When Feilian left, the look on his face was not that of someone fleeing, but of someone recording. He had memorized everything he saw: the explosive power of Su Wanwan's Moon Qi, White Wolf's purity of bloodline, the protective force around Tang Monk, Chu Yang's way of striking, the weight of the Golden Staff—everything had been noted down. The next time he came, he would bring all of it with him. He would come with targeted plans, with preparations that were fuller, more thorough, and left no room to spare.
Sun Wukong jumped down from the dune and walked back to the group. He took the waterskin from Chu Yang, gulped down a big mouthful, then handed it back.
"Next time, I, Old Sun, will fight that black-robed one," he said. "You fight the flat-faced one."
Chu Yang took the waterskin and drank from it too, then nodded.
"Fine. We'll switch."
Su Wanwan sat on the sand with White Wolf in her arms and looked at the two of them. The sun shone from behind them, stretching their shadows long across the desert like two black pillars. White Donkey stood nearby, White Dragon Horse stood a little farther off, and Tang Monk was packing up the medicine chest, putting the bottles and jars back in order.
After they passed Mingsha Desert and continued west, the terrain changed again. The desert did not vanish all at once; it thinned little by little, like an old blanket repeatedly torn by the wind, exposing the grayish-yellow hard earth beneath. Grass began to grow on the hard ground. It was very short, pressed close to the surface, its color a dusty gray. If one did not look carefully, it could have been mistaken for cracks in the stone. After they walked a while longer,