Legend of the Great Sage

ce.

He stopped in a hurry and grabbed the farmer by the shoulder.
He asked, “Brother, where’s the ox?”

“Oh Xiao Er, you’ve come to receive me.
The ox has been sold already.
Look, the money is right here, a whole eleven taels of silver.
It’ll be enough for both building the house and finding a wife for you.” Big brother Li patted the bundle on his shoulder and smiled in a simple way.

“The ox can’t be sold! It can’t be sold! I don’t want a house or a wife!” He was frantic, speaking in an incoherent manner.

“I know you’re attached to the old ox.
I feel the same.
But this is its fate.
We can’t just bury it!” Big brother Li became a little gloomy and patted him on the shoulder.

“Where’s the ox!?” He panicked, calling out furiously.

“It’s already been butchered.
Even if you go, it’s too late.
Let’s go home!” big brother Li said.

“Butchered? Butchered! Butchered…”

There was a rumble in his head as if something had shattered.
He was dragged back home by big brother Li, returning to Crouching Ox village before he even knew it.
The diligent villagers had already risen, all greeting him.
Every single face was extremely familiar.
Big brother Li also greeted them back with a smile.

They passed by a house of brick and tiles, and it was dark within the door.
A statue was enshrined on the altar, and an old woman dressed in colourful clothes currently worshipped the statue.
She was the village witch.
She performed all the marriage ceremonies and funerals, and she also knew divination and exorcism.
She was extremely capable and had quite the prestige among the neighbouring villages.
Hearing them, she looked back and revealed a kind smile.

The voice in his heart rose up once again.
He suddenly broke free from big brother Li and rushed into the witch’s home.
He made his way around the altar and arrived behind it, arriving at a verdant vegetable patch.

Without the slightest concern, he began to dig away at a certain location that seemed to be embedded in his soul.
He felt like his blood was boiling.
As his hands dug into the moist soil, he felt nothing even when the sharp rocks hurt his fingers.
Big brother Li’s calls and the witch’s questions seemed to be extremely distant.
In that moment, he felt as close to reality as he had ever been.

Suddenly, a smear of white appeared before him.
He widened his eyes and said with a trembling voice, “I’ve found it!”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: In the very centre of the desert…

This should have been posted yesterday.
I planned on taking a long break.
My condition has been very bad during the past month or two.
I really do feel tired.
Never have I felt so lonely in my life, like I am trudging arduously through the centre of the desert, gradually forgetting about my companions, my enemies, and my objectives after each sandstorm.

I look around in confusion!

What… is supposed to be there? There clearly is something, but why can’t I just remember it?

It’s funny now that you mention it.
I’ve always liked being alone.
Compared to the noisiness of groups, I’d rather remain alone and maintain my aloofness.
But, but turns out that getting along with yourself isn’t that easy.

Perhaps I should give up on being a perfectionist.
That way, I won’t have to sink into a maze-like predicament over every detail, afraid that I’ll make some kind of irredeemable mistake with each step, where I just pace around as if I’m facing an abyss.
As I hesitate, I miss out on even more.

Forget about it.
Actually, you’ve already been making mistakes.
You just always refuse to admit it.

I’ve tried countless times to read the books I’ve written myself—this one, the last one, the one before that—but I just can’t do it.
There are too many errors.
I never recall my so-called childhood, my so-called youth.
For some reason, only the pain is especially impressionable, never to heal, such that I’ve even begun to doubt a little whether I’ve actually ever felt happy before.
I might as well just give up on it all!

I can write fantastic novels to make up for that anyway, but what if I can’t? What if I’m unable to learn from my mistakes? How am I supposed to make up for that? I’m already in such a sorry shape, so how can I still come off as weak before the eyes of anyone?

I’d rather keep my eyes closed and sink into the illusions than open my eyes and look at this incomplete world, this incomplete self, like a stubborn, pig-headed child throwing a tantrum in the store, bawling and whining, I just want this toy!

But dammit, I clearly know I won’t be able to achieve anything like this! Stand up! Stop crying now!

Although I’ve said countless times to treat this as a job, it’s really very difficult.
Before I knew it, I’d already poured too many things into it, my own dignity and self-worth, my reason and evidence of existence.
Is there something wrong with my head?

There’s been many times when I’ve wanted to delete this passage.
When I feel helpless and am in pain, isn’t silence the best way to deal with it? Why should I continue to put up with the humiliation? But there just happens to be answers that can’t be found even after adding to a diary a hundred times and questions that can’t be answered even after considering life a thousand times.

As a result, I need to use this kind of method to bring this to an end, to admit my weakness and powerlessness before thousands.

“Fine.
A third-rate author like me just regularly writes uninteresting plots!”

But even when I make endless mistakes, I want to continue down this path.

Hey, answer me.
Is anyone listening? Is anyone waiting? Sure enough, I really can’t continue down this road if I’m alone.

I’ll try to gather my courage and accept all these mistakes, to face this reality and cross through this desert, to find that dream again