Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Wukong left the ice house, mounted a cloud, and headed south.
He stood on the cloud, leaning slightly forward.
The cloud sliced through the curtain of snow, wind roaring in his ears. Before long, he had left the snowy mountains far behind.
All he could think of was getting there and back quickly.
Though his master had said he was fine, his complexion did not look good.
Wukong dared not delay.
He flew on a while longer.
For a thousand miles, there was no sign of human habitation, only white as far as the eye could see.
Then he spotted a towering ancient tree ahead, standing alone among the snowy ridges.
Beneath it, surprisingly, stood a village dwelling.
Wukong's eyes lit up. He lowered his cloud and took a closer look.
This was what he saw: snow oppressed the withered willows, and ice sealed the square pond.
Sparse, slender bamboo swayed green; lush, lofty pines held their emerald hue.
Several thatched cottages wore half a coat of silver, and a little bridge slanted beneath a dusting of white.
Narcissus flowers peeked out beside the fence, while long, frozen chopsticks hung beneath the eaves.
The sighing cold wind carried a strange fragrance; snow blanketed the ground, hiding where the plum blossoms bloomed.
Wukong landed behind a rock.
He was about to step forward and call at the gate when he stopped.
He could not go in like this.
If he was begging for food, he ought to look the part.
He shook himself and became a young novice monk standing in the snow, dressed in a blue cotton robe, with hemp shoes on his feet and an earthenware bowl cupped in his hands.
He looked down at himself, then raised a hand to straighten his robe.
He smiled. "Mm,