The Heavens' Substitute Fighters

The question came so suddenly from Tang Sanzang that Sun Wukong nearly dropped the chicken leg in his hand.

"Master, what are you talking about?"

He quickly swallowed the meat in his mouth, wiped his oily lips with the back of his furry hand, and looked utterly innocent and aggrieved.

"I, Old Sun, was born and bred from the spirit stone of Flower Fruit Mountain! I'm so far removed from transmigrators that you couldn't hit me with eight poles!"

Tang Sanzang narrowed his eyes and looked him up and down suspiciously.

"Really?"

"Truer than true!" Sun Wukong raised three fingers. "I swear it to the Heavenly Dao!"

"Master, think about it. If I'd transmigrated too, would I have ended up like I did later? Crushed under a mountain for five hundred years?"

Tang Sanzang thought it over. That did sound genuinely miserable, not at all like standard transmigrator treatment.

"Fine. I'll believe you this once."

Having resolved his doubts about the monkey, his thoughts immediately returned to proper business.

He had eaten and drunk his fill, and his hand had been bandaged. What should he do next?

Arm himself, of course!

There were many demons and monsters on the westward road.

Although he, Tang Sanzang, had come here carrying the beautiful vision of "Physical Deliverance," he couldn't really rely on a pair of fleshly fists and the occasional spasming system buff to charge in blindly, could he?

Look at Brother Monkey. He had the Golden Cudgel, able to grow and shrink at will. How convenient.

Then look at General Yin. At the very least, he was a tiger spirit, with sharp claws and a terrifying roar.

What did he have?

Just one Nine-Ringed Monk Staff, and whether it hurt when used to whack people was still up for debate.

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