“Kasaya for sale! Kasaya! Fine kasaya for sale!”

“Who’s buying a kasaya?”

Sebastian Thornton was escorting King Edmund Ashford of the Great Tang toward the Water-Land Assembly when that rough cry suddenly ripped through the crowd.

The moment he heard it, his scalp went tight.

Damn it. So it’s here after all.

His face stayed calm, holy, proper as a monk ought to be. But inside, he was cursing hard enough to shake the sky.

I’m Samuel Thornton, not Sebastian Thornton.

Yeah, I crossed over into Sebastian Thornton’s body. I got his memories too. So what?

This life, he swore it plain—I am not going west for scriptures.

What, give up being the Emperor’s favored holy brother? Give up silk, rank, servants, glory, easy days and warm food?

And for what?

To drag his legs all the way to the Western Heaven and beg for scriptures like a fool?

Was he sick in the head?

No chance.

Even if a blade was laid on his neck, Samuel Thornton would not go.

His name had been Samuel Thornton.

Before all this, he had just been an ordinary college student. The day it happened was supposed to be a graduation party. He and the three idiots from his dorm had put together a stage act. The four of them were playing the Journey to the West troupe.

He played Tang Sanzang.

The show had barely started when the ceiling over the stage came crashing down.

Then that was that.

Samuel Thornton, age twenty-two, dead.

As for whether the other three “sons” from his dorm had died with him, he had no clue. Never got the chance to ask.

Still, in the middle of that rotten luck, there had been one scrap of fortune.

He had crossed over and been reborn as Sebastian Thornton.

A monk of towering status.

Close to the throne.

Fed by the palace.

Respected by all.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

But nearly a year had passed now.

And that thing every transmigrator was supposed to have—that cheat, that miracle, that system—

Why the hell had it still not shown up?

He was puzzled, no doubt about it.

But he was a young man from the twenty-first century. He had read Journey to the West, read all kinds of prehistoric fantasy tales too. He knew this game well.

Sebastian Thornton.

Second disciple of Thaddeus Lotusborne. A man marked by fate. A man meant to go west and fetch the scriptures.

But... Samuel Thornton had rebellion in his bones. Born stubborn. Born crooked against the grain.

If Buddhism insisted on laying out his road for him, then he would walk the other way just to spite it.

Besides, he had no fondness for Buddhism at all. Not one bit.

Still, what was coming would come. No use dodging forever.

He knew who that ragged peddler crying out about selling a cassock really was.

Serena Hollowell in disguise.

Samuel Thornton gave a cold laugh in his heart.

Trying to test me with a lousy cassock?

Dream on.

Just then, Edmund Ashford lifted the curtain of the imperial sedan and asked, “Who is it? Why all this noise?”

Standing by the side, Samuel Thornton answered at once, “Your Majesty, do not be alarmed. This poor monk will go take a look.”

With that, he strode forward in a lazy, wide step, sleeves swaying, face calm, though his eyes were already sharp.

Up ahead, the beggar woman that Serena Hollowell had turned into was being blocked by the accompanying guards.

One guard pointed at her and barked, “His Majesty and the Holy Monk are on their way to the Water-Land Dharma Assembly. You beggar, get out. Now.”

The beggar clutched a torn cassock in her hands and muttered like a madwoman, half-crazy, half-foolish. “What, I can’t sell a cassock?”

The guard stepped in front of her and shouted, “Move aside! If you don’t leave, don’t blame me for being rough!”

With a hard rasp, he drew his broadsword and flashed the steel at her, meaning to scare her off.

At that moment, Samuel Thornton walked over.

The instant Serena Hollowell saw him, her eyes lit up.

Inwardly, she thought, Golden Cicada, Golden Cicada... you had best not disappoint this poor monk.

Serena Hollowell flicked up that ragged cassock and called out at Sebastian Thornton, “Cassock for sale! Master, you want one? Finest cassock there is. Take a look?”

Sebastian Thornton didn’t even blink.

His face stayed flat, cold as old stone. He didn’t spare her a word. Instead, he turned to the two guards and said, “What is this? His Majesty and I are on our way to the Water-Land Dharma Assembly. Are we to be delayed here?”

One guard quickly bowed his head and explained, “Holy Monk, this beggar suddenly rushed in…”

Sebastian Thornton cut his eyes toward the beggar that Serena Hollowell had become.

That look was sharp. No warmth in it at all.

Then he spoke, clean and hard, “Do not hold up my business with the Emperor. Drag her out.”

The guards answered at once, “Yes, Holy Monk!”

Serena Hollowell was stunned on the spot.

What in the world?

This was not how it was supposed to go.

By all reason, Jinchanzi should not have been this sort of man.

Could it be that after ten reincarnations, he had rolled too deep in mortal dust? That worldly greed had crawled into his heart and taken root?

Sebastian Thornton turned and left without another glance, as if she were no more than a barking stray by the roadside.

Inside, though, he was muttering fast.

Serena Hollowell, damn it, stop testing me already. I eat well in Great Tang, I drink well, and life’s smooth. Last month I even fell for the daughter of Steward Wang next door. The feeling’s mutual too. Once I save enough silver, I’m dropping the robe, returning to lay life, and marrying Miss Wang. So don’t you dare ruin the biggest matter of my life.

If you want a scripture pilgrim, go find Jasper Goldfield.

As for me, Samuel Thornton is not serving.

Still unwilling to let it go, Serena Hollowell raised the torn cassock again and shouted at his back, “Master! This cassock is a sacred treasure of Buddhism. I’ll sell it to you for five thousand taels. What do you say?”

Sebastian Thornton did not turn his head.

Not once.

Seeing that, Serena Hollowell’s heart sank. Disappointment spread across her face. She let out a cold snort and said, “Look at you, blinded by greed. A treasure in front of your eyes, and you take it for rubbish. Fine. Suit yourself.”

With that, she shook free of the two guards, spun around, and strode off.

“Cassocks for sale! Cassocks for sale!”

Her voice drifted farther and farther away.

Only then did Sebastian Thornton ease up a little inside. The tight string in his chest loosened.

But he knew it well.

Serena Hollowell had not given up.

She would come back.

But… Samuel Thornton would never, ever go fetch scriptures!

Just then, Edmund Ashford urged again, “Royal Brother, it is time to depart.”

Samuel Thornton answered at once, clean and quick, “Right away, Your Majesty!”

…

In the blink of an eye, two sticks of incense had burned down.

Samuel Thornton finished burning incense and praying, then accompanied Edmund Ashford through the whole Water-Land Dharma Assembly.

Lucky for him, when he crossed over, Sebastian Thornton’s memories had come with him too.

Otherwise?

How the hell would he know how to perform any of these rites?

Edmund Ashford stepped forward and personally helped him up. His face was warm, his tone even warmer.

“Royal Brother,” he said, “from this day on, I appoint you Protector of the Nation, Grand Master of the Faith. The Three Teachings shall fall under your charge. Beneath heaven, other than me, you will stand above all others.”

He paused, then looked straight at him.

“To see the Holy Monk is to see me. You and I shall share this realm together. What do you say?”

Samuel Thornton’s heart jumped.

His blood stirred on the spot.

This was power. Real power.

Glory, rank, wealth, honor. Fine robes, high halls, men bowing their heads wherever he walked. This was the life he wanted. This was better than trudging west into wild mountains, better than chanting sutras under the sun, better than taking one step at a time toward some cursed scripture road.

Without even thinking, he was about to kneel and give thanks.

But right at that moment, that damned voice came again.

Serena Hollowell.

A cold laugh cut through the crowd like a blade.

Everyone turned.

There, in the sea of people, Serena Hollowell came charging straight into the ritual grounds with a kasaya raised high in her hand. Her eyes were sharp, and the sneer on her face was plain as day.

“Ha ha…” she said, staring right at Samuel Thornton on the platform. “I told you long ago—you’re blinded by greed. Now you can’t let go of anything at all.”

The commander of the guards beside the stage flew into a rage at once.

“You again!” he barked. “You mad monk! How dare you spout nonsense here?”

Serena Hollowell laughed louder, hard and mocking.

“Nonsense? I am not speaking nonsense. I’m cursing him, plain and open!” She pointed at Samuel Thornton without the least fear. “He knows only the Little Vehicle Dharma. He isn’t even fit to carry this filthy monk’s shoes!”

The crowd exploded.

A man immediately stepped out, face red with anger, finger stabbing toward Serena Hollowell.

“Insolence! You dare insult the Protector of the Nation? Drag her out and beat her!”

Samuel Thornton heard that and suddenly raised a hand.

“Stop.”

The word came down sharp.

The scene froze.

Serena Hollowell’s eyes lit up at once.

For one breath, she thought he had awakened. Thought his Buddha nature had finally stirred. Thought he was about to turn back from wealth and rank and choose the road meant for him.

Then Samuel Thornton looked straight ahead and spoke in a grave, perfectly serious tone:

“This monk, in my view, has something wrong with her head. There is no need for you all to bicker with her.”

He waved his sleeve, calm as if settling some small street quarrel.

“Just drive her away. That will do.”

Then, after a pause, he added with full righteousness:

“Do not injure her.”

Serena Hollowell: “???”

“Got a screw loose in my head? Jin Chanzi, you damn—”

“The Holy Monk is the Holy Monk, all right! Even with a mad monk making a scene, he still won’t punish him! That’s mercy!”

“Such virtue! Worthy of being the Great Tang’s Protector of the Nation!”

“Exactly! Both are monks, but look at the Holy Monk, then look at this filthy one. No wonder one’s a Holy Monk and the other’s just trash!”

The moment Sebastian Thornton said it, the crowd burst into praise as one.

Sebastian’s scalp went numb.

Please, brothers, sisters, stop praising me.

Damn it, that was Serena Hollowell.

If he hadn’t stopped the guards from laying hands on her, who knew what kind of trouble she’d cook up for him later?

He looked calm on the outside, but inside he was sweating hard. His heart thudded like a drum under a war hammer. This was no common beggar. This was Serena Hollowell. A figure who could smile at you today and settle the score tomorrow without even lifting a finger.

Serena Hollowell had just been cursed at, called sick in the head.

She had not been truly angered for many years, yet at this moment, a thread of resentment still rose in her chest.

Inwardly, she let out a long sigh.

“Jin Chanzi… Jin Chanzi. You have truly disappointed me. Fine. I will test you one last time. If you still refuse to wake up, this poor monk will return and report all this to Thaddeus Lotusborne. Let him judge your sins himself.”

She pressed down the irritation in her heart, quietly exerted force, and shoved the guards aside.

Then she looked straight at Sebastian Thornton and said, “Xuanzang, do you know the difference between Mahayana Buddhism and Hinayana Buddhism?”

This was her last test for Sebastian Thornton.

Deep down, she still believed that the Buddha-nature of Jin Chanzi had not died completely. Once he heard of Mahayana Buddhism, surely his heart would stir.

Sebastian originally had no interest in giving her the time of day.

Not even a little.

But the next instant, a cold mechanical voice rang out in his mind.

“Ding! Bandit System loading… activation successful!”

Sebastian froze for half a breath.

Then his eyes lit up on the spot.

Shock. Joy. Relief. The whole mess hit him at once like a flood breaking a dike.

“Holy hell! A system?” he shouted inwardly. “You finally showed up? Bandit System? Damn, that sounds fierce. Hurry up and tell me what you do. Can you get rid of Serena Hollowell standing in front of me?”

System: “…”

“Easy, host. Don’t blow your top. Start the Journey to the West first, then we talk.”

Sebastian Thornton’s face twitched hard. “What the hell? So after waking you up, I still have to head west?”

The words came out through gritted teeth. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, stubborn as iron. There was real fire in him now, the kind that would rather snap than bend.

“Forget it,” he said coldly. “You can uninstall yourself. I mean it. Beat me to death and I still won’t go to the West for scriptures. I, Samuel Thornton, may not be a good man, but once I say something, I stand by it.”

The system fell silent for a breath, like it was weighing him.

Then it spoke again.

“Five bathing portraits of your goddess. Are you going or not?”

“...”

Sebastian Thornton froze.

That silence hit strange. Just a moment ago, he had been righteous, chest up, words ringing like hammered steel. Now his expression stiffened a little. The corner of his mouth gave the faintest pull.

He drew a breath, forced his face straight, and said in a solemn voice, “I, Samuel Thornton, was born a man. I stand upright beneath heaven. How could I betray my conscience over a few pictures?”

The system answered clean and fast.

“Twenty. Ten uncensored.”

“I, Samuel Thor—”

“Fifty.”

That one word dropped like a hammer.

Sebastian Thornton’s eyes flashed at once. All that stubborn pride, all that hard talk, cracked on the spot without even a decent struggle. The refusal in his chest wobbled, then collapsed like rotten wood in rain.

He coughed lightly, put on a grave face, and pressed his palms together as if nothing shameless had just happened.

“Deal.”

He spoke with perfect righteousness, voice deep and steady.

“Amitabha. If I don’t go west for the scriptures, then who will?”