Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 151

The New Journey to the West
St Mark's School, Young, Ho Ken 15
Prologue: The Disappearance
“D
ong…” The grand clock chimed as visitors grabbed their last chance to take photos of the
Grand Taj Mahal.
“Finally… a pleasant day without despicable robbers and sly thieves,” Buddha muttered as
he scanned around the most famous tourist spot of India. Buddha was a janitor in the mausoleum. Since
the Indian News reported that one of the most ancient and original Buddhist scripture was kept in the attic
of Taj Mahal, burglars from all over the world had flocked to the once peaceful and holy place, trying to
steal the precious and sacred book. Although Taj Mahal was heavily guarded by the latest security devices
and gadgets, Buddha knew that they would mean nothing to the true devils and demons.
As Buddha climbed up the attic and inspected the safe to make a final check, he suddenly felt something
strange…
Something shiny was reflecting from the impeccable floor. Buddha peered upwards and saw a sniper aiming
at him with a rifle from the rooftop. A cunning and merciless smile flickered across the face of the intruder,
sending chills down Buddha’s spine.
“Boom!” All in a sudden the attic was filled with smoke and mist. Buddha tried to press the alarm, but the
tear gas had almost paralysed him. When the smoke was cleared, there was nobody except him.
The safe was opened. The holy book was gone. Instead, there was a note with a drawing of a vulture,
smiling maliciously to the dumbfounded Buddha.
Chapter 1: The Agency
As usual, I was sitting in my office at the Tang’s Detective Agency, staring at the ceiling and wondering
about the purpose of life. People called me Master Tang. I had three very peculiar disciples. The first one
was Monkey King. King was good at martial arts. He was quick, creative and energetic. But sometimes,
he could be impulsive, rash and reckless. I had always told him to slow down. But whenever I was giving
him advice, he complained that I was causing him severe headache by murmuring in his ears.
My second disciple was called Pigsy. He was lazy and gluttonous. He was the three-time champion at the
Hamburger Eating Contest. He could have won many more champions had he not been banned forever
from the contest for eating too much and causing the organiser to go bankrupt.
My third and last disciple was called Sandy. He was boring. He didn’t speak much. But whenever he
spoke, he could be quite pedantic, and sometimes, insightful. I remembered I once said to Sandy, “Hey,
Sandy, do you know you are as bored as a log?”
“With respect, my Master,” he replied in his upmost courtesy, “A log is a piece of wood. It can’t have any
feeling, let alone boredom.” I was speechless.
As for myself, I liked to read different kinds of books: psychology, theology, criminology, astrology, biology,
sociology, anthropology, archaeology, epistemology, pathology, geology, meteorology, topology… the list
can go on and on. Recently, I had been fascinated by occultism and divination. Today, I had a very strange
feeling. So I drew a card (I always had a deck of cards of twenty six alphabets in my drawer). It was a G. I
was wondering what it meant, and then I heard, “Guest!”