Sun Wukong quickly put on the Tight-Binding Spell. Before Sanzang could chant the spell, Sun Wukong was already howling like ghosts and wolves, rolling on the ground.
"Master, don't chant! Don't chant!!"
Sanzang was a stubborn monk, and after being stunned for a moment, he hurriedly followed Sun Wukong's excuse and bowed his head to chant the spell.
Now Sun Wukong was truly suffering, the iron hoop rooted in the flesh, unable to be taken off or removed, and suddenly tightened, squeezing a monkey peach into a slender bottle gourd.
It was just a formality, you pretend to chant for a while, I follow with a few howls, and everyone is happy—won't the higher-ups be fine with that? Do you have to take it so seriously?
"I, the Monkey King, tell you, with a wooden head like yours, even if you become a Buddha, you'll still get tripped up by the leaders!"
