On the banks of the Blackwater River.
Mo Ang stood rooted to the spot, his face livid.
He looked at Tuo Jie's corpse on the ground, then at the place where the Blackwater River God had turned to ash.
The night wind swept past. Most of that heap of white ash had scattered, leaving only a grayish-white stain in the mud.
After a long while, his clenched fists slowly relaxed, and he let out a sigh.
It was a heavy sigh, squeezed from his chest, laden with an indescribable weariness.
"Attend me."
Mo Ang raised a hand, his voice dry and hoarse.
"Gather this wretch's remains and take them back to the Northern Sea."
Several crab generals hurried forward, shook out a white cloth, and hastily wrapped Tuo Jie's mangled body before carrying it into the ranks.
Mo Ang took two steps forward, bent down, and picked up the short blade lying in the mud.
Then, with one hand, he unfastened the silver cloak snapping in the wind behind him.
Kneeling in the mud, he used that cloak-the symbol of his status as heir to the Northern Sea-to gather up the ash-stained surface sludge along with the short blade.
Once he had gathered everything, he tied the cloak into a bundle and solemnly cradled the white ashes in his arms.
He turned toward Xuanzang and Wukong, cupped his hands, and bowed deeply.
"Holy monk, Great Sage. If this is true, the Northern Sea will not shirk its responsibility."
Mo Ang's voice was low and cold. "This humble dragon will return to the palace at once and report everything to my royal father exactly as it happened. Whatever the rights and wrongs, we will give you and your companions an accounting, holy monk."
Wukong leaned on the Golden Cudgel with one