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Journey to the West: Dream of the Red Chamber
墨書 Inktalez
After passing through the Flame Mountain, the four disciples continued their journey westward, unaware that the season had changed to one of blossoming grass and singing orioles. Tang Seng rode on his horse, feeling the spring breeze brush against his face, yet an inexplicable sadness surged within him.
“Wukong,” he sighed deeply, “we have traveled through wind and rain, crossing mountains and rivers. I wonder when we will obtain the True Scriptures and meet Tathagata Buddha!”
“Master, here you go again,” Wukong replied, scratching his head with an impatient expression. “I, Old Sun, have told you countless times that seeking scriptures is nonsense! That old Tathagata is just toying with us! If you really want to see him sooner, I can do a Cloud Somersault right now and bring him down from his lotus throne!”
“You unruly monkey, stop talking nonsense!” Tang Seng scolded. “Our Buddha Tathagata is compassionate and possesses boundless powers; how can you speak so irreverently?”
“Come on, Master,” Wukong said as he dismounted and plopped down on a rock by the roadside. “Can’t you see? The heavenly court, the Western Paradise, and the mortal realm are all the same—filled with power struggles and deceit! Look at you; you were banished to the mortal world and have endured hardships because you violated Heavenly Law. But who set those so-called Heavenly Laws? It’s those high-and-mighty gods!”
Tang Seng was rendered speechless by Wukong’s words and could only shake his head helplessly as he continued to ride forward.
The two of them remained silent for a long time until suddenly the path ahead opened up. They saw winding mountain roads strewn with fallen blossoms, new buds mingling with old petals that carpeted the ground like a tapestry. Amidst the bamboo branches, a peony quietly bloomed, its colors vibrant and dripping with beauty.
“Master, look over there!” Ba Jie exclaimed, pointing at the peony with his mouth agape, nearly drooling.
“It’s just a flower,” Tang Seng replied nonchalantly.
"What a beautiful flower," Sha Seng couldn't help but exclaim, "truly deserving of the title 'King of Flowers!'"
"The King of Flowers? Hmph, just a hollow title," Wu Kong scoffed. "No matter how beautiful a flower is, it will eventually wither. Everything in this world is like that—birth, aging, illness, and death; who can escape it?"
Tang Seng felt a stir in his heart and asked, "Wu Kong, what do you mean by that?"
Wu Kong did not respond; he merely looked up at the sky, a hint of melancholy flashing in his eyes.
"Master, I, Old Sun once thought that as long as I possessed great power, I could change everything and obtain all that I desired," he said slowly. "But now I understand that there are some things that even with world-destroying power, one cannot attain."
"What things?"
"Freedom," Wu Kong said word by word. "To act as one wishes."
Tang Seng looked at Wu Kong, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He knew Wu Kong was right. The four of them journeying westward seemed free and unrestrained, yet they were all tightly bound by the shackles of fate. They were like petals dancing in the wind—beautiful and free in appearance but ultimately unable to escape the fate of withering.
Tang Seng saw it; Wu Kong certainly saw it too. The peony bloomed by the roadside, swaying in the breeze, basking in the sunlight, blooming in his heart. Red—the color was strikingly red, so red it reminded him of the blazing flames of Fire Mountain and the fierce flames of the Eight Trigrams Furnace.
"Master, look at that peony; it's blooming so vibrantly!" He scratched his head and pointed at the flower but dared not look directly at its color.
"Not red, not red," Tang Seng's voice was calm and steady, like a bucket of cold water poured over Wu Kong's heart.
Not red? How could it not be red? Was this old monk's vision clouded? Or did he simply dare not acknowledge that such vibrant colors existed in this world? "Master, could it be that the warm spring sun has dazzled your eyes?" He forced a smile while feeling as if he had overturned a bottle of mixed flavors inside him. "This Peony Red is so passionate; how can you say it's not red! Why don't we rest for a moment? Let me go fetch Great Medicine Emperor Bodhisattva to take a look at your eyes so you won't have to travel with impaired vision. If you take a wrong turn, that would be disastrous!"
"You unruly monkey! What nonsense are you spouting!" Tang Seng finally changed his expression; those usually kind eyes now burned with fire. "Clearly, it's you who are seeing things wrongly yet you blame your master!"
"Master, if your eyes are fine, then why do you say that peony isn't red?" He lowered his head, his voice tinged with grievance and defiance, along with a hint of sorrow he couldn't quite understand.
"I never said that peony isn't red; I only said that's not the color of a peony." Tang Seng's voice returned to calmness as another bucket of cold water was poured over Wu Kong.
Not the color of a peony? What color was it then? Was it his heart? Wu Kong hastily changed the subject: "Master, if it's not the color of a peony, perhaps it's just sunlight reflecting off the petals making it appear so red?"
"You foolish monkey! You stir up your own desires yet switch topics between peonies and sunlight—truly looking for trouble!" Tang Seng's tone carried a hint of helplessness mixed with frustration.
"Master, you must be joking! I, Old Sun, am covered in yellow fur, wearing a tiger skin skirt and this patchy blue and white robe. Where do you see me blushing?" He lifted his head, trying hard to maintain a playful smile, but inside, he felt a sharp pain as if pricked by needles.
"I'm not saying your body is red; I'm saying your heart is red," Tang Seng's voice was deep and slow, as if he were speaking to him or perhaps to himself.
Then he heard Tang Seng recite a verse, the words sounding as if they came from far away or echoed from the depths of his own heart:
The color of peonies is empty; the disciple's heart is naturally red.
In the midst of blooming and withering, there is no difference at all.
As the sun set in the west, the evening clouds blazed like fire, painting half the sky red. The four of them walked along a secluded path, surrounded by silence, only the sound of hooves and occasional birdsong breaking the stillness.
After a while, they came across a dense thicket of peonies, the flowers blooming vibrantly—red as fire, pink like dawn, white as snow—colorful and fragrant. Tang Seng reined in his horse and gazed at this sea of flowers, a complex expression flickering in his eyes.
Seeing this, Wu Kong couldn't help but mutter to himself, "What's wrong with Master? He doesn't usually show much interest in flowers and plants; why is he so entranced today?"
"Wu Kong," Tang Seng suddenly spoke up, his tone tinged with an imperceptible loneliness. "Do you know why these peonies are so exquisite?"
Wu Kong scratched his Monkey Head in confusion and asked, "Master, isn't it enough that the flowers are beautiful? Why does there have to be so much reasoning behind it?"
"Ah," Tang Seng sighed. "No matter how beautiful a flower blooms, it will eventually wither. Everything in this world follows that rule: what flourishes must decline; what reaches its extreme must revert. Just like this mundane world—it seems bustling and lively but hides dangers within. A moment's carelessness can lead one into an abyss from which there is no return."
Wu Kong listened in bewilderment and was about to ask more when he saw Tang Seng urging his horse forward, seemingly unwilling to say more. He could only shake his head and mount his horse to follow closely behind.
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