Wukong stood beside Jinxing and nudged the Old Star Lord with his elbow.
He grinned, his eyes shining brilliantly.
Every hair on his furry face seemed to bristle with irrepressible pride.
"Old fellow."
Wukong lowered his voice, lifted his chin, and gestured toward Xuanzang with his lips.
See that?
This was the master he, Sun Wukong, had chosen.
Even in this rotten mire of evil ghosts, he could claw out a thread of hope.
Taibai Jinxing followed Wukong's gaze and looked at Xuanzang's back.
The Old Star Lord stroked his long white beard, shaking his head with a smile. Genuine respect flickered in his eyes. After a long moment of reflection, he sighed softly.
"The Holy Monk... is still the Holy Monk, after all!"
The shock in the eyes of King Qin Guang and the other eight Kings of Hell had yet to fade. They glanced at Tuo Jie on the floor, then looked toward Xuanzang.
They exchanged glances.
This time, no one took the lead.
Instead, they all bowed their heads together and saluted Xuanzang.
This bow was not for the Pilgrim, nor for the Buddha's second disciple.
It was for the Holy Monk standing in the Hall of Senluo.
For the man alone.
For that compassion which pressed on despite knowing the task was impossible.
At some point, a figure had appeared at the side hall's entrance, supporting himself against the wall.
It was the Blackwater River God.
He watched Tuo Jie on the floor for a long time without moving.
Rumble-
Outside the great hall, a deep, muffled peal of thunder rolled in on the cold winds of the netherworld.
Bang!
The hall doors were shoved open.
King Yama strode into the hall. His face, black as pig iron, seethed with baleful qi, his thick brows