In the midst of the sky.
Sun Wukong, transformed into a cicada, flew.
The mountains and forests flickered with brocade-like colors as grass and trees sprouted green shoots; the plum blossoms had all shed, and the willow buds were just beginning to open.
Passing over the old land, he came to a depression in the mountains and perched on the thick branches of a tree to look ahead. He saw the faint outlines of pavilions and towers, heavy and solemn.
Upon closer observation, he noticed evil energy swirling in the high sky, layer upon layer like ink surging, twisting around the entire hollow, creating an atmosphere as if during the seventh lunar month when the ghost gates opened, gloomy and grim, truly frightening.
However, this was no Ghost Specter. A thousand years ago, this location had been a sacred place where myriad living beings gathered to share their suffering, burn incense, and pray, bowing to Guanyin and the other Bodhisattvas.
It was unknown why it had transformed so.
