Golden Cicada Child lightly tapped his knee with a fingertip.
The carp in the pond stopped in the middle of the water.
Gold floated along its back, while red sank along its belly.
Xuanzang raised his eyes and looked at Golden Cicada Child.
He smiled, pressed his palms together, and said:
"Then, Venerable One, please first listen to a story from this humble monk."
Outside the golden line, Bajie burst out laughing at those words. He slung an arm around Wukong's shoulders and said with a laugh, "Brother, we're fine! We're definitely fine! Master's telling stories again!"
As Bajie shook him, the grave expression on Wukong's face slowly faded.
Xuanzang's gaze remained on the fish in the pond, and his voice rang out beneath the bodhi tree.
"Legend has it that long ago, there was a painter whose brushwork was exquisite and whose lines were exceptionally steady. His artistry had reached the realm of perfection, and he was especially renowned for painting portraits of Guanyin."
"The painter lived and worked by a strict code, with a great many rules."
"When someone came to request a painting, if he felt they shared a karmic affinity, he charged nothing; if he believed their heart was crooked, he would not sell one even for a thousand gold pieces."
"He ate neither meat nor fish and loved purity and quiet above all. If he saw anything unclean, he would not paint; if he heard a commotion, he would not paint; if he smelled an odd odor, he would not paint; and if he was unhappy, he would not paint either."
"Before painting, he always bathed, changed his clothes, lit incense, and recited sutras. He would not tolerate even a speck of dust on his table, and only after inspecting everything would he grind his