And at this time, Xuanzang had just walked out of Luoyang.
He had talked himself hoarse begging a caravan traveling from Luoyang to Shaanxi Province to give him a ride, and after that, he lay on a mule cart loaded with silk materials and covered with thatch, looking blankly up at the sky.
The autumn air was crisp and refreshing, and Luoyang's sky was so blue!
Xuanzang thought to himself with a silent sigh.
Twenty miles out of Luoyang, the road was no longer so flat, and the mule cart gradually began to bump along. When it rolled over stones and uneven roads, the whole cart creaked as if it were about to fall apart at any moment.
Xuanzang still looked at the sky in a somewhat dazed manner.
The merchants and guards of the caravan cast strange glances at him from time to time, wondering what this half-monk was thinking about.
The warm sunlight made people not want to open their eyes. Yet the roadside gradually became barren, with withered and yellow grass and trees with peeling bark, while the sunlight somehow began to become a bit dry and hot.
Xuanzang licked his chapped lips and didn't move.
He remembered that before leaving, he had spoken to the master who had raised him about that night's conversation with An Yang, his insights and realizations from what he witnessed at the fishing village, and those profound awakenings and sudden comprehensions of his—yet they had all been refuted by his master!
Those Buddhist teachings and principles that his master had taught him since childhood, only to be overthrown by An Yang with reason and evidence, had led him to think that his master would likewise suddenly realize the fallacies within them just as he had, and then worship An Yang as