Eight Hundred Li of Flowing Sand

Amid the endless thanks of the people of the Sihali Kingdom,

the master, his three disciples, and their tiger bade farewell to the Sihali Kingdom and headed west, treading over fallen yellow leaves.

Several months passed on that journey.

They traveled through summer and autumn, hearing cold cicadas cry among withered willows.

"Achoo!"

"Master, something's not right about this road."

Zhu Bajie carried the Nine-Toothed Rake on his shoulder, trudging along with uneven steps as he muttered, "Smells like a great stretch of water up ahead."

Sun Wukong was scouting ahead. At those words, he sprang onto a towering, oddly shaped rock and shaded his eyes with one hand. Startled by what he saw, he turned back. "Idiot, that pig snout of yours actually works this time. There really is a great river ahead, probably eight hundred li across."

Zhu Bajie said, "Your eyes sure are useful, Senior Brother. One look and you can tell the distance."

Little White Dragon brought up the rear, carrying the luggage on a shoulder pole.

As a member of the Dragon Tribe, he was especially sensitive to moisture in the air. His brows knitted slightly, and he said gravely,

"Master, Senior Brothers, this moisture... there's something strange about it. It lacks the clear, lively quality of an ordinary river. Instead, it carries a heavy air of death, as though... it wants to drag everything down."

Xuanzang said softly, "Since a great river blocks our path, let us take a look. If it is dangerous, we can make our plans early."

Before long, they indeed came upon a vast, raging river barring their way.

What an immense stretch of water!

When they reached the bank, everyone was startled.

Behold that river: its boundless radiance bathed the moon, its vast reflection buoyed the sky. Spirit Mountain shone through to its depths; shadowless waves followed the boats.

Yet its waters were muddy and yellow, truly like flowing sand and silt. Not a single fish, shrimp, or other water creature leaped among its rolling waves, nor did any bird skim its surface.

Only the murky yellow waves rolled in, one after another, striking the black rocks along the shore with dull, heart-chilling thuds.

A stone tablet stood on the bank, bearing three seal-script characters: "Flowing Sand River."

Below them was a line of smaller writing: "Eight hundred li of flowing sand, three thousand deep in weak water. A goose feather cannot float; a reed blossom sinks straight to the bottom."

"Flowing Sand River..."

"The Moheyan Desert, eight hundred li long, was called the Sand River in ancient times."

Xuanzang murmured under his breath, as though he had returned to that year when he stood alone in the great desert. "No birds above, no beasts below, neither water nor grass. Then, with only my shadow for company, my heart thought only of Guanyin Bodhisattva."

That year, he had slipped through Jade Gate Pass alone.

Zhu Bajie planted the Nine-Toothed Rake on the ground and gazed thoughtfully at the muddy river.

"This water does bear some resemblance to the weak water of the Celestial River, where Old Pig once served. If that's what it is, then apart from divine abilities like Eldest Brother's Somersault Cloud, ordinary cloud-riding arts would probably send you tumbling into the water once you reached the middle."

"Master! Master!" After listening, Sun Wukong patted Xuanzang. When his master came back to himself, he scratched his head.

"Eight hundred li... Master, this river is too wide. Old Sun could cross it in a single somersault, but you're mortal flesh and blood. A-Hu has wings, but even a downy feather won't float above this weak water. The restriction is terribly strong. If his magical power gave out halfway across and he fell, he'd be doomed beyond redemption."

Little White Dragon set down the luggage and frowned. "Why don't I take my dragon form and try crossing first? Whatever else it may be, it's still only a river!"

As they spoke, enormous ripples suddenly spread across the lifeless river.

"Glug-glug-"

The center of the river seemed to boil, muddy waves churning outward in every direction.

A biting chill, mingled with the earthy stench of countless years, rushed into their faces.

"Careful! Something's coming out!" Little White Dragon held his spear crosswise and stepped in front of Xuanzang.

"Splash!"

With a tremendous crash, the waves parted. A towering figure emerged, treading upon the water.

He was no blue-faced, fang-toothed monster. His red hair billowed like fire, and his face had a sickly, dull bluish cast, the mark of long years spent submerged in cold, dark water.

He wore a goose-yellow cloak, with two strands of pale rattan bound about his waist.

In his hand was a gleaming black Demon-Subduing Treasure Staff. Around his neck hung a necklace of nine stark white skulls, glaringly conspicuous above the murky yellow river.

Yet he possessed none of the frenzy or greed of a wild mountain demon.

His eyes were hollow and numb, like a stone that had slept beneath the water for a thousand years.

"A passing... monk?"

The strange man's voice rasped like sandpaper scraping rusted iron, every word carrying an echo. "There is... no passage here."

He made no threats to kill. He simply stood atop the waves, holding his treasure staff across his body.

Sun Wukong frowned and spun the Golden Cudgel in his hand. "Hey, demon! We've come from the Great Tang in the Eastern Land on the Journey to the West. This river blocks our way. If you're its master, do us a favor and take our master across!"

"The scriptures..." At those words, a flicker suddenly stirred in the strange man's hollow eyes.

The skull necklace clicked sharply as he moved.

"The Pilgrim... cannot cross."

The strange man shook his head, his tone still utterly flat.

Wukong was just about to retort.

Suddenly,

the strange man swept onto the bank like a whirlwind and, without another word, lunged straight for Xuanzang.

Sun Wukong reacted instantly, grabbing Xuanzang and retreating.

"Hey! You big dark brute!"

Zhu Bajie could stand it no longer. He swung his rake across his body and roared,

"What brazen monster are you, daring to attack my master!"

The strange man slowly turned his gaze toward Zhu Bajie, and two sharp gleams suddenly blazed in his eyes.

Boom!

The strange man kicked off the ground, shooting forward like a black arrow loosed from a bow. His Demon-Subduing Treasure Staff bore the crushing pressure of immense waters as it smashed down toward Zhu Bajie's head!

"So fast!" Zhu Bajie might have been glib, but his hands were anything but clumsy. The instant the treasure staff came crashing down, he stood his ground, shouted, and thrust the Nine-Toothed Rake upward to block it!

Clang!!!

"You've got some skill!"

Zhu Bajie's fighting spirit flared as well. He had been Marshal Tianpeng, after all, and that pride still lived in his bones.

"Again!"

Zhu Bajie roared, twisted his rake, and turned defense into attack, battling the strange man on the riverbank.

What a fierce battle it was:

Nine-toothed rake and demon-subduing staff, two foes clashed upon the riverbank.

One was the great commander Tianpeng; the other, the banished general Juan Lian.

Once they had met in the Hall of Divine Firmament; now they vied in strength and valor.

One's rake struck like a dragon extending its claws; the other's staff blocked like an elephant grinding its tusks.

They spread into broad, square stances, then drove forward against the wind.

One raked at head and face; the other struck without disorder, never wasting a blow.

One was a man-eating fiend long entrenched in the flowing sands; the other, a warrior cultivating under sacred teachings and blessings.

The strange man and Bajie exchanged blow after blow, fighting twenty rounds without either gaining the upper hand.

Though the strange man's expression remained numb, his staff work was disciplined and precise, equally strong in attack and defense.

Even Bajie could not overcome him in short order.

Sun Wukong had been guarding Xuanzang, but watching Bajie fight the monster left him scratching his ears and cheeks in agitation.

"That idiot's really putting his back into it today, but his moves are too slow!"

Wukong rubbed his palms and clenched his fists. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he drew his cudgel. "Master, sit here and don't be afraid. Let Little White Dragon protect you. Old Sun will go play with them."

Before Xuanzang could speak, Wukong had already leaped forward.

The monster and Bajie were right in the thick of their fight, locked in a fierce stalemate.

Suddenly, a streak of golden light flashed through the air, and an iron cudgel came smashing toward the monster's head with overwhelming force.

Numb though the monster was, his battle instincts were keen. Catching sight of the Monkey King from the corner of his eye, he knew he could not match that strength.

Rather than meet the blow head-on, he spun hastily aside and dodged the cudgel, then twisted his body and plunged straight into the Flowing Sand River.

With a splash and a spray of water, he vanished in an instant.

Bajie was so furious that he hopped about on the bank, stamping his feet and pounding his chest. "Brother Monkey! Who told you to interfere? That fellow was nearly done for! Three or five more rounds at most, and I'd have captured him! Now look what you've done. You show up, and he runs away! What are we supposed to do now?"

Sun Wukong put away his cudgel and strolled over with a cheeky grin. He patted Zhu Bajie's belly and said soothingly, "My good little brother, your big brother was wrong. To tell you the truth, Old Sun hasn't used this cudgel in quite a while, not since we came down from Yellow Wind Ridge. Seeing you two having such a lively fight made my hands itch. Who knew this monster was such a coward, running away so fast?"