It was early morning outside. A faint sliver of fish-belly white had just appeared on the horizon. The fresh, chilly air carried the scent of soil, with only a faint trace of blood.
Before long, the sky brightened.
Birds cried out. The rain had washed away every trace of last night's slaughter and cruelty, including that long, echoing dragon's roar.
Only one person remained, sitting alone beneath an ancient tree. Cold dewdrops fell one by one onto his face, but he did not notice at all. Instead, he toyed with a transparent little fox bead in his hand.
He had gained quite a lot from his trip into the cave.
Aside from learning how to use the Sea Calming Divine Bead, he had also obtained the belongings left behind by those who had entered the cave and died within it.
But none of that could compare to what had happened to Xiaochán.
The White Dragon could leave the cave only during thunderstorms, and even then he could not go very far. He had been confined to this isolated world for seven hundred years. No one knew he was here—or rather, no one knew that the one suppressed beneath this mountain was actually him.
The Journey to the West had taken place eight hundred years ago.
The Journey to the West had not been for scriptures, but to spread the Dao.
Its main purpose had been to expand Buddhism's influence from the Western Ox Continent to the other three continents, save all living beings from suffering, let them bask in the light of the compassionate Buddhist teachings, and give them a chance to reach the Western Paradise, where they could enjoy bliss without sorrow from then on...
That was what the White Dragon had said.
He had also claimed that he