Chapter 4: The Treasure Room

“This is the Mountain-Splitting Axe—sharp enough to cut through metal or stone with a single swing.” He hefted it with one massive paw, the blade gleaming in the torchlight. For a second, I half-expected him to offer it for a round of axe-throwing, county fair style.

“This is the Mixed Iron Needle—recite the spell and it flies through the air, piercing anything from afar.” He let the needle hover in the air, spinning it like a fidget spinner before tucking it behind his ear.

“This is the Flying Rope—throw it out, call its name, and it’ll tie up the enemy tight as can be.” He flicked his wrist, and the rope zipped through the air, neatly knotting itself around a broomstick in the corner, then slithered back into his hand like a well-trained dog.

…

With each introduction, my frown deepened. I tried to look impressed, but my mind was spinning. None of these would do against the preacher’s muscle, not by a long shot.

Second-in-Command looked displeased. “What’s wrong? Are these treasures not to your liking?” His tone turned frosty, defensive, as if I’d just insulted his mom’s potato salad at the church picnic.

“No, no, the treasures are great. The problem is, they’re all physical attacks. But the Monkey’s got a head of bronze and bones of iron—he’s indestructible! What would he fear from an axe or a needle?” I tried to sound like I was speaking from experience, tossing out words like “indestructible” the way a mechanic talks shop about old trucks.

The Boss and Second-in-Command frowned together. Their faces drooped, disappointment settling in like a winter fog. For a moment, nobody spoke.

“What you say is true, worthy brother. We’ve long known this, but had no solution. That’s why we wanted your advice—how can we deal with that monkey?” The Boss looked at me, hope flickering in his yellow eyes, as if maybe, just maybe, I had a miracle play stashed up my sleeve.

“To deal with the Monkey, actually… as long as… and then… you can…” I hemmed and hawed, then changed the subject, tossing out a question that had always bugged me since watching Journey to the West: “Boss, Second-in-Command, you’ve carved out your own territory, live free, learned the ways of the world and have long life—why do you have to eat the preacher’s flesh?” I held my breath, hoping the question would distract them long enough for me to regroup.

“This preacher’s flesh—we have no choice but to eat it,” Second-in-Command suddenly sighed. “West of Maple Hollow, for 500 miles, every mountain lord uses ‘catching the preacher’ as a recruitment slogan. If we don’t raise the banner of eating the preacher’s flesh, our underlings would have run off to other strongholds long ago.” He sounded weary, like a mid-level manager explaining the latest round of layoffs. There was a desperation in his voice, as if he was clinging to relevance in a world that had moved on.

“Yes,” the Boss agreed, “they follow me just for a bite of the preacher’s flesh—to gain immortality.” He stared at his paws, flexing them open and closed, like he was weighing his own worth on the scales.

Wow, even the demon world is full of cutthroat competition, you have to set KPIs just to keep your staff. I thought about every job I’d ever had—minimum wage, hourly, always hustling for scraps. Seemed like even monsters couldn’t escape the grind.

As I was trying to figure out my next move, my chest suddenly hurt, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. It spattered the floor, bright and jarring against the cave’s cold stone. The chatter around me hushed. The metallic tang burned at the back of my throat.

Looking at the blood on my palm, I froze. It was the same here as it was in Fresno—red, sticky, a reminder that no matter where I went, my body was still my prison. The Boss and Second-in-Command stared, unsure whether to look disgusted or afraid. I felt smaller than ever, shivering as a draft crept through the cavern.

I’d thought, since I’d landed in Journey to the West, my illness would be cured—a second chance at life from Heaven. Wasn’t that how these stories always went? Magic portals, second acts, redemption arcs? Instead, all I got was pain and dread.

But that familiar pain told me: the cancer was still there, clinging to me like a tick. It had come with me. No fairy tale, no miracle. Just me, my disease, and a roomful of monsters with more issues than a whole season of reality TV.

I really am about to die. The realization settled over me, heavier than any treasure in the cave. The little hope I’d nursed flickered, guttered, but didn’t quite go out.

Why? Why treat me like this? What’s Heaven’s game? Was I just a joke? Some cosmic punchline?

Is it to let me shine for a moment—just to end up as demon chow? Was my whole journey, all this weirdness, just another dead end? I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

To hell with that! If the game was rigged, then I’d play dirty too.

I’m not going to die—the preacher is mine for the eating, even Jesus can’t save him! I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and grinned wickedly. In that moment, I felt something spark inside me—a wild, desperate courage, the kind you find at the very edge.

“Worthy brother, you… are you alright?” The Second-in-Command’s voice was softer now, almost human.

“I’m fine. Boss, since physical attacks are useless, I can only bring out my secret weapon!” I pushed myself upright, feeling the eyes of every monster in the cave on me. The air seemed to buzz with expectation.

“Secret weapon?”

“Chemistry!”