Chapter 31: What’s Going On?

Following the path home, Chang Yu strolled along, pausing now and then. When he passed by a bookstore, he couldn’t help but stop in his tracks. The sight of the bookstore reminded him of Mr. Marx’s famous saying: “Instead of adorning oneself with splendid garments, it is better to arm oneself with knowledge.”

Thinking of himself as something of a pioneer of the proletarian revolution, he felt he ought to visit the bookstore and buy a few books to arm his mind. After all, as a person within the system, he needed at least a modicum of culture.

Entering the bookstore, Chang Yu wove through the other customers, moving from one shelf to another, his gaze skimming over the titles. Books on finance, philosophy, and history held no appeal for him. It wasn’t until he reached the section of world classics that his interest was piqued.

A classically bound edition of “Journey to the West” caught his eye. He stopped, reached out, and took the book in his hands.

“I recall my master once said that the author of ‘Journey to the West,’ Master Wu Cheng’en, was the founding patriarch of our Fuling line,” Chang Yu thought to himself.

“Since it was written by our ancestral master, as a descendant, I truly ought to study it.”

“If my master was right, this ‘Journey to the West’ records events from ancient times; perhaps by reading it, I’ll gain some insight into the secrets of that era.”

With this thought, Chang Yu took the book to the cashier.

“Hello, I’d like to buy this book,” he said to the young man at the register.

“Certainly, one moment… That’ll be forty-five yuan.” The cashier smiled as he scanned the barcode.

After paying, Chang Yu made his way back to his apartment. Shedding his coat, he sat cross-legged on his bed and began to leaf through his new copy of “Journey to the West.”

From the birth of the Stone Monkey, to his rise as the Handsome Monkey King, his apprenticeship under the immortal, his triumphant return home, and his defeat of the Demon King—Chang Yu found himself utterly engrossed.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and soon it was time to sleep. Chang Yu, feeling the weight of fatigue and drowsiness, closed the book and set it beside his pillow. He mused, “This ‘Journey to the West’ is truly vivid. If only my master could read it as well.”

“It’s strange—being one of the Four Great Classical Novels, ‘Journey to the West’ is known by all. Why has my master never read it?”

With these thoughts swirling, he lay down, closed his eyes, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

As he slept, he unconsciously rolled over, his hand resting atop the copy of “Journey to the West” by his pillow.

…

Melodious birdsong filled the valley, instantly soothing the spirit. The fragrant scent of grass and trees wafted on the breeze, refreshing all who breathed it in.

Chang Yu found himself once again in the Fuling Valley. But this time, something was different—he was clutching a heavy object in his hand.

“What is this?”

Feeling the weight, he looked down—and was startled by what he saw.

It was none other than a copy of “Journey to the West,” and the cover was identical to the one he had just purchased earlier that day.

“Could this really be the very book I just bought?” The more Chang Yu looked, the more familiar it seemed. His curiosity aroused, he opened it.

With a tumult of emotions, he began to page through the book. On the very page he’d last read before sleeping, he noticed a folded corner.

It was the mark he himself had made before going to bed.

This discovery convinced him that what he held was indeed the very copy of “Journey to the West” he had just purchased.

“How strange! Why has this book appeared in my dream? I distinctly remember leaving it by my pillow.”

Scratching his head, Chang Yu’s expression was a mix of bewilderment and alarm.

No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make sense of why a book that belonged in the real world should appear here.

He stood there, dazed, not even noticing the sweat from his palm staining the book’s cover.

Only when a gentle, kindly voice called out did he snap from his reverie: “My dear disciple, what are you daydreaming about over there?”

Chang Yu turned to see Master Hao Er, dressed in white, hair as white as a crane’s but face youthful, smiling kindly at him.

Yet the tension inside Chang Yu did not ease with his master’s arrival. Swallowing hard, he said, “Master, I think I may be possessed.”

Chang Yu was not joking—he truly felt something was amiss.

If he wasn’t possessed, why would he be hallucinating?

If it wasn’t a hallucination, why would the book that should have been quietly lying beside his pillow now appear here?

“My dear boy, have you gone soft in the head? What nonsense are you talking?” Master Hao Er, seeing Chang Yu babble, was both amused and exasperated.

“Master, just look at what I have here and you’ll understand.” Chang Yu, too distracted to explain, handed the book over.

“My, what exquisite paper! And so perfectly preserved.” The moment Master Hao Er took the book, his initial puzzlement turned to astonishment.

“My dear disciple, I have never seen such fine, delicate paper. Why, the paper alone is priceless!”

He caressed the cover and the binding, clearly enamored, his eyes aglow with delight.

Watching his master treat the book as if it were a rare treasure, Chang Yu could only shake his head.

Did this master of his have no discernment at all?

This was just an ordinary copy of “Journey to the West” he’d bought for forty yuan—not exactly a priceless relic.

As for the paper, it was nothing more than plain, modern white stock—nothing special.

Carefully choosing his words, Chang Yu explained, “Master, this is the ‘Journey to the West’ I mentioned before.”

“Please, see if it really records the secrets of ancient times.”

Master Hao Er began to read. The more he read, the more amazed he became, his expression growing ever more animated.

When at last he finished and saw the author’s name, Wu Cheng’en, on the cover, he declared with certainty:

“Indeed! This book contains the secrets of the ancient era. It must be the very journal written by our ancestral master Wu Cheng’en!”

His cheeks flushed with excitement, his joy was unmistakable. This only deepened Chang Yu’s confusion.

“Master, is this truly the first time you’ve read ‘Journey to the West’?” Chang Yu asked incredulously.

“Of course it is. Why would I lie to you?” Master Hao Er huffed, feigning indignation.

“I’ve never even heard of this ‘Journey to the West,’ much less read it.”

“To be able to read the journal of Master Wu Cheng’en—my dear disciple, I owe you much for this honor!”

He had never even heard of the book, let alone read it.

Could it be that Master Hao Er lived deep in the mountains, cut off from the world? Chang Yu wondered.

Otherwise, how could he not know of “Journey to the West”?

“Master, if you like the book, I’ll give it to you,” Chang Yu suggested, seeing how much his master cherished it.

“This… this won’t do! The gift is too precious—I can’t accept it!” To Chang Yu’s surprise, Master Hao Er waved his hands in refusal, his face full of alarm.

“A treasure like this, a record of ancient secrets, is something even the great families would preserve for generations. You should keep it for yourself.”

“Why not accept it? When I needed money, didn’t you help me out?” Chang Yu reasoned patiently.

“That’s different! A priceless treasure like ‘Journey to the West,’ recording the secrets of the ancients, can’t be measured by mere spirit stones!” Master Hao Er cried.

Chang Yu replied, firmly, “Master, since you haven’t read it, please accept it.”

“Besides, this book isn’t just for you—it’s my offering to the Fuling lineage.”

“As a work handed down by our ancestral master Wu Cheng’en, we ought to preserve it for future generations.”

“In that case… I shall accept it with gratitude. Once I’ve read it, I’ll enshrine it in the ancestral hall, alongside the writings of our forebears.” After much hesitation, Master Hao Er finally agreed.

It was the thought of future generations that swayed him. For a sect, nothing was more important than its legacy.

When Chang Yu awoke, daylight had already flooded the room.

He opened his bleary eyes and yawned widely, still groggy from sleep.

Suddenly recalling the events of his dream, he was jolted fully awake and reached for the spot beside his pillow.

The space was empty—the copy of “Journey to the West” he had left there was gone. He drew a sharp breath.

Sitting up, troubled, Chang Yu gazed at the empty space.

There was truly nothing there—it was no illusion.

To be sure, he even got out of bed to check the doors and windows.

Finding them all securely shut, he dismissed the idea of a thief.

Besides, what thief would ignore valuables and steal only a book?

“So that means… the ‘Journey to the West’ really was taken into my dream?”

No matter how he tried to reason it away, Chang Yu had to accept this fact.

“I can bring objects from dreams into reality—that’s nothing new.”

“The golden hairpin, those two storage pouches from my master—all of them I brought back from my dreams.”

“But the problem is, being able to bring things from dreams into reality doesn’t mean I can also take things from reality into dreams!”

“These are two entirely different matters. Can anyone tell me just what on earth is happening here?”