"You five hundred have immortals and buddhas protecting you?"
Wukong asked.
The old monk nodded. "Yes, Taoist master. Those protecting us call themselves the Six Ding and Six Jia and the Dharma-Protecting Sangharamas."
"Whenever we close our eyes at night, they come into our dreams. If anyone is about to die, they protect him and keep him alive."
Wukong's brows knitted tighter, as though weighed down by an indescribable fury.
"They keep you alive, yet won't free you? They leave you here to suffer day and night?"
The old monk first nodded at this, then hurriedly shook his head.
"Taoist master, please do not speak so recklessly. We are already deeply grateful that the immortals and buddhas manifest their power to preserve our lives. How could we dare blame them?"
A tall, thin monk beside him took up the thread. "Not only the Six Ding and Six Jia and the Dharma-Protecting Sangharamas. An elderly immortal calling himself Taibai Jinxing often visits our dreams as well."
"He said that a Holy Monk from the Great Tang in the Eastern Land was making a Journey to the West to obtain the scriptures, with compassion in his heart and salvation for all beings. He told us not to give up, to wait a little longer, and that we would surely be rescued."
The monks nodded, none disagreeing, but their sunken eyes held mostly numbness, bewilderment, and endless despair.
Just then, a little novice in tattered clothes squeezed to the front.
His robe hung over him like a torn sack; though rolled up again and again, his sleeves still trailed over the backs of his hands.
He was only eight or nine, his shaven head covered in grime and dried sweat.
The little novice tilted his head up, fixed his bright but bloodshot eyes