The master and his three disciples entered the city.
Once inside, they found that it had indeed fallen into some decline. The streets and markets were steeped in a stale, weary air; people came and went at the grain stores and rice shops; many carried loads from the firewood and charcoal shops; few stopped at the silk and cloth stores; the rouge and jewelry shops had taken down their signs and shut their doors.
As they walked, they saw several monks with their hands bound with coarse rope, tethered at street corners and alley mouths. These were the very monks the soldiers had arrested earlier.
Then they saw another dozen or so monks wearing heavy cangues, their clothes in tatters, begging along the street under the watch of many soldiers.
Tang Sanzang could not help feeling heartsick at the sight. "Amitabha Buddha. How have disciples of our Buddhist Sect come to such an end?"
Bajie said, "Master, it looks as though their crimes were even worse than those of the monks we saw earlier!"
As they spoke, the dozen or so monks in heavy cangues were driven along the street by the soldiers, begging from passersby.
The passersby showed no compassion. Those in a good mood spat at them and cursed them a few times; those in a bad mood gave them a couple of kicks and punches.
Some angry ones rained punches and kicks upon them. When the beating grew too severe, the soldiers intervened to keep the monks alive.
Wukong said, "It seems the King is deliberately tormenting these monks."
Tang Sanzang said, "Wukong, if we monks commit crimes, we should be punished, but we should not be humiliated like this. Go and ask them what this is all about."
At these words, Wukong was about to step