Journey to the West: Sha Wujing Gives His Life to Help Them Become Buddhas

Eight hundred li across the Flowing-Sand Realm, three thousand fathoms deep, the water is weak.

Even goose feathers cannot float; even reed flowers sink straight to the bottom.

I lie in the darkest depths of the river, letting cold mud and sand envelop my battered body.

Every inch of skin bears the scars of failure. Every breath carries the bloody taste of regret.

In my chest, the flying sword pierces me as it does every seven days, bringing the cold severity of Heaven's laws.

How laughable. All for that glass lamp I broke, and yet I lost far more than a glass lamp.

It was my future in Heaven, the dignity of the Curtain-Raising General.

"Curtain-Raising General,"