My master was eaten by Red Boy.
The brocade kasaya lay in three torn pieces, pinning down a half-gnawed bone. Beneath the stone table, the hand bone that had gripped a monk’s staff for years had polished, gleaming knuckles.
I brought my staff down, and the tightening band exploded.
It wasn’t to stop me from killing. My eyes had gone red, and I could see a golden light shining in the child’s heart.
My master’s true spirit was still inside his belly.
I couldn’t kill him. If I did, my master would be gone for good.
But if I protected him, everyone in the Three Realms who wanted eternal life or Buddhahood would come after him.
An eight-year-old child carrying my master’s life inside him, calling me “Uncle Sun the Monkey.”
And I had to protect him, fighting all the way to Spirit Mountain.
