The dirt road outside Chang'an had been churned into mud by the autumn rain the night before.
Xuanzang led his white horse onward, his feet sinking unevenly into the muck.
Two saddlebags lay across the horse's back, holding his travel permit, a few rock-hard flatbreads, and the metal cube Zhang Qi had given him that could pinpoint his location at any time.
He glanced back at Chang'an's city walls.
Then he drew his coarse cloth cassock tighter, lowered his bamboo hat, and headed west.
In the Western Pure Land, at Thunderclap Monastery.
Upon his golden lotus throne, Tathagata opened his eyes.
His gaze pierced the thick clouds and the three thousand worlds, coming to rest on Xuanzang.
Then he sank into thought...
The things that mortal named Zhang Qi had created were far too strange.
Cameras, walkie-talkies, tracking devices...
Though they gave off not the slightest fluctuation of magical power, they were like invisible threads, silently changing the web of cause and effect across Jambudvipa.
Tathagata raised his right hand.
He pressed his index and middle fingers together, golden light swirling around their tips.
With a single gentle touch, he could erase all of Chang'an.
"Stop."
A voice rang out in the void.
There was no pressure behind it, no emotion. Just one word, yet the golden light at Tathagata's fingertips instantly scattered.
Then the spectral forms of Jieyin and Zhunti appeared in midair.
"The great undertaking of obtaining the scriptures must not be interfered with lightly.
The rise of the Western Teaching is a destiny fixed by the Heavenly Dao.
That course is engraved upon the wheel of fate. Even you and I cannot move its needle."
Tathagata fell silent for a moment. Looking at those two halos of light, he pressed his palms together and bowed his head.