Pathway to Japanese Literature

After the midday meal, while Master Sanzo was resting beneath a roadside pine tree, Goku took Hakkai to a nearby field and made him practice the transformation technique.

“Try it!” Goku said.
“You’ve got to truly want to become a dragon.
“Here’s the thing.
“I mean it.”
“With an unparalleled, pushed-to-the-limit mindset—that’s how you’ve gotta think.”
“You gotta ditch all other distracting thoughts.”
“Here’s the thing.”
“Get dead serious.”
“Unparalleled—utterly pushed-to-the-limit—dead serious.”

“Alright!” Hakkai closed his eyes and formed the hand seal.
Hakkai’s form vanished, and a Japanese rat snake about five feet long appeared.
Watching nearby, I couldn’t help bursting out laughing.

“You idiot! Is that all you can become—a rat snake?!” Goku scolded.
The Japanese rat snake vanished, and Hakkai reappeared.
“I’m no good. I just don’t get it,” Hakkai snorted shamefacedly.

“No good. That’s no good at all.”
“You’re not focusing your mind at all.”
“Do it again.”
“Here’s the thing.”
“Become dead serious—no half-measures, no compromises—and think ‘I want to become a dragon, I want to become a dragon’ with every fiber of your being.”
“Become nothing but the desire to be a dragon—you yourself need to vanish.”

Alright, once again, Hakkai formed the hand seal.
This time, unlike before, a bizarre creature appeared.
It was undoubtedly a python, but with small forelimbs growing from its body, it also resembled a giant lizard.
However, its abdomen was bloated and flabby like Hakkai himself, and when it crawled two or three steps with its short forelimbs, the ungainliness defied description.
I couldn't help but guffaw again.

"Enough! Enough! Stop!" roared Goku.
Scratching his head, Hakkai materialized again.

“Goku.”
“It’s because your desire to become a dragon hasn’t been pushed to the absolute limit yet.”
“That’s why it won’t work.”

“Hakkai.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re fixating this hard—‘I want to become a dragon! I want to become a dragon!’—with all your might!”
“This intensely. This single-mindedly.”

Goku.
“The fact that you can’t do this means your mental unification hasn’t been achieved yet.”

“Hakkai.”
“That’s just pathetic!”
“Isn’t that just arguing from results?”

“Goku.”
“I see.”
“Judging causes purely by results isn’t the finest approach.”
“But in this world, that seems to be the most practically sound method.”
“In your current state—it’s glaringly obvious.”

According to Goku, the law of transformation was as follows.
In other words, if the desire to become something were utterly pure and intensely fierce, one would ultimately become that very thing.
The reason one could not become it was that their mindset had not yet reached that point.
The training in magical arts consisted of learning this method: to unify one’s mindset into something pure and flawless yet intensely fierce.
This training was undoubtedly quite difficult; however, once one reached that state, they no longer required the tremendous effort they once did and could easily achieve their objective simply by placing their mind into that form.
This was no different from how it was with various other arts.
The reason transformation techniques could be performed by foxes and raccoon dogs but not by humans was that—in short—whereas mental unification proved extremely difficult for humans due to their having far too many matters demanding attention, wild beasts possessed few trivialities to burden their hearts, and thus this unification came easily—and so on.

Goku was indeed a genius.
This was beyond doubt.
That truth struck me the moment I first saw this monkey.
Initially repulsed by his ruddy-bearded visage, I became overwhelmed in the next instant by what radiated from within him—his appearance forgotten entirely.
Now I even catch myself finding his simian features beautiful—if not beautiful, then at least magnificent.
The trust he holds in himself spills vibrantly from every expression and utterance.
This man cannot lie.
To himself first before all others.
A fire perpetually blazes within him—
abundant and fierce—
its flames leaping instantly to those nearby.
Hearing his words compels belief matching his own conviction.
Merely standing beside him fills one with unshakable confidence.
He is the spark.
The world exists as kindling laid for his use—
to be consumed by his flames.

To us, things that seemed utterly ordinary appeared, when viewed through Goku’s eyes, as nothing less than splendid beginnings of adventure or opportunities that spurred his intense endeavors. Rather than the external world—which inherently held meaning—attracting his attention, it instead appeared that he was the one imparting meaning upon each aspect of that world, one by one. His inner fire ignited, one by one, the dormant gunpowder lying cold and unused in the external world. Not by seeking them out with a detective’s eye, but with a poet’s heart—a terribly rough poet, mind you—he warmed everything he touched (though not without the risk of scorching at times), causing all manner of unexpected buds to sprout and bear fruit from them. Therefore, to his—Goku’s—eyes, there existed not a single thing that was ordinary or banal. Without fail, he rose early every morning, bowed to the sunrise, and, with the wonder of one beholding it for the first time, became enraptured by its beauty. From the depths of his heart, he sighed and admired it. This was almost an everyday morning occurrence. It was also this man who, upon seeing a pine seed sprouting a bud, widened his eyes in amazement and exclaimed, “What a wonder!”

Compared to this innocent figure of Goku—on the other hand—look at him when he battles formidable foes! What a splendid, flawless figure he presented! A whole body of robust tension without the slightest gap; a rhythmic and utterly efficient use of staff; that overwhelming sense of power from a body impervious to fatigue—rejoicing, raging, sweating, leaping; the overflowing of a resilient spirit that joyously confronted every hardship; it was a beauty more intense than blazing suns—more bare-bodied than gloriously blooming sunflowers—more heroic than resoundingly clamoring cicadas—a selfless scorching splendor! That unsightly monkey’s fighting figure.

About a month ago, the figure of him as he fiercely battled the Ox-Demon King in Mount Cuifeng remained vividly etched in my mind’s eye.
So great was my astonishment that I even made a detailed record of the battle’s progression at the time.

...the Ox-Demon King transformed into a musk deer and calmly grazed on grass.
Goku realized this and transformed into a tiger that came rushing to devour the musk deer.
The Ox-Demon King abruptly became a giant leopard and leapt to attack the tiger.
When Goku saw this, he turned into a suanni and lunged at the giant leopard. In response, the Ox-Demon King—now transformed into a yellow lion—roared like thunder and tried to rend the suanni apart.
At that moment, Goku seemed to collapse to the ground but finally transformed into a giant elephant.
Its trunk resembled a long serpent; its tusks were like bamboo shoots.
The Ox-Demon King could no longer endure and revealed his true form, instantly becoming a great white bull.
His head towered like a mountain peak; his eyes flashed like lightning; his twin horns resembled iron pagodas.
From head to tail he measured over a thousand jō; from hooves to back he stood eight hundred jō tall.
Bellowing thunderously, he roared: “You wicked monkey! What do you mean to do with me now?”
Goku likewise revealed his true form and let out a deafening roar—in an instant his body reached ten thousand jō in height, his head like Mount Tai, eyes like sun and moon, mouth like a pool of blood.
Fiercely swinging his iron staff, he struck at the Ox-Demon King.
The Ox-Demon King blocked with his horns, and as the two fought halfway up the mountain, truly the peaks crumbled, seas boiled over, and heaven and earth seemed near overturning—so dreadful was it.
……

What a magnificent spectacle it was!
I let out a sigh of relief.
I didn’t even feel like rushing to his aid from nearby.
It wasn’t because there was no worry that Goku would lose; rather, it stemmed from a sense of shame at adding clumsy brushstrokes to an already perfect masterpiece painting.

Calamity is oil to Goku’s fire.
When he encounters difficulties, his entire body—both spirit and flesh—blazes up fiercely.
Conversely, during peaceful times, he becomes ridiculously dejected.
Like a top, he must always spin at full speed—or else he will fall over.
Even difficult realities appear to Goku as a map—one where the shortest path to his destination lies clearly marked in bold lines.
The moment he perceives reality’s circumstances, the route toward his objective within them becomes unmistakably clear to him—
Or perhaps it would be truer to say he sees nothing but that path alone.
Like luminescent script in moonless darkness, only the necessary way forward floats vividly into view while all else fades into obscurity.
While we dullards still fumble through scattered thoughts without focus—Goku has already begun moving—
Already striding down that shortest path toward his goal.

People discussed his valor and physical strength.
Yet they seemed surprisingly unaware of his astonishing genius-level wisdom.
In his case, his deliberation and judgment were so seamlessly blended into his acts of physical prowess.

I know that Goku is illiterate.
I know full well how uneducated he was—even when appointed to the role of Bimawen in heaven, he didn't know the characters for "Bimawen," let alone understand the duties of the position.
However, I value Goku's wisdom—harmonized with strength—and the acuity of his judgment above all else.
There are even times when I think Goku possesses considerable intellectual refinement.
At least regarding animals, plants, and astronomy, his knowledge stands substantial.
He can discern at a glance the nature, strength level, and primary weapon characteristics of most animals.
With weeds too, he truly knows which serve as medicinal herbs and which as poisonous plants.
Yet he remains utterly ignorant of those animals' and plants' commonly used names.
Though skilled at determining direction, time, and season by stars, he knows neither Kakushuku nor Shinshuku by name.
What a contrast between me—able to recite all Twenty-Eight Mansions yet failing to recognize actual stars—and this illiterate monkey! Never do I feel literary education's wretchedness more acutely than when standing before him.

Every part of Goku’s body—his eyes, ears, mouth, legs, hands—all seemed perpetually on the verge of bursting with joy. They were vibrant and lively, pulsing with energy. When it came time to fight, each of those parts—overcome with jubilation—would raise a cheer in unison like summer bees swarming flowers. Despite its earnest intensity, Goku’s fighting style retained a certain playful quality—was this why? People often spoke of "preparing to die," but a man like Goku never once prepared himself for death. No matter what danger he found himself in, he only worried about the success or failure of his current task—whether it be defeating monsters or rescuing Master Sanzo—and never once did concern for his own life enter his mind. Even when he had been nearly burned to death within Taishang Laojun’s Eight Trigram Furnace, and even when he had faced Silver Horn King’s Mount Tai Crushing Technique and been on the verge of being crushed beneath the three mountains of Mount Tai, Mount Sumeru, and Mount Emei, he had never once screamed out for his own life. The time he had suffered most was when trapped beneath the mysterious golden cymbals by the Yellow-Browed Elder Buddha of Little Thunderclap Temple. He pushed and thrusted, but the cymbals would not break. Even when trying to transform his body to a massive size to break through, as Goku grew larger, the cymbals stretched and expanded accordingly; when he shrank himself, they likewise contracted. It had been utterly hopeless. Plucking out his body hair and transforming it into a drill, even when he tried to bore a hole with it, not a single mark was left on the golden cymbals. Gradually, under the power of this vessel that liquefied matter into water, Goku’s buttocks began to soften, yet even so, he seemed concerned solely with the fate of his master who had been captured by the monster. Goku possessed boundless confidence in his own fate (though he himself seemed unaware of this confidence). Before long, Kangjin Dragon who had come to assist from heaven mustered all his strength with his iron-like horns and pierced through the golden cymbals from outside. The horn had pierced splendidly through to the inside, but the golden cymbals clung to it as if they were living flesh, leaving not the slightest gap. If there had been even a gap large enough for wind to pass through, Goku would have transformed his body into a mustard seed and escaped—but even that proved impossible. While half of his buttocks were melting after much anguish and struggle, he finally extracted the golden-hooped rod from his ear transformed it into a steel drill bored a hole through Kangjin Dragon’s horn changed his body into a mustard seed to hide within that hole and had the dragon pull out the horn. After finally being saved he forgot about his softened buttocks and immediately set about rescuing Master Sanzo. Even afterward he never once said things like “That was dangerous back then.” He had probably never felt things like “This is dangerous!” or “It’s over!” This man had surely never once contemplated his own lifespan or life When he died he’d probably just snuff out without even realizing it himself Up until that very instant he must have been rampaging about with vigor.

Truly, even if this man's endeavors felt grand, they never carried a tragic air.

Though monkeys were said to imitate humans, what a monkey this was that did not imitate them at all! Far from imitating others, he absolutely refused to accept any ideas imposed upon him—even those recognized by all for thousands of years—unless he could fully convince himself.

Tradition and worldly reputation held no authority before this man.

Another of Goku’s characteristics was that he never spoke of the past.
Or rather, he seemed to have completely forgotten anything that had passed.
At the very least, he forgot each individual event.
Instead, each lesson imparted by his experiences was absorbed into his bloodstream each time, immediately becoming part of his very mind and body.
By now, there was no longer any need for him to remember each and every individual event.
This became clear when seeing that he never repeated the same strategic error.
Moreover, he had completely forgotten when and through what bitter experiences he had gained those lessons.
This monkey possessed a mysterious power to completely absorb experiences unconsciously.

However, there was just one terrifying experience that even he could never forget. Once, he earnestly told me about the terror of that time. That was when he first had the honor of meeting Shakyamuni Tathagata.

At that time, Goku did not know the limits of his own power.
When he wore lotus-thread cloud-treading boots and chainmail golden armor, wielding the 13,500-jin Ruyi Jingu Bang seized from the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea to fight, none in heaven or earth could oppose him.
He disrupted the Peach Banquet where immortals gathered, and upon breaking through the Eight Trigram Furnace he had been confined in as punishment and bursting out, he rampaged through the heavenly realm as if it were too cramped for his fury.
He defeated and mowed down the swarming heavenly soldiers, then fought for over half a day before Lingxiao Palace against Yusheng Zhenjun, the commander of the punitive force leading thirty-six thunder generals.
At that very moment, Shakyamuni Tathagata—accompanied by the two venerable ones Kashyapa and Ananda—happened to pass by there, stood before Goku, and halted the battle.
Goku indignantly lashed out.

Shakyamuni Tathagata said laughingly, “You seem quite full of yourself, but tell me—exactly what path have you mastered?”

Goku declared, “How utterly foolish of you not to know the power of this me, born from a stone egg on Huaguo Mountain in Aolai Country of Dong Sheng Shen Zhou! I have already mastered the method of immortality and am one who rides clouds, commands winds, and travels 108,000 li in an instant.”

Shakyamuni Tathagata said, “You shouldn’t make such grand claims. Not only can you not traverse 108,000 li—you couldn’t even leap out once you’ve climbed onto my palm.”

“What?!” snapped Goku in anger, suddenly leaping onto Shakyamuni’s palm.

Though he flew eight hundred thousand li through mystic power, Shakyamuni inscribed the six characters “Hum Kṣa” in gold and pasted them upon the mountaintop. As the world was overturned from its very foundations, leaving him in a daze where he was no longer himself, Goku continued to tremble for some time.

In fact, the world had completely transformed for him since that moment. From then on, when hungry he ate iron pellets, when thirsty he drank molten copper, and while sealed within a rocky cavern, he had to await the fulfillment of his period of atonement.

Goku plummeted from extreme arrogance to an utter lack of confidence. He became weak-spirited, and at times, overwhelmed by anguish, would wail loudly without regard for shame or reputation.

Five hundred years later, when Sanzo Hoshi—who happened to pass by during his journey to India—peeled off the talismanic seal atop Five Elements Mountain and freed him, he wailed loudly once again. This time, they were tears of joy.

The reason Goku intends to follow Sanzo all the way to India is solely due to this joy and gratitude. It was truly pure, and indeed the most intense gratitude.

Now that I think about it, it seemed that the terror of being subdued by Shakyamuni had imposed an earthly limitation upon what had been Goku's immense existence—one transcending notions of good and evil—prior to that moment.
Moreover, for this great simian-shaped existence to become something useful in earthly life, it had needed five hundred years beneath Five Elements Mountain's weight—compressed and condensed into smaller form.
Yet now Goku—solidified and diminished—stood before us appearing all the more splendidly grand by contrast!

Sanzo Hoshi was a mysterious figure.
He was truly weak.
Astonishingly weak.
He didn't know the first thing about transformation techniques.
When attacked by monsters on the road, he would get captured immediately.
It wasn't so much weakness as a complete lack of self-preservation instinct.
What could possibly make all three of us feel so drawn to this seemingly spineless master?
(I was likely the only one who pondered such things.
Since Goku and Hakkai simply revered him through vague instinct,) I suspected it was the tragic quality within his frailty that attracted us.
This was something utterly absent in us self-made beings who had risen from yokai.
Sanzo Hoshi had clearly realized his position within the grand scheme of things—both its pathos and nobility—whether considering himself, humanity, or all living beings.
Moreover, while enduring that tragedy, he kept bravely pursuing what was right and beautiful.
This was precisely what we lacked yet existed within our master.
To be sure, we surpassed him in physical strength.
We even knew some transformation arts.
But once we became aware of the tragedy inherent in our positions, we would surely never manage to maintain an earnest, proper life again.
I could only marvel at this noble strength dwelling within such a feeble master.
I concluded that Master Sanzo's charm lay in how his inner nobility was wrapped in external weakness.
Though according to that shameless Hakkai's interpretation, our reverence—or at least Goku's reverence for the master—contained significant homoerotic elements.

Truly, compared to Goku’s practical genius, how utterly inept Sanzo Hoshi was in worldly matters! Yet since their purposes in living differed, this posed no problem. When faced with external difficulties, Master Sanzo sought not outward paths to overcome them but turned inward. That is to say, he prepared his mind to endure them. No—rather than bracing himself in such moments, he had cultivated through ordinary times a preparedness ensuring his inner self remained unshaken by external incidents. A heart that could remain happy even if driven to destitution anywhere, anytime—Master had already forged such a heart. Therefore, there was no need to seek external paths. What appeared from our perspective as perilous physical defenselessness ultimately held no significant sway over Master’s spirit. Goku might dazzle the eye, yet situations might exist in this world that even his genius could not overcome. For Master however, no such concern existed—there was nothing he needed to overcome.

Goku knew fierce anger but no anguish.
He knew joy but no sorrow.
There was nothing strange about his ability to simply affirm this life.
What about Sanzo Hoshi?
With that ailing body, defenseless weakness, and days of constant persecution by monsters, Master still cheerfully affirmed life.
This was no small matter!

Strangely enough, Goku did not understand that Master surpassed him in this regard.
He simply thought he couldn't leave Master for some vague reason.
In his foul moods, he would sometimes think that the only reason he followed Sanzo Hoshi was because of the Golden Headband—a metal ring clamped around his skull that bit into his flesh and tightened unbearably whenever he disobeyed Master's orders.
And while muttering things like “What a troublesome Master,” he went off to rescue Master who’d been captured by monsters.
“It’s too dangerous to watch.”
When he said “Why is Master like that?” Goku seemed to pride himself on this as compassion for the weak—but in truth remained unaware how greatly his feelings toward Master were compounded by that instinctive reverence all living beings hold for their superiors, and their yearning for beauty and nobility.

What was even stranger was that Master himself remained unaware of his own superiority over Goku.
Each time he was rescued from the monsters' hands, Master would shed tears and express his gratitude to Goku.
“If you hadn’t helped me, my life would have been lost!”

But in reality, no matter what kind of monster tried to devour him, Master Sanzo’s life would never come to an end.

The two of them, unaware of their true relationship, continued to revere one another (though of course they had their occasional petty squabbles)—a most amusing spectacle.
Yet between these diametrically opposed beings, I discerned a single common thread.
In their ways of life, they both perceived what was given as necessity—nay, felt that necessity as perfection.
More remarkably, they regarded that very necessity as freedom.
They say diamonds and charcoal share the same elemental substance, but what captivated me was how these two—whose modes of existence differed more radically than gem from cinder—both rooted themselves in this identical apprehension of reality.
And what could this “equation of necessity with freedom” signify if not the very hallmark of their genius?

Goku, Hakkai, and I—the three of us—were so absurdly different from one another.
Even when night fell with no inn in sight and we unanimously decided to lodge at a roadside abandoned temple, we united under entirely different lines of thought.
Goku proactively chose such abandoned temples precisely because he considered them quintessential grounds for subduing monsters.
Hakkai would complain it was too much trouble to seek alternatives now—he wanted shelter for meals and sleep—while I thought: “This area must teem with evil spirits anyway.
If disaster awaits wherever we go, why not claim this spot as our chosen site of calamity?”
When three living beings gather, must they differ so completely?
Nothing rivals the fascination of observing how creatures live.

Though overwhelmed by Monkey Pilgrim’s dazzling presence until he seemed nearly invisible, Zhu Bajie too remained undeniably a man of distinctive character.
In any case, this pig loved this life—this world—immensely.
With every fiber of his olfactory, gustatory, and tactile senses, he clung to this world.
Once, Hakkai had said to me,
“For what purpose are we going to India?”
“Is it to cultivate good deeds so we can be reborn in paradise in the next life?”
“By the way, what kind of place is that paradise?”
“If you’re just sitting on a lotus leaf swaying gently, there’d be nothing to do, right?”
“Is there in paradise the pleasure of blowing on steaming broth as you sip it, or the joy of stuffing your cheeks with grilled meat—crispy skin charred to fragrant perfection?”
“If it’s not that—if we’re just supposed to live by inhaling mist like those immortals you hear about—ah, I’d hate it, hate it!”
“To hell with that kind of paradise!”
“Even if there are hardships, this world—with its unbearable delights that make me forget them—is the best for me.”
“At least for me, anyway.”
After saying that, Hakkai had begun enumerating, one by one, the things he found enjoyable in this world.
Summer’s shade for a midday nap.
Mountain stream bathing.
Moonlit flute playing.
Spring dawn morning slumber.
Winter-night fireside conversations.
How joyfully—and how numerously—he had enumerated those items! When he mentioned the beauty of young women’s physiques and the flavors of each season’s foods, his words had seemed as though they would never end.

I was dumbfounded. That this world contained so many pleasures, and that there existed someone who savored them all so thoroughly—this was something I had never contemplated. Indeed, I realized that even enjoyment requires talent, and from that moment onward, I ceased my contempt for this pig. But as my conversations with Hakkai grew more frequent, I recently began noticing something peculiar—that beneath Hakkai’s hedonism lurked an eerily ominous shadow that would occasionally flicker into view. Despite his claims of “If not for my reverence toward Master Sanzo and terror of Monkey Pilgrim, I’d have abandoned this grueling journey long ago,” I clearly discerned that beneath his pleasure-seeking exterior lay a mind treading on thin ice with perpetual anxiety. In essence, this pilgrimage to India seemed nothing less than that pig’s final lifeline—clung to after disillusionment and despair—just as it was for me. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on unraveling Hakkai’s hedonistic secrets now. For the time being, I had to learn everything from Monkey Pilgrim. There was no leisure to consider other matters—Sanzo’s wisdom and Hakkai’s way of life would have to wait until after I graduated from Monkey Pilgrim’s teachings. Yet still I had learned nearly nothing from Goku. How much had I truly progressed since emerging from Flowing Sands River? Was I not still that same stagnant Amou of Wu? As for my role in this journey—precisely so: To rein in Goku’s excesses during peaceful times and admonish Hakkai’s daily indolence. Was that all? There existed no proactive role whatsoever. Would someone like me, no matter when or where born into this world, forever remain a mediator, an admonisher, an observer? Would I never become a man of action?

Whenever I observed Monkey Pilgrim’s actions，I could not help but think.
A blazing fire does not know it is burning.
If one thinks “I am burning，” then one is not truly burning yet.

While observing Goku’s unrestrained actions, I always thought: “Free action means conduct that naturally manifests when something within matures to the point of being impossible not to act.” Yet all I did was think it. I still couldn’t keep up with him even a single step. Though I resolved to learn—to learn with all my might—the overwhelming magnitude of Goku’s presence and the coarse texture of his very essence left me too intimidated to draw near. To speak honestly, no matter how I considered it, Goku could hardly be called an appreciated comrade. He showed no consideration for others’ feelings, barking orders from the outset. He took his own ability as the standard, demanded others meet it, then flew into rages when they couldn’t—it was unbearable. One might say he lacked awareness of his own extraordinary talent. The sole thing we clearly understood was that he bore no malice. Yet he simply couldn’t grasp the limits of weaker beings’ capabilities, and thus had no sympathy whatsoever for their doubts, hesitations, or anxieties—his sheer frustration inevitably erupting into fits of irritation. Provided our incompetence didn’t anger him, he truly resembled a good-natured, innocent child. Hakkai was always oversleeping, lazing about, and botching transformations, earning constant scoldings. That I angered him relatively less stemmed from having maintained a certain distance until now, avoiding revealing too many flaws in his presence. Like this, I could never learn no matter how much time passed. I had to draw closer to Goku—no matter how his roughness grated on my nerves—endure endless scoldings, beatings, and berations, hurl insults back at him, and learn everything from that monkey through my very flesh. Merely watching from afar and marveling would achieve nothing.

Night.

I lie awake alone.

Tonight found no lodging; spreading grass beneath a great tree in a mountain-shadowed valley, the four of them lay sprawled out sleeping.
Only the snores of Goku, who should have been sleeping apart over there, echoed through the mountain valley, and each time, the dew from the leaves overhead pattered down.
Though it was summer, the mountain night air held a thin chill.
It must have been past midnight.
I had been lying on my back since earlier, gazing up at the stars peering through gaps in the leaves.
Lonely.
I felt terribly lonely.
It seemed as though I stood alone on that desolate star, gazing into a pitch-dark, cold, and utterly empty world's night.
Stars—those things had always forced me to contemplate eternity and infinity, which I'd never handled well.
Yet lying on my back meant I couldn't avoid seeing them against my will.
Beside a large pale blue star hung a small red one.
Far below it flickered a slightly yellowish star that looked warm, appearing and disappearing whenever wind shook the leaves.
A shooting star trailed its tail and vanished.
I didn't know why, but in that moment I suddenly recalled Sanzo Hoshi's clear, lonely eyes.
Eyes that seemed perpetually fixed on distant horizons—eyes always brimming with compassion for something.
What that compassion was meant for—I'd never grasped it ordinarily—but now felt I understood in a flash.
Master always gazed upon eternity.
Moreover, he clearly saw all earthly fates contrasted against that endlessness.
Could it not be that Master—before the destruction someday coming—steadfastly poured his compassionate gaze upon wisdom and love still striving to bloom tenderly despite everything?
As I watched the stars, I somehow came to feel this way.

I rose up and peered into the face of Master sleeping beside me. After watching that tranquil sleeping face and listening to the quiet rhythm of breath for a time, I began to feel a faint warmth in my heart’s depths—as though something had been gently ignited there.

—In *My Journey to the West*—