My name is Ao Lie, the third prince of the Dragon King of the West Sea. Because I broke my father's pearl, I was sued to heaven by my father. Later, Guanyin arranged for me to be a foot supporter for Buddhist scripture seekers - that is, I turned into a horse and carried Monk Tang to the West to retrieve scriptures.
I am the one with the least sense of presence in the group. Don't talk, don't fight, don't make decisions, don't carry burdens. The master held meetings and asked, "Wukong, what do you think?" "Where are you Bajie?" And "Wu Jing?". He never asked "Baima, what do you think?" I stood at the back of the team the whole time, watching them argue, watch them break up, watch them make up, and watch them learn from each other. Twenty-four thousand miles without losing a step.
I know which of the real and fake Monkey King is real - the real Monkey King rides with his center of gravity tilted to the right, but the fake one doesn't. I know that the master was moved by his mortal heart that night in the Daughter Kingdom. I know everything, but I can't tell it because I'm a horse. The horse has no say.
This book does not contain the excitement of the Golden Cudgel wreaking havoc in the Heavenly Palace, nor the fantasy of the Seventy-Two Transformations. Instead, it contains the 24,000-mile story of a dragon disguised as a horse, about the grassroots, about spectators, and about those unseen hoof prints.
Fourteen years later, when I arrived at Lingshan, I was awarded the title of "Eight Divisions of Heavenly Dragon Horse". You see, the dragon is just a dragon, with the word "horse" added - because you are essentially being ridden. Just like you have been working at the grassroots level for fifteen years, and everyone still calls you "Xiao Zhang".
This book is about a grassroots worker's memoirs. In other words, it is the whole process of a dragon learning to be a horse.
Purpose: This book reinterprets Journey to the West from the perspective of Bai Longma - the least conspicuous person on the way to seek scriptures is the one who sees the most truth. The grassroots are not supporting roles, they are those who have traveled 24,000 miles silently but do not even have a voice. They existed, their hoofprints are there.
