The road up the mountain opened into brightness. There was a golden roof and a pagoda, and bells were sounding, and a wooden fish.
Sanzang got down from the horse. The board above the gate read Little Thunderclap Monastery, and he straightened his robe and started forward.
Wukong stepped in front of him. “That is not the Great Thunderclap. One character is different.” Sanzang was already looking through the gate.