Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 196

New Journey to the West
Po Leung Kuk Choi Kai Yau, Chan, Athena - 12
‘G
reat Buddha! Buddha!” A respectful wail was heard. Great Buddha sighed. It must be that lady
who sold fortune cookies again! Great Buddha bustled into his temple and squeezed out of his
statue, revealing his translucent soul.
“I don’t want fortune cookies.” He said, closing his eyes. He was tired and he did not get his cup of
tea this morning. Great Buddha has woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
“What? Buddha. It is I! The greatest monk-” It was the monk who came every Sunday morning with
tea. Buddha quickly opened his eyes and saw no such cup of tea.
“Where’s my tea?” Buddha asked, interrupting the poor monk. The monk looked at him, cocked his
head and said, “I have more important things to tell you except for serving you tea, but I’ll get you one.”
He clapped his hands and a few seconds later, a terrified-looking young girl rushed into the room
with a perfectly balanced china cup of warm jasmine tea.
“Thanks. Now what are the important things you must inform me before I even have my Sunday tea?
Just cut to the chase.” Buddha asked, irritated. He usually liked to read his Good Golden Morning post from
the press when he drank his jasmine tea, but this monk kept pestering him.
“Great Buddha! I have come to ask for resources. My village has fallen incredibly ill throughout this
half-year and we are fighting to collect tree-bark and clean water. Jasmine tea is scarce and sacred for you,
so…” The monk trailed off with hopeful eyes. The Buddha took up his Good Golden Morning and flipped
to the first page, eyeing the advertisement for slingshots.
“You expect me to…” The Buddha cocked his head. “Okay, I have an idea! Instead of giving you my
sacred and scarce jasmine tea, I’ll do the obvious and send you to a difficult quest to fetch water and food
miles away! Sounds good?” He put down his tea and flipped another page to an article in his magazine.
“Sounds good to me!” The monk was so hungry and full of fatigue; he would do anything for his
village and himself.
“I’ll send three special people who committed crimes to escort you, to prevent your likely death! So
their crimes were: calling me a bald guy, calling me Dumbo, and calling me pretty. So it’s an author, a
reporter and a professor. Okay, you may go now!” Buddha said, happy with his arrangement. He flipped to
another page on his magazine to another advert.
Suddenly, three men appeared. One of them had a little quill in his hand, one had a paper scroll, and
one had glasses.
“Let’s go to our quest now,” The local professor with the glasses said. “My map says for the nearest
resources, we go west.”
“Safety in numbers,” The reporter prompted them noisily. They began to tread along the west. After
a few miles, they were in the middle of nowhere. They were incredibly beat and thirsty.
The author cried, “Buddha! Buddha! Save-”
Suddenly, an old man appeared out of nowhere. “What are you finding?” He said in a gentle, deep
voice. The reporter began scrutinizing him and tried to shake his hand, but the reporter’s hand went
through the man!
“I am a guide assistant god from Buddha,” The old man said, cross. “Do you want your clue now?”
“Yes, please.” The four of them said. The old man then continued to explain that if they dug down
and went right, there would be a stock of little foods stored by little crabs. It was a bit unhygienic, but the
four of them did not care. They were so famished!
The four of them began to look for holes. When they found a bunch of crab land entrances, they
turned around and said thanks to the man. But the old man has vanished!
“I guess we’ll just do it,” The author said. But when the others started digging, he began to jotting
things down. The others were exasperated, but they were too exhausted to tell him to start working.
When they finished digging down, they discovered absolutely NOTHING. The author was
curious and looked down, “Hey, got somethin’? I’m starving to death here.”
The other three stared up, maddened. “Can’t you help?” After a few seconds of complete silence,
except for the little birds’ sounds and some grass fluttering, the translator suddenly shouted.