Chapter 64- Poetic, Intimate and Proposing Demons

Right after Tang San Zang, and the disciples saved the Jisaigul kingdom. Huge thanks from the king, obviously. But what really jumps out, I think, is how the monk is just so focused. He turns down all the gold, the jade, all the valuables. Instead, he asks for, well, practical stuff. New clothes, shoes, sashes, some dried food. It really kind of highlights the whole point of their mission, doesn't it? It absolutely does. It sets the tone right away. Their focus is the journey, not, you know, getting rich. And the send-off they get is quite something. The king, officials, regular folks, even monks from Furlong Temple. Everyone's there, music playing, a real hero's farewell. But here's where it gets complicated. The king and officials head back eventually, but these monks from Furlong Temple, they keep following for like 50 or 60 lines. That's what, 15, 20 miles? Some are even begging, let us come, let us serve you. How do you even handle that? You've got this dangerous quest. And these guys, well-meaning but totally not cut out for it, want to tag along. That's a really interesting dilemma, isn't it? It's about setting boundaries. Even when people really admire you, you have to say no, but like gracefully if possible. Well, Wukong's method isn't exactly graceful, more like effective. He yanks out maybe 30 or 40 hairs, blows that immortal, you know, that divine energy, and turns them into these roaring tigers blocking the path. Whoa, okay, that's one way to do it. Yeah, gets the message across pretty clearly, right? The monks freak out, run back, saying, oh, I guess it wasn't our fate. I mean, it's quite an exit strategy, a bit theatrical maybe. Definitely theatrical, but it worked. Separation achieved. So the monks are gone finally. Our four heroes are back on the main road heading west. Seasons changed, it's spring now, travel should be nice. But then they see it, this long ridge. And it's not just any ridge. The description is really vivid. It sounds almost beautiful, but totally menacing at the same time. There's a path on top, yeah, but it's completely swallowed up by tangled thorns and vines. Like the path is under this dense canopy of thorns. Exactly, and Teng San Zang just sees it and despairs. He's like, how can we possibly walk this? He says only snakes or bugs could crawl through. Definitely can't ride his horse, it looks completely impossible. And that's such a classic story element, isn't it? The obstacle that just seems insurmountable. It forces them to stop and figure things out. And, you know, it immediately sparks a little debate. Right, so Wukong, being Wukong, flies up to get a better look. And his description, it's surprisingly poetic, actually. He sees it spanning earth and sky, misty and rainy, talks about soft grass, a green canopy, you know, densely packed new leaves, intertwining and fragrant, stretching out like a vast green cloud. It sounds quite beautiful in a way. It does. He mentions pines, cypresses, bamboos, willows, all tangled up with vines. But then he ends with this kind of sigh, like, who doesn't encounter thorns in life? But seriously, why are the thorns this long out here in the West? And the scale, that's the kicker. Yeah. He estimates it's a thousand lice long. A thousand lice. Yeah, roughly 300 to 350 miles. Just imagine a wall of thorns stretching for hundreds of miles. It's a pretty potent metaphor for the kind of overwhelming challenges you face on a big spiritual journey, right? 300 miles. Wow. No wonder San Zang was stunned. So, okay, how do you even start dealing with that? Sha Sang pipes up first. He's the practical one. Suggests, let's just burn it, like clearing wasteland. Seems logical, right? Quick, decisive approach, fire solves lots of problems. But it gets shut down immediately. But Ji jumps in, hold on, you only burn wasteland in late autumn or winter when everything's dry. It's spring now, he says, prime growing season. It won't burn properly. Good point, actually. Yeah, practical consideration. And Wu Kong adds the clincher. Even if it did burn, it would hurt people. Maybe implying spirits or just, you know, the potential for uncontrolled fire. Right. So the quick and dirty solution isn't always the best one. You've got to think about timing, consequences. Definitely. But luckily, Ba Ji has another idea. And this one's, well, it's pure Ba Ji. Oh, okay. He's not just the voice of reason this time. Nope. He uses his magic, grows himself up to 20 zhang tall, that's like 60 feet, and his rake grows to 30 zhang long, nearly 90 feet. Whoa, okay, that's impressive. Right, and then he just starts swinging this enormous rake, clearing the thorns left and right, basically mowing a path, tells the Tang monk, come on, follow me. Yeah. Such a great image. Using his unique, slightly absurd power to solve a very specific problem. It really shows the strength of the team, doesn't it? Wukong scouts, Sha Seng, offers a solution. Even if flawed, Ba Ji comes through with this incredible specialized skill. They each bring something different. Totally. So they travel like this, with Ba Ji clearing the way, for about a hundred li in a day. Pretty good progress. Eventually they reach this open spot with a stone tablet. It says Jing Xueling, Thorn Ridge. And then smaller text. Thorns climb for 800 li since ancient times few have walked this path. Hmm, 800 li. Wukong thought a thousand. Maybe the tablet's older, or just a different perspective. And Ba Ji, of course, being Ba Ji. Oh, yeah. He can't resist. He adds his own lines to the tablet. Something like, old pig was here and I smashed through this. From now on, the path to the west is totally flat. Oh, that's pure confidence. Or maybe arrogance. Either way, he's definitely proud of his work. He earned it, I guess. Tang San Zang wants to rest, but Ba Ji's all fired up. Nope, weather's good, we're making progress, let's push on through the night. Wow, real dedication there, keep the momentum going. So they do. Another full day and night, just clearing thorns, clearing thorns. As evening falls again, wind rustling through bamboo and pines, they find another clearing, and in it, an ancient temple. Ah, the description here is quite something, too. Creates a real mood. Ancient temple by cold stream. Desolate mist. Deep years among white cranes. Green moss. You get this picture of somewhere really old, really isolated. Kind of beautiful, but lonely. Yeah, idle flowers, wild vines, quine around walls. Serene, maybe. But Wu Kong, he immediately gets a bad feeling. He just says, this place feels more ominous than auspicious. We shouldn't stay long. What do you think he's picking up on? It sounds so peaceful. That's Wu Kong's superpower, isn't it? His intuition. There's probably not something visible, maybe an energy, a spiritual scent of danger that only he can detect after fighting so many demons. He trusts his gut over the scenery. Makes sense, but Sha Tsang, Mr. Practical again, he kind of dismisses it. Come on, it's desolate out here. No people, no monsters nearby. What's to worry about? Right, the classic setup. One person senses danger, the other sees logic. Grounded versus supernatural awareness. And right then, whoosh, a gust of cold wind. And this old man pops out from behind the temple door. Horn cap, plain clothes, carrying a staff. Looks kind of normal, maybe. But he's not alone. Following him is this. This ghost attendant. Blue face, fangs, red beard, naked, carrying a plate of steamed buns on his head. Okay, wait. A fanged ghost serving snacks? That's unsettling, is putting it mildly. Totally bizarre. And the old man kneels down, says he's the local earth spirit for Thorn Ridge, offers them the buns, saying, look, there are no houses for 800 lem, you must be hungry. It sounds nice, right? Hospitality in the middle of nowhere. But that ghost? And the whole vibe. It's textbook deception. Playing on their knee, they are tired and hungry, offering comfort. But the details are all wrong. The ghost, the sudden appearance, huge red flags, like you said. Massive red flags. And Baji naturally is like, ooh, food, and reaches for a bun. But Wukong, who's obviously been watching like a hawk, yells, stop, this guy's no good, shouts something like, what kind of earth spirit are you trying to trick me? And bam, swings his staff, no hesitation. And that's the key, right? Wukong's instant recognition. He doesn't need proof, doesn't need to taste the poison bun, basically. He sees the illusion. It's a great lesson in trusting that instinct when something feels fundamentally wrong, no matter how nice it looks on the surface. Absolutely. And the second Wukong attacks, poof. The old man turns into a gust of wind and just sweeps Tang Sanzang away with him. Gone. In a flash. Wow. Yeah. The disciples are left standing there, frantic, can't find any trace of their master. After all that effort, battling hundreds of miles of thorns, they get taken down by a fake earth spirit offering snacks. So Sanzang gets, well, abducted still feels kind of right, even if it's a polite abduction. Yeah, a gentle abduction, perhaps. He's swept off by this old man and the ghost attendants. One minute it's the hard road, the next he's being gently placed before this smoke-hazed stone house. The atmosphere shift must have been incredible. Totally. From grit to serenity. It's called a clear immortal realm, you know, where smoke and clouds lazily drift. Moonlight shines on window screens. Quite the change of scenery. It really is. And this, uh, abductor. He introduces himself. Jing Jilin Xivagang. The 18 Duke of the Bramble Ridge. Sounds quite imposing. It does. But his reason for bringing Sanzang there is, well, surprisingly pleasant. He just wanted to invite him to meet friends and discuss poetry to release our feelings. So less nefarious plot, more mystical salon invitation. Exactly. It adds this layer of, um, almost whimsical charm to the monk's otherwise very serious mission. Okay, so the scene is set, the moon gets brighter, and three more elderly figures show up. Mm-hmm. The rest of the party arrives. Gu Zigong, the solitary straight duke, he's got this frosty demeanor, but also elegance. Right. And then Ling Kongzi, the soaring immortal. Distinctive green hair on that one. Yeah, memorable detail. And finally, Fun Su, the cloud-sweeping elder. Described as having a humble, dark complexion and a gentle way about him, they all sound so... distinct. Almost symbolic. Well, Sanzang himself is wondering. He thinks, could these be the famous Four Horiwons from the Han Dynasty? You know, legendary recluses. Ah, okay. Makes sense he'd think that. But no. He finds out they're actually the Four Virtuous Ones of the Deep Mountains. And here's the real kicker. Go on. They're not human elders. They're ancient tree spirits. Wow, okay. Tree spirits. That changes things. Completely. Their incredibly long lives are literally rooted in nature. It's fundamental to who or what they are. And their self-descriptions, they really lean into that, don't they? Bujigong says he's a thousand years old, supports the heavens. Strong and enduring. Honest and cultivates truth. Very tree-like virtues. Then Ling Kongzi, also a thousand, defies wind and frost, talks about his strong branches and roots, finding longevity secrets. Fu Yunsu is even older. Thousands of autumns. He calls himself cold yet refined, avoids the hustle and bustle. Endures frost and snow gracefully. Even mentions hanging out with sages and recluses. And Jinji Shibagang, the host. Also over a thousand, evergreen and refined, benefiting from nature, providing shade. It's beautiful imagery. It really is. And think about that contrast, right? These ancient, literally rooted beings. Yeah. Engaging in very human-like things like poetry and philosophical discussion. It's fascinating. Okay, so now we've met the host. The focus shifts back to San Zhang. They ask him his age. Right. And he tells them 40 years since birth. But he also shares a bit about his backstory. The disastrous fate early on. Falling into water. And being saved by Jinshan Temple. It grounds him again for us. Reminds us of his own journey. And he mentions how he's cultivated diligently ever since. And that the emperor sent him west. It sort of establishes his credentials, you know? He's not just some random monk. He's on a major spiritual mission. Backed by authority and discipline. Which makes his presence there even more significant. So they've heard about him. They're intrigued by his journey and his whole vibe. And they ask him for guidance. On Chan Dharma. Zen, as we might call it. Exactly. So what does he tell these ancient tree spirits? This is the core, right? This is where the philosophical meat is. He lays it out pretty clearly. He says Chan is stillness. Dharma is liberation. Or transcendence. Okay. Stillness and liberation. And he explains that this liberation achieved in stillness only comes through enlightenment. Which for him means actively doing something. Like washing the mind. Purifying thoughts. Shedding the mundane. It's a process. A discipline. Right. An active path. He also mentions those three rare things, doesn't he? Yeah, he does. That having a human body is rare and precious. Being born in the Middle Kingdom, China, is also hard. And encountering the true Dharma, the true teaching, is the hardest of all. So he's basically saying, look, this meeting, this discussion we're having, it's an incredibly rare opportunity. Don't waste it. Yeah, it really frames the conversation with a sense of profound importance. He also touches on clearing out the six roots and six consciousnesses. Which is basically purifying your senses and mind from worldly distractions. Exactly. Getting beyond attachments. And he briefly mentions the nature of Buddhahood itself. Beyond birth and death, lack and excess. He's giving them the whole package. His structured path. Okay, so San Zangis has laid out his case. His understanding of the path to enlightenment. Very clear. Very structured. You'd think they'd all just nod along, maybe ask clarifying questions. But then Funen Su, the cloud-sweeping elder. The one with the humble look. That's him. Despite praising San Zang earlier, he comes back with something quite startling. He says their Tao, their way, is greatly different. Wow. Okay, so a direct counterpoint. A very direct one. It definitely shifts the energy. And his argument comes straight from who they are. Right? As trees. Exactly. He says we are born solid. He emphasizes their substance, their function is just different from San Zang's human-centric path. So he's talking about their inherent connection. Receiving sensations from heaven and earth. Being nourished by rain and dew. Defying wind and frost. Having thousand branches of integrity. It's all about this organic, natural wisdom that comes from just being part of the world. Not striving outside it. And he gets quite critical of San Zang's approach. He asks why cling to Sanskrit and go west for proof. When Tao originated in China, he says, you're looking in the wrong place. Wasting straw sandals. Ouch. And the metaphors he uses are really strong. He talks about San Zang's path being like having a stone lion's heart dug out. Or wild fox's saliva filling the bones. Yikes. That implies something hollow or corrupted, doesn't it? It really does. He calls it forgetting your roots to seek Zen. Vainly seeking Buddha fruit. He compares it to confusing riddles, like Bramble Ridge's entanglement, or Vine's confused words. So he's basically saying San Zang's intellectual scripture-based approach is missing the point. Yeah. That it's overly complicated, maybe even artificial. Pretty much. He tells San Zang to examine the face before you, suggesting the truth is immediate, present. He asserts that stillness naturally has life. You don't need to achieve it through intense effort. And illustrates it with those paradoxes. Yeah, like drawing water with a bottomless bamboo basket, or growing flowers on a rootless iron tree. Things that seem impossible, but point to a different kind of reality or understanding. So, after Fun Tzu drops this philosophical bombshell, how does San Zang react? He's actually vows in thanks. No defensiveness. And the others, Shibagong and Guzugong, help him up. It seems like this kind of debate, even a sharp one, is part of their interaction. No hard feelings. Right. But then, Ling Kongzi, the green-haired one, does something interesting. What's that? He laughs. Yeah. And says something like, Fun Tzu clearly leaked secrets. Leaked secrets. Like he got too carried away with the philosophy. Maybe. Almost like, whoops, you went a bit too deep there, buddy. And then he smoothly pivots the conversation back. Back to what? Back to why they invited San Zang in the first place. He reminds everyone they didn't bring him there for a heavy discussion on cultivation. Ah, right, despite just having one. Exactly. He says the point was simply to chant and wander freely, meet friends and discuss poetry to release our feelings. Fun Tzu, he points out this stone house, the Wood Immortals Retreat, saying it's perfect for quiet reflection, maybe a cup of tea. It sets a really serene mood right from the get-go. And inside the hermitage, it sounds even more welcoming. The text mentions a crimson-robed attendant serving Fuling Gao. Fuling Gao, yeah. It's a type of cake often made from a fungus that grows around pine roots. And fragrant tea, too. So it's this incredibly tranquil little spot, isn't it? Especially considering the tough journey they're usually on. Absolutely. And the source material really leans into that. It explicitly describes the ambience, saying something like, water flows from the stone, fragrance drifts from the flowers. The whole place is clear, pure, elegant. Not a speck of dust. Wow, yeah. So it's signaling immediately, this isn't just a pit stop. It's something different. A place for thought. A real shift from, you know, fighting demons and crossing mountains. And that calm atmosphere, it clearly affects Tang Monk. Because he just comes out with a line of poetry seemingly off the cuff. He does. He says, Which means? Roughly. Zen mind like the moon, utterly dust-free. That sounds pretty significant for him. That single line really captures his core spiritual goal, doesn't it? Achieving that pure, untainted mind, like clear moonlight. It's a beautiful, concise little window into his inner state. And the reaction. Well, what's amazing is how the four elders who are there, Jinji Lao, Xivagang, a strong, not old man, Guzi Gong, the lonely straight lord, Lingkong Zi, empty sky master, and that Fuyun Su, the cloud-sweeping elder, they instantly get it. They pick up on the poetic vibe? Immediately. Each one adds a line, continuing his thought. Xivagang says something like, poetic inspiration, like the sky renewed and fresh. Okay. Guzi Gong adds, Lingkong Zi follows with, And Fuyun Su finishes it off, It's a rapid-fire display of poetic understanding. And Tang Monk's reaction to that, I imagine he's impressed. He is, but he's also incredibly humble. He uses that classic phrase, Displaying an act before Luban's door. Like showing off your basic skills in front of a true master. Exactly. He's basically saying, oh, that was nothing compared to you guys. But the elders, they won't let him off the hook. They insist he finishes his thought, his complete couplet. So he does? He does. And his second line is, Which translates to, something like, half-pillowed by pine breeze, the tea's not yet brewed, my poetic mood is carefree, full of spring. It rounds off his first line. It gives you this image of peace, quiet joy, that contemplative side of him you don't always see amidst the dangers of the journey. Okay, this is already fascinating. But then they shift gears into something even more intricate, right? This top-stitching technique. Yes. Ding, zin, ziki. This is where it gets really clever. So explain that for us. How does top-stitching work? Okay, so imagine you're building a chain with words. The very last character, the last word, of one person's line becomes the first character or word of the next person's line. Ah, I see. So each line literally hooks onto the previous one. Precisely. It's like a poetic relay race, but you have to use the exact word handed off to you. It requires amazing mental agility and, you know, a really deep vocabulary and understanding of imagery. Let's hear it then. Walk us through the sequence. Okay. Jin Jilin Shi Ba Gang starts it off. He says, In spring not flourishing, in winter not withered, clouds come, mist goes, just as if nothing. The key word there is the last one. Fu, meaning nothing or without. Got it. So the next person has to start with Wu. Exactly. Wing Kong Z picks it up. Without wind swaying shadows, guests gladly appreciate the fortune and longevity picture. Ending on Fu, meaning picture. Okay. Following so far, picture. So Fu Yun Su takes Ding Gu. So Fu Yun Su takes Fu Fu. The picture is like the firm old man of West Mountain, pure like the unconcerned husband of the South. Ending on Fu, meaning husband or man. And the last one. Gu Zi Gong uses up to wrap it up. This one's a bit complex. Yeah. What's that mean? A man, because of side leaves, is called a beam. A platform, because of horizontal branches, acts as a watchful guiding presence. That last bit, Xi Nong, the constitutional crow, is an interesting allusion, sort of like a wise observer may be offering guidance from above. Okay, so after this amazing top-stitching display, they move on to full poems. Yes. The elders basically ask Tang Monk to share a complete poem, and then they each respond with one of their own. And Tang Monk's poem, does it continue that Zen mind theme? Very much so. It's incredibly focused. He starts, Staff in hand, coming west to worship the Dharma King, desiring to seek wonderful scriptures to spread far. The whole poem is just this unwavering statement of his mission. It's all about the scriptures, the Buddhist path, bringing enlightenment back. Pure dedication. A very clear statement of purpose. And how do the nature spirits, the elders, respond to that? They each offer these really distinct, powerful poems in response. It's almost like his spiritual declaration prompts them to reveal their own ancient truths. Interesting. Tell us about theirs. Jinji Ling Sivagang, from Not One Has a Line, Jinji Gu Go, Show Me One, Strong Knot, Solitary and Lofty, Laughs at the King of Trees. There's a kind of pride there, but also humility. And crucially, he mentions that feeling gao again at the end, tying back to the food, hinting at his pine spirit nature. His poem speaks of resilience, quiet strength over time. Okay, resilience. What about Gu Zigong, The Lonely Straight One? His poem includes lines like, So you get themes of quiet elegance, maybe bamboo-like resilience through harsh conditions, long life, providing shelter, standing tall but welcoming. Right, makes sense. And Ling Kongzi, Empty Sky. His poem talks about material for beams and pillars close to emperors. This one feels very grounded about deep roots, reaching high, providing stability and strength, like a huge ancient tree that supports structures, maybe even society. Foundational strength. And finally, The Cloud-Sweeping Elder. He starts with a bit of humor, calling his own poem basically just a few clumsy lines or doodling a poem, which is quite the understatement given his skill. Ah, yeah. His poem starts, In cow garden, happy with the sage king. He brings in famous historical spots and figures associated with nature appreciation, like Ziyu, who loved bamboo. He places himself within this long tradition of appreciating natural wisdom and, well, timeless beauty. So when you put Tang Monk's poem next to these four, what really stands out, there's a contrast, but maybe harmony too. Absolutely. It's a fascinating dynamic. Tang Monk's poem is all about, let's say, vertical aspiration, reaching up towards enlightenment, towards spreading the Dharma. It's driven by this single transcendent goal. Focused entirely on the spiritual quest. Right. Whereas the Elder's poems are deeply rooted, you could say, horizontal. They celebrate endurance through time, the cycles of nature, quiet strength, the wisdom you gain by just being part of the earth for ages. Different perspectives on truth. Exactly. The harmony comes, I think, from this shared respect for finding deeper meaning, whether it's through intense spiritual discipline like Tang Monk or through the patient millennia-long observation of the natural world like the Elders. It's like this dialogue between the questing spirit and ancient grounded wisdom. So how does this extraordinary meeting end? Well, as the night wears on, Tang Monk, ever responsible, starts worrying about his disciples. He wants to leave and find them. I understand. And the Elders are incredibly gracious about it. They urge him to stay just until dawn, and they call the encounter a thousand-year rare encounter, Khansai Khifon. It highlights this wasn't just a chance meeting. It was a significant, perhaps destined, intersection of different kinds of beings, different forms of wisdom, all connecting through poetry. And just when he's maybe settling, enter the apricot fairy. Yeah, quite an entrance. She arrives with the tendons, green-clad ones with lanterns, then yellow-clad ones serving tea. Very elaborate. And she's described as stunning, right? Like emerald-like green posture, rouge-like red face, starry eyes, dressed incredibly more beautiful than legendary figures. Oh, absolutely. The text piles on the compliments. Celestial Platform Goddess is one comparison, and she does something quite poignant. What's that? She serves Tang Monk tea first. Personally, it's a gesture of, you know, respect, but also singling him out, drawing him in. Clever. So it becomes this sort of poetry club. Pretty much. The atmosphere shifts quickly into a scholarly salon. They're discussing poetry, philosophy, and the Elders are just gushing over Tang Monk's poetry. True Tang Dynasty works. Incredibly admirable. You know, really stroking his ego. Flattery. The oldest trick. Right. And then the Apricot Fairy joins in. She offers her own poem very humbly. And those lines, rain-moistened red beauty, emerald green, a bit sour when overripe, something about accompanying wheat fields. They sound nice, but... But are they just pretty words or something more? And that's the key, isn't it? For someone like Tang Monk, maybe focused on the surface beauty, they're just poetic images. But if you had, say, spiritual insight... Oh, okay. Like Wukong might. Exactly. Then those aren't metaphors. They are literal descriptions of... Well, we'll get to that. It's a confession, hidden in plain sight, wrapped in art. Wow. Okay, so the beautiful trap starts to spring. The night wears on. And the Apricot Fairy's vibe changes. It gets more personal. She expresses affection, moves closer, whispers something like, good guest, why not have some fun tonight? Life is short, right? Ooh, the direct approach, but still kind of philosophical. It is. Very clever. It's not a threat. It's temptation framed as... carpe diem. Seize the day. And the real shocker... What? The old men, the venerable scholars, they encourage it. 18 Duke basically says Tang Monk should feel honored and just go along with her admiration. No way. The scholars. Yep. And then it gets formal. Solitaire Street Duke straight up proposes marriage on her behalf. Marriage. Full-on marriage proposal. With him and sky-soaring masters, guarantors, and cloud-sweeping elder and 18 Duke offering to be the matchmakers. Like a proper arrangement. And then things escalate again with this ghost attendant. Sounds blunt. He is. He sort of storms in, angry that Tang Monk is refusing. He starts hyping up the Apricot Fairy, how beautiful, talented, poetic she is, insisting she's worthy. Even offering to be the chief matchmaker himself. Almost like a pushy salesman closing the deal. Douche. Pressure from all sides. Threats too. Oh yeah. They threaten him, saying things like he won't be able to be a monk anymore, they'll have to marry her. Tang Monk. He holds firm. His heart like gold and stone, he's shedding tears. The Apricot Fairy tries one last gentle approach, offering a silk handkerchief, inviting him to lean on Jade and embrace fragrance, basically. Come on, let's have fun. But he's not having it. He shouts, tries to run, but they physically hold him, arguing, struggling. This goes on literally until dawn. This is relentless. Until... Until dawn breaks, and guess who shows up? The Disciples. Wukong. Pigsy. Sandy. You got it. They've been searching all night through this area called the Thorny Ridge. They hear Tang Monk finally cry out. Yeah. And does he break free then? He does. He calls for rescue, and bam, instantly. The elders, the ghost messenger, the fairy, the attendants, poof, banished. Gone. Just like that. Wow. So Tang Monk, obviously shaken, tells his disciples everything. He gives them the names, the titles, Jin Ji Ling Shi Wa Gong, Gu Zi Gong, the Lonely Straight Lord, Ling Kong Zi, Empty Sky Master, Annette Fu Yun Su, the Cloud-Sweeping Elder, etc., and the Apricot Fairy. And he names the place the Wood Immortals' Retreat. Wood Immortals' Retreat? Okay, that's a clue. A massive clue. Yeah. Because this is where Wukong lays it all bare. What does he see? He reveals their true identities. And it's shocking. They aren't just spirits, they're tree spirits. Specific ones. Like, actual trees. Actual trees. Jin Ji Ling Shi Wa Gong. He's a pine tree. Gu Zi Gong, the Lonely Straight Lord. A cypress. Ling Kong Zi, Empty Sky Master. He's a juniper. Annette Fu Yun Su, the Cloud-Sweeping Elder. Bamboo! Whoa. Okay, keep going. The Naked Ghost Messenger is a maple tree? And the Apricot Fairy? Oh, she's an apricot. Yeah, makes sense. And the attendants. Osmanthus and Winter Sweet Trees. The whole elegant gathering, it was a bunch of sentient trees. Mind. Blown. Okay, so knowing that, knowing they were trees, that poetry, the descriptions, it changes everything, doesn't it? Completely redefines it. Remember the Apricot Fairy's poem? Yeah. Rain moistened red beauty, that's a ripe apricot, emerald green. Leaves, her posture, a bit sour when overripe. Literally, the taste of the fruit accompanies wheat fields annually when falling. That's her fruit dropping during harvest time. It wasn't metaphorical, it was a literal description of her true nature as an apricot tree. That is incredibly clever writing. Embedding the truth right there in the deception. It really is. The whole scholarly salon was just trees performing, trying to trap them with charm and wit. So how does this end? The disciples have arrived, the truth is out. It ends pretty brutally, actually. Kigsey doesn't hesitate. He takes his rake. Oh boy. And he just savages the trees associated with the main temptress, the apricot, the maple, the ghost messenger, the osmanthus, and winter sweet attendants. The description is graphic. Blood flowed freely from their roots. Yikes. Tree blood. And Tang Monk, being compassionate, tries to stop him. He argues, you know, it didn't actually hurt me. Yeah, I can see him saying that. But Wukong steps in, and he's got this very pragmatic, almost ruthless foresight. He tells Tang Monk, essentially, don't pity them. If we leave them, they could grow into much bigger threats later and cause real harm. A lesson about nipping potential threats in the bud, even if they seem harmless now. Exactly. Wukong sees the potential for future evil even if the immediate act wasn't violent. It's about preventing greater harm down the line. A tough call, but maybe necessary on their journey. So does Pigsy listen? He does. He then goes on to destroy all the trees Wukong identified. The pine, the cypress, the juniper, the bamboo. He takes them all down. Wow. Complete eradication. Total. And with that threat neutralized, they just continue their journey west.