"Call out to the Buddha — and there is no shore to turn back to." "Kneel to one as master — yet life and death remain untouched." "Good and evil, the floating world, the line between true and false — / The ties of mortal dust, their gathering and scattering, indistinct." "So hard to sever!"

The song Wukong poured from Great Vajra's speakers. Veteran driver Shen Cong steered with one hand, the other holding a lollipop as a makeshift microphone, singing along at full volume.

With the outer armor panels open and the window cracked, the Four-Legged Dragon was running alongside, loping across the ground with her full stride — and periodically craning her neck to peer through the window at Shen Cong, as if joining in from outside. "Grrululu, chligrulu, rulugru, rugrlichi..."

Shen Cong raised a finger and pointed ahead.

The Four-Legged Dragon tilted her head and stared at his finger, uncomprehending.

Then a tree appeared directly in her path. She ran straight into it. The trunk was wide enough that two people couldn't wrap their arms around it — and it nearly snapped on impact. The Four-Legged Dragon went down hard, tumbling to the ground with an indignant shriek. She immediately extended a claw and sheared the offending tree into sections, releasing her grievances through systematic dismemberment.

Tantrum concluded, she looked up to find Great Vajra already a li down the road, and broke into a sprint to catch up.

Inside the cab, Shen Cong shook his head, took a lick of the lollipop — probably expired, but he had no way to verify — and resumed at full voice:

"What use is this iron staff to me — / What does it matter that I can transform."

His pitch wandered freely from the melody. The emotion, however, was committed and overflowing. That counted for something:

"Still restless, still low with sorrow — / The golden band on my brow, wanting to speak yet falling silent."

The apocalypse landscape drifted past in haze and smoke, direction hard to read, uncertainty built into every vista. It gave Shen Cong…