26. The Flowing Sand River—Old Sand Joins the Team

Time flowed swiftly like a shuttle through a loom; in the blink of an eye, summer passed into autumn, and another month slipped by. At just the right moment, Tang Sanzang and his disciples, having departed from Yellow Wind Ridge, entered a vast plain. The sun blazed overhead, cold cicadas cried among withered willows, and not far ahead, at the end of the road, stretched a great river, eight hundred miles wide, surging and turbulent.

“Master, we’ve arrived at the River of Flowing Sands!” Sun Wukong bounded to the riverbank, scooped up a handful of sand, and called out.

“The River of Flowing Sands?” Tang Sanzang gazed in puzzlement at the boundless waters. “Wukong, this river is so wide—why are there no boats crossing it?”

Sun Wukong leapt into the air, shading his eyes as he looked around. “Master, this river spans eight hundred miles, its waters tempestuous and fierce; I doubt anyone dares sail across it.”

Pigsy drew closer and asked, “Brother Monkey, how do you know this river is called the River of Flowing Sands, and that it’s eight hundred miles wide?”

Sun Wukong descended from his cloud and replied, “Because I’m not blind; I’ve already spotted a stone tablet over there, with clear writing on it.”

Everyone looked in the direction Sun Wukong indicated, and indeed, by the riverbank stood a stone tablet. The group approached and saw three seal-script characters: “River of Flowing Sands.” Beneath was a small inscription in four lines:

Eight hundred miles of flowing sand, three thousand fathoms deep.
Feathers cannot float, reeds sink to the bottom.

Suddenly, with a thunderous roar, waves rose like mountains on the river, surging like ridges. From the water burst a giant with crimson hair, wielding a precious staff and wearing a necklace of nine skulls, charging straight for Tang Sanzang.

“Master, be careful!” Sun Wukong, knowing well that this giant was the third disciple-to-be, chosen by Buddha as the Sand Monk, simply shouted without striking, instead grabbing Tang Sanzang and whisking him back to shore. “Pigsy, go get him!”

“Alright!” Pigsy was quick to react; seeing the giant appear, he drew his nine-pronged rake and engaged him in combat. The two fought on the riverbank, one wielding a rake like a dragon’s claw, the other brandishing his staff like an elephant’s tusk. They battled for twenty rounds, yet neither prevailed.

Pigsy, are you really that feeble? Can’t even defeat the gatekeeper of the Curtain-Lifting? Or is it that the world of Journey to the West follows the rule: “Corruption doubles strength, purity weakens by a third?”

Sun Wukong pondered silently, tossing the invincible brick in his hand idly. He wished to intervene, yet feared hurting the Sand Monk, so he could only watch helplessly.

With a clang, Pigsy found an opening and swung his rake at the Sand Monk’s head. The latter hurriedly raised his precious staff to block, feeling a shock in his palm, and realizing he was no match for the pig. He promptly used a flickering technique and retreated into the river.

“Hey, monster, where do you think you’re going?” Pigsy, eager to show off before Tang Sanzang, was even more fired up upon seeing the Sand Monk retreat. He stripped off his blue robe and shoes, grabbed his rake, and plunged into the river.

“Wukong, Pigsy won’t come to harm, will he?” Tang Sanzang, still shaken, looked at the turbulent river and asked.

“No worries, Master!” Sun Wukong replied cheerfully. “Whether immortals or demons, they all love to boast and embellish their reputations. The river monster may be fierce, but he’s no match for Pigsy.”

“Amitabha!” Hearing this, Tang Sanzang felt somewhat reassured, gazing at the vast River of Flowing Sands in silence.

Yet two hours passed, and Pigsy was still nowhere to be seen. Tang Sanzang began to worry and said to Sun Wukong, “Wukong, you’d better hurry and help Pigsy.”

“Yes, Master!” Sun Wukong answered, about to enter the water when he saw the river’s surface churn. Pigsy, holding his rake upside down, emerged first, calling, “Brother Monkey, I’ve lured him out!”

With a crash, the Sand Monk pursued right behind, raising his staff to strike Pigsy’s back.

“That’s enough!” Sun Wukong’s eyes flashed coldly. With a lift of his hand, the golden staff extended dozens of yards, knocking away the Sand Monk’s weapon and slamming into his chest.

With a dull splash, the Sand Monk grunted, recognizing he’d encountered a formidable opponent. He decisively abandoned Pigsy and dove back into the river, swimming toward deeper waters.

“Hey, that water monster’s slippery as an eel—escaped again!” Pigsy stopped, looking back.

“Look who’s talking—why did you fight so long underwater?” Sun Wukong asked, walking back to shore with Pigsy.

Pigsy chuckled, “That monster has some skill, especially underwater, where he matches me blow for blow. So I pretended to lose, hoping to lure him ashore for you to subdue.”

“Enough, just admit you’re weak—no need for excuses!” Sun Wukong shook his head, then recounted the events to Tang Sanzang.

Seeing Tang Sanzang’s worried face, Sun Wukong added, “Master, rest assured—with Pigsy and me here, he won’t dare trouble you again!”

“Right, right, Brother Monkey’s right!” Pigsy grinned, helping Tang Sanzang down from his horse. Bear Gohan took out flatbread, fruit, and a gourd from the load, offering them to Tang Sanzang.

“Give me a piece too!” Sun Wukong called.

“Sure!” Pigsy bit into his own bread, handed another to Sun Wukong, and tossed one to Bear Gohan, then squatted to eat ravenously.

Soon, the group finished their meal. Tang Sanzang drank some water, then handed the gourd to Sun Wukong, saying, “Wukong, you’re quick—go nearby and find some locals to ask for a way across the river.”

Sun Wukong drank a few gulps, then passed the gourd to Pigsy, who was still eating. He smiled, “Don’t worry, Master—I’ll go into the water and capture that river monster!”

Pigsy, hearing this, put down the gourd and bread, grumbling, “Brother Monkey, I know you’re strong, but fighting underwater is nothing like on land or in the air. Don’t boast!

If you ask me, just carry Master across the river on your cloud. Leave the load and horse to me and Gohan. You just protect Master.”

“Pigsy, that’s foolish talk!” Sun Wukong shook his head. “The teachings say, ‘Sending Mount Tai is as light as a mustard seed; bearing an ordinary man cannot escape the mortal world.’ Even my somersault cloud can’t carry Master.

Besides, Master always says, ‘The journey for scriptures is long and perilous, but to meet Buddha and obtain the true sutras, we must walk every step with sincerity!’”

“No flying, water monster below—what are we to do?” Pigsy sighed.

“Pigsy, you really are dull! I’ve already said—I’ll go underwater and capture him! You stay with me, Gohan will look after Master!”

Sun Wukong sprang into the air. His golden staff suddenly stretched hundreds of yards, thrusting straight into the murky River of Flowing Sands, stirring it like a giant ladle.

In no time, the river was churned into a frenzy, countless yellow sands swirling with the waves, and not a single patch of calm remained.

The Sand Monk could no longer bear it. He burst from the water, pointing at Sun Wukong and cursing, “You wretched monkey, why stir up my home without cause?”

“My Master must travel west for the scriptures—there’s no time to waste! Today, we shall cross this river; not even the Jade Emperor can stop us!” Sun Wukong feigned anger, hoping to invoke the title of “Scripture Seeker” and prompt the Sand Monk to join their quest.

“Scripture Seeker? Monkey, what did you say?” The Sand Monk, hearing those words, grew agitated and pressed for details.

“It’s no wonder you’re blind—who else could that great Tang monk on the bank be, if not the scripture seeker?”

“Ha! He really is the scripture seeker! Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

The Sand Monk quickly put away his staff, straightened his yellow robe, and leapt ashore. Pigsy and Bear Gohan hurried to block his path, shouting, “What are you up to?”

But the Sand Monk ignored them, kneeling before Tang Sanzang and saying, “Master, your disciple was blind and failed to recognize your noble presence. I apologize for any offense.”

“Huh? What’s this water monster up to? Just now he was baring his teeth at us, and now he’s kneeling to become a disciple?” Pigsy asked in confusion.

The Sand Monk paid him no heed, gazing at Tang Sanzang. “Master, I was enlightened by Bodhisattva Guanyin, who gave me the surname Sand and a dharma name, Sha Wujing. Since then, I’ve waited day and night for your arrival.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Tang Sanzang looked at the fierce figure before him, uncertain whether to trust his words. As he hesitated, Sun Wukong said, “Master, this is easy—I’ll go to Mount Putuo in the Southern Sea and ask Sister Guanyin!”

With that, Sun Wukong soared away, leaving Tang Sanzang and his three disciples exchanging glances, while the Sand Monk remained kneeling, afraid to rise lest he ruin his impression in Tang Sanzang’s eyes.