this news. Right. He's not upset at all. Not even a little bit. He actually laughs. Says it's heaven sending eternal life. Laughs. Seriously. Yep. And then he reveals his real plan. A much, much more potent medicine than the 1,111 children's hearts they originally planned for. Wait, hang on. 1,111 children? That's the number given. Chilling, isn't it? That's staggering. What on earth could be stronger than that? Well, according to the royal uncle, those kids' hearts. They'd only give the king about a thousand years. Only a thousand years. Right. But his new primer, combined with his special immortal medicine, that promises 10 million years. 10 million. And this ingredient is? Tang monk. Tang monk himself. So how does he become the key? What's the logic there, even in this twisted context? Okay, so the royal uncle, he observes Tang monk, sees his pure demeanor, his clean appearance, and identifies him as a true being who is cultivated for 10 lifetimes. That's crucial. And lifetimes. Yeah. And importantly, his primal essence has never been leaked since he was a child monk. Mean. Meaning he's maintained this incredible spiritual purity, unbroken. In this kind of mythology, that makes his essence, specifically his heart, incredibly powerful. Like 10,000 times stronger than a child's heart, according to the uncle. So that purity, that dedication across lifetimes, ironically makes him the biggest target? Exactly. The ultimate prize for someone seeking immortality through, well, these dark shortcuts. It's a really interesting dark twist on purity. And the king. The king, described as a confused monarch, he just believes him instantly, buys the whole story. Wow. Desperation really clouds judgment, huh? He completely regrets letting Tang monk leave. Totally. But the royal uncle's like, no problem, easy fix. Oh, of course he is. He figures Tang monk will still be at the guest house, you know, finishing his meal. Right. The king, completely manipulated, orders all the city gates shut. Sends the imperial guard to surround the golden pavilion guest house. The deke, gin, ting-a-go-ny, got it. But how does Wukong find out about all this? He wasn't there, was he? Ah, well, the text explains that. After Tang monk leaves the court, Wukong, being Wukong, flies back invisibly. Sneaky. And hides himself behind the jade screen in the golden palace. So he overhears the entire conversation. The whole plan. Okay, so he knows exactly what they're planning. Every word. And the king's orders to trap Tang monk. So he doesn't waste any time. Fly straight to the guest house. Straight there. Bursts in. Yells, master, disaster, disaster. How does Tang monk take it? Oh, it's, uh, it's quite a reaction. He's there with Pigsy and Sandy, and they're having this nice royal vegetarian meal. Right. And Wukong crashes in. Tang monk is so terrified, the text says his three souls scatter. Smoke rises from his seven orifices. Whoa, that's vivid. It really is pure paralyzing fear. He collapses, sweating, can't even speak. Shows you even someone that's spiritually advanced can be hit by sheer terror. And Pigsy, what does he do? Pigsy just says in his classic way, what disaster? What disaster? You spoke too fast and scared master. So yeah, you know, typical Pigsy. Right. But Tang monk eventually manages to speak. Yeah. He grabs Wukong, barely able to get the words out. Just please, disciple, what do we do? What can we possibly do? And Wukong has a plan. He does, but it's, uh, it's cryptic at first. He says, if you want it to be good, the big becomes small. The big becomes small. What does that mean? Sandy asked the same thing. Wukong explains if you want to save your life, master becomes disciple, disciple becomes master. Then you can be saved. A switcheroo. Basically, yeah. And Tang monk, he's so desperate. He immediately agrees. It says he'll even be Wukong's grand disciple if it saves his life. Whatever it takes. So how do they pull off the switch? Okay, this is where Wukong's, let's call it resourcefulness comes in. He tells Pigsy, quick, make some mud. Mud. And the text gives this very specific kind of gross detail. Pigsy can't get water from outside because, you know, guards are probably arriving. So he lifts his clothes and he uses his own urine to mix up some stinky mud. Oh, Pigsy, seriously. Seriously. But hey, it highlights Pigsy being practical, maybe a bit unrefined. And Wukong just rolls with it. Anything to get the job done. Okay, okay. So they have the stinky mud. What next? Wukong takes a piece, shapes it into a monkey face, puts it on his own face first, sort of like a mold test. Then he takes it off and puts it onto Tang monk's face. Just like that. Well, then comes the magic. He recites a true incantation, blows a puff of immortal breath onto it and commands, change. And? And instantly, Tang monk looks exactly like Wukong. They even swap clothes. Amazing. And Wukong? Wukong puts on Tang monk's robes, does a similar spell, probably with some leftover mud, and transforms his own face to look exactly like Tang monk. Wow. How good is the disguise? So good. The text specifically notes that even Pigsy and Sandy couldn't tell them apart. Flawless. Perfect timing too, I bet. You guessed it. Just as they finish, bam, gongs and drums start sounding outside. The guest house is completely surrounded. Imperial forest guard. And the text specifies 3,000 soldiers. Spears, swords, the whole nine yards. They're not messing around. 3,000 soldiers for one monk. They really believe he's the key to immortality. They totally do. Then this officer, dressed in fancy brocade, strides in. He asks for the Tang dynasty elder from the east. The innkeeper, who's probably terrified, just points towards the room. And outwalks. Outwalks fake Sun Tzang Wukong in disguise. Calm as you please. He even bows politely. But the officer just grabs him, pretty much pulls him along, saying, Shookook. Which is basically, you're coming with me to course. I expect you're going to be used. Wow. Used. That's blunt. And just like that, they lead Wukong away, thinking he's Sun Tzang. Yep. Leaving the real Sun Tzang, disguised as Wukong, safe. It's a tense moment, you know, letting Wukong walk into the lion's den like that. It really is a proper cliffhanger within the story. And the source itself kind of sums up the whole situation with this really poignant, evil slanders overcome kindness. Kindness instead invites misfortune.