Under the flickering lamp , jars of water shattered and pigment splattered everywhere , spraying a kaleidoscope of colour across the floor ; but the Monkey King paid no attention . While the moon rose to its zenith and the murmur of people outside faded into silence , he enthroned himself at the easel and smeared colour across the fabric at a ferocious speed , hands flying in a frenzied blur . The canvas groaned as he slashed at the picture with his brush .
In the darkened corner , I sagged against the padded wall , watching him fill his artwork with passion and fury , as if he were an avenging god , pouring anger and hatred into his Pandora ’ s box .
“ Get up , Xuanzang .” The Monkey King ’ s voice , tremulous with gleeful virulence , stirred me awake . I found myself before the canvas , dazed .
“ What - ”
It was as though I were staring into a mirror . Resting upon the easel was a perfect replica of my own reflection . Familiar dark , empty eyes stared back at me , and the colourful oil paint reflected every wisp of my greying hair . Somehow , the Monkey King had captured my exact likeness in flawless detail .
“ I don ’ t understand ,” I said aloud . “ This is a portrait of me . So what ?” His voice echoed around me . “ I only do self-portraits .” Wait .
Dread settled in my stomach and my fingers grew numb . The brush in my hand - when had that gotten there ? - plummeted to the floor . I choked as realisation dawned on me .
Desperate , my gaze swept over the walls : past the portrait of the robed Sun Wukong , past the portrait of the armoured Monkey King , past the portrait mysteriously hidden in the corner , then back to the portrait in my arms that was of me , Xuanzang . Everywhere , I saw the same eyes , the same hair , the same nose , mouth , ears -
Every painting in this cell was of me .
I dropped the illustration . The crash echoed around the empty room . If the Monkey King , Sun Wukong and I were all portrayed in the same painting , but there was only one face in the frame , then that meant …
I clutched my head . Disjointed voices and memories called out , mocking me , taunting me - The only thing holding me back is you - Portraits , familiar in a way I couldn ’ t quite place - The most delusional of all - The real question is , are you ? Blinded by your own delusions - The same empty eyes and the same hoary hair - That necklace was familiar somehow -