The temple appeared ahead of them shining, and it was the shape of everything they were walking toward: a Thunderclap Monastery, the Buddha's own seat, gold-roofed, wreathed in holy cloud, and on the road-weary pilgrims it worked like water on a man dying of thirst.
saw it and his heart leapt and he was off the horse and moving toward it before could stop him, and Wukong's eyes prickled the way they always prickle, and he said the thing he always says.
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