They reached the heart of the river.
The howling wind had stopped, and the waves crashing against the banks had fallen silent.
But this was no peace.
A spine-chilling moan seeped up in wisps from the murky depths of the riverbed.
It sounded like wind passing through dry bones, like countless living souls shivering in an ice cellar.
The boat suddenly grew heavy.
Beneath the muddy yellow water, countless dark shapes began to emerge.
They crowded together, layer upon layer.
These were the countless souls who had tried to cross the river over the centuries, only to perish here.
Their resentment, defiance, and despair had become entangled with this Weak Water of the Celestial River, forming withered, pallid ghostly hands that clutched the bottom of the boat.
But how could ordinary restless spirits stop the enchanted boat Guanyin had bestowed?
The boat gave a slight shudder, and the spirits scattered like flies being shooed away.
Yet their resentment was too deep. As one wave scattered, another gathered, without end.
"Master... do not be alarmed. Restless spirits haunt this stretch, but they cannot harm the enchanted boat."
Sha Wujing poled the boat, sweat beading on his forehead.
"They have been pinned beneath the Weak Water for centuries, unable to see the light or be reborn. All they can do is wail in the river. Whenever they glimpse a spark of life, they search blindly for someone to die in their place."
Zhu Bajie leaned over to look into the water.
Distorted faces pressed against the underside of the surface, their hollow eye sockets fixed on those aboard.
Old Pig recoiled, sucking in a cold breath.
"What terrible resentment!"
Sun Wukong hovered in midair, his Fiery Golden Eyes sweeping the riverbed. "I never noticed it before, but now that I think about it, the reason not even a goose feather floats here must be half the weight of the water and half this river full of restless spirits dragging things down!"
The boat rocked violently, creaking beneath the unbearable burden.
Little White Dragon set down the baggage and went to steady Xuanzang.
Above them, Mucha was about to lower his cloud and lend a hand.
But Xuanzang waved him off.
He sat cross-legged at the bow.
He lowered his head, gazing at the churning, muddy waves and the twisted, suffering faces within them.
There was neither fear nor disgust in his eyes.
Only boundless compassion, like a Pilgrim looking upon a group of lost, weeping children.
"If we are to cross this river, we must not cross alone."
Xuanzang slowly closed his eyes and pressed his palms together.
He began to recite the Sutra of the Dharani for Deliverance from Suffering, also known as the Rebirth Mantra.
The pearly white [Nectar Buddha Wheel] quietly appeared behind Xuanzang's head.
Its gentle white light instantly illuminated the dark, cold river, dispersing some of the gloom around them.
"Namo amitabhaya."
Xuanzang's voice was not loud.
It was low and resonant, carrying a strange cadence that soothed the soul.
Beneath the boat, the nine skulls, previously deathly still, began to tremble faintly at the sutra's words.
They had once been Pilgrims through nine lifetimes.
In all nine lives, they had borne compassionate hearts. In all nine lives, they had died in the Flowing Sand River.
Though their flesh had rotted away, the resolve to deliver the world had long since been etched into their bones.
"Tathagataya."
Xuanzang recited.
"Ta... tha... ga... ta... ya..."
Suddenly, the hollow jawbone of the first skull at the bow opened and closed slightly.
It gave voice to a dry, desolate, yet extraordinarily resolute sound.
Sha Wujing shuddered, staring ahead in disbelief.
"Tadyatha."
Xuanzang's voice remained steady.
"Tad... ya... tha..."
Faint golden light kindled in the eye sockets of the second and third skulls.
They joined the chanting.
The voices began to swell.
It was an echo spanning a hundred years, a reunion of the Pilgrims of nine lifetimes in this single moment.
"Amritodbhave."
"Amrita siddhambhave."
All nine skulls chanted in unison with Xuanzang.
The chanting grew louder and louder, shaking the muddy river into turbulent waves.
As the sutra was recited, the Nectar Buddha Wheel slowly turned.
Nectar descended from the sky.
"Drip."
Every drop of nectar that fell into the muddy Weak Water sent out a ring of golden ripples.
Where those ripples spread, the muddy sediment slowly sank, and the black resentment melted away like ice and snow.
Where it melted, a golden jeweled lotus bloomed, slowly turning amid the muddy waves.
"Amrita vikrante."
"Amrita vikranta."
The chanting gradually merged into a mighty torrent that surged straight into the clouds.
The golden jeweled lotuses slowly unfurled, and the restless spirits in the river gradually grew still.
The twisted anguish on their faces slowly faded.
They released their grip.
No longer did they pull with desperate force.
Instead, they lifted the bottom of the boat.
They pushed the enchanted boat forward.
"Gamini."
"Gagana."
"Kirtikare."
Countless points of light rose from the riverbed.
They were the souls of the dead who had been delivered.
No longer hideous, vengeful ghosts, they became specks of starlight, surrounding the enchanted boat like the Milky Way pouring down from heaven.
"Svaha."
As the final words of the mantra fell, the enchanted boat shuddered gently. It had reached the shore.
The resentment that had imprisoned this place for thousands of years, making it so that "not even a goose feather could float," crumbled completely.
Mucha hovered in midair, staring blankly.
He gazed at the river full of golden lotuses and rising lights, then at the man aboard the boat, his heart shaken beyond measure.
With a later life, he delivered the lives before it; with those former lives, he delivered all beings.
They looked back.
The eight-hundred-li Flowing Sand River behind them was still broad, but not a trace of its lifeless gloom remained.
The water shimmered, river and sky sharing one hue, its depths clear to the bottom.
It was as though the Weak Water that had devoured all things moments before had been nothing but a murky nightmare.
The nine skulls aboard the enchanted boat blazed with golden light, warm and brilliant.
Amid the interweaving light and shadows, illusory flesh began to grow over those stark white bones, transforming them into nine hazy yet real human figures standing at the bow.
Nine figures, nine faces, each different.
One wore a tattered patchwork robe and carried a faded traveling pack, his face gaunt but his expression steadfast.
One looked like a scholar, with a feather fan and a silk headscarf. Though he seemed frail, his spine was straight.
One was tall and powerfully built, holding an iron staff, his eyes wide with fury.
One was short and stooped, yet stood firmly, his palms pressed together.
At that moment, they all turned to look at Xuanzang.
What they shared was this: all nine figures had exactly the same eyes.
What sort of eyes, you ask?
There was nothing especially remarkable about them-only a compassion they could never relinquish and a resolve they would not regret even in death.
One lamp passed its flame to others, until ten thousand lamps shone.
The nine former lives looked at their present self.
Xuanzang of this life looked at the past of his nine lives.
Xuanzang slowly rose at the bow of the boat, which was about to reach the shore, and gently extended a hand toward the nine figures.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, revealing an exceedingly rare yet utterly carefree smile.
"Shall we go together?"
At his words, all nine figures smiled as well.
The nine figures became nine brilliant rays of golden light and rushed toward Xuanzang.
Like rivers flowing into the sea, they entered Xuanzang's body without the slightest resistance.
Xuanzang stood at the bow, still the same monk in plain robes.
Only his eyes were deeper than before, more tranquil.
It was as though they held the resolve of ten lifetimes.
He nodded slightly and said softly to himself:
"Then we shall go together!"
Before you continue