I am Tang Monk and I am also Wukong. From the moment the golden hoop was embedded in the forehead bone, the two souls began to rotate in this body.
During the day, I was a holy monk, wearing brocade cassocks, reciting scriptures on compassion, and watching the monkey scratching its ears and cheeks and calling me Master. As the night falls, the golden eyes are burning under the skin - I have to resist the urge to pick up the golden cudgel, swallow back the cry of "take a stick from my old grandson", and twist every prayer bead with trembling fingertips.
The Buddha said that all living beings suffer. It turns out that the most painful thing is watching yourself play another self soberly.
