Has anyone read Journey to the West?

Hello everyone,

I was wondering if anyone here has read Journey to the West. Some time ago, I came across a humorous Chinese spin-off called Taibei Is in a Bit of a Mood. It’s a rather unusual mix of workplace comedy and mythology, which makes it quite fun but perhaps a little tricky to describe.

Out of curiosity, I decided to try translating a short excerpt into English to see how it might read. I would greatly appreciate any feedback on my translation—does the text flow naturally, and does it convey the humour and tone of the original? Any observations or suggestions would be most welcome.

Taibai is in a Bit of a Mood

 

Li Changgeng, Lord of the Taibai Star, is in a bit of a mood these days.

 

He’s now riding on his old crane, kind of drifting off, lost in thought. They’re about to arrive at the Office of Qiming when the crane, perhaps muddled with age, not only fails to slow down, but flies straight on as if to crash. Changgeng snaps out of his daze, hastily flicks his horsetail whisk, and only then does the creature give a panicked flap of its wings, veering sideways and landing crookedly on the steps beside the palace.

 

Changgeng hops off the crane and bends down to check. The steps are fine. The crane, however, has lost several long feathers on its right wing. A pang of distress hits him. The creature is simply too old, growing new feathers won’t come easy anymore.

 

The crane lets out a hoarse, aggrieved cry. Changgeng pets its head and sighs. It has been by his side since the day he ascended to the heavens, and its lifespan is nearly spent. The grace and spirited purity of its youth are long gone. The other immortals who ascended in the same batch have all traded their mounts for grander, more imposing beasts; only Changgeng, soft-hearted as ever, keeps this ageing crane and rides it all over the realms.

 

He calls over a page boy, has the crane led back to the aviary, and instructs them to feed it well. Then, lifting the hem of his robe, he strides into the Office of Qiming and pushes open the door. The Weaver Girl is sitting opposite the table, eyes fixed intently on a magic mirror, as she works on half a Seamless Celestial Robe: a sleeve is already taking shape.

 

‘You’re back?’ she asks, without looking up.

 

‘Mm, back.’

 

Changgeng picks up the cup of tea the page boy brewed earlier and takes several large gulps. Only when the liquid settles in his stomach does he realise— too late — that it is the Heaven-Dew Tea. His breath hitches. The tea was a gift from the Queen Mother of Kunlun at the last Peach Banquet— picked once every 3000 years, and pan-fried once every 3000 years. He’s always been saving on it. And now that wretched page just brewed it casually, only for him to waste it guzzling like water.

 

He clicks his tongue in frustration and sits down, pulling a bundle of jade slips from his sleeve. The Weaver Girl suddenly leans over.

 

‘So, did you see Xuanzang?’

 

‘I’ve just come back from the Forked Ridge, haven’t I? Well, that was actually to see him off. ’

 

‘Is he handsome?’ she asks again.

‘Ahem— aren’t you married? Why asking if a monk is handsome or not?’ Changgeng’s face darkens. The Weaver Girl pouts. ‘So what if I’m married? Does it mean that I cannot appreciate  good-looking young man anymore?’ Then she suddenly asks, conspiratorially, ‘Hey hey— is he really the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada, Buddha’s second disciple?’

 

Changgeng stiffens. ‘Who told you that?’

 

‘The Elder Lao, obviously. Words are already all over the Heavens. Only you still pretend it’s some big secret.’

 

‘He just loves gossip!’

 

‘So it’s true, then?’

 

Changgeng neither confirms nor denies it. ‘Whatever his past life may be, he’s got real ability. In this life he’s one of the most distinguished monks of Great Tang, presided over the Water-and-Land Grand Assembly in Chang’ an, and was personally honoured by the emperor. As for his previous nine lives, every one of them was spent doing good, without spilling even a single drop of his primal essence.’

 

The Weaver Girl bursts out laughing at the phrasing ‘not a single drop of his primal essence’.

 

‘That counts as a virtue?’

 

‘Of course it does. Shows he’s thrown himself entirely into the cause. Otherwise why would he be chosen for the pilgrimage to the West?’

 

‘Then just bring him here and make him a Buddha. Won’t that be easier? Why make him walk all the way from the Tang capital?’

 

‘A general must rise from the ranks, a prime minister from provincial office. Without struggling in the mortal world, you’ll convince no one even if you become a buddha. The Buddha is being thoughtful.’ Changgeng speaks earnestly, while seeing the Weaver Girl still doesn’t get it, he sighs.

 

The girl isn’t bad-natured—just sheltered, and therefore a bit unworldly. She is the youngest daughter of the Queen Mother of Kunlun, once ran off with a cowherd and even had two children. After much persuasion, her mother coaxed her back and found her a cushy job at the Office.

 

Changgeng never assigns her real work, and also seats her right opposite himself.

 

Taking this a great chance to educate, he picks a jade slip from the pile and hands it to her. It’s a lengthy proclamation, saying the Buddha has preached the Great Dharma during the Ullambana Assembly at Spirit Mountain, explaining its origins. After the sermon, he issued a decree calling upon the virtuous of the Eastern Lands to travel West and retrieve the true Tripitaka scriptures and bring salvation to all beings.

 (Spirit Mountain, the geographical centre of the Buddhist world, also the overall sacred domain of the Buddha, aka the entire headquarters campus)

 

‘Isn’t this just routine wording? What about it?’ The Weaver Girl still looks confused.

 

Changgeng taps the seal at the bottom. ‘Look where it’s issued from, Vulture Peak.’

(Vulture Peak, a principle peak within Spirit Mountain where the Buddha delivers his teachings, aka the Buddha's own executive office.)

 

Serving at the Office of Qiming for several millennia, meeting all manner of deities, he has long honed an eye for reading between lines. Documents of Spirit Mountain are normally issued from the Great Thunderclap Monastery. This one, however, is issued from Vulture Peak—the Buddha’s own abode. That alone speaks volumes.

 (The Great Thunderclap Monastery, the main temple complex in Spirit Mountain where scriptures are kept, aka the admin hall.)

 

The proclamation calls for all great virtuous of the Eastern Lands to journey West. But there’s a distance of 108,000 li, how could an ordinary mortal walk that far? This single requirement has filtered out 99% of the virtuous. In the end, only Xuanzang fits. And his pilgrimage will add a major merit to his record, paving a proper path to Buddhahood.

 

The Weaver Girl tsks twice after hearing the explanation. ‘Still, that’s 108,000 li. Not easy at all. My husband would complain for just a few more steps on the Magpie Bridge...’ Changgeng clears his throat, suggesting that such private matters need not be shared.

 

She continues, ‘But all this is Spirit Mountain’s business. Why should you be the one running around?’

 

Spirit Mountain is the seat of Buddhism, while the Celestial Court belongs to the orthodox Daoist sect. The two are separate, neither superior nor inferior. To ask an elder immortal from the Office of Qiming to help with a monk’s pilgrimage is indeed an odd thing. That,  even the Weaver Girl can tell.

 

At this, irritation boils up in Changgeng. He slams his teacup on the table and begins venting.

 

It was two days ago when the Central Hall of Lingxiao received a document from Spirit Mountain, saying that an eminent master from the Eastern Lands is traveling to the West to petition for the Holly Scriptures, passing through various kingdoms in the mortal world. Therefore, they ask the Celestial Court to provide assistance. Also, the decree of the Buddha is attached.

 

The Jade Emperor placed a Taiji pattern beneath it — no comment, merely passed it straight to the Office of Qiming.

 

Changgeng pondered over the document: the shimmering Taiji pattern was clearly the Emperor’s own mark; yet the yin and yang part kept chasing each other in endless circles like two little fish, rising and falling, making it impossible to tell that’s a yes or a no. Before he could decipher it, Guanyin appeared at the door, smiling sincerely with her sacred implement — a crytal-clear jade purification vase — in her hand. She said that she was here to discuss this Collaboration Project. Something felt off immediately, but Guanyin had already started gushing.

 

She said she’s just returned from Chang’an, presented Xuanzang with a brocade kasaya robe and a nine-ringed khakkhara staff, stirring up quite the sensation. Now all the Four Great Continents were buzzing about the holly monk who’s going to travel ten thousand li to obtain the true sutras. And now she’s here to discuss the next steps with Master Li.

 

Li Changgeng was instantly displeased: So you’ve already kicked things off and only now bothered to loop us in? What am I? your errand boy? He put on an official tone: “As you see, the Jade Emperor has just issued his mark, and the Office is currently working on it.” Guanyin replied gently: “Thus have I heard, the Buddha has already discussed that with the Emperor. Both regard this matter with great importance. Master Li, do give it your full attention.”

 

The phrase “great importance” was vague, wrapped in Buddhist ambiguity. Yet Changgeng cannot seek further instruction from the Jade Emperor. He glanced at the two yin-yang fish on the pattern, still circling in their usual ambiguous way. He sighed, and agreed for now.

 

“I’ve heard that Master Xuanzang is the reincarnation of the Buddha’s second disciple, the Golden Cicada?” He asked.

 

Guanyin only smiled, holding the bamboo sprig between her fingertips, offering no answer. Changgeng understood at once, that the Buddha did not want this identity made public. So he switched tack. “Then what assistance is required from the Qiming Office?” “Thus have I heard,” Guanyin said smoothly, “the Buddha’s teachings cannot be passed on lightly. Xuanzang must endure tribulations on his journey, demonstrating that the scriptures are hard-won and that his devotion steadfast. As for the specific trials...Master Li, you’re the seasoned expert here, must be far more skilled in these things than we are.”

 

With her constant ‘thus have I heard,’ Changgeng could no longer tell which parts were Buddha’s words and which were her own embellishment. But he won’t get the main message wrong: Spirit Mountain wanted the Office of Qiming to ‘arrange’ an ordeal for Xuanzang—something that can later be praised as part of his merit.

 

Heavenly law is strict: whether immortal or mortal, everyone must undergo heavenly ordeals. Even the Jade Emperor had endured 1750 trials before attaining the Infinite Dao. But the nature, timing and severity of each person’s trial vary greatly, even the virtually indestructible immortals cannot fully foresee their own trials and may well perish in the process. Thus Qiming Office holds one crucial responsibility—to arrange controlled tribulations for those with a destined path—known as the “Ordeal Support”.

 

Changgeng is an old hand at this. He keeps dozens of “Support Packages” tucked inside his robe, each containing a detailed plan built around one of many themes: Enlightenment and Ascension, Demon-Slaying and Merit-Building, Divine Manifestation, Karmic Hardship and more. The clients only need to select a preferred package, then Qiming Office will take care of the rest, ensuring a safe and smooth passage—far better than braving a unsupervised wild ordeal. It is for this reason that Spirit Mountain has specifically named the Lord of the Taibai Star to oversee Xuanzang’s tribulation.

 

But what annoyed Li Changgeng was that, Spirit Mountain had already taken all the spotlight in Chang’an, put on the grandeur, stirred up the Four Continent, and only when the real labour began did they come to him. Guanyin seemed oblivious to his displeasure. She simply smiled and said: “Thus have I heard, the capable should take on more.” Changgeng muttered that he will go back and deliberate. “Do be quick,” Guanyin urged. “Xuanzang will soon leave Chang’an. One day in Heaven is one year on earth. Time flies. I’ve arranged a greeter named Liu Boqin at the Two-Boundary Mountain to receive Xuanzang. Better to set up the first ordeal before he gets there.”

 

Li Changgeng swallowed his irritation and turned to leave. But Guanyin called after him, “One more thing, Master Li, Xuanzang has devoted himself completely to Buddhist doctrine all these years, therefore hopeless at combat. Please take that into account when you arrange the ordeal.”

 

Changgeng frowned. More requirements! Still, he had seen every imaginable request in his long career. He did not argue and hurried down to the mortal world to get started.

Thank you very much for taking the time to read and comment.

This was fun to read, well done! Where can I find the original text/what is it called? 
If you enjoy humorous renditions of journey to the west 浪浪山小妖怪 (2025) is fun to watch.
 

On 1/27/2026 at 11:36 AM, ez said:

Where can I find the original text/what is it called? 

It's called 太白金星有点烦, written by 马伯庸, hope you will enjoy

And thanks for the recommendation, I've seen that movie as well, a fun and inventive adaptation.

So today I worked on the second chapter of my translation. I’d love to hear your thoughts, suggestions, or any feedback on this. Every comment helps, so thank you in advance!

 

 

 

Chapter two

 

He’d done Ordeal Support plenty of times. It wasn’t hard—just annoyingly detailed. Should the monster be a local hire, or borrowed from Celestial HR? Should the tribulation site be rented or built on the spot? Should they deliver the message to the mortal via dream, or send a manifestation? Should there be special effects like auspicious clouds or holy light? And if it came to invoking the Divine Thunders of Shenxiao, he’d even have to put in an advance booking with the Thunder Division under the Office of Yuqing. One tribulation could involve coordination between a dozen different celestial bureaus, that’s why only the Office of Qiming could pull it all together.

 

Given Xuanzang’s clear preference for “no combat,” Li Chang-geng selected a “Turn-Misfortune-into-Fortune” package. The plan was simple: Monster kidnaps target, threatens them. Target stands firm and inspires a hidden master to show up and save them.

 

It was a bit basic, sure, but the upside was that the target mostly just had to sit there. Li Chang-geng, after all these years, knew what Ordeal Support was really about: no fancy new ideas, stability first.

 

He picked a site in the mountains near Fuyuan Temple in Hezhou, a key stop on the pilgrimage route. He recruited three local monsters—the lord of the Bear Mountain (a bear-spirit), the Hermit (a buffalo-spirit), and General Yin (a tiger-spirit)—gave them an in-person briefing, ran a few rehearsals, and had each take up their assigned position.

 

Calculating the days, Li Chang-geng reckoned that Xuanzang should be passing the temple by now. He mounted his crane and flew out to greet him—only for his heart to sink the moment he saw the pilgrimage party.

 

Guanyin had clearly said Xuanzang would be traveling alone on horseback. Yet there he was, flanked by two mortal attendants. That, at least, might still be manageable. What truely overwhelmed him was the massive god-squad hovering above: a whole crowd of divine figures packed shoulder to shoulder. Four Duty Officers of Year, Month, Day, and Hour; Five Directional Sentinels; Six Protective Generals on each side; and Eighteen Dharma Guardians. A grand total of thirty-nine celestial heavyweights, swarming overhead like thunderclouds.

 

Li Chang-geng hurried over and demanded to know what was going on. The assembled gods merely turned their faces away, pointedly ignoring him. Left with no choice, he sent a flying note to Guanyin for clarification. Only after a long while did her reply arrive—six characters and no more:

“Thus have I heard. Great Thunderclap Monastery.”

 

She offered no further explanation, but Li Chang-geng understood at once. The pilgrimage was an undertaking arranged by the Vulture Peak; then as the admin hall of Spirit Mountain, the Great Thunderclap Monastery naturally had to assign personnel to supervise the entire affair. And since the Celestial Court had also taken part, it was only inevitable that it would plant a few of its own eyes and ears as well.

 

He could picture exactly how it had escalated. Spirit Mountain had started with just Guanyin. Then the Celestial Court dispatched the Four Duty Officers. Spirit Mountain, unwilling to be outnumbered, countered with the Five Directional Sentinels. The Court, adhering to the principle of “balance”, responded with Six Protective Generals on each side. Whereupon Spirit Mountain promptly added Eighteen Dharma Guardians in one stroke…And so it went—two more on one side, a matching pair on the other—until the whole thing ballooned into a supervisory entourage outnumbering the actual pilgrims by several dozen.

 

Li Chang-geng glanced at the thirty-odd gods and sighed inwardly. Fine. As long as they did not interfere with the ordeal itself, he’d host them all. The problem was that this round of Ordeal Support was to last a full day and night, which meant arranging accommodation for all thirty-nine of them.

 

The Duty Officers and the Protective Generals were from the Celestial Court. Each required a separate meditation grotto for daily cultivation, complete with a sweet spring nearby, ancient trees no younger than a thousand years, and trailing vines no shorter than one hundred feet.

 

 

The Directional Sentinels and the Dharma Guardians of Spirit Mountain, weren’t picky about comforts, but they had to receive daily offerings of incense, and ordinary tallow candles would not do; only pure, plant-based candles were acceptable.

 

Just organising all the logistics was enough to leave Li Chang-geng reeling. And just when he thought everything was finally in place, something else went wrong.

 

The three local demons spotted Xuanzang and were just about to act according to the plan when they happened to look up—only to see dozens of gods hovering in midair, each holding a little notebook and staring straight down at them. The sight scared the demons out of their wits. They dropped to the ground, rolled over, reverted to their original forms, and lay there trembling like sieves, utterly incapable of getting back up.

 

Li Chang-geng rode his cloud over and asked what on earth was going on. The gods replied that they had been ordered to record the entire ordeal from start to finish, and that these were direct instructions from both the Buddha and the Jade Emperor. There was nothing he could do about that. So he turned back and coaxed, pleaded, and cajoled until he finally persuaded the three monsters to transform back into human form and, shaking with terror, usher Xuanzang into the tiger’s den. Even then, the demons were so rattled they had no presence of mind left at all—their acting stiff and painfully awkward—forcing Li Chang-geng to stay invisible the whole time, feeding them their lines.

 

Xuanzang, for his part, remained expressionless throughout. The veins on his shaved head stood out faintly, a clear sign of his displeasure.

 

Sensing trouble, Li Chang-geng hurried them through the rest of the performance, grabbed Xuanzang, and pulled him out of the pit and back onto the main road. Xuanzang struck a perfunctory pose so that the guardian deities hovering above could capture their records, then said not a word. He mounted his horse and rode off at full speed, leaving even the two mortal attendants behind.

 

Li Chang-geng followed on a cloud until he was sure Xuanzang had successfully met up with Liu Bochqin at Double-Fork Ridge. Only then did he return to the Celestial Court.

 

“……Honestly, what kind of god-awful mess was that supposed to be?”

 

Li Chang-geng had been grumbling for quite a while. When he finally looked up, the seat across the table was already empty. He checked the time—well, what do you know—the Hour of the Goat had already passed, no wonder she’d clocked off.

 

After eloping all those years ago, the Weaver Girl gave birth to a pair of twins—a boy and a girl. Later she was hauled back by the Queen Mother of Kunlun, and the children were left in their father’s care. These days, relations between the Cowherd and his formidable mother-in-law have thawed somewhat. Under the pretext of sponsoring the Qiqiao Festival, the Queen Mother of Kunlun granted special approval for tens of thousands of magpies to form a bridge, allowing the family to reunite once a year.

 

A year in the mortal world equals a single day in Heaven. And so, without fail, the Weaver Girl clocks off on time every day, heading off to meet her husband and children.

 

The Office of Qiming fell quiet again, leaving Li Chang-geng alone. He drained the last of the celestial dew tea in one go. The Weaving Girl could leave work on the dot, while he, on the other hand, could not.

 

The fees for the freelance demons, the rental cost of the tiger’s den—all of it had to be submitted for reimbursement as soon as possible. The Celestial Court was strict about such matters. Miss the deadline by a year—a mortal year—and the claim would be rejected outright. Every time he submitted the paperwork even a little late, Zhao Gongming, the God of Wealth, would wear a scowl fiercer than his black tiger mount.

 

The reception costs for those thirty-nine gods, however, were a lost cause. They refused to acknowledge that they had been escorting Xuanzang—no official mandate, no reimbursement. Fortunately, Li Chang-geng was experienced. He had advanced a contingency fund ahead of time and would find some pretext later to write it off. His crane had been injured today anyway; perhaps he could squeeze out a bit of “nutritional expenses” while he was at it.

 

And that wasn’t all. He still had to draft an official notice for today’s ordeal—one that would eventually be circulated to all corners, for the purposes of commendation and public proclamation.

 

Strictly speaking, the Central Hall of Lingxiao had professional scribes for this sort of thing. But the staff there—Kui Xing, God of Examinations, and Wen Qu, God of Literary Talent—were astonishingly lazy, doing nothing but pestering Qiming Office for source material. All things considered, it was easier to write it himself first and spare the trouble. 

 

Li Chang-geng ran through the tasks he had to finish during today’s overtime and felt his head spinning. He swallowed an alertness pill and, in a numb daze, flipped through the thick stack of jade slips in the basket. Suddenly, a low rumble echoed from outside the hall, making the entire chamber tremble slightly. The stack of jade slips went clang to the floor.

 

Startled, Li Chang-geng realized the rumble seemed to come from the Eastern Mortal Realm. But what kind of commotion could shake even the Central Hall of Lingxiao like this? Could another great demon have appeared?

 

Of course, such matters were handled by Thousand-league Eye and Down-the-wind Ears. Having been an immortal for so long, he knew better than to pry into things he shouldn’t. He forced down his curiosity and bent to pick up the scattered jade slips. As he did, he noticed a partially written document in ancient seal script, and a faint thrill stirred in his chest.

 

Li Chang-geng’s path of cultivation had been long and fraught with setbacks. Being the Head of the Office of Qiming might sound prestigious, but in reality the work was trivial to the extreme: all the endless errands, greetings, and formalities were exhausting, leaving him little time to advance his cultivation. He had always aimed to reach the status of Golden Immortal, yet for some reason a block lingered in his mind, stubbornly refusing to dissolve, keeping his progress stalled.

 

He had almost given up hope, planning to retire as a wandering immortal after reaching his allotted years—roaming Mount Cangwu in the morning and North Sea by night, which would have been a fine life. But five hundred years ago, a great upheaval in the Celestial Court had left several Golden Immortal positions vacant. Li Chang-geng realized he had the seniority to claim one—if only he could raise his cultivation level.

 

A faint warmth crept into his chest. He forced himself back to the official notice before him. Perhaps if he did this well, his thoughts might align, and the coveted position of Golden Immortal would finally be within reach.

 

When it came to drafting the official notice, the rules were rather arcane. Under no circumstances could it mention the involvement of any Ordeal Support. It could only say that the subject had, upon sensing a hint of heavenly providence, resolutely chosen to undergo the ordeal himself—even though everyone knew perfectly well what had really happened, this was the only acceptable phrasing.

 

Moreover, the focus of the praise was not meant to be the ordeal itself, but discerning the essence: what virtues the subject had demonstrated, what subtle truths of the Dao he had come to grasp, how the experience resonated with the workings of all laws and transformations, and so on. Immortals whose cultivation had not yet reached the requisite level simply could not hit the mark when writing such things.

 

Li Chang-geng gathered his focus and, with swift strokes, finished the notice in one sitting. After some deliberation, he lifted his brush and drafted a title at the top:

 

“Great Virtue Enduring Cycles; Seeking the Truth Without End.”

 

He looked it over, then struck out “Enduring Cycles”—too passive. He replaced it with “Cultivating Without Cease.” Reading it again, he added a qualifier to “Great Virtue”—“the Great Virtue of the Eastern Lands”—so as to acknowledge the roles of both the Celestial Court and the Spirit Mountain.

 

 

On a third pass, he inserted the words “through repeated trials.” Yet no matter how he read it, something felt off. Taking out the proclamation from Vulture Peak and examining it carefully, Li Chang-geng realized that he had indeed made a mistake.

 

The Buddha had said, “The Dharma must not be transmitted lightly.” Not “must not be transmitted,” but “must not be transmitted lightly.” The emphasis lay not on “must not,” but on “lightly.” Which meant that the true weight ultimately fell on the final word: transmitted. In other words, the core was not the ordeal itself, but how one overcame it—this, and this alone, was the true meaning of the transmission of the Dharma.

 

He crossed things out and revised again, changing “through repeated trials” to “overcoming repeated trials.” Then, recalling all those thirty-nine deities, he added the phrase “setting out alone.”

 

But when he read the title through once more, he found it unbearably long. After brooding over it for half the night, Li Chang-geng finally deleted the whole thing and wrote four new characters instead:

 

“Where Lies the Way?”

 

That should do. Li Chang-geng looked it over from left to right, quietly pleased with himself. The title was hardly inspired, but it was safe and well-judged, striking the right balance and leaving every interested party properly accounted for. He was confident that even Kui Xing and Wen Qu would find nothing to pick at.

 

He then went through the motions with practiced ease, padding the opening and closing with stock phrases like “blessings as vast as mountains” and “virtues as deep as seas,” ran a final check on the formatting, and only then considered the work finished. With that, he sent it off to Guanyin.

 

Once everything was done, Li Chang-geng let out a long yawn, exhaustion finally catching up with him. Mortals often imagine that immortals never grow tired—an ignorant assumption. Dealing with human affairs costs an immortal little effort, but true celestial work drains the mind all the same. He might have pushed on for a while longer, but his head felt too heavy; he would have to return to his grotto and sit in meditation for a spell before he could recover.

 

He gathered his things and left the Office of Qiming. Just as he was summoning his crane, Officer Wang, who was on gate duty, came over. “Li,” he said, “someone’s looking for you outside the South Heavenly Gate.”

 

“Who?” Li Chang-geng paused.

 

Wang shrugged. “Who else could it be? Someone filing a celestial complaint.”

 

 

 

 

On 1/27/2026 at 4:14 PM, Joe1020 said:

马伯庸

Oh wow this is the guy that wrote The Lychee Road another really great movie I'd suggest.

Good job with chapter 2, looking forward to more

On 1/28/2026 at 5:58 AM, ez said:

The Lychee Road

Yes! I’ve read the novel, but not the movie, I’ll go and have a look! He is a brilliant writer! 

Chapter three, here it goes.

 

 

 

In the mortal world, there were always the odd unattached immortal or wild demon who had suffered some injustice and found nowhere to appeal, and so came to the Heavenly Court to beat the drum and cry for redress. The Jade Emperor, benevolent by nature, disliked shutting them all out entirely. In the end, he simply tacked this extra duty onto the Office of Qiming to receive these aggrieved petitioners.

 

Li Chang-geng had initially taken pains to hear each case in detail. But after too many such audiences, he began to feel that many of the complaints were, frankly, absurd. From then on, he adopted a single rule: all cases were sent back to be handled by the petitioner’s original realm.

 

So when he heard it was another appeal, he didn’t even lift his head.

“I’m off duty. Tell him to come back tomorrow.”

 

Officer Wang gave a wry smile. “Anyone ordinary, I’d have sent packing long ago. But this one’s been hanging around for almost a month now and still won’t leave. Tough as nails.” He paused, then added, “And, well, there’s something a bit special about him.”

 

He winked. Li Chang-geng’s curiosity was piqued.

 

The two of them stepped out through the South Heavenly Gate. At once, a thin, scrawny figure sprang out from beside one of the gate pillars. The moment Li Chang-geng caught sight of that monkey-like silhouette, his heart skipped a beat.

 

Sun Wukong?

 

Wasn’t that fellow supposed to be pinned beneath the Five Elements Mountain?

 

He looked again, more carefully. There were subtle differences. This creature had six ears, arranged like a wreath encircling its head, and its manner was timid and cringing—nothing at all like that other monkey’s brazen swagger. Seeing the Head of Qiming Office approach, it hurriedly clasped its hands and bowed.

 

Not bothering to reopen the Office, Li Chang-geng simply asked there at the Gate, “What’s your name? And what grievance are you bringing?”

 

“This humble demon is called the Six-Eared Macaque,” it replied.

“I beg the Heavenly Court to uphold justice in a matter of stolen identity and usurped fate.”

 

Now that he had finally caught the attention of someone in charge, the macaque dared not waste the chance and spoke fast and urgently, pouring out his story in one long rush.

 

It turned out that this Six-Eared Macaque had originally been nothing more than a wild monkey-spirit. For years he had cultivated in the mountains, intent on taking the proper path toward ascension. After all, for demons, monsters, spirits, and other such beings outside the orthodox order of the Six Realms, earning a place among the immortals was exceedingly difficult. One first had to be accepted by a legitimate immortal master, and only with a recognised lineage did ascension even become possible.

 

The master Six-Eared had sought out was Patriarch Subodhi of the Cave of Slanting Moon and Three Stars on the Mountain of Mind and Heart. His aptitude, comprehension, natural endowment, and karmic ties had all been tested, but then nothing. He waited and waited, yet no word ever came. Convinced that Patriarch Subodhi ultimately looked down on those of demonic origin, Six-Eared fell into despair and turned instead to cultivating Demonic Arts. Over the years he lived freely enough, but his path to immortality was cut off for good, which had always been a regret to his heart.

 

One day, he happened to meet a Daoist who claimed to be a disciple of Patriarch Subodhi. After some conversation, Six-Eared learned that in that very same year the Patriarch had taken in a Spirit-Born Stone Monkey, whom he favoured greatly and bestowed with the Dharma name “Wukong.” Among the disciples it was said that the Patriarch had even instructed Wukong in secret at midnight, granting him access to the true teachings. Yet when Wukong later departed, the Patriarch forbade him from revealing his lineage—a most peculiar restriction.

 

Deeply unsettled, Six-Eared investigated further and discovered that this Wukong had later stormed the Underworld and crossed out the entire Monkey clan from the Registers of Births and Deaths. That, to Six-Eared, was stranger still. After such a disturbance, even Wukong’s allotted lifespan could no longer be calculated, let alone verified—making it impossible to determine the year in which he had first gone to seek Patriarch Subodhi.

 

Six-Eared began to suspect that his own identity had been usurped back then, that the Spirit-Born Stone Monkey had taken his place as Patriarch Subodhi’s disciple, and later erased the evidence in the Underworld. Burning with resentment, he finally resolved to come before the Heavenly Court and file an imperial appeal.

 

When he finished, he even pulled a thick roll of papers out from one of his ears, densely packed with tiny characters. Li Chang-geng listened to the lengthy petition and could not help but feel secretly astonished. He knew Sun Wukong all too well. After all, he was the one in charge of both of Wukong’s official appointments. He had never imagined there might be such a hidden complication behind it all.

 

With a dry chuckle, Li Chang-geng said to Six-Eared, “Sun Wukong committed a serious offence and has already been imprisoned beneath the Five Elements Mountain. You do know that, don’t you?”

 

Six-Eared nodded at once. “I don’t seek any punishment for him. All I ask is to be allowed to re-enter Patriarch Subodhi’s tutelage, to have my obstructing bone dissolved, and to begin my cultivation anew—so I might make up for these hundreds of wasted years. I beg the Immortal Lord for fairness. I beg the Immortal Lord for fairness.” By the end, tears brimmed in the macaque’s eyes as he bowed again and again.

 

In truth, even if the Heavenly Court were to grant approval, switching from demonic cultivation back to the immortal path would be an almost impossible undertaking. But seeing how gaunt and worn the monkey looked, Li Chang-geng could not bring himself to say it outright. He merely replied vaguely, “I’ll forward this to the relevant offices. Once it’s been verified, you’ll be notified as soon as possible.”

 

Six-Eared thanked him profusely, bowing again and again, and left the South Gate in high spirits.

 

Li Chang-geng tucked the petition away, bade farewell to Officer Wang, and mounted his crane, flying back toward his own abode. Midway through the journey, a sudden transmission arrived. It’s an internal bulletin from the Heavenly Court, reporting disturbances at Two-Realms Mountain along the border between the Great Tang and the Tartar lands below.

 

The shorter the notice, the graver the matter. Li Chang-geng was startled. The one imprisoned beneath the Five Elements Mountain was no ordinary being. That tremor just now—surely it couldn’t be that monkey breaking loose?

 

He was still weighing whether to turn back to the Qiming Office and make some advance preparations when another message arrived—this time a flying note from Guanyin.

 

‘Just looping you in on the latest update,’ it read. ‘Xuanzang has just taken on a new disciple. Here’s the detail.’

 

Li Chang-geng opened it, glanced at the name, and blurted out, “Boundless Heavenly Worthy!”

 

The name Sun Wukong might mean little to others, but Li Chang-geng knew it all too well.

 

That stone monkey’s rise—from Stablemaster to Great Sage Equal to Heaven—had been orchestrated entirely by his own hand. Just when a major success in pacifying the rebel was within reach, the monkey proved utterly incorrigible, throwing the entire Celestial Court into chaos. In the end, he was suppressed beneath the Five Elements Mountain by the Buddha himself. By now, nearly five hundred years had passed.

And now the Buddha intended to release him?

 

What was the meaning of this? Was there no fear that, once the monkey’s temper flared, he might simply beat Xuanzang to death with a single swing of his staff? And more than that, why had Guanyin not said a word to him about something this momentous beforehand?

 

Li Chang-geng simmered for a while before his anger finally ebbed. His own duty had already been discharged; whom they chose to take on as a disciple was none of the concern of Qiming Office.

Then, all of a sudden, the image of that scrawny six-eared macaque’s retreating figure flashed through his mind. He patted the petition tucked against his chest and let out a soft sigh. An hour earlier, Six-Eared’s plea might still have stood a chance. But now that Sun Wukong had been taken on as Xuanzang’s disciple, the nature of the matter had changed entirely.

 

Forget it, Li Chang-geng thought. A monkey who has cultivated demonic arts, even if he were to re-entre Patriarch Subodhi’s tutelage, wouldn’t amount to much. Stall for long enough, and he’ll learn to take the hint and slink back to his mountain lair.

 

Just then, the tablet at his waist chimed again—it was Guanyin sending another transmission. Li Chang-geng slipped the petition back into his sleeve and gathered his thoughts. Guanyin opened with praise:

 

“Master Li, I’ve read the memorial. Very well written—thorough, meticulous, just what one would expect from a seasoned hand. Let’s keep up the good work.”

 

Li Chang-geng frowned at once. Something about that sounded off. As if sensing it, Guanyin continued without pause:

 

“Oh, I forgot to give you the full picture earlier. The Buddha believes this journey for the scriptures is of exceptional importance, so the quota has been set at nine times nine—eighty-one trials in total. We’ll all need to put in a bit more effort from here on out.”

 

Li Chang-geng’s vision went black. What? Eighty more? Is everyone completely out of their minds?

 

Guanyin hurried to reassure him. “As for that quota,” she said gently, “it’s not set in stone. The way we count it can always be adjusted. We could start from Xuanzang’s birth… no, better yet, from the moment Golden Cicada was cast down from heaven. Let me tally it up for you. Golden Cicada’s banishment counts as the first trial; narrowly escaping death at birth, the second; cast into the river at one month old, the third; seeking out his kin and avenging past wrongs, the fourth. Then there’s the trial you arranged, Li—that one can be split into ‘Encountering the Tiger outside the Town’ and ‘Taking a Wrong Turn and Falling into a Pit’. Look—just like that, six trials are already accounted for, aren’t they?”

 

Li Chang-geng felt his spirits lift a little. But the more he thought about it, the more something felt off.

 

Hold on—wasn’t this whole pilgrimage thing supposed to be Spirit Mountain’s affair? He was only meant to help coordinate things. Why did it suddenly sound as though all the work ahead was being laid squarely at his door? Before he could voice his objection, Guanyin cut in smoothly.

“The Buddha was most impressed by your official notice. He’s had it circulated among the heavens—to all the Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Arhats, monks and nuns alike. Everyone has praised it, rejoicing and chanting its excellence.”

 

The moment Li Chang-geng heard this, his heart sank. Damn it. He’d walked straight into her trap.

 

Guanyin must have known from the start that the Buddha had fixed the total at eighty-one trials. Yet she had only mentioned a single one to him. Li Chang-geng had thought he was merely lending a hand for a small, one-off task. Who would have guessed that once the memorial went out, the entire cosmos would know that this particular trial was under the support of the Lord of the Taibai Star—and that everything to follow would, quite naturally, also fall to him.

 

Recalling how Guanyin had just now spoken so earnestly, even helping him “work out” the numbers, Li Chang-geng felt a surge of bitter frustration. So that was it: she had helped him solve a difficulty that never existed in the first place, and in doing so bestowed upon him a favor he had never needed. No wonder the Gods and Buddhas in the heaven all preached purity, non-action, and freedom from entanglements. Only by never taking the initiative could one avoid being ensnared by karma in the first place.

 

Seeing that Li Chang-geng remained silent for a long while, Guanyin knew he was still simmering inside. So she took the initiative.

“Master Li, your Ordeal Support was truly splendid. It shows just how deep your insight into the Dharma runs. I won’t be surprised if one day you attained the rank of Golden Immortal, just don’t forget to invite me to a cup of vegetarian wine.”

 

The remark hit Li Chang-geng squarely where it itched. Things had already come this far; there was nothing for it now. He could only reply with a restrained, noncommittal, “I see.”

 

Guanyin immediately pressed on, rubbing him the right way. “Don’t worry. This is the work of two of us—you won’t be left to shoulder it alone. Li, hurry back and get some rest. I’ll take care of the registrition of the next few trials.”

 

She was being so solicitous, even shifting her form of address from ‘Immortal Li’ to ‘Li’, that Li Chang-geng found himself at a loss for words. He quietly put away the flying note, mounted his crane, and headed straight back to Jiucha Mountain.

 

This was a blessed grotto assigned by the Celestial Court. It was not particularly vast, but it lacked none of the essentials: sheer peaks and secluded ravines, pearl-like trees and jade-bright groves. The only flaw was its age. Now and then a waterfall would run dry; from time to time a cavern would collapse. Nothing major, just an endless string of minor nuisances.

 

Li Chang-geng entered his grotto-dwelling and first tended to his white crane, washing and smoothing its feathers. He then took off his robe and made a quick pass with his fingers, clearing away the dust.

 

Glancing up by chance, he noticed a faint sheen of moisture on the vaulted ceiling—no doubt seepage from a spirit spring in the surrounding rock. He had mentioned it to the local mountain god more than once; the fellow had merely gone through the motions, hanging a water-repelling pearl overhead, and to this day had yet to dispatch any maintenance guy to carry out proper repairs.

 

With those chores done, Li Chang-geng tore off a few bites of heavenly bread, then sat cross-legged on his meditation cushion. Yet before he could complete even a single microcosmic orbit, a flash of light appeared above his head—a message was coming in. 

 

The flying note had transformed into a drifting ball of light, circling endlessly without ever solidifying and descending. Li Chang-geng sighed. His grotto lay deep among clustered peaks and forested ravines—perfect for quiet cultivation, to be sure, but with poor signal. Only from the mountaintop could such messages fully take form.

 

He considered leaving it until the next day, but the thought nagged at him. In the end, he gave his legs a quick pat, got off the cushion, and huffed and puffed his way up to the summit of Jiucha Mountain.

The moment he reached the top, radiant light burst forth in shimmering layers, rich with immortal resonance. All at once, the flying notes Guanyin had sent came pouring in.

 

The first read:
“Li, before Xuanzang meets Liu Boqin at the Double-Fork Ridge, he runs into a tiger. I’ve logged that as the seventh trial.”

 

The second:
“Li, Xuanzang taking Sun Wukong as his disciple at the Two-Realms Mountain—I’ve logged that as the eighth trial. The notice’s attached; have a look.”

 

The third:
“The Dragon King of the Western Sea says his third prince volunteered for some ‘training.’ I’ve sent him to Eagle-Grief Ravine to eat Xuanzang’s white horse first—there, that gives us the ninth trial. Afterwards he’ll be punished by taking the horse’s place as a mount.”

 

The fourth:
“I’m exhausted—off to bathe. The tenth trial is over to you, Li. Try not to leave too big a gap after the ninth, all right?”

 

The fifth:
“Oh, and Sun Wukong’s quite formidable in combat. For our upcoming Support strategy, we can afford to be a bit bolder.”

 

Li Chang-geng let out a long breath. In the blink of an eye they had already pushed things along to the ninth trial—and at a respectable pace, too. He replied with a brief “Take care of your immortal health,” then strolled back to his grotto, sat down cross-legged once more, and began reading the notice of the trial taken place in the  Five Elements Mountain.

 

Guanyin’s notice was lavishly embellished, all florid praise for the boundlessness of the Dharma and the virtue of a prodigal’s return. It even came with an illustration: a monkey wearing a golden circlet, kneeling before Xuanzang, while the monk stood beside him, palms joined in prayer, his expression solemn and devout.

 

Li Chang-geng skimmed it a few times. The diction was a touch overblown, but nothing outright amiss. He set it aside and resumed his cultivation. After circulating his breath through three full cycles, his mind grew clear, as though a thin film of dust had been gently brushed away—and suddenly, something about the whole affair tasted off.

 

Look at everything Guanyin had arranged. First, she went to Chang’an to present Xuanzang with the kasaya and the staff. Then she had Liu Boqin receive him. After that came Sun Wukong as a disciple, and now the Dragon King’s third son as a mount. All of it was filed under “trials and tribulations,” yet every single step amounted to another gift neatly delivered to Xuanzang.

 

Snatching credit would have been one thing. What rankled was that she kept it all close to the chest, never bothering to coordinate in advance, leaving Li Chang-geng thoroughly on the back foot.

 

After all, Support Packages were designed per capita. Different headcounts meant entirely different methods. Li Chang-geng had originally selected a careful set of single-user packages, ones that avoided combat altogether. Now, without so much as a word, Guanyin had added a monkey and a dragon to the party. The entire plan was effectively scrapped and would have to be reworked from scratch.

 

No wonder she had urged him to be “bolder.” So that was it—just another pile of extra work dumped on his desk.

 

Li Chang-geng thought this through and instantly lost all interest in circulating his breath. All the easy favors—those were hers. All the thankless, back-breaking work—fell squarely on him. And she even had the nerve to send a flying note over to ask for commendation, as if she were doing him a favor.

 

He almost flew back to the mountaintop just to hurl a curse through the flying note—but then he paused. What could he really scold her for? Everything Guanyin did was perfectly proper. Even if it reached the ears of the Buddha or the Jade Emperor, there’d be nothing wrong to point out. Only his own cultivation would look insufficient in contrast.

 

This was a true master. She could make you take a loss, and still leave you indebted.

 

Still, Li Chang-geng knew he couldn’t just let it slide. In the immortal realms, everything followed the “Natural Flow of the Way.” What does that mean? Heaven presses down on earth, the high presses on the low. If you yielded once, your aura shrank; others would naturally take advantage.

 

He returned to his grotto, unfurled a map, and scanned Xuanzang’s planned route. After a few moments, his eyes lit up. Without even going back inside, he summoned his white crane and headed straight for the mortal world.