The mountain path narrowed as they went. Trees thinned on either side, giving way to low scrub and exposed rock.
Jinchi stopped beneath an old locust tree.
Its broad crown spread in every direction, shutting out the sky overhead. Only a few scattered shafts of light slipped through the leaves.
The trunk was so thick it would take two or three people to encircle it. Its rough bark was split by deep grooves, dark green moss growing within them.
He sat on a flat stone by the roots, laid his monk's staff across his knees, and straightened the collar of his robe.
He sat upright, back straight, as though he meant to stay there a long time.
Morning light filtered through the leaves onto his face, illuminating one half while the other rested in the tree's shadow. The line between light and dark stood out sharply.
His mouth was set in a straight line, showing neither a smile nor anger.
His gaze settled on Sun Wukong with a look of appraisal, as though checking whether a tool was still fit for use.
"Wukong."
His voice was low, and he spoke more slowly than usual, as if pressing down on each word before letting it out. "Come here."
"Huh?"
Sun Wukong had been crouching on a rock a few steps away, the Jingu Bang across his knees. He rubbed its shaft a few times with his fingertips, then kept idly running them back and forth over it.
At Tang Sanzang's call, he looked up, rose in confusion, and walked over.
"Master, what is it?"
Even after stopping, he was still going over what had just happened.
They had recovered the robe and the staff.
The monks at the temple had blocked the gate, but Guangzhi had shouted them away. No fight