In the remote wilderness, the sunlight slanted across the mountains.
On the dirt road, the Tiger Demon King held his thunder blade aloft in both hands, his chin raised high and his nostrils pointing skyward.
In all fairness, that claim really was no boast.
It had indeed crossed blows with the As-You-Will Golden Cudgel of Spirit Mountain's Victorious Fighting Buddha.
The story went back five hundred years.
Back then, Sun Wukong had been escorting Tang Sanzang through Southern Jambudvipa and casually wiped out a demon den that ruled over a mountain. At the time, the Tiger Demon King had merely been a lowly little demon who had yet to master taking human form, stationed in the very, very back row of the demons' grand formation, responsible for waving a flag and shouting.
The Great Sage brought his cudgel down, and heaven crumbled and earth split.
The wind from the blow sheared away half the mountaintop. A millstone-sized rock sent flying by the Golden Cudgel happened to travel two li and land squarely on the blade of the then-lowly demon.
The blade chipped, and the shock knocked the fellow unconscious.
By the time he woke up, the Great Sage had long since left with Tang Sanzang. Every demon on the mountain was dead; he alone had escaped with his life because he had stood far away and passed out quickly.
Whatever else anyone might say.
Had this blade taken the force of the Golden Cudgel or not?
It had.
Did that count as crossing blows?
Nothing wrong with that!
The Tiger Demon King had polished this logic in his mind for five hundred years until it was perfectly smooth. Even he believed it had been a great battle that shook heaven and earth and made ghosts and gods weep.
Inside the