Dark Journey to the West: Slaying Buddhas

The Merit Buddha of Sandalwood Fragrance had that dream again. Not the bloodshed of the eighty-one trials, nor the transformation at the River of the Rising Dragon, but something from much farther back... A pair of furry hands, drenched in blood, held out a still-beating heart to him. A hoarse voice said, “Master, eat it. It’s the only way to cross Flaming Mountain.” Tang Sanzang jolted awake, his fingertips touching the cold, hard scroll of the “Wordless Broken Sutra” beside his pillow. Outside the hall, celestial music drifted through the air, and the Grand Banquet to Pacify Heaven was in full swing. He could clearly feel a sliver of his original merit quietly draining from his spiritual altar, flowing into the revelry below. He looked down at his jade-white palms, and could almost smell the nightmarish stench of blood from three hundred years ago. “This time,” he murmured, a golden glint of fury flashing in his eyes, “it’s our turn to eat people.”