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Chapter Text

WORKING FOR THE COURT came with certain benefits—Nezha couldn’t deny that. If training meant they allowed him to burn the entire field in one single blaze, he would gladly reduce everything to ashes. Once he held the golden lotus spear in his hands, he didn’t hesitate for a second, propelling himself forward with inhuman speed, leaving a trail of smoke and streaks of fire behind him. His eyes never strayed from his opponent, and when he was just inches away, his weapon clashed against the three-pronged spear of the demigod. Flecks of dirt and sand flew into the air from the impact, yet neither of them seemed the least bit bothered.

Nezha stared straight into the older man’s eyes, sparks of fire in his own—born from the adrenaline bubbling through his body.
“You’re slow… how do you think you’ll survive like that?!” he exclaimed, pushing him back before delivering a relentless flurry of thrusts and slashes, aiming to cut more than just the thin strips of white fabric his opponent wore.

The open-air training fields of the Celestial Court had never fully appealed to him. Even in something as raw and heavy as the art of battle, everything looked too pristine, too symmetrical, with only soft gradients of neutral colors—too perfect… But while they were on standby, they couldn’t go anywhere else, at least Nezha couldn’t, and the best way to kill time was to polish his skills over and over until another daily emergency summoned them.

Erlang Shen moved with an effortless agility, almost lazy in nature, a part of his youthful arrogance showing in the way he dodged or blocked the prince’s attacks. His gaze sharpened with each parry, and he allowed a faint smile in his face.

“And you’re far too reckless. You must always remain calm,” he replied without the slightest difficulty in the midst of their duel. Erlang spun his spear in circles and elegant passes between his hands, though that didn’t take away the deadly strength behind every strike.

Despite Nezha’s thrill for battle, Erlang found it all too easy to block and evade his moves, as if he could anticipate them all, leaving him free to counterattack. Fortunately for the prince, he had more than just a spear in his arsenal.

“Staying calm won’t save you forever, Erlang!” Nezha shot back, leaping backwards and sending his red sash flying straight toward the black-haired man, aiming to immobilize him for an advantage.

The demigod didn’t hesitate to cut the sash in half, but it made no difference—the artifact kept wrapping around him until it bound him completely. Golden patterns and symbols began to glow along the red fabric, and in that instant Erlang could no longer break free. Nezha seized the moment, kicking his back so the older man fell to the ground, then faced him with a victorious, cocky grin. He pointed his spear just inches from Erlang’s neck.

“You’ve still got a long way to go before you can even reach my level, easy prey~”

Pinned to the ground, Erlang frowned and shot him a serious look—though his disdainful smirk returned quickly.

“This is a spear duel, not a battle of magic artifacts, Nezha. Always finding a loophole to play smart…” Erlang still hadn’t let go of his spear, and while Nezha lifted his own with a chuckle to end the duel, he was already preparing to break the sash with his own tricks. Their minds seemed connected, each waiting for the other’s move—but before either could twitch a muscle, they both froze.

Three jade bells rang out from faraway towers, barely visible through the divine mists of the Court, yet the sound traveled across all of Heaven to reach their ears, forcing them to halt the fight. For both of them, there was no mistaking it—it was the call to duty. Nezha stepped back from Erlang and, with a slight gesture of his fingers, the sash untied itself and floated back behind him in the shape of a red halo.

The prince clicked his tongue. “Tch, took them long enough… let’s see what they’ve got for us now.”

Erlang stood, brushing sand from his clothes and rolling his shoulders. “I want to believe it’s important…”

“I’ve learned to lower my expectations.”

Wasting no time, the two hunters swiftly left the training grounds and headed straight towards the palace of the Jade Emperor. They crossed limestone paths, small bridges arching over crystal-clear streams where jade and mother-of-pearl carp swam; passing a considerable number of deities who strolled the walkways in complete peace. Nezha disliked such excessive tranquility and perfection; with the radiant sun above casting iridescent colors over everything, the light was starting to sting his eyes, so he quickened his pace alongside Erlang to the grandest palace of the Celestial Court.

Once announced to the guards at the gates, they entered the Hall of Divine Mist. Stepping inside, they saw all the officials and ladies working at their stations, and in the center of the hall, upon his massive throne, awaited the Jade Emperor. They stopped a few meters from him, and much to Nezha’s dismay, both bowed with resigned respect to the monarch.

“Your servant, the Third Lotus Prince, Nezha, has answered your call…”

“As has your humble Small Sage, Your Majesty,” Erlang continued, staying bowed with his forehead touching the floor, just like Nezha. “We are eager to know what kind of task Your Magnificence has for us.”

The Jade Emperor, reluctant yet softening his expression upon seeing his two most loyal warriors, spoke.
“Er’lang, Ne zha, rest,” he granted with a wave of his hand, and at once, the two hunters stood tall. “I must remind you that in only two months, the Zhi Jinghua will purge all impure souls, both human and yaoguai, that wander the lower realm of Earth. However…” he paused to stroke his beard, “we have received numerous complaints and alarms across the four continents. A demon… who disrespects kings and, most gravely, slays gods.”

Erlang and Nezha couldn’t hide the surprise on their faces. Until now, their assignments had involved lower monsters wreaking havoc on a city, village, or sacred temple—but a demon capable of killing deities? That was on a whole other level.

“This we cannot allow, and we must prevent him from causing greater trouble before the Zhi Jinghua. Such an aberration has only one punishment: the death sentence. You two are the most skilled hunters we have… I need you to deal with this vile, horrendous demon as soon as possible.”

Erlang and Nezha exchanged a look, silently deciding who would speak. “Do we have more information about him?” Erlang ventured.

“From what we’ve gathered… he is a wild monkey, over 342 years old, who achieved immortality through the teachings of the Tao. He should have died already, either from age or during a past Zhi Jinghua, but he remains alive, and no one has been able to stop him. He is a yaoguai born from a stone nourished by the Sun and Moon, Heaven and Earth… you must not underestimate him,” the Emperor warned gravely. “He has stolen a golden armor and the great ocean pillar of the Eastern Dragon King, so he will not be an ordinary foe…”

“A monkey, armed and stealing from Ao Guang? Who does he think he is…” Nezha muttered, shaking his head, before looking back at the monarch with a more casual posture. “It’s a yaoguai after all. All those pests are beneath the gods, no matter how strong they are.”

“It won’t be hard to finish him… besides, monkeys are arrogant and overestimate themselves. Don’t let him provoke you,” Erlang quickly added, noticing his friend’s attitude. He knew very well what Nezha could be like when provoked. Unlike him, he turned to the Emperor with utmost respect. “One last question, Your Majesty. Do we have any lead on his location?”

The Emperor stayed thoughtful for a few seconds before replying. “We’ve received reports of his activities everywhere, but we know he comes from a remote island called Ao Lai. Free of human civilization or any god’s domain, it has been the kingdom of monkeys ever since that demon claimed the throne as their king. All we know is that he was born at the very top of Mount Huaguo.”

“Ao Lai…” Nezha murmured. “That island isn’t far from Ao Guang’s palace—now it all makes sense.”

“We can start there. Thank you for the information,” Erlang said, bowing once again. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

“I warn you, do not underestimate him, and I mean this with all seriousness,” the Emperor intervened again. “He is a god-killer… Depart as soon as possible, for every second he remains alive is more time for him to grow worse. Be careful, for the lower world… has changed greatly since the first Zhi Jinghua began.”

“We’ll depart immediately, Your Majesty.” Nezha also bowed with his hands together, then turned to leave the throne room. Erlang followed close behind, and once outside, Nezha mounted his fire wheels, rested his spear on his shoulders, and they made their way towards the Southern Gates of the Court.

The two stayed silent for a few moments as they advanced, each carried by their own thoughts and perceptions of this new mission. They had never been assigned to face a threat of such caliber, but one thing they shared was the certainty that they would emerge victorious. They trusted their skills and would not be intimidated by a demon—especially not by a thieving monkey with delusions of grandeur.

“Seriously, a monkey capable of killing gods? Either that thing is way too strong or the deities have grown stupid. I’m betting on the second…”

“Nezha!” Erlang cut him off.

“Alright, alright!” the prince said with a grimace. “But I still think it’s an exaggeration… The monkeys from that island have never caused trouble, and they’re more primitive than most yaoguai. One good strike and we’ll skewer him.”

Erlang appreciated Nezha’s enthusiasm and confidence, but still had his doubts. “I don’t know… but if that’s the case, it’s better to take the Emperor’s advice. Like I told you, they’re arrogant and love to taunt, so he’ll say or do whatever it takes to provoke you. You need to be better than him.”

“I’m already better than him!”

The demigod allowed himself a faint smile, though it soon faded as the massive Southern Gates loomed through the hazy distance.

“If the Emperor’s right… you’ll retreat and call for reinforcements. For some reason, I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

“A bad feeling? About a monkey? What’s wrong with you?” Nezha asked with a mocking grin as they finally reached the gates. After informing the guards of their mission, the Southern Entrance opened with a gigantic creak that echoed through the entire Court, both gates swinging wide. Before them stretched an endless ocean of clouds and the blue sky above all things. Below, the shapes of each continent could be seen, like a miniature map. But they knew that once down there, the world would be far larger than the Court could ever be.

Nezha rolled his neck to loosen the knots, and after a quick warm-up, wasted no time leaping off the edge of Heaven, propelling himself with his wheels and diving toward Earth like a falling star. Erlang rolled his shoulders, took a few bouncy steps for momentum, then followed, plummeting downward before transforming into a white eagle in a cloud of smoke.

His wings beat powerfully, shedding feathers that vanished into the distance, and it didn’t take long for him to match Nezha’s speed. They both descended towards Earth, accelerating more and more, though their faces barely registered the sensation, for the wind did not push against them. Still, they allowed themselves a degree of exhilaration at the currents running over their bodies, occasionally glancing at the continents below—each one fading into the horizon as they neared the island.

Both enjoyed descending to Earth equally—not only for the thrill of fighting monsters and testing their skills, but because they both came from the lower realm; no matter how much time passed, they would always consider it home, no matter how ruined it might be. They felt part of it, as if they truly belonged to Earth, even if they were almost always bound to remain in the Celestial Court.

For that reason, they shared the same excitement in coming back down, and the anticipation before a fierce battle was one of the best fuels they could ask for. However, as they drew closer to Ao Lai, Nezha’s expression grew more troubled, his unease deepening until his face paled under the sun. The Emperor had not lied when he said the Zhi Jinghua had changed much of the Earth—but… had it really been that long? Because it looked as a meteor had struck across the entire width of the island.

Most of the mountains lay in ruins; gravity itself seemed to have abandoned the island, as pieces of those ranges, plateaus, and peaks floated alongside countless boulders and debris, clustered into strange arches as if struck by a giant’s punch and frozen in time.

The scale was equally unsettling: the trees had grown to monstrous proportions, twisting into impossible angles for plants of their size, and Nezha could swear that a single tree was the size of a mountain, its branches and roots stretching for kilometers around. Vegetation sprawled unchecked, making it clear that either the so-called monkey kingdom had vanished—or they simply didn’t care anymore. Nezha no longer knew what to believe…

Erlang, for his part, could not hide his surprise at seeing that a supposed paradise untouched by human hands had turned into a grim reminder of a past battle, leaving the entire horizon reduced to abstract chaos.
"Senseless chaos… It wasn’t a lie that he loved to stir up disasters."

"I don’t think this was caused by him alone… the Zhi Jinghua is warping matter here on Earth," Nezha objected seriously as they drew closer and closer, until they stopped at a safe distance in the air. He spun on his wheels, but found no hint of where they might begin—only disorder in every direction. "This is useless, and we don’t even know if he’s here… Do you have any idea which one could be this Mountain of Flowers and Fruit?"

Erlang returned to his human form and hovered beside Nezha, wearing the same serious, silent look. Hearing the question, he couldn’t resist.

"Maybe… by looking for a mountain that has flowers and fruit?"

Nezha stared at him as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that, then leaned towards him with the most forced smile he could muster. "Ahh ha ha ha… So funny, idiot," he laughed, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Do you have a better idea?" Erlang crossed his arms.

The prince shot him a glare full of barely contained anger, but only snorted and waved it off. Turning south, he was surprised to spot one of the largest mountains on the island. Though it lay in ruins, its sheer size and presence were undeniable. He considered starting there and leaving Erlang behind, so he didn’t even bother telling him—just shot off toward the mountain. The black-haired man couldn’t help smiling at the prince’s temper, and quickly followed from behind.

They flew over trees and other mountains that didn’t look too welcoming… but still saw no sign of yaoguai civilization. Through the trees and in the clearings they spotted nothing but mindless animals—tigers, wolves, bears, and various reptiles. It puzzled the hunters; they hadn’t seen a single monkey yet.

The scenery didn’t stop them from pressing on. When they reached the mountain, their eyes were immediately drawn to a massive waterfall that poured from the very summit down to its base. But since this place no longer obeyed the laws of gravity, several streams arched and twisted midair before falling—or in some sections, hung frozen in time, neither moving forward nor back. Part of the mountain had been split apart, its debris floating, though most of it had remained intact. Nezha suspected this was due to some kind of intervention.

Circling the waterfall, both hunters descended, sharpening their senses to hear and see far beyond what humans—or even other deities—could. The sound of water crashing against rocks, the fresh scent of damp flora, birds snapping twigs for their nests, and squirrels darting between trees…

Erlang froze midair when he caught something unusual with both sight and hearing. Narrowing his eyes, the demigod spotted small brown, gray, and black shapes near the waterfall’s throat. Monkeys. They had finally found them, though he didn’t rush in—he studied them instead. Most looked quite young, with only a couple of adults… and none appearing elderly. Erlang immediately knew it was the great annual purge. He motioned for Nezha to follow his gaze.

"There… I can’t say if that’s all of them, but… I can guarantee it’s not even a quarter of what their population should be."

"Since when do you care how many are left?" Nezha asked, puzzled. From his expression, the prince couldn’t care less—in fact, he hefted his spear in one hand and looked at the monkeys with disdain. "Do we try to reason with them, or… are they already a lost cause?"

Erlang was surprised at himself for feeling concern for mere monkeys. He’d said it himself—they were annoying and loved to cause trouble to others. He had no reason to feel empathy for such creatures. Shaking his head, he sided with Nezha this time and summoned his spear as well. The white steel, three-edged tips barely gleamed under the sun, yet could cut the hardest stone in half.

"Sorry… but what can we expect from monkeys? You said it yourself, they’re a lost cause. They must have a leader who guides them or looks after them… Are you thinking what I’m thinking?" he asked, giving the young man a serious look. He was ready to do the job, though the initial curiosity still lingered deep down. Still, he couldn’t waste time on mere monkeys.

When Nezha understood where Erlang was going with this, a wide, malevolent grin slowly spread across his face from ear to ear.

"Tracking him would take us forever. The best way to lure out the leader of a troop… is to provoke him."

With a simple squeeze on his spear’s shaft, the golden tip burst into red flames. He launched it with all his might towards the monkeys on the mountain. The moment it struck the ground, flames exploded outward mercilessly. Moss, grass, and trees ignited in seconds. His Samadhi fire ignored all natural moisture, and everything became fuel, spreading like a plague.

The small creatures screeched and leapt in terror, bolting as far as they could from the flames consuming everything they touched. Some shrieked in pain, their fur singed; a few were mortally burned in the first blast—how they had survived this long was a mystery. Panic swept through the mountain. Nezha landed to retrieve his spear, eager to cause even more chaos.

"Come on, Erlang, let’s get his attention!"

For a moment, Erlang stood frozen at the prince’s brutality and utter lack of empathy. It wasn’t until he heard the shout that he snapped out of it. With doubt on his face, he hurled his iron spear to the panicked animals. Fortunately, it struck rock instead, unleashing a burst of lightning—but it didn’t hit any monkey directly. When they saw him descend as well, they screeched even louder, losing what little sanity they had left, as if Nezha’s fire hadn’t been enough.

"Nezha, don’t make more of a mess. Let’s look for him—only one of them wears golden armor," he ordered as he landed, retrieving his spear without daring to throw it at the primates. He began moving through the burning mountain, scanning in every direction, trying to spot the so-called King. He didn’t entirely agree with the prince’s method of provoking him, but at least Nezha had a point—only a catastrophe would bring out a leader.

"Come on, filthy ape… show yourself already!" Nezha demanded, sending more flames flying from his spear as he skated back and forth. He sliced through stone and trees in single strokes, leaving blazing trails behind thanks to his wheels—yet still found nothing. His frustration grew with every passing second. For a moment, he felt sheer audacity—his people were under attack, and this so-called king didn’t dare come out? What kind of insolent, incompetent monkey king was he?

Amid the chaos of his flames and the infernal heat, Nezha spotted a small group of brown monkeys that hadn’t even reached adolescence. They were trying to shelter beneath a few trees that had yet to be consumed, huddling together and embracing with a sense of fraternity the prince found alien. His dark gaze reflected his intentions. He readied the spear in his hand and prepared to throw it at them.

His weapon, wrapped in Samadhi fire, shot forward like an arrow towards the young monkeys, who had barely realized the mortal danger only meters away. Their horrified eyes reflected the crimson flames, and they had no time even to scream.

The eldest of the monkeys was about to receive the golden tip right in his face—it would burn through and leave a hole in the middle instantly. But when it was only centimeters away from his eyes, the spear was intercepted with a single, sharp clang that sent it spinning through the air until it vanished into the forest.

Nezha froze in place, stunned, locking eyes on the only monkey wearing a brilliant, imposing golden armor in which the flames reflected and magnified its greatness. The monkey was huge—even from several meters away, the prince could tell he was as tall as Erlang, a beast compared to the smaller monkeys. A vibrant red cape hung from his shoulders, billowing in the hot wind around them. On the great monkey’s head rested a golden helmet with two long phoenix-tail feathers—one of the most prestigious headpieces across the continents and even in the Celestial Court itself. But what Nezha could see in the few seconds before him was the iron staff with golden ends, carved in beautiful patterns with dragon scales wrapping around them. The greatest of the Yaoguai: Sun Wukong.

The prince didn’t even have time to flinch. The moment he blinked, the monkey had propelled himself towards him at blinding speed, landing a full strike from the iron staff straight to his chest. It instantly shattered his sternum and ribs as though they were mere twigs.

Blood burst from his mouth at the moment of impact, and all the air in his lungs was forced out. His body was launched like a bullet, smashing through trees and rocks, shattering everything in his path until his momentum died out and he lay at the center of a deep crater in the earth. His mind spun endlessly, his body barely responding to the basics, but he fought to breathe—vainly—while trying to stand, now seeing four pairs of his own feet.

"Nezha!" Erlang shouted the moment he saw in horror how his friend was flung away with a single blow, his heart stopping in shock. Forcing himself to snap out of it, he wasted no time tracing the path of his fall, running and leaping with all the strength his legs could muster.

Once he found the black-haired prince, he rushed to check on him and help him to his feet, deeply shaken by the damage from just one strike of that demon. The Emperor had been right… they hadn’t even had time to study this monkey and they already faced a huge disadvantage.

"Easy, Nezha, get up… come on, breathe, I’m here."

The brown monkey took less than a second to reach them, despite having sent Nezha flying nearly a full kilometer. He watched the young man struggle to stay upright as he walked along the dirt trail carved by his own crash, but his grip on the staff trembled with rage, and sparks of fury danced in his eyes.

"Pawns of the Court… who do you think you are to attack the innocent, huh?!"

Erlang tensed his muscles and fell silent, turning his head to face Wukong only a few meters away. Reluctantly, he had to release Nezha and let him stand on his own. He stepped forward, placing himself in front of the prince to shield him, and firmly brandished his spear. Though he had to appear as severe as possible, his heart was pounding—he feared for Nezha’s life. Never had a yaoguai managed to injure him like this, much less with a single strike.

"So you’re the monkey who stole the armor and caused such an uproar…"

The monkey sneered with disdain. "So many deaths in this world, and you focus on a piece of armor?"

"You’re not contributing much yourself." Erlang now had to focus on the brown monkey, unable to tend to Nezha while fighting. He raised his spear to point at his opponent and, without hesitation, propelled himself forward in a first strike, closing the distance in seconds and aiming the three blades directly at his neck.

The monkey merely took a step to the right, effortlessly dodging. In less than a second, he swung his staff to counter with full force in a sweeping blow. Erlang was forced to move away from Nezha to save his own chest as well.

"Now who do we have here… a five-year-old kid and someone with such a basic face?" the brown monkey taunted with an angry, provoking smile, speaking even in the middle of their fight as he swung his staff relentlessly, leaving no room to breathe. "I’ve been sent worse gods than you!"

Wukong moved with perfect coordination and footwork, giving the black-haired warrior a real battle, neither of them gaining the upper hand. Leaping into the air, he plucked several hairs from his head, blew on them, and in a puff of smoke they turned into exact clones of himself.

"Go get him!" he ordered the replicas, sending them straight towards the weakened Nezha while he focused on wearing Erlang down as much as possible. "I don’t even want to know your name… it’s enough to see your brain crushed by my staff!"

Nezha was panting and coughing blood without stop, struggling to stay upright. He retrieved his spear as it spun back to his hand, but only had a few seconds to breathe through the unbearable pain in his chest before dodging just in time—the four brown monkey clones slammed their iron staves into the ground, shattering it into pieces. In unison, they raised their heads, locked on to him, and launched themselves in perfect synchronization.

"Shit… this monkey knows magic!"

Meanwhile, Erlang was dodging and blocking the monkey’s blows with his spear, intercepting them only milliseconds before they landed, forced to retreat with little room to gain ground. He couldn’t deny the demon was truly powerful, and was even more surprised that not only was Wukong holding his own without advantage, but he had taken Nezha down as easily as snapping a twig. Tension and urgency surged when he saw the multiplied clones racing towards the prince at full speed. He had to hurry if he wanted to help him. Erlang glared at Wukong, gritting his teeth in real anger.

"Shut up already, you filthy monkey!" he spat, noticing he wouldn’t stop talking in the middle of their duel. He leapt, throwing his weapon to him, then directed his fall to recover it and charged again, unleashing thrusts and slashes so powerful they tore through the air and produced their own shockwave. Unlike his training sessions with Nezha, this time he would not hold back.

Nezha could barely defend himself and was forced to retreat to steal milliseconds of breath and strength, but the clones stayed on his heels every step he took. They would kill him the moment they caught him—he had to buy as much time as possible. With a sharp whistle, he summoned his fire wheels, which appeared as two blazing rings shooting out from the trees to position themselves beneath his feet, launching him into the air. His chest bones now felt as fragile as leaves—one wrong move and it would be over for him. And even though he knew they were just clones, he couldn’t afford to underestimate them.

Such was his surprise when he noticed the monkey’s replicas flying on clouds at the same speed, only a second away from reaching him. He couldn’t lose them, as he was in their sights; the only thing he could do now… was fight. Nezha accelerated, zigzagging like a madman between trees and rocky outcrops, the clones right behind him, until, rounding one of the larger boulders, he spun on his axis to face them. He struck first, driving his spear into the first false monkey that came flying at him without time to react. Its body vanished in a burst of smoke, leaving him at the mercy of the remaining four.

This time, he would not be the easy prey that arrogant demon believed. His grip on the golden spear was firm, and though his chest ached and breathing was a struggle, his thirst to decapitate that ball of fur outweighed the pain and served as fuel, making the fire boil in his veins.

Nezha let the clones come at him, and the few seconds of advantage were enough for a burst of flames shaped like lotus petals to spread wide, pulverizing half of his attackers. They vanished into white smoke, just as they had appeared.

Erlang and the brown monkey traded blows and strikes without pause, no room for even a moment’s breath. The mountain’s eyes had never seen anyone like the demigod—someone capable of matching Wukong blow for blow and keeping even with him. Their weapons clashed, sending sparks flying from the friction of metal on metal, and in one of those clashes, the impact forced them both to recoil.

But Wukong didn’t waste a single second standing idle. He charged again at Erlang, leaping into the air to unleash a rain of kicks upon his opponent. The demigod raised his spear quickly to block, but each kick forced his feet back across the ground until, at last, he could no longer resist and gave up defending, leaving Wukong a clear opening to land a kick straight to his face, sending him flying and rolling across the dirt.

Wukong landed on the ground and straightened up to see the black-haired warrior rising with difficulty, one hand over his face—and that sight only thrilled him more. His desire to see him crawl in helplessness filled him with energy. Resting his staff on his shoulder, he let out a mocking laugh.

"Ha ha ha! Is that all you’ve got, asshole?! You haven’t even made me sweat, you’re lame!" Wukong taunted, making a provocative gesture for him to come and attack while never losing his smile.

Erlang shook his head to clear the daze as soon as he was on his feet, and the mere sight of the monkey laughing and mocking him—as if their fight meant nothing—filled him with rage. He tightened his grip on his spear and his teeth, feeling his body tremble, and once he’d assumed an anticipatory stance, he charged forward, determined to make him eat those words.

With every step, the demigod felt a new surge of energy—different—flooding his body, filling his veins and granting him far more strength than he thought he possessed. His blood boiled within him, but it wasn’t only blood and adrenaline driving him forward like a wild beast. Electrical currents raced at full speed from his feet to his head, overheating him with power, and small white bolts of lightning began to course over his body, ending at the tips of his spear.

Wukong couldn’t help but lose the smile from his face upon seeing this new change in the black-haired hunter, and he prepared to face him. The three-pronged spear shone and crackled with white sparks as if charged to its limit, its wielder the same—both on the verge of bursting from the energy they contained. And once close enough, Erlang raised his weapon and delivered a slash towards the monkey.

The yaoguai raised his iron staff high to block, and though he managed to avoid the first strike, the impact wave was so powerful it sent him flying several meters through the air. His body felt the full shock of electricity for several seconds, leaving him paralyzed, but once he hit the ground, he immediately came to, digging his claws into the earth to stop himself from sliding further, churning up clumps of dirt beneath his feet.

He barely had time to lift his head and react a split second before receiving another strike from the lightning-charged spear. He leapt backward, marveling at the wonder of having an opponent who could truly match him—a lightning demigod unleashing his full power at last. The thrill made his whole body shiver.

"Yes! That’s what I was talking about!" he exclaimed mid-air, landing and readying his staff once more. "Now come at me, hunter!"

Erlang didn’t wait for the invitation to finish; he charged towards him with his spear held high, ready to unleash his power on the brown monkey. Wukong lunged as well, swinging his staff, which now glowed with a reddish energy that enveloped the entire weapon.

There was nothing in this world that filled him with more life than a true battle.

********************************************

Nezha was not far from finishing off the remaining clones, holding out as best he could and ignoring the emergency in his chest. Winning the fight and earning a moment to breathe was all he wanted now. He drove his spear into the heart of the first clone, making it vanish into a puff of smoke, and then focused on the last. Their weapons clashed again and again with resounding force until, in one clash, they locked into a contest of strength, their spears intertwined.

The prince glared at the expressionless monkey clone, and it only fueled his anger further. How could mere replicas force him to fight this hard? He could not feel weak—he had to win against such a ridiculous challenge… he had to win!

With a roar of rage, the lotus petals on Nezha’s spear reversed, facing the clone, and the flamethrower activated, engulfing the replica in fire from head to toe, burning it to ashes. The flames reached the crowns of some nearby trees, but as soon as the lotus turned back, the spear ceased its stream of fire.

Nezha felt exhausted, and his wheels dipped for a moment before lifting him into the air again. He clutched his chest, coughing harshly and spitting blood. A burning, stabbing pain consumed him from within; he could feel every rib and his sternum shattered, piercing into his lungs and, worse yet, his heart. He had no idea how much longer he could last like this, but the thought that his self-healing was failing terrified him.

His vision blurred for seconds, and he shook his head to clear it. He was losing consciousness, but he would not allow himself to leave Erlang alone with that monkey… the monkey! Horror struck him as he realized he had fought only the clones, leaving his friend with the demon himself. He snapped his head up and looked around, spotting in the distance the shockwaves exploding between the trees and the open fields, slicing through the air and… lightning? Something wasn’t right, and he feared it had to do with Erlang.

"Damn it…" he muttered before gripping his spear tightly and launching himself into the air on his wheels at full speed, determined to join the real battle.

Wukong slipped past a block, evading the energy-charged spear of the demigod, and instantly countered with an attack that caught Erlang off guard. The spear was torn from his hands, spinning through the air until it disappeared among the trees. The monkey now had a huge advantage. With his staff, he swept in arcs that sent the wind flying and cracked the ground beneath them. Despite the golden armor over his shoulders, his movements were nothing but flexible and fluid, spinning the staff as though it were part of his own body.

With nothing to block with, Erlang relied entirely on his speed to dodge. But he remembered he had trained and hardened another part of his body: his feet. As he slid across the ground, retreating under the brown-furred one’s assault, the soles of his boots began to glow gold. After dodging another blow, he leapt into the air and drove a kick that Wukong narrowly avoided. The earth split where his feet landed, and Erlang wasted no time delivering more kicks at the brown yaoguai, leaving golden trails wherever he moved and stomping with such force that the ground shook.

Keeping the monkey busy with his feet, Erlang raised his right hand, and in seconds his spear came flying back to his palm. He didn’t hesitate to strike, unleashing a torrent of lightning upon Wukong.

In the blink of an eye, the monkey was leaping from place to place to avoid the demigod, throwing his iron staff at his opponent only for it to return to his hand like a boomerang.

"Let me guess…" he began speaking in the middle of the fight as their weapons clashed without pause. "You’re after me for the usual reason—because I’m a god-killer from the Court? Well, they deserve it!"

"Shut up!" Erlang roared, delivering a strike at him.

"…someone has to balance the scales!" Wukong continued, blocking that devastating blow with effort as sparks flew.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wukong spotted Nezha approaching at full speed, ready to strike. He shoved Erlang away and leapt back just as the prince joined the battlefield. Hopping among the floating debris surrounding the entire mountain, he stopped atop one at the center of the arches formed by rocks and levitating mountain fragments. The sunset bathed his back in light, and the wind stirred both the feathers of his helmet and his reddish cape.

Wukong cast them a serious look—not entirely angry—and gestured with his hand to indicate their surroundings.
"Look around you, filthy gods… do you really think the Lord of this mountain could’ve done something like this? The Emperor you serve is the guilty one, and the rest of the world is just as bad—or worse!"

Erlang and Nezha stood in the middle of the open field of dirt and floating mountain rubble, never taking their eyes off the brown monkey who wouldn’t stop talking. The prince growled and raised his spear to point it at him.

"Don’t speak to us of impurity. You were born impure, and you and all your descendants must be purged!"

"Calm down, Nezha, he’s only trying to provoke us," Erlang tried to soothe his companion, but seeing him so injured and barely able to keep fighting tightened something in his chest. He turned his gaze back to the monkey, frowning as well. "If they sent us to hunt you, there’s a reason… you’re a nuisance to the Celestial Court, and for that, we’ll end your existence. You can’t even protect half these animals… and you dare call yourself a King?" he continued, readying his spear with both hands. "You alone caused this disaster, monkey!"

Without waiting another second, Erlang leapt with a force that closed the distance between him and the brown-furred one in an instant. Inches from his face, he didn’t hesitate to slash with inhuman speed.

"Nezha, fall back! Get out of here!" Erlang shouted while continuing to fight. He didn’t want the prince joining in—he couldn’t risk his life like that.

"Don’t you dare say I caused this… it was you!!!" Wukong roared furiously as the first strike landed, feeling his blood boil. With a savage blow, he shoved the black-haired warrior back and launched himself again. The two became locked in a flurry of spear and staff, sparks flying with every fierce impact between the three-pronged spear and the iron staff. Wukong’s furious glare didn’t waver, and each strike made the edges of the weapons turn into a fire-reddish from the heat.

"Murderers!!!"

The brown monkey was a raging beast, but when he remembered Erlang telling Nezha to retreat, a new strategy came to him instantly. In the blink of an eye, he duplicated himself, and while the clone kept fighting Erlang as if it were the real thing, the true Wukong dove straight down, slamming his staff into the ground just inches from where the prince stood, intent on finishing him.

"I–I can’t… leave you here, I’d never forgive myself! I’m a warrior, just like you, and I—!!!" Nezha cut himself off abruptly when his ears caught the whistling wind. He leapt aside just in time to avoid being crushed by the iron staff. Even though he could feel the internal bleeding spreading through his flame-wrapped body, it didn’t stop him from trying to fight back against the brown-furred one now coming for him.

"What…?" Erlang noticed the monkey’s move but kept fighting what was more than a perfect replica, even to his eyes. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was a distraction, and when he glanced away, he spotted the real monkey going straight for Nezha. His heart lurched; shoving the clone aside, he drove his spear through its head to make it vanish, then dove towards the other two. "Nezha, get back!"

Nezha’s blood-reddened vision betrayed him, and his hand couldn’t hold his spear after another blow shattered the bones in his shoulder. His most primal instincts kicked in, and his fire wheels reacted to pull him away and create space—but the monkey gave him no such luxury. Now he dodged as best he could, evading for his life, but he didn’t know how much longer he could endure.

Erlang broke between them with a thunderous crash full of lightning, and in those seconds he took in the prince’s wounded form: his right arm hanging limp, his shoulder twisted at an unnatural angle, blood streaming from his mouth, his chest already bruising purple. He could hardly believe he was seeing his friend like this. The sight made his rage boil over. Turning to face Wukong, he hurled his spear with all his strength, aiming to knock him away and crash him into the ground.

Wukong barely managed to deflect the spear with his staff, but the impact still sent him hurtling into a cluster of levitating boulders. When he landed, he leaned on his weapon to stand, rolling his shoulders and neck as if loosening knots of tension. He looked seriously into the distance at the demigod securing the young prince, and clicked his tongue in disdain.

"Nezha… damn it, I told you to leave!" Erlang scolded in frustration upon reaching him, holding him in his arms, panting heavily with sweat beading across his face. He glanced towards the direction where he had sent the monkey flying, certain he would return soon, so he had to be quick. "Please, stay here…"

With the utmost care, he laid the prince on the ground and turned to face the brown-furred one. Gathering momentum, he leapt into the air and went straight for him. Snatching his spear from the ground, he didn’t hesitate to slash and thrust, fueling each blow with his rage and adrenaline—Erlang refused to let him escape.

"Huh… so you do care about each other. You should have thought about that before starting the Zhi Jinghua!" Wukong taunted, shaking his hand before propelling himself upward to once again clash his staff against the three-pronged spear. Now without holding back, both unleashed strikes, sweeps, and thrusts with all their fury and strength.

It was as if they had infinite stamina—the fight dragged on endlessly with neither gaining the upper hand. They moved from air to ground in a warlike dance, cutting the wind and fracturing the earth with their blows. One clash locked them into a test of strength and endurance. Wukong held the iron spear at bay with his staff, sparks of rage flashing in his eyes as his fangs clenched.

"What… would you think if, in two months… that boy vanished from this world too, huh? Wouldn’t be so fun anymore, or fair, would it?!" he growled before shoving Erlang back, leaping with his staff to propel himself in the air, and slamming down with such force the ground trembled.

Erlang dodged just in time, watching the earth split around him. Anger drove him on, but he wouldn’t give the monkey the satisfaction of provoking him with nonsense. Then, for the first time during the battle, he noticed the monkey’s tail had been unguarded the whole time. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner, but better late than never for a final strategy. His gaze hardened once more, and he poured every last ounce of strength into ending this.

"I am...sick of you!"

The demigod rushed in—not to strike, but to reach for something else. Wukong was caught off guard by his sudden change in movement, giving Erlang the opening to grab his tail in the middle of the rain of spear strikes. Instantly, the monkey felt his strength drain for a few seconds, his grip on the staff faltering.

"H-hey!! That’s cheating, you coward!" he yelled, twisting violently to free his tail, striking with his staff—but Erlang dodged, stepping back and ducking. The demigod leapt high, yanking Wukong up by the tail, and then dove downward, slamming him into the ground with such force that a crater formed around them. Erlang wasted no time, driving his spear into the brown-furred one’s elbow, ripping a cry of agony from him.

Then he pulled the spear free and pointed it at his face, planting a foot on his chest to keep him pinned.

"Don’t you dare touch Nezha again!"

The prince tried to walk, but the pain in his chest was unbearable, and he collapsed once more, coughing up streams of blood that formed clots in the dirt. Humiliation and helplessness filled him… How could it be possible for a monkey to put him out of combat so quickly? It wasn’t just his strength—it was that iron staff. He could swear that thing weighed dozens of tons. He was stunned to see Erlang had finally subdued the monkey, and at that moment, he saw his chance to help capture him.

He removed the ribbon from his arms and sent it flying towards the brown-furred monkey, the red cloth wrapping tightly around his body, binding him completely. Wukong barely had time to breathe after his elbow had been shattered before the prince’s red sashes bound him, squeezing so tightly he couldn’t move. Every sharp struggle made his skin burn as if pierced by a thousand red-hot needles.

"A-ahh! It burns…!" he groaned, but froze when he felt the spear tip press against his forehead, splitting his skin and letting a thin red line of blood trail down between his brows.

Erlang pulled his weapon back, raising it high over his head, ready to deliver the killing blow and end it all. But in that moment—when time seemed to freeze—he locked eyes with Wukong, both of them panting from the fight. The spark of battle was gone from the monkey’s eyes, but neither could look away. The monkey seemed to be searching for something else in him beyond the insatiable thirst to kill—something deeper, something more human…

For a few seconds, the strength that held Erlang’s spear aloft weakened, and he froze. More than the yaoguai’s gaze had stirred something inside him—a feeling, an emotion… a message he couldn’t understand, something that kept him from striking. Realizing his own face had softened, he quickly hardened it again, gripping the spear tighter and raising it once more.

"Go on… do it," Wukong murmured between ragged breaths, seeing the black-haired warrior struggling to stop doubting. "Kill me… do it!"

"Silence!"

Wukong let his head drop, as if already accepting defeat, counting the seconds until it was severed from his body—but noticed it was taking longer than expected. Erlang hesitated again, even he himself unable to believe it. How could he feel compassion now? He couldn’t—he had to kill him, for his mission, to uphold the Emperor’s honor and his own, to maintain order in both Heaven and Earth.

But… he couldn’t ignore the fact that he knew full well the Zhi Jinghua—an event created by his own uncle—had caused the entire disaster they now lived in, pushing the monkey to his limits.

Stop thinking about that—he’s manipulating you, just kill him! he told himself, raising the spear again, but he couldn’t tighten his grip. His strength had left him. The pressure in his chest grew so heavy it pulled him downward, his heart begging him not to do it. An overwhelming new feeling froze his body, keeping him from ending the fight. Opening his eyes again, just seeing Wukong beneath him… he saw himself in him.

His arms could no longer bear the weight of his own spear. He lowered it, powerless, panting from the mental battle he had just fought. He couldn’t killed him. And the worst part was, he didn’t know why. He couldn’t believe himself—he had just spared the life of such a demon—but something he didn’t understand had stopped him.

He couldn’t kill him, but neither could he let him go. He couldn’t be sure that freeing him from Nezha’s bindings wouldn’t mean the monkey would rise and kill him without hesitation. Looking at his spear, the pressure in his chest eased slightly. He knew what he had to do. Erlang hardened his expression and stepped back to bring the brown-furred one’s abdomen into view.

"I hope this serves as a lesson for you…" he began, holding his spear upright before lowering it until the three tips pressed against Wukong’s abdomen.

The monkey’s eyes shot open instantly, staring in shock, unable to believe he was actually going to do it—but this time Erlang didn’t hesitate, driving the spear into the brown-furred warrior’s stomach with torturous slowness. Wukong jolted, letting out screams of agony the moment the edges tore through his skin and began to pierce him. He twisted and squirmed like a worm, trying to get away, but the ribbon only burned deeper into his fur. The pain was unbearable—he could feel the iron tips cutting through his muscles and splitting his organs in half.

Wukong coughed and spat clots of blood as crimson streams burst from his abdomen, splattering his own golden armor. His body convulsed violently from the pain. Erlang could barely hold his gaze, but if he wasn’t going to kill him, this was the only way to warn him and keep him in check. The monkey glared at him with murderous fury, baring his blood-stained fangs.

"Y-you… go to hell, fuck you!!!" he roared, writhing between the spear’s prongs.

Erlang held his gaze with stern resolve, masking the inner turmoil. "You fight well, monkey… but you were far too confident."

And when he felt the spear’s tips touch the ground after passing completely through his opponent from front to back, Erlang yanked the weapon out sharply, unleashing a gush of blood from Wukong’s abdomen. The brown-furred yaoguai let out a strangled cry, arching his back before collapsing flat on the ground, panting in ragged gasps and choking on blood as the pool beneath him spread wider.

Nezha had barely remained conscious, unable to summon another flame and teetering on the edge of fainting. Erlang slashed the air to fling the excess blood from his spear, his expression severe, before stepping back and turning quickly to kneel beside the prince. Concern was etched on his face as he remembered how badly the monkey’s blows had left him.

"Nezha, easy… easy, we’re leaving now. Hold on," he urged, his voice softening as he scooped the young prince into his arms, hearing a pained groan escape him. With a flick of his hand, the prince commanded the red ribbons to unwrap from Wukong’s body and return to him. Erlang wasted no time, lifting off into the air and speeding towards the Celestial Court. If Nezha’s life was at risk, not a single second could be wasted.

Wukong fought with the last of his strength to move even a few inches, but that bastard had left him on the brink of collapse. His organs had been shredded and split by the iron tips, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Soon he would pass out, and everything would become three times harder. With grunts and cries from the searing pain, he managed to roll onto his stomach, coughing up more blood uncontrollably.

Then, hearing in the distance the sound barrier break with a thunderous boom, he lifted his trembling head. The clouds had parted to grant passage to the duo of gods on their return to the Court. At that moment, he had never felt more hatred and disgust for the Heavens themselves.

His body trembled not only from weakness and pain, but from the immeasurable rage that consumed his senses. First they burned part of his home. They were willing to harm his people. That black-haired demigod had failed to kill him, but left him half-dead to humiliate him—and now they fled just like that? Such arrogance, such disgrace!

From the deepest part of his throat, mustering the very last of his strength and driven equally by burning pain and seething fury, Wukong unleashed a roar so powerful it tore across the entire island, crossed the seas, and made certain the neighboring continent heard it—until it reached the very Heavens themselves. So that everyone in this world would know of his hatred towards the Celestial Court.

**********************************************

He cared little now about reporting to the Emperor that the hunt had been “successful.” The only thing running through his mind was keeping Nezha safe and getting him treated immediately. The moment his feet touched the South Gate of the Court, Erlang ran as fast as his legs would allow towards the Healers’ Courtyard. The gods he passed along the way stared at him in shock, but to the demigod they were nothing but distorted faces blurred by speed and anxiety.

When he spotted the large gates of the courtyard, he kicked them open, leaving everyone present frozen in place.

"Quick, he needs help!" Erlang shouted, holding Nezha in his arms, the prince looking more like a lifeless rag doll than a royal.

The maidens immediately abandoned their daily tasks and rushed to the warriors. Erlang hurried down the steps and was guided by the healers into the main building of the Courtyard so the young prince could be treated. All the women had delicate figures and youthful faces, but moved with astonishing speed, preparing a room and a bed for the prince in less than a minute.

Suddenly, a maiden with an older complexion and posture than the rest appeared, and Erlang assumed she was the head healer. The moment she laid eyes on Nezha in the demigod’s arms, her expression turned grave, and she approached to inspect the blackened skin on his chest.

"What happened to Prince Nezha?" the maiden asked.

"Excuse me, but you are…?" Erlang interrupted with another question.

The healer gave him a look so severe and stern that Erlang had never imagined a woman could wear such an expression.

"Fu-xian, Chief Healer of the Courtyard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Er’lang Shen…" she paused to gesture towards the bed the other girls had prepared. "Place the Prince on the bed so I can save his life, will you?"

Erlang would normally never allow someone to speak to him that way, but right now Nezha’s life took precedence, so he obeyed without protest, laying the black-haired youth down carefully. A twinge of worry struck him when he realized Nezha had not made a sound—he seemed unconscious. Erlang stepped back to let the healers work, but Fu-xian promptly ushered him out of the room.

"Wait, I need to—"

"You cannot be here, Small Sage, we need you to wait outside." And without another word, Fu-xian shut the door in the demigod’s face.

The silence chilled the entire hall, and all Erlang could do was stare at the soft wooden door in disbelief. At last, he let out a deep sigh and turned away to look for somewhere to wait for news. But as he walked, another lady approached, carrying a few rolls of bandages and towels in her hands. She bowed before the demigod with the utmost respect.

"Forgive her, Your Eminence. She worries deeply for the safety of anyone at risk of dying when they enter the Courtyard… she’s the best among us healers. Her concern can lead to… slightly aggressive responses."

Erlang arched a brow at the young woman. "Could she even speak that way to the Emperor?"

The maiden shifted uncomfortably where she stood. "I… I couldn’t say for certain, my lord. Please allow me to escort you to a room and tend to your wounds, if you permit."

The demigod shook his head, waving the matter off. "No need for anyone to tend to me… I can handle it myself."

"As you wish."

The lady bowed again and, with her head lowered, handed him the bandages. After guiding him to an empty room that looked out onto a section of the Courtyard’s outer garden, she left him alone in silence.

He removed his armor and the white inner robes until he was left only in his fitted trousers, bare from the waist up. He examined himself in the full-length mirror of the room, noting a few bruises, bleeding scratches, and dirt mixed with ash. The first thing he reached for was a damp cloth to wipe away the grime, especially from his face.

Though his hands moved automatically, his mind was lost in fresh memories and thoughts. He couldn’t get out of his head that look the brown-furred monkey had given him before accepting that he was about to be beheaded. Amid all the defiance, hatred, and fury… he had clearly seen a spark of fear and astonishment. That fear had mirrored his own in that moment, and Erlang wanted to believe that was why he couldn’t kill him. That monkey was a yaoguai unlike any he had ever faced before—he had his own reason for being, a flawless fighting style. It was no coincidence that he had reduced Nezha to that state, nor that the Emperor himself had ordered them to kill him.

His heart felt that same tight pressure that had frozen him earlier. The moment he had met those eyes, he had felt an instant connection he couldn’t ignore—but… to what? He didn’t even understand his own feelings, and now his head was full of doubt. He had never disobeyed an order from the Emperor, and if his uncle knew that he had spared that monkey’s life, there would be consequences—severe ones… not just for him, but for Nezha as well. He had just made the biggest gamble of his life, possibly.

Yet despite everything, a growing intrigue and curiosity began to stir within him as he disinfected his scratches. Who really was that monkey? How had he managed to steal a weapon and armor from the Dragon King? Why was he fighting against Heaven, blaming them for the Zhi Jinghua? How did he become inmortal and did survive many other Zhi Jinghuas? Erlang knew that event had been created by the Emperor alongside the other Buddhas, but he had never imagined it would provoke the wrath of a monkey so furious and determined to kill gods in order to declare war on them. It was all confusing, and he would have to tread carefully if he truly wanted to investigate further.

Lost among so many questions with no answers, Erlang realized he had already cleaned and bandaged the worst bruises and scratches he had received in the battle. He had no idea how long he had been drifting in thought—the silence and calm of the Courtyard had blurred his sense of time. Shaking his head to clear it, he quickly dressed again. He had to leave to report to the Emperor about the hunt, but first, he wanted to make sure his friend was at least stable.

Stepping out of the room and turning the corner at a brisk pace towards the prince’s door, he didn’t even need to knock—he froze in place as he found himself face to face with the Chief Healer, her expression still serious but far more relieved than before.

"Nezha… is he all right?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

Fu-xian gave a small nod and bowed her head, showing far more respect than during their first encounter.

"He will be fine, Er’lang Shen. But he will need a couple of weeks of rest. The Courtyard’s medicine is the most effective in the Three Realms, I assure you. He is stabilized." She looked back at him, her gaze hardening slightly. "But… what kind of monster could have wounded him so severely? He arrived with every bone in his torso broken and his lungs pierced. Mortally wounding Prince Nezha is not something any low-level yaoguai could do."

Erlang crossed his arms, forced to answer with the bare minimum of honesty. "Well… it was only a monkey in armor with an iron staff. But in the end, he didn’t turn out to be a greater threat."

"So, you triumphed in your hunt?"

The demigod was already irritated by her questioning, but this last one brought back that strange feeling and the pressure in his chest. To avoid further interrogation, he simply nodded.

"I’ll come back to see him later."

And without waiting for another question, he walked quickly out of the Courtyard’s main building, feeling Fu-xian’s piercing gaze on the back of his neck. It wasn’t until he left the place that he felt the weight on his shoulders lighten somewhat, and in the distance, he caught sight of the great golden palace.

His feet carried him towards it on their own, and though he did not slow down, he had to prepare himself mentally to commit one of the greatest criminal offenses in the Court: lying straight to the Jade Emperor’s face.

Chapter Text

DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS, bamboo floggings, bone crushing, red-hot iron burning, public execution; they could impale him, behead him, reduce him to ashes… In just a matter of seconds, Erlang imagined a thousand and one ways to die if the Emperor finds out about his lie. A wrong word, a look, a gesture… even if his voice faltered, it would be over for him.

"You’ll be fine… just say the basics, and that… you’re going out for tea. No, that’s stupid… Training, visiting Nezha, what sounds better…"

“…Is everything in order, Your Eminence?”

“Huh?”

In that instant, Erlang snapped to attention as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, and looked at the guard posted at the entrance of the Palace of Luminous Purity, where the Emperor resided. The sentinel stared back at him in utter confusion. Erlang felt like a complete fool when he realized he had been standing there for several minutes, murmuring to himself and not daring to announce his presence.

The guards must have thought the hunt had left him mentally unhinged. He immediately adopted a formal posture and cleared his throat, making a slight gesture.

“Forgive me, it’s nothing…” He discreetly tightened his fist to hide the slight tremor in his hand, though there was no fixing the bad impression he had already made. “I must announce my report on the demon hunt.”

“Of course, Small Sage.” The guard bowed to him. “At once.”

Just inches from his feet, the massive golden doors swung open wide with a screech that made his eardrums vibrate, but Erlang didn’t make the slightest move. He needed to get a better grip on his nerves—he was supposed to be one of the best demon hunters, yet suddenly he felt as frightened as a child telling their parents about a bad grade.

He had always followed the rules, always been the “obedient kid” to his uncle, which was exactly why he had gained so much prestige in just a few years. But this wasn’t some minor blunder like tripping or knocking over glasses—he had willfully failed his mission, and now he was about to lie to the Emperor’s face.

It felt as if the weight of the world was pressing on his shoulders, and though the guard returned to tell him he could now enter to see the great monarch, his feet took long seconds to obey. It wasn’t until he blinked several times to snap out of his daze and, without looking at the guards, Erlang stepped into the palace.

The jade and gold walls and columns shone like no other material in the three realms, though the demigod had long since grown accustomed to the blinding brightness thanks to his countless visits to his uncle—his eyes had built up a sort of resistance. While he couldn’t deny that they were family, Erlang preferred to keep his relationship with the Emperor as neutral and distant as possible. He didn’t share his uncle’s methods or ideology regarding various taboo matters in the Court, such as love, but he knew that if he wanted to avoid greater problems, he had to play along.

Every step he took led him directly to either his doom or his salvation—there was no middle ground. He had to focus his mind as much as possible, prepare a good alibi if necessary. The Emperor trusted him, but he couldn’t get cocky—not with the Lord of Heaven himself. His heart pounded and his stomach churned with every meter he closed between himself and his uncle, and he forced himself to breathe deeply, once, twice, three times, as discreetly as possible.

When he opened his eyes to look ahead, he came face to face with the Jade Emperor. As always, he sat upon his throne of jade and gold in the Treasure Hall of Divine Mist. He was in the midst of granting audiences to residents of the Court who needed to discuss emergencies or concerns, reading reports from officials across the three realms, and from any deity who had sent him written messages; but now he had set everything aside to see his nephew. Officially, the Emperor had no favorites—but Erlang had his doubts.

As soon as their eyes met, the Emperor softened his expression and made a welcoming gesture with his hand, his body otherwise still.

“Er’lang Shen, my nephew… you’ve returned rather quickly, I must say. If you’re here, it means the hunt for that demon was a complete success, am I wrong?”

Erlang read in his uncle’s face a soft smile and excessive warmth. He was clearly expecting good news. First, Erlang bowed until his forehead touched the ground, as protocol demanded. Praying inwardly, it took him no more than a second to answer with all the confidence he could muster.

“That’s right, Your Majesty,” he began, and only rose when he saw his uncle gesture for him to do so. “Although… Nezha was gravely injured. I took him immediately to the Healers’ Courtyard—he’s currently under care.”

“The monkey, Er’lang… is he dead?” the Emperor pressed.

In the blink of an eye, the demigod felt the crushing weight return, as if the Emperor’s gaze alone was the sun itself burning him from the inside out. With his hands clasped behind his back, he used the moment to flex his fingers, releasing some of the tension. These were the exact seconds he had prepared for on the way to the palace.

He lifted his head and held his uncle’s gaze as long as he could, using the few moments he had to deliver his answer.

“Yes, he’s dead,” he declared, as tense as oak wood. Though his face projected the utmost seriousness, his heart was pounding like a war drum in his chest. “We won’t be hearing from him again, I assure thy.”

The Jade Emperor, contrary to any of the hundreds of scenarios Erlang envisioned, seemed deeply pleased by the answer, stroking his long beard and nodding in approval. He detected not the slightest hint of deceit.

“Very good, incredible, Er’lang,” he praised, in a tone of voice Erlang had never heard from him—so cheerful. “I’m not surprised you are my most trusted warrior. The hunt for that demon warrants a banquet in its honor. As soon as the prince recovers, we’ll begin at once.”

Erlang could hardly contain the surprise on his face upon hearing the word banquet. The Emperor had actually believed him—and was about to grant him a prestigious feast? The demigod could barely believe it himself.

“For now, you may keep your share of the formal reward… a chest filled with the most exquisite pearls and jewels from this very hall. Nezha will be granted one as well, of course.” The monarch pointed to a chest beside the throne. It was massive, reinforced with gold and red metal, its lid unable to close completely from the sheer abundance of gold coins, iridescent nacre pearls, and perfectly polished gems radiating ethereal colors from within.

A faint blush rose to Erlang’s cheeks, and he instantly felt uncomfortable and unworthy of such rewards and praise. Not only had he disobeyed the mission’s orders—he just committed a crime worthy of execution by lying to the Emperor’s face. These jewels and treasures felt alien to him… he now had to decide what to do with them, or to whom he would give them. And when he thought of whom, his only close contacts came to mind: his family. His father and younger sister would surely appreciate the contribution, and it could be a good chance to see his mother again. Yes… he felt satisfied with that quick solution. But with the matter of the banquet, there was nothing he could do—he would have to resign himself to it.

Erlang offered a gentle, grateful smile and bowed respectfully to the Heaven Lord. “I thank thee, from the bottom of my heart, Your Majesty.”

“Now, you may rest… the Zhi Jinghua is in two months. I doubt another emergency will arise that would require the aid of you, my most skilled hunters,” the Emperor continued. “Before you leave… you may return to Earth whenever you wish. The Zhi Jinghua will not affect you in any way.”

“Thank thee again, Your Excellency,” Erlang replied, bowing once more until he was signaled to rest. He had no desire to prolong his visit in the throne room, so he was quick to take his leave. “With nothing else to report, I take my leave.”

“You may go in peace, Er’lang,” the Emperor granted.

Erlang turned on his heel and began to leave the Treasure Hall of Divine Mist as calmly and steadily as he could. And just as it had been in the Healers’ Courtyard, the moment he crossed the massive palace doors to the outside, all the pressure and tension on his body released, letting him breathe again.

It was like a blast of air filling his lungs at last, exhaling everything he had held in during the audience, and his heart returned to a far steadier rhythm. Erlang descended the palace steps, looking around and yet at nothing in particular, his mind blank as to what to do next.

An immeasurable curiosity—an unshakable, inexplicable urge to return to Mount Huaguo—gnawed at Erlang’s thoughts. He was still wondering what had become of that monkey whose life he spared, defying his orders and forcing himself to lie to the Emperor… On the other hand, Nezha was surely still recovering. It would be a few hours yet before the prince could receive casual visitors, leaving Erlang with no real options. And in any case, returning to that island so soon would be far too suspicious—not to mention the monkey was almost certainly still furious with him and in no mood to listen to reason.

It was then he realized his mind was in complete disarray—thanks to that hunt, to that false victory he had sold to the Jade Emperor. For all that he disliked idleness… he had to admit he needed rest, and above all, time to meditate; to clear and order the chaos in his head.

His own quarters seemed the best place to start. When his feet touched the base of the main road at the bottom of the palace stairs, he headed in that direction. The Celestial Court was vast, and he had no desire to walk its breadth on foot, so with a leap he became once again a great white eagle, riding the cool winds of Heaven towards his home in the North.

Erlang was grateful he did not keep a swarm of servants fussing over him like a king. When he reached the small, dark-tiled temple that was his residence, he didn’t even glance at the few attendants who turned and bowed as he passed. Opening the door to his chamber, he was surprised to find the chest of rewards his uncle had promised already waiting for him. Kneeling beside it, he examined the contents.

Gold coins, jewels, pearls… nothing he hadn’t seen before. Wealth had never held much allure for him; it was rarely essential to his life, used only for important matters or the occasional need. In the Court, his expenses were almost nonexistent, which only strengthened his resolve to gift the treasure to his family.

His magic was far from limited, but he seldom performed transformations that unified an entire collection into a single object. Stretching his arms to either side of the chest, he closed his eyes and focused as sharply as he could. A white aura surrounded the hoard, linking to the palms of his hands. As Erlang drew his arms inward, the chest and all it contained shuddered, collapsing into a single mass of energy.

His hands trembled slightly, and he exhaled slowly so as not to lose focus, shaping the hoard into one compact form—small, versatile, easy to carry or transform. His mind sifted through countless possibilities before settling on the most common token in the human world of trade. Erlang closed his hands until his palms touched, revealing a single gold coin resting between them. The glow faded.

The demigod studied it. No larger than his thumb, gleaming with the purity of the finest gold, etched with designs unlike any coin on Earth—it was perfect. He smiled, satisfied with his handiwork. He tossed it lightly into the air, caught it again, and tucked it into the top drawer of his nightstand.

He would need to find the right time to return to his true home. But before that, there were graver matters to tend to. The confusion in his heart had not abated, and he knew that if he didn’t calm himself, the pressure would only grow, leaving him prone to a dangerous mistake. He had been in check from the moment he spoke that lie; every word and action from now on had to be chosen with care.

Walking the temple corridors, he stopped at the rear courtyard, gazing out at the mountains and palaces that rose across the Court’s many levels—grand and unyielding, like immovable truths. He needed a place to clear his mind, one with no chance of interruption or intrusion. Absolute privacy.

His eyes wandered in every direction until they settled on the northern peaks: the sacred mountains of Kunlun. Home to the most esteemed deities, but also the ultimate sanctuary for cultivation and meditation.

He had visited Mount Kunlun only rarely, but he was fortunate to have a contact there who could grant him the solitude he needed. Placing a hand to his chest, he drew another deep breath—yet even that felt constrained, as if the weight on his heart denied him full air. If he wanted to find peace, he would have to leave at once.

Erlang stepped back to give himself room, then rolled his shoulders and sprinted across the narrow space. At the edge of his terrace, he leapt, vanishing into a burst of white smoke and lightning as he took flight once more in eagle form.

He cut across the breadth of the Celestial Court like an arrow, the wind streaming over his feathers—an ally rather than an obstacle—and for a few moments, the speed and freedom of flight alone was enough to soothe his heart.

As he crossed the skies, the peaks of Mount Kunlun emerged from the mystical fog, their colossal ridges divided according to the rank of each resident. Erlang already had the perfect spot in mind. If he could find it unoccupied, he would silently thank his master for reserving that small, precious corner of the mountain for moments such as this.

*****************************************

Silence reigned over that pond of pure, crystalline water, unmoved and still before the breeze or any natural sound. The bamboo leaves whispered and swayed to an incomprehensible rhythm. The grass, nourished and filled with a life prolonged into immortality, lay covered in drops of dew which, when falling to the earth or the immovable rocks, made no sound at all. An ethereal mist surrounded the place, and tranquility was the supreme ruler. There was no room for interruptions or casual disturbances; the jade pond lay frozen in time, existing solely for its purpose.

In the water, one could see its depth—soil of jade and lapis lazuli—yet at the same time, Erlang could see his own reflection as if gazing into a mirror. He removed his layers of clothing and armor until he wore only his inner tunic and trousers, leaving his footwear on the nearest stone. With bare feet, and after taking another deep breath, his senses sharpened, becoming aware of his own weight. He flipped in the air and landed on tiptoe at the center of the pond, without causing the slightest splash.

Erlang did his best to remain still in the crane stance, balancing all his weight on a single foot over the thin surface of the water, though he found himself trembling. He raised his hands, inhaled, and exhaled as he lowered his arms to chest level. In that instant, he slowed his own pulse and held his breath, not allowing himself to open his eyes for even a moment. His ears caught the faint sound of a single droplet falling from a blade of grass, and in perfect unison, he summoned his spear into his hand and began to move.

It had been a long time since he last performed a spear dance, but among the movement meditations, it was the one he excelled at most. His slashes cut through the air like butter, and his thrusts pierced it, yet he exerted no excessive strength; his motions were as gentle as possible, carrying elegance and serenity while maintaining force and precision at the same time. Each time he moved his arms, legs, and spun around his axis without straying from the center, the leaves on the ground and the surface of the water followed his direction, and the sleeves and hems of his tunic floated for seconds like feathers.

He moved his three-pronged spear from side to side, up and down, in an elegant and meditative sway. At one point, he planted the tip into the water and leaned onto his weapon to vault himself into the air, describing a broad arc with his spear as he spun it around his body to slow his momentum.

Both his breathing and heartbeat matched the rhythm of his dance, giving himself the necessary time to change poses yet never ceasing to move, simply letting himself be guided by what his body and weapon demanded. When he found the perfect flow, Erlang once more dipped the tips into the water, and after making a sudden arc, he lifted splashes that materialized into spheres—dancing, following his same current.

Erlang had a certain mastery over the element of water, and using it as part of the meditation had been a key choice. The spheres followed his movements without ever interfering with him, like an extension of his body. The tremors that had restrained him were gone, and his mind had erased all worry, leaving only himself. That was the essence of meditation: to think of nothing and feel everything.

He tossed his weapon into the air and caught it with great skill, spinning on his feet and moving every part of his body like cloth billowing in the wind, like the current of the gentlest river—fluid and flexible…

However, in the middle of what he believed to be his perfect dance, he felt an unusual change in the air. It didn’t unbalance him, but it forced him to use more strength than necessary to keep his rhythm. “Focus. Don’t lose the beat,” he told himself. “Don’t think about intrusions, don’t think about him, don’t think about…” the monkey.

Like waking a dragon from its nap, the pressure in his heart made him feel the first jolt, and his foot trembled over the water. He had to fight to regain composure and not give in further, but memories of their battle began to resurface in his mind—his body agile and fast as lightning, his sweeps and strikes as powerful as a storm, that defiant and mocking smile under all those layers of hatred and fury… those golden eyes, gleaming, mirrors of an unbreakable will.

“Come at me, hunter!” he remembered him exclaiming with excitement.

“Fuck you!!!” he remembered shouting.

“Do you really think I caused this?” he recalled him asking, and though it was only a memory, the monkey’s eyes stabbed into him like needles. “The Emperor you serve is the real culprit—a murderer!”

The spear spinning in his hands trembled and lost its rhythm. Erlang did everything he could to silence those memories and focus again, but his initial dance had turned into a jumble of strikes at the air, cutting the spheres and splashing the water. Once the storm was unleashed, it was impossible to calm it. “Shut up! Come on, Erlang, focus.”

“Pawn of the Court.”

“Silence…”

“Someone must balance the scales.”

“Silence!”

“This won’t be the last time you hear from me.”

At that moment, Erlang froze in horror. He didn’t remember that line, and the instant he opened his eyes with a start, his heart sank to his feet upon seeing the monkey’s figure just inches from his face.

Smiling defiantly, his golden eyes shone with pride and anger, clad in imposing golden armor—but smeared with earth and, above all, with his own blood pouring endlessly from his stomach. The very spot where Erlang had struck him with his spear. In that instant, the demigod jerked backward, and the water gave way beneath him. He sank to the bottom with a splash.

The shock of the water’s icy temperature numbed his body, but his mind had finally awakened. Without staying submerged for long, he reacted violently and shot upward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, his heart pounding wildly. He spun on his own shaft, looking around frantically, but the pond was as empty and silent as when he had first found it. There was no trace of the monkey.

Still, Erlang did not feel safe in the least. He swam quickly to the shore where he had left his clothes and dragged himself out of the water, unable to control his breathing. His entire body dripped, forming a puddle beneath him, but Erlang could not lift his gaze from the ground until he calmed himself. He closed his eyes and took countless deep breaths, little by little feeling his heartbeat slow.

Finally, he turned to sit and contemplate the pond. The surface still quivered from the disturbance he caused, and it would take time to return to its original calm. At that moment, he felt a sharp pain in his forehead and let out a groan, bringing his hand to his head. What in the world had just happened? He couldn’t understand—not just those memories, but that new phrase the monkey said, and his figure appearing before him. Was his mind truly so disturbed? He couldn’t believe the effect that stupid monkey had on him… but neither could he ignore it any longer.

He stood, feeling his body heavy, and brushed the wet strands of hair from his face. The meditation had failed spectacularly—his mind was now even more confused, and with new questions in his heart. Was that monkey really making him doubt his loyalty to the Emperor? Well, as if he hadn’t already committed a serious crime for him… But what should he do now? Visiting him would be risky—surely that demon still bore a grudge and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he appeared. How could he investigate him? He didn’t even know his name… And staying in the Court with all these doubts in his mind wouldn’t be a good long-term solution either.

He sighed heavily and tried to find a way out, rubbing his fingers at the bridge of his nose. His senses had dulled, and thus his defenses too, so he didn’t notice that someone else had entered his quarters.

“Seeing my best student so troubled… makes me want to worry as well.”

Erlang froze in place at the sound of that voice. That calm, elderly tone, combined with an invisible yet palpable authority, made him turn after a moment to face the wise Immortal with whom he spent so many years of his youth after being forced to join the Court. Surprise revealed itself on his face, mixed with a kind of relief, and a smile appeared as he bowed with his hands clasped before him.

“Master Yu Ding Zhenren…! I… I didn’t expect to see you here today, I thought…” he stammered awkwardly.

Yu Ding let out a chuckle and gestured for his disciple to rest, approaching him with a serene pace. Upon reaching him, he placed a hand on his shoulder in a warm gesture.

“Er’lang Shen… it’s been a long time since you left Mount Kunlun to serve as a hunter. Truth be told, I begun to miss your visits.”

“Forgive me, Master,” Erlang bowed his head in shame. “Duty has been harsh and taken up all my time. But I assure you, I have thought of you.”

“As I have of you, young one,” Yu Ding replied with another chuckle, inviting him to walk by his side around the pond’s wide edges. Erlang wrung the water from his hair and hurried to match the Immortal’s pace.

Master and disciple walked at a slow pace, and thanks to his company, Erlang could take in his surroundings with much greater calm, as if the storm in his mind had cleared just enough to speak with him, and feel a little less weight on his shoulders. Yu Ding had been the one responsible for teaching him everything he knew, and even when Erlang was promoted to the rank of hunter, he had gifted him his famous three-pronged, double-edged spear—a weapon he would never abandon.

"You’ve grown quite a bit, Er’lang. I see a more mature face, bearing many responsibilities… and with that, worry brimming in your eyes."

"Worry?" Erlang asked, trying once more to pretend that nothing affected him. As much affection as he had for his master, he could not reveal his secret. He quickly wandered into another kind of “worry,” one convincing enough. "Well, as head of the monster hunters of the Court, I do carry a fair share of concerns… but nothing out of the ordinary. I simply log threats, decide which to address first, and—"

"Your heart is heavy with worries, boy. And they have nothing to do with your work as a warrior." Yu Ding interrupted, stroking his beard as he stopped at the cliff’s edge, gazing out over the vast horizon. Across the other peaks of the mountain and far to the south, the mansions and slopes of the Celestial Court rose like snow-covered summits veiled in mist.

Erlang paralyzed beside him, feeling another jolt in his stomach. Was it really that obvious? Not even the Emperor had noticed the lie he told him—how was it that now… He underestimated the bond with his master, the one person in the Court who knew him like the palm of his hand. No matter how hard he tried to hide something, the old man’s wisdom was greater; it could not be matched. Erlang shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze, wanting to avoid the topic if possible.

“…Excuse me?"

Yu Ding sighed and shook his head, though his smile did not fade. "In all these years, this is your first visit to Mount Kunlun since you left. You wouldn’t come back here unless something was troubling you… and believe me, I wasn’t the only one who heard your splash when you fell into the Jade Pond."

Erlang felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, and all the more he could not bring himself to meet his master’s eyes.

"…Really?"

"Mhm… Er’lang Shen losing his balance in the middle of a spear-dance meditation? That is not the young man the whole Court knows. Something in your spirit is troubling you… so much that it interferes with your mind and body. I didn’t reserve this pond for you to distract yourself and avoid it, Er’lang… What weighs on the heart of my most loyal student?"

Silence froze in place, and the tension once again pressed down on Erlang. He could hardly believe how easily his master had uncovered that something disturbed him deeply enough to break his daily routine. But as much as he wanted to trust him and confess what he had done, he knew perfectly well that when it came to priorities and crimes, he would be reported to the Emperor. The loyalty of all immortals and sages to the Lord of Heaven was unshakable, and Erlang could not take that lightly.

Yet his mind could no longer craft another excuse. He was bound hand and foot, with a blank mind, utterly cornered. His eyes wandered, still not daring to meet his master’s gaze.

"Ahm… I…," he faltered as never before in his life, and no matter how much he opened his mouth, it was impossible to form another word.

Yu Ding looked away with a sigh. "I don’t need to know… but it must be serious if someone like you is troubled in this way."

Erlang was not satisfied with that answer, for the tightness in his chest did not ease. He couldn’t tell him outright that he had spared a demon’s life and lied to the Emperor, but perhaps… he could ask for a solution.

"…Master…" he began, hesitating. "…What should I do when a problem, a situation… begins to change, to play with my thoughts? What should I do if… something… troubles me to the point that I cannot meditate in peace, that makes me question my principles as a warrior… makes me question an entire life I have lived until now? What should I do if it makes me… tremble, and doubt, and wander between what is… truly right or not? What should I do if… it makes me question… what I am, and what I live for?"

Once again, silence reigned between them, leaving only the whisper of the wind and the song of the celestial birds. Erlang had never found it so hard to express himself, taking so many turns to avoid the truth, but those questions condensed his greatest concerns. And there was no one else in the Court who would listen and advise him as well as his own master.

Yu Ding let out a deep breath, nodding to himself. "It is serious indeed, Er’lang… but such questions have only one answer. Imagine that worry that troubles your heart as a speck of dirt and dust on the floor of a perfect temple. It is the only impurity in the place. For you, having something like that in your safe space makes you feel the opposite—vulnerable, insecure. What you’re doing right now—coming here to meditate and dance in the water—is avoiding that speck. It doesn’t matter if you clear your mind or distract yourself; that tiny stain will always be there unless you clean it, Er’lang. What you must do is not pretend it doesn’t exist, because you know it’s still there, and if you don’t confront it… boy, you’ll feel troubled your whole life."

Erlang stayed silent through the immortal’s answer, each word falling on him like a cascade of wisdom and clarity. Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease, and though he said nothing yet, he showed himself more willing to listen. Yu Ding noticed his posture and was pleased.

"You must take a broom and sweep that speck away until nothing remains. You must confront that worry at its root. Do not rely on superstitions; do not doubt the situation. The only thing worthy of your trust is your own skill. But if, after sweeping away that speck, your temple ‘feels’ different than before, do not fear… change and transformation are the first steps to cultivation." The master turned to meet his disciple’s eyes. "Er’lang, you are destined for far greater things than the mere fear of a worry. If you let the voices in your head cloud your judgment and keep you from seeing change, how do you expect to forge your own path in this world?"

And in his hands rested the three-pronged, double-edged spear that had lain at the bottom of the pond.

The demigod’s eyes widened, a gleam appearing in his gaze. Without a word, he gently received his own weapon, examining it from the iron shaft to the tips, engraved in silver and gold. Never had his spear felt so light in his hands. Yu Ding’s words echoed ceaselessly in his mind, and now his thoughts were far clearer. He looked away towards the horizon, as clear as his mind now felt.

He knew perfectly well what he had to do, and where he had to go. He could hardly believe how much his master had helped him—the only help he would allow himself, in fact—and light returned to his face along with a faint smile full of resolve.

"You… you are right, Master. You have no idea how much I thank you! Your wisdom—"

Erlang stopped mid-sentence when he realized Yu Ding had vanished from his side. He spun on his heel, but found only himself in the place. No trace of his master.

Yet that did not discourage him in the least—on the contrary, it gave him the energy he needed to finally take the initiative. Running his hand along the shaft of his spear with a smile, he quickly turned to return to the rock and put his clothes back on. Once he had pulled on his black boots, he dissolved his weapon into particles, took a running start from the edge of the pond, and leapt with all his vigor to the cliff’s edge. In less than a blink, he was flying like an arrow, transformed into the white eagle.

Now he had a clear goal, and no weight in his heart to tell him otherwise. Without doubt or hesitation, Erlang set his course towards the Southern Celestial Gates, for he would make his first earthly visit to a most peculiar place.

*****************************************

The setting sun had bathed the entire realm of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit in golden light. Since that fierce battle, the silence could not have been more deafening. The island’s flora and fauna carried on undisturbed; the streams still flowed; and no other yaoguai seemed to notice the invisible unease that gripped the mountain—for it belonged only to the monkeys. Still consumed by the grief of those they had lost before the Zhi Jinghua, they now endured the crushing fear of waiting, hour after hour, in hushed dread for the return of their Lord.

Wukong’s body burned, threads of smoke curling from his skin as if he had only just been scorched by those vile red astras. His stomach would not stop bleeding, his magic straining to mend the wound—but it was far too deep. He could neither move much nor leave the island yet. The least he could manage was to drag himself along like a worm, crawling over earth and stone, forcing a path towards the last bastion of his home: the beautiful waterfall that served as the protective curtain to his cave. Though inverted and frozen in time, he could still see it falling with majesty into the throat of the river.

He had been right to guard it all these years.

Leaping across the waterfall was beyond his strength, so he called for his cloud, mounted it, and let it carry him through the water into what remained of the Water Curtain Cave. Holes gaped in the ceiling, and chunks of stone floated in the air under broken gravity. Part of the shrine had been torn down, and a whole passage now yawned open, leading higher up the mountain.

Through all his years, Wukong had made the safety of his kingdom his highest duty. The monkeys that remained were the fruit of his labors. When he landed on the cave floor and barely stepped into the main chamber, the silent news of his arrival spread like wildfire. Heads peeked out; the monkeys emerged from hiding, from the depths of the cavern and the shrine alike, hurrying towards him.

So few of his kin were left now. None were elderly, and the adults could be counted on his fingers. The rest were mostly young or infants. The burden of protecting them had tripled with each wave of the Zhi Jinghua.

The monkeys quickly surrounded their King, murmuring and chattering with fretful alarm at his battered state. Wukong struggled to straighten enough to rest his back against a stone, forcing himself to meet their eyes with a faint smile despite the pain and weakness weighing him down.

“Shh… I’m fine, I’m fine, my little ones…” he said, trying to calm the tight circle of anxious faces.

His vision blurred; he shook his head to clear it, pressing harder against his wound to slow the bleeding. In the eyes of the youngest, he saw raw terror at the thought of losing him. With his free hand, he beckoned them closer. The babies didn’t hesitate—clambering onto him with careful instinct, avoiding his stomach wound. They nestled on his shoulders, legs, and chest, holding him as though he was the mother of them all. In truth, he knew only a handful of those mothers—survivors from the year before.

Even through his armor, he could feel the weight and warmth of the little ones as if they embraced him directly. Their affection filled him with a brotherly warmth. Since the Zhi Jinghua, the monkeys’ love for him had only deepened—they revered him as their hero, honored him as their King, but the babies… they loved him as a father.

From the foliage, Wukong spotted a tiny gray monkey—no bigger than a bat—approaching shyly. He smiled softly and opened the hand of his wounded arm, inviting it to climb aboard. The little one, emboldened, leapt into his palm. So small that Wukong’s fingers could serve as branches, it settled comfortably between them. He remembered little about that particular breed, but he never denied any monkey a place in his family.

Lifting his gaze, he met the eyes of the elder monkeys—faces lined with worry.

“Don’t fret… Rest and enjoy the evening. We’re safe. I’m just a little tired. Let me… recover for a few minutes,” he told them, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. Some obeyed, retreating to other parts of the mountain. Others simply stepped back to give him space, sitting together at a distance, keeping watch. They would not allow harm to befall their King again.

Wukong leaned his head back against the stone, focusing on his breathing and the stabbing pain in his stomach and elbow. Never before had he been left so wounded after a battle. And though he loathed the memory of that proud face driving the three-pronged spear into his gut, uncertainty gnawed at him: Why? Why had that hunter spared his life? The hunter looked tormented, as if wrestling with himself to finish him, yet in the end, he could not. Wukong hated the idea of owing him gratitude—indeed, he felt insulted, humiliated by being left alive—but… the sight of his monkeys’ relief at his return, alive if battered, was reason enough to value his own life a little more.

Meanwhile, returning at last to Earth and the island of Ao Lai, Erlang chose to land in the very place where he had spared the monkey’s life. The battlefield was unchanged—ravaged by fire, trees reduced to ash, the earth split by merciless blows. He approached the crater where he had slammed the brown-furred monkey by the tail, kneeling to inspect it.

The ground still bore the blackened scars of Nezha’s astras, and within its width lay a long pool of dried, crusted blood. When Erlang ran his fingers over it, not a trace of red came away. The last light of sunset urged him to hurry.

Rising, he spotted a trail of blood stretching across the field into the forest. Without hesitation, he followed. The trail was heavy, unbroken even after kilometers, and Erlang could not help but worry. How much could that beast bleed without dying? Surely, it had to end somewhere.

Minutes passed like hours before he realized he had returned to the very place where they had first seen the monkeys. The blood led up a hill directly before the great waterfall he had glimpsed earlier. But here the trail ended.

Confused, he searched for another sign—until something about the waterfall caught his eye. It wasn’t the strange patches of zero gravity, but something deeper. Narrowing his gaze to its sharpest focus, he caught sight of a faint opening behind the veil of water—a cave, perhaps.

That had to be the monkey’s hiding place. And with the trail ending there, Erlang had no other leads. The water fell with brutal force, so he would need speed. Stepping back for room, he sprinted to the hill’s edge and leapt, shifting into a much smaller form—a white hawk.

He pierced the waterfall like an arrow, though the sheer weight of water knocked him slightly off balance. With a few quick wingbeats, he regained height and landed on a high branch clinging to the cliff wall. Shaking out his feathers, he scanned the cave floor and spotted the blood trail continuing deeper inside. He was right.

If this was the monkeys’ lair, he would have to move with utmost care. Dropping silently from the branch, he glided close to the ceiling, wings making no sound, until he reached a vast chamber—one that left him stunned.

The cave opened up to reveal a pond on the left, sunlight streaming in through a hole in the ceiling. Farther ahead, past a few stone tables, stood a throne made of limestone, carved with strange patterns and designs… and in the back, Erlang was surprised to see an enormous sanctuary. Before the bridge that welcomed visitors into the cavern, there lay a stone engraved with the words: “Water Curtain Cave.”

Erlang hid among the branches of a tree that grew down from the cave’s ceiling, silently observing the rest of the monkey family. Once again, he confirmed there were no elders—only adults, young ones, and many infants. The demigod could tell there were fewer than sixty left inside the cave, and for some reason, he felt a weight in his heart. But his eyes lowered, and he was stunned to see the King, lying on a rock with a pile of babies resting on top of him.

Little remained of the mountain, but Wukong was thankful the waterfall still stood to keep them hidden—or so he believed. Though he heard a faint change in the air, he couldn’t tell what it was, and chose to stop wondering about it. In his open palm, he let the small monkey climb up to his neck, where it nestled for warmth, while he rested his energy. He moved the fingers that pressed against his stomach, trying to pull them away to see if there was any change, but only more threads of blood gushed out, forcing him to press down again with a pained hiss. There was no improvement.

“Tch… bastard,” he muttered with a frustrated growl as the memory of the black-haired man driving the spear into him came back, rage flooding his heart.

But his expression shifted instantly when the little ones and babies stirred on top of him, all turning to look at him at once, their eyes pleading, their sharp squeaks expressing worry.

“W-what… you’re hungry now?” he asked in distress—not only for them, but also because he really didn’t want to move. He paused to look around the cave. All the peach trees were bare, not a single unripe fruit in sight.

Wukong let out a weary sigh, but he had to do it for them—they had no one else. With a snort, he told the little ones to get off him, and without protest, they obeyed to give him space. Pulling his staff from his ear, he enlarged it to its normal size and leaned on it to begin standing up. The wound in his abdomen made every movement agony, and his legs had lost their strength, but under the watchful eyes of the little ones, he managed to stay upright, barely, with the help of his staff.

Erlang never thought he’d see a yaoguai this violent and arrogant looking so… vulnerable. He could clearly see the blood running down the golden armor to drip onto the floor, and in the faint evening light, the monkey’s face was pale. His strength was limited, yet he was still pushing himself for his people’s sake.

The Monkey King held his wounded abdomen with his free hand, leaning on his staff with the other—his elbow injured as well. Despite the pain and weakness, he gave the little monkeys a faint smile.

“I’ll climb the mountain for fruit. Stay here, you hear me?”

The young ones nodded, unable to disobey, and he turned around to walk forward slowly. Each step demanded triple the effort, and though he fell to one knee numerous times, he always stood back up, making his way out of the cave through the back passage until he disappeared from sight.

The stillness froze Erlang’s hawk body for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on where the monkey had gone. The pressure in his chest rose to a level he could no longer ignore, and now he understood what he was feeling. A huge wave of guilt washed over him. He never imagined Wukong would be so compassionate towards his own kind, showing a truly gentle side buried beneath the hatred and rage he unleashed in battle. Erlang couldn’t fathom how Wukong was still able to move or walk with such a mortal wound, and he realized he had underestimated his willpower.

He couldn’t stay still any longer. An instinctive impulse beyond reason drove him to leap from the branch and fly back into the passage, tracking the brown-furred figure.

Outside the cave, the sight was far from encouraging—part of the mountain lay in ruins, fragments floating in the air without any apparent order. What lay ahead was a cluster of what remained of the mountain, forming a path to the peak through boulders suspended without any base. A few peach trees were in sight, but Wukong kept climbing as far as the path could take him. Erlang followed at a safe distance, flying from tree to tree without taking his eyes off him.

Only a couple of meters remained before reaching the highest peak of Mount Huaguo, but Wukong could no longer bear his own weight and collapsed to the ground, dropping his iron staff. Perched on a tree, Erlang shifted uneasily, wanting to see him move. “Get up…” he urged silently. The brown monkey curled over his wound, gasping slow and hard from the stabbing pain of merely breathing. His vision blurred again—he didn’t have much time left.

He reached to his head and plucked a single hair. Blowing on it, a puff of smoke revealed an exact clone of himself. As if already knowing the order, the duplicate ignored him and leapt up into the peach tree to pick the best fruits, while Wukong lay sprawled on the ground.

The sunlight faded from the horizon, and the gold of his armor stopped shining as the sky darkened. The wind tugged at his cape and the feathers of his helm, yet he made no move. Erlang shifted again in his branch, and when the clone disappeared into the tree, he decided to move closer, flying down to the lower branches of the peach tree, trying to remain unnoticed, though the growing pressure in his chest was impossible to ignore. Was he… worried? But why? He didn’t understand what he was feeling… nor could he believe he was considering going down to help the brown monkey if he didn’t move again. He had never felt this kind of helplessness towards a yaoguai, and as much as he didn’t understand it, all he wanted was a sign, any movement to prove he was still alive.

To his relief, he saw the monkey stir, and with groans and pained growls, he dragged himself to lean against the trunk of the nearest tree. Wukong was about to close his eyes to rest for just a few minutes when the sound of wings caught his attention. He scanned the peach tree in silence until he spotted the small white hawk.

At first, he was surprised, but then he lowered his head, shaking it in disdain with a raspy chuckle.

“H-heh heh… how bold… I’ve got a long list of deities crushed under my staff… and not one of them was rude enough to enter my home just to check if I died…” he said, slowly and painfully rising to his feet, retrieving his staff from the ground with his tail. “Pathetic, really!”

Wukong summoned all his strength to launch the staff towards the white bird. Erlang reacted instantly, leaping from the tree just seconds before the iron staff shattered most of the peach tree, sending branches and leaves tumbling into the cliffside. Whatever fear he had felt vanished, and the demigod shook his head in despise.

“If I wanted to finish you off, believe me, I would have done it already,” he replied proudly as he descended with flapping wings. Once at a safe height, he transformed back into his normal form, standing a few meters away from the brown monkey. He knew Wukong was furious, but he didn’t want to provoke another fight.

“Huh, should I feel grateful?” Wukong scoffed, holding out his hand for his staff to spin back through the air into his grip. Leaning on it, his tail lashed angrily, and he spat blood onto the ground. “Kiss my ass, will ya?”

Erlang crossed his arms, frowning. “Even bleeding out, you’re still an arrogant monkey.”

“Obviously. I’m immortal… I erased my name from the Book of Death. It takes more than a rusty trident to kill me…” Wukong broke off with a sudden cough, forcing himself to lean against the tree and slowly lower himself to sit again. “What, you expect me to thank you?”

“I think you should… those monkeys depend on you.”

Wukong’s muscles and gaze tensed. “Don’t you dare… lay a finger on them…”

“Relax. I won’t,” Erlang cut him off. “You left my partner at death’s door, you know?”

“Do I look like I give a shit? He didn’t hesitate to burn my people—he deserves it.”

Erlang’s gaze hardened and his fists clenched slightly. Now he regretted even feeling the slightest bit of concern—this monkey was an idiot. But… he couldn’t let himself be provoked. Clearly, there was a wall of grudges between them. Slowly, he lowered his arms without taking his eyes off Wukong, not reacting when the clone dropped from the tree, carrying as many peaches as it could. The replica didn’t even glance at him and rushed off to distribute the fruit, leaving the two alone on the mountain.

“Why did you come back?”

“…I want to clear up some doubts I have… and one of them…”

“Is why you decided to spare my life?” Wukong guessed, before twisting his expression. “Why should I believe someone who didn’t hesitate to attack my people to provoke me, even when they’re innocent? …Why didn’t you kill me?”

There was a tense silence before Erlang finally answered, unconsciously averting his eyes as if trying to avoid the question, yet feeling cornered by it. It wasn’t just the monkey pressing him—he was pressuring himself with a question he couldn’t answer.

In the end, Erlang lowered his head helplessly.

“I… don’t know. I couldn’t do it.” He knew that answer satisfied neither of them. “I know any god could have killed you, but… I just couldn’t.”

Wukong studied him in silence, his expression curious and intrigued. He could see the black-haired man wrestling with his own inner conflict: his duty as a hunter against the impulse that had led him to spare his life. Perhaps it was more than a mere impulse, but Wukong couldn’t decipher it at the moment. He didn’t know him at all, not even his name, but he remembered the instant he’d seen him fight with himself when he’d been about to decapitate him. That same look of inner struggle was reflected in his eyes now.

At the very least, he understood that Erlang wasn’t there to hurt him. The demigod shook his head, wanting to change the subject as he remembered something the brunette had said.

“Did you say you erased your name from the Book of Death? That’s already… crossing a line.”

Wukong narrowed his eyes, pressing his hand over his stomach.

“Sometimes we must cross lines for the causes we believe are right, hunter,” he retorted, tilting his head back to watch the sky as the first night colors began to appear. “Anyway, you’ve seen I’m not dead, so why don’t you just leave already?”

Erlang was taken aback by that reply. “Huh?”

Wukong growled from the pain and stood up again with what little strength he had left. He shrank his staff and returned it behind his ear, but he didn’t just stand there—he began to walk, each step pained, yet steady. Erlang, seeing him approach, couldn’t help but step back.

“Do you really think I’m going to accept the… ‘compassion’ of the man who humiliated me by cheating and spared my life?” Wukong spat out the word “compassion.” “My life is already hard enough without someone like you feeling pity for me—as if you hadn’t been sent by the Emperor to kill me.”

“Wait a second…” Erlang tried to calm him, raising his hands, but the monkey kept coming closer, his anger growing with every step.

“…Or that you’d have been capable of harming my people, who vanish more and more every year! At this rate, in five years there will be no one left!” Wukong pointed at him and didn’t hesitate to strike him with his claw, forcing Erlang to retreat further. “Hunter of the Emperor, you’re complicit in the genocide that’s torn this world apart! You’re a bootlicker and a coward! And just because you spared my life, do you think that changes anything? You disgust me—disgust me!”

“It was my decision to spare you!”

Seeing how aggressive the monkey had become, Erlang instinctively couldn’t stop himself from drawing his spear, stepping back far enough to point its three tips at the monkey’s chest. Wukong froze where he stood, incredulous. The silence was as tense as ice, chilling his senses. The Monkey King scoffed in disdain and straightened. With his free hand, he easily brushed aside the three spear tips aimed at him.

“Hmph… you’re a mess. I’m unarmed, bleeding out, and you didn’t hesitate to point your spear at me again.”

His own weapon felt as heavy as a ton, and Erlang quickly pulled it back, his heart racing. Wukong held his gaze, then lowered part of the armor around his neck to expose it. The little monkey hiding nearby looked at him in horror.

“Go on… behead me. I’m right here.”

“N-no…” Erlang stepped back.

“Kill me. Do it.”

“No…”

“Kill me!!!”

“I can’t!!” Erlang shouted, stabbing the spear tips into the ground, his voice shaking. The pressure in his chest had returned a thousandfold, and he didn’t dare look back at the monkey. He shook his head, powerless. “I can’t do it…”

But for Wukong, that answer wasn’t enough. He lunged at him, and Erlang made no move to dodge. The monkey shoved him violently, knocking him onto his back, and the spear clashed onto the rock. In that instant, their eyes met again—like looking into a mirror. Erlang couldn’t move, and as much as Wukong wanted to crush his head with his staff, he simply pulled back.

A weight in his chest stopped him—kept him from even wanting to pull the bar from behind his ear—and he didn’t understand why. He had Erlang paralyzed, at his mercy… why not finish it once and for all? Could it be because he felt indebted? Out of pity? The same pity the dark-haired man had shown by sparing him when he was defeated? He felt as heavy and powerless as the demigod beneath him, and he turned away, deeply frustrated.

“Then get off my fucking mountain… I don’t ever want to see you again, you hear me?!” he roared furiously. “Get the fuck out!”

Without giving him another glance, Wukong snorted in rage—at both his own inability to kill him and the fact that he came back—and stormed off as quickly as his wound allowed, heading back down the mountain to disappear into the cave. Erlang remained frozen in shock at the peak, unable to process what had just happened.

*****************************************

Nezha didn’t know how long he’d been asleep—whether just a few hours or an entire day—but he didn’t feel rested at all. His head was spinning, and his body felt as heavy as a thousand anvils. Worst of all, the pain from his bones mending was unbearable. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone… well, maybe only on that stupid monkey who had left him in this state, but he barely had the mental space to think about him.

He woke in pain, and despite the medicines the maidens of the Healers’ Court had given him, they were not instantaneous. The wait felt painfully slow and torturous… it hurt to breathe, and he could feel the throb of his wounded heart pounding in his temples. Moving wasn’t an option—he couldn’t forget his broken shoulder, wrapped in thick bandages that kept him from twisting on the cot. The only thing he could do was stare at the wooden ceiling and count the seconds—the worst kind of torture, even while lying in a healer’s bed.

That monkey had left him in far worse shape than any other demon he’d faced—most barely managing to give him a few scratches—and for that, he felt like a complete incompetent. Slowly, he extended his uninjured arm to grab the glass of water on the table beside him, wanting to soothe his throat after so many hours lying still following that exhausting battle.

On the other side of the door, Erlang had been standing for several long seconds, unsure whether to knock or not. That disastrous encounter with the monkey had left him like a walking corpse, drifting through his thoughts over and over on the way back to the Court, until he ended up again at the Courtyard to visit his friend. But he couldn’t shake from his mind the words and furious face of the monkey as he shoved him and shouted at him.

A storm of feelings overwhelmed him—admiration, resentment, guilt, compassion… and an urge to keep doing more for him that he couldn’t control. He couldn’t blame him; he himself admitted they had been wrong to harm the monkeys who had done nothing to them, and deep down, he didn’t approve of the Zhi Jinghua as the final solution the way his uncle and the rest of the Court did. Inside the cave, he had seen the more “human” and vulnerable side of the Monkey King—wounded, yet loved by his people, because… they had no one else.

Erlang knew the monkey wouldn’t easily accept his apologies, and had made his hatred for the Celestial Court perfectly clear, along with his desire never to see him again. But if Erlang wanted to make amends and follow the path his heart quietly urged him towards, he had to make him see that his help was truly genuine.

Lost in his thoughts, he blinked and realized with embarrassment that he had been standing at the door for over ten minutes. Clearing his throat and straightening his clothes, he knocked softly before peeking in and stepping slowly into the room.

He was surprised to see Nezha in that condition, but firmly believed he needed company—and that they needed to have a serious talk about what had happened. One question gnawed at him: had Nezha seen him spare the monkey’s life, or had he passed out before that? They needed to talk.

“Nezha, you’re awake… how are you feeling?” he asked softly, closing the door behind him and approaching to sit beside the cot.

The prince took a long drink of water before answering and let out a deep sigh. Although they had supposedly triumphed in the hunt, he knew very well that wasn’t exactly the case.

“The medicine’s working, but…shit, it hurts. A lot. I can barely move…” he muttered through gritted teeth, his free hand going to his bandaged chest. His eyes held a hollow look Erlang had never seen in him before. “Never in my life have I felt so… powerless. I can’t believe I lost a fight to some stupid monkey in armor. How ridiculous does that sound… but that weapon—just a single touch and it tore my muscles apart. Now I wonder how he got it from Ao Guang… b-but hey!” Nezha shook his head abruptly, suddenly remembering the real problem. “Erlang, the monkey! You… you killed him, right? I didn’t see you behead him, but you stabbed your spear into his gut… god damn it, Erlang!”

“Shh! Will you keep your voice down?!” Erlang was just as alarmed and tried to quiet him.

“You were supposed to cut off his head, not slash his belly, idiot! Now we don’t even know if he survived or not—he might have! That monkey probably has self-regeneration and—”

“He’s dead, Nezha!” the demigod cut him off sharply. Another lie added to the tally… a pang in his chest made him clench his fist, but he couldn’t drag his friend into something he had caused himself. Besides, he knew that instead of feeling relieved, Nezha would only get angrier and go to Earth to finish the monkey himself. Erlang took a deep breath to calm himself, then looked at the prince more seriously. “He’s dead.”

The prince couldn’t lean towards him, but his eyes were full of distrust. “Are you sure? Can you swear it on your life?”

Erlang wanted to swallow himself whole. He hated the feeling of lying, knowing it was a crime punished severely. But he kept his stern gaze on the young man, with no hint of nerves—though inside, he was terrified.
“Absolutely sure, Nezha. And now…” He paused, seeing the other grow even more upset. Maybe he had lied to keep him out of trouble, but that didn’t save him from the scolding to come. “When I tell you to leave, you have to do it. Look at the state you’re in—if I hadn’t interfered, that monkey would have killed you. You risked your life out of pride, and you repay me poorly for saving it!”

The prince lowered his gaze in resignation and shame, with no counterargument coming to mind.

“…I just… couldn’t believe I’d been brought so low. I thought I’d… have a chance, and fight the way I always have.” His voice was low, as he couldn’t remember the last time he had lost a fight to a demon. “How can I call myself the Third Lotus Prince if I couldn’t finish off a monkey? Three heads and six arms, and I couldn’t even transform… heh, my father was right—I’m just a child playing at being a god.”

Erlang softened his expression and straightened in his seat. He understood how the young man felt, and now, more than a scolding, he needed support from someone he trusted. The demigod knew the prince’s history with his father, and that in the Court, Nezha had no one but him.

“Nezha… I really do understand how you feel. That monkey was… going to kill you just because you decided to provoke him by hurting the monkeys. We should have… thought of another strategy.”

“Tch, you think?” the prince scoffed.

“…His reputation preceded him, and there’s a reason the Emperor warned us to be careful. But that doesn’t mean your skills are worse. You’re still the best monster hunter in the Court…”

“After you,” Nezha cut in, and Erlang was left speechless. The young prince could see it in his face and scowled. “I don’t need your pity, Erlang. That monkey… he had the look of someone who would keep provoking us even after the Zhi Jinghua. He’d go on killing gods until he got here and murdered the Emperor—I could see it in his eyes, I know it.”

Nezha was thinking aloud, and Erlang had no choice but to listen in silence, though it planted new doubts in his mind. What assurance did he have that once he recovered, the Monkey King wouldn’t go on committing crimes against the Court until he reached the Emperor? Would Erlang be willing to follow him then? He had no idea… but he needed to keep trying to understand everything happening around that monkey.

“It’s incredible how that purge has changed the Earth…” Nezha went on. “It’s not just altered naturally—there are already yaoguai capable of killing immortals. What a mess.”

“He put up a real fight, but not enough,” Erlang replied as he stood, giving his friend a sympathetic look. “Try to rest, Nezha… when you feel better, head to the Treasure Hall of the Divine Mist. The Emperor wants to hold a banquet in our honor.”

“A banquet?” Nezha looked confused, and even more so when he saw the older man leaving. “And where are you going?”

Erlang used the moment to think. He had to find a way for the brown-furred monkey to at least tolerate him and let him help in some small way. He remembered the guilt he’d felt for inflicting such a wound that left him on the brink of collapse—and when it came to instant medicine even more effective than that of the Courtyard, he knew exactly who to consult. Erlang glanced at Nezha over his shoulder before stepping out the door.

“To request an audience with a Sage… I won’t be long.”

“What? Hey, wait!” the prince called as he watched him leave, but it was in vain—once again, he was alone. With a heavy sigh, he turned his gaze back to the ceiling, thinking about the banquet…

He couldn't deny that he felt quite hungry just thinking about the exquisite dishes on display at the royal feasts, but he also didn't feel that he really deserved it. He had been weak, and if it weren't for Erlang, he would already be dead.

Nezha shifted as best he could in bed until he found a minimally comfortable position, then closed his eyes, trying to sink into a deep sleep, not only to rest but also so that the medicine would take effect more quickly and he could get out of there as soon as possible.

*****************************************

Unlike how he had been all day in front of a bunch of doors, Erlang now knocked on the grand entrance of the Tushita Palace with complete confidence.
His first visit to the monkey had turned out the exact opposite of what he had expected, but he scolded himself for having high hopes. Obviously, the brown-furred one wouldn’t welcome him with open arms, and if he hadn’t been injured, he would have surely broken his arm or worse. He had no desire to end up like Nezha.

If he wanted to make amends for his mission, he had to start by helping him fix his biggest problem: his stomach cut in half. The medicine from the Healers’ Courtyard, as Fu-xian clarified, was among the most effective in the Three Realms, but it wasn’t instant—it required time to see results in the body. Not for nothing did Nezha have to remain in bed, resting. He needed something more effective, and although the Tushita Palace wasn’t specialized in medicine, the Sacred Laozi’s pill workshop was the go-to place for crafting any consumable with immediate effects.

Erlang stepped back a few paces to wait in silence, though as seconds passed, he worried that the Sacred Immortal might not be in the palace, as was often the case. Laozi had the notorious reputation of never being in Tushita when needed—he was a very busy man.

But to his surprise, just when he suspected no one would answer, the palace’s gigantic doors swung wide open with a deep creak, granting him entry. Erlang hurried across the great vestibule, and although he scanned the surroundings, he didn’t spot any Sage.

"Hello? Lord Laozi?" he called aloud.

"Over here, boy!" a voice boomed, echoing off the walls.

Erlang flinched and tensed his body. He still couldn’t see anyone in the vast hall, but at least he could tell the voice had come from down the corridor, so he began walking towards the entrance of another grand chamber.

"Lord Laozi? Where are thou?"

"Just get into my workshop, don’t be so slow!"

The demigod flushed in embarrassment and quickened his pace, leaving the hallway to head towards the Sacred One’s large workshop. His memory usually served him well, and he had been to the palace several times, so he navigated the labyrinth that was Tushita Palace until he finally stopped, slightly out of breath, before a set of doors which, unlike the rest of the palace made of stone, gold, and jade, were of wood barely standing upright.

The Sacred One’s voice had gone silent, but Erlang could hear bubbling sounds and metal clanging, as if gears were working in unison. For some reason, the tension in his muscles lingered, and once again that day, he stared at the doors like a fool. He felt hesitant. Slowly, he reached out to touch them and confirm that this was indeed the workshop where Laozi was—one among hundreds scattered through the palace. When his palm rested on the wood, he found it was warm.

Not even ten seconds passed before the door exploded into a thousand pieces. Erlang was thrown backward, sliding across the floor amid a cloud of green smoke and wooden beams from the shattered doorway. The air was knocked from his lungs for a moment, and he coughed, waving a hand to clear his face. His head spun, and though his body was intact, the daze kept him from standing up.

A pair of brown cloth shoes approached, and the demigod barely made out the face of the old man in the smoke.

"What a whelp… Since when are demigods so weak? Come on, up you go!"

The old man grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up to his feet. Erlang shook his head and immediately stepped back, fully on guard. But his tension melted away when he recognized the elder before him, shaking his Fuzi to disperse the green smoke. Despite his voluminous and exquisite blue robes, worthy of one of the Three Sacred Ones, he couldn’t have been more covered in soot.

His long beard showed only hints of white beneath the layers of ash and grime, and his thin, bony hands weren’t in much better shape. Erlang couldn’t hide his surprise—he had never imagined seeing the great Laozi with even a speck of dirt on him.

It took Erlang a few seconds to recover, but he cleared his throat, straightened himself as firmly as he could, clasped his fist against his palm, and bowed before the Sage.

"Laozi, it’s an honor to—"

"Bah, enough of that nonsense!" the Sacred One cut him off. "Come with me."

Laozi turned without waiting for the black-haired man to follow, so Erlang jogged to keep behind him. When they entered the true workshop, the demigod could hardly believe the most prestigious alchemist of the Court kept the place in such complete disarray.

Gold, stone, jade, and wood intermingled without control or elegant pattern. Erlang had trouble walking among the countless scrolls and papers scattered across the floor, most of them torn or crumpled into balls. It was clear the Sacred One tried to keep his workspace clear, but the tables had no discernible order. Tools and metal pieces covered the desks, along with countless vials containing fluids Erlang couldn’t identify.

He didn’t remember the workshop being like this on his last visit—or perhaps he had simply never been in this room before. At the center of the large space stood an enormous furnace, fed by blazing flames that escaped through holes in its body. Though earlier it had emitted green smoke, it now released shimmering threads and an iridescent glow.

Laozi approached the cauldron, and with iron tongs, reached inside and pulled out a pill that radiated a white light and was composed of an ethereal multicolor. He studied it for a few seconds, then looked at the demigod.

"What do you think of this?"

"Sorry…?"

Without warning, the Sacred One tossed the pill at the black-haired man. Erlang caught it easily, but within five seconds he dropped it, yelping from the burn. His palm, where the pill had rested, was left with a severe burn that sent smoke curling from his skin. He clutched the wound, hissing, then looked up angrily.

"What… what was that for? It hurt!"

But Laozi didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Instead, using the fibers of his Fuzi staff, he retrieved the pill and placed it back into the furnace. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he finally seemed to notice the demigod’s burn.

"…A piece of Heaven. The Emperor has tasked me with refining the fragments that have broken apart, but… it’s been a headache. Three days and three nights I’ve been working on this pill, and it’s still unstable. For Buddha's sake…"

"A… piece of Heaven, thou said…?"

The Sacred One’s eyes went wide, and immediately he began pacing back and forth, apparently angry with himself. Erlang could barely follow what was happening.

"I shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have said it…," he muttered, before waving it off. "Bah, what does it matter? You’re his nephew…"

Little by little, Laozi’s anger subsided. He straightened his back and rested his Fuzi on his arm, letting the fibers drape down. As he turned to face Erlang, the demigod noticed a new expression planted on his face—one full of curiosity.

"What a match, what a ‘coincidence’… that you should show up at my palace right now, boy."

"Well…" Erlang began, shifting in place. "I needed to speak to thou about something that’s been troubling me."

"What could trouble the Court’s greatest monster hunter?" Laozi asked, with both interest and irony.

"I know it’s not thy specialty, but… thine alchemy is more effective than the medicine from the Healers’ Courtyard."

“That’s correct.”

“And thy pills have an immediate effect.”

“Not all of them, but those that grant immortality are strictly forbidden, if that’s what you’re after,” Laozi rejected.

Erlang shook his head. “I would never dare to ask for one of thy personal pills, Sacred Immortal.”

“Then what is it you want?” the old man pressed, heading to his largest desk to push aside the most recent scroll he had written. He tossed it into the fire to serve as fuel for the furnace. “As you can see, time is running, and I’m very busy, Small Sage…”

“I need a regenerative pill.”

The Sacred One remained silent for a long moment. Slowly, he turned around and looked at the demigod in disbelief, as if he had just asked for something outrageous. “For this you interrupted my work?”

Erlang bowed his head and brought his hands together again in apology. “I didn’t mean to intrude, Lord Laozi. But I require a medicine that works almost instantly. I can’t afford the Courtyard’s medicine, for as I said… I need it to be quick.”

Laozi looked him over from head to toe, skeptical. “And for what reason? You look as healthy as any capable warrior to me.”

“It’s not for me, Sacred One. It’s for… someone else.”

“And may I know for whom?” the old man asked suspiciously. “As far as I know, Prince Nezha is already receiving treatment.”

Erlang froze. His nerves began to overflow, and he clasped his hands behind his back, fingers fidgeting. He avoided the Sacred One’s gaze, thinking in mere milliseconds of a convincing answer. That monkey meant nothing to him, so why was he risking his neck for him? His feelings were tangled, and he couldn’t understand them clearly. He was a mess, and he knew his silence was already suspicious.

What could he say? Someone important? A relative? A comrade? None of the options convinced him, and he was already beginning to feel sweat soak his robes. Laozi stepped closer, his gaze piercing him.

“For whom is the pill, Er'lang Shen?”

“For a sworn brother…!” he blurted out, finally releasing the knot in his throat. He took a deep breath, realizing he was panting, and looked firmly at the Sacred One. “He serves on Earth, for the Court… he has helped Nezha and me countless times when we’ve been sent to take down a yaoguai. He’s… very committed to offering his service to the Celestial Authority.”

If the monkey had heard that, he’d surely have punched him in the face. Such words would have been blasphemy to his ears. But Erlang had nothing else in mind—he obviously couldn’t reveal it was for the beast he’d been ordered to kill, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Again, his heart pounded like a drum in his chest, his fists clenched tightly behind his back, and his clothes clung to his skin. In that moment, he prayed his voice hadn’t trembled.

Laozi held his gaze for what Erlang felt were endless days. But he couldn’t back down. He had already lied to the Emperor, to Nezha, and now to one of the Three Sacred Ones who sat at his uncle’s right hand in the Treasure Hall of Divine Mist. He knew well that this could have deadly consequences, but there was no turning back. He hadn’t been this serious before someone in a very long time.

“…How bad is it?”

“Deep cut, puncture of internal organs. Stomach, liver, intestines… internal bleeding, and now that time has passed… possibly several infections,” he replied quickly.

The Sacred Alchemist narrowed his eyes and pierced Erlang with his gaze—it felt like it was burning into his retinas. Finally, he twisted his expression and stepped away from the black-haired man with a dismissive wave.

“Don’t waste my time…”

“I beg thou, Sacred Laozi!” Erlang bowed again with the utmost respect. “I could only come to thou—thy reputation as an alchemist precedes thou, Supreme Lord Lao—thou are the only one who can help me. If he doesn’t get help soon… he could bleed out. Have mercy, and I will owe thou a great favor. I will undertake any task or service thou command.”

Laozi stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow at the demigod. He certainly spoke with urgency—then this must be very important to him. Stroking his beard, eyes calculating, he did not look away. Having the Emperor’s nephew in his debt, even just once… Besides, he couldn’t let him go so easily now that he knew about his work with the Heavenly pill. Raspy hums escaped his mouth as he pondered, but Erlang didn’t move a single inch from his stance.

“The Emperor’s nephew, owing me a favor… what an interesting proposal, boy,” Laozi agreed. “Since you know that pill is a fragment of Heaven itself, I can’t let you go so easily… and I might need a little more ‘Heaven’ fallen from Earth. Very well… here’s what we’ll do.”

Erlang’s eyes lit up with relief, and he eased his posture.

“Oh, thou have no idea how much—”

“What you ask isn’t impossible, but it takes time to complete,” the Sacred One interrupted. “I’d say… two days. I just need to find a suitable yaoguai with healing properties, and—”

“Supreme Lao,” Erlang bowed again, quite uneasy as he remembered the formal procedure the Immortals followed to create pills of immortality. “I… would prefer that we make the pill with different ingredients. Without using any yaoguai…”

Laozi looked at him in disbelief.

“Asking me for a pill outside of my formal work and with demands? Ugh…” He raised a hand to calm himself and straightened his firm posture. “That will be another favor you’ll owe me, young man. My storehouse of plants and stones is vast—I’ll see what I can do.”

The demigod showed deep gratitude and bowed even lower. “Thou have all my thanks, Venerable Celestial.”

The Sacred One waved his hand for the black-haired man to stand straight and shook his head. “You can thank me later. For now, I need you to leave and let me get back to work.”

“Of course. With thy permission…”

Erlang reacted quickly, clasping his hands one last time before turning around and leaving the Tushita Palace as swiftly as possible. Once outside, he noticed night had already fallen, and a sea of stars with beautiful auroras, the full moon as host, greeted him. A wave of hope washed over him from head to toe. In just two days, he could make amends for his first mistake with the monkey. He felt he owed him—not just to heal him, but… he couldn’t deny that the brown-furred creature had him eaten up with curiosity.

To his dismay, he would have to add another lie to his list, and it brought him no pleasure. It went against his moral code and was, in itself, a crime in the Court. Nezha wouldn’t forgive him… he couldn’t believe he was risking so much for a monkey he couldn’t kill. At that moment, he remembered how wounded he had looked—barely able to walk or stand without bleeding out. He feared he might not last much longer without help and… in two days, he might already find him dead the next time he returned.

He needed to help slow the process. But after so much running around, fighting, and worrying, both his mind and body were exhausted. His feet began moving on their own towards his residence in the Court—this time without transforming to fly. He didn’t even have enough magic left. Erlang could feel his head grow heavy… like Nezha, he needed rest.

Upon reaching his estate under the silver light of night, he slid open the door to his room and stepped inside, removing his boots with a sharp shake of his feet. Stretching his back, he sat on the bed, lost in the silence. His eyes wandered across the room, as if searching for something unusual, until they fell on the shelves along the wall. He reached for a bottle filled with a red liquid and examined it in his hand.

A healing tincture. Erlang had stopped using them when he began his hunts, but he always kept a supply in his room. An idea began to form in his mind. While waiting for the two days to pass, he could return and help the brown monkey by at least giving him the tincture. It wasn’t as effective as the Courtyard’s medicine or Laozi’s pills, but it would do its job.

A confident look lit up his face. He set the bottle on his nightstand and lay down, his mind full of growing expectations for the coming day.

Though the feeling was comforting, exhaustion won out, and within three minutes, Erlang was fast asleep, sprawled across the bed.

Chapter Text

WUKONG WOULD NEVER HAVE ALLOWED himself to be seen in such a state before the other monkeys. In such a lame position, so pitiful… only he was allowed to help himself; literally. A trio of his clones had appeared to assist him, since he didn’t even have the strength to do it alone. Pathetic, utterly pathetic…

The three clones took the ends of the cloth and, in unison, pulled as tightly as they could.

“Hngh!!!” A cry burst from between his teeth as his body tensed like stone. His knuckles turned white from clenching his fists, and he fought not to stagger under the strength of his clones.

A pain like a thousand knives pierced his stomach the moment the cloth tightened around his wound. Drops of blood trickled down his hip and fell to the floor. His body trembled, but the rag that served as a bandage was already soaked red. It wasn’t enough.

Wukong turned his head over his shoulder and shot his replicas a sharp glare.

“More… tighter!” he demanded.

The clones exchanged a look, but without hesitation, they gripped the ends of the cloth again and pulled once more, hauling back with all their combined strength. Wukong clung to the table to avoid being thrown off, a muffled groan escaping his throat as the air was crushed from his insides. It was hard to breathe, but he had to make sure the bleeding stopped until his body could begin to heal on its own. The only way to avoid bleeding out was to apply as much pressure as possible.

“More!”

Another pull left him breathless again, his back arching, his body trembling under the strain. He felt as if he were bound inside an impossible corset, but it was necessary. He feared his groans might carry outside his chambers in the sanctuary, but at this point, the only thing that mattered was stopping the bleeding.

“A little more… tighter!” His voice was unrecognizable, stripped of air from his lungs. He had to endure whatever it took if he didn’t want to appear weak in front of his little ones, who needed him as strong as ever.

He never thought himself so thin, and the cloth alone proved just how far it could be wound around him. With the force his clones were applying, the rag looked ready to tear apart. Yet, amid all the pressure, he finally found the perfect point.

“Enough! Let go!” he exclaimed, just in time for the replicas to release the cloth a few seconds later, all three stumbling back as Wukong collapsed against the table.

Air barely entered his body, his stomach moving only by millimeters. It was as if the very oxygen on Earth had thinned, and he fought for what little there was. But it was a matter of adaptation. Slow and stiff as a board, the brown monkey straightened up and pressed a hand to his abdomen. The cloth was soaked with old blood, but he no longer felt fresh hemorrhage seeping through.

Shaking, he let out a sigh of relief and turned stiffly, only to find the doubtful, almost disdainful stares of his clones.

“What are you looking at?” Wukong growled.

“You really think you can present yourself like this? Barely standing or breathing.”

“Don’t you think that was too much?”

“Hmph! And to think a single hunter reduced us to this.”

Wukong couldn’t believe his own clones were throwing in his face everything he didn’t want to hear right now. He knew the replicas he created were extensions of himself, but hearing sermons from his own mind crossed a line. It was enough to deal with the constant humiliation from that hunter—he didn’t need to add another annoyance to his list.

He rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh and glared at them.

“…Have I really reached the point of scolding and arguing with myself? How deplorable…”

With a single gesture, the clones mirrored his grimace and, in a puff of smoke, turned back into the strands of hair he had plucked. They returned to their place, leaving Wukong alone.

He ran a hand over his head, brushing away the strands from his face, and looked at the golden armor hanging on its special stand. It was still stained, despite the other monkeys’ attempts to clean it the night before. He couldn’t allow himself to ask them, as in the past, to help him put it on—and he was already ashamed of summoning more clones.

Besides, he couldn’t risk being left vulnerable to another ambush from celestial hunters or some demon eager to exploit his weakness. As much as he longed to spend the day in light robes, he had to remain vigilant, the sole line of defense for the mountain.

Taking extreme care not to move too much and loosen the pressure of the cloth on his stomach, he silently began to don each layer his armor required. The golden Suozi pauldrons and breastplate, the bracers; then, slowly and carefully, he managed to put on the boots made for walking upon clouds without bending too much; the phoenix-feathered helm, and lastly, the crimson cloak draped from his shoulders.

Never had he felt so heavy. Yet a new day awaited, and he prayed it might be peaceful.

He walked slowly, as rigid as a tree, out of his chamber and pushed open the stone doors to step into the hallway leading to the central courtyard. As his quarters were the largest, opposite the corridor lay a small garden with a fountain, which both he and the others had worked hard to tend.

He could barely hear the activity of the little ones inside the sanctuary and beyond. A wave of nostalgia crossed his heart—for only a few decades ago, the sounds of the great monkey family had echoed like chants through these walls. The laughter, the uproar, the countless banquets, the clashing of stones, the music they had once learned to play… all now just a faint reminiscence of what the Water Curtain Cave used to be.

Wukong lost all sense of space and time as he sank into his memories, standing in the middle of the hallway before the garden, no one else around. That was why he didn’t notice the hurried footsteps approaching him.

“My King, Father of the Sun… uh, Lord?”

The voice broke his meditative silence, and Wukong’s eyes snapped open as his arms dropped to his sides. A few steps away stood a black-furred monkey in tight robes, a single pauldron covering his right bicep. The Monkey King recognized him at once and softened his expression into a smile. He placed a hand on his hip, adopting a more relaxed stance.

“Ah, if it isn’t my General Peng… What news do you bring from the North? You were missed yesterday at my return to the mountain.”

This monkey had inherited the name of the original commander Peng from centuries ago. He wasn’t a direct descendant, but thanks to his boldness and unwavering loyalty to Wukong, always willing to serve in the highest ranks, the King couldn’t have been prouder to someday name him General Peng. Of the few adult monkeys left, Wukong trusted him fully with major tasks whenever he was absent from the mountain.

Yet, despite seeing each other again after such a long absence and with Peng bowing before him with a smile, the general’s face soon darkened.

“The… news that a pair of hunters descended from Heaven to defeat you spread like sand in the wind, my King. They say too much that one of them left you gravely wounded…”

Wukong’s smile vanished in turn, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Wounded or not… if they dare attack the mountain, I will show no mercy. What else do you have?”

Peng cleared his throat. This time, it was difficult to meet the brown monkey’s gaze.

“I returned not long ago, and… many are voicing their concerns about food, my King. Our trees no longer bear fruit, and I searched the mountain for provisions… nothing seems ripe. I believe, of all the island’s problems, this is the one that has us most alarmed.”

“‘Us,’ in plural?”

The black-furred monkey nodded uneasily.

“I fear so, my Lord. The ration you brought yesterday was barely enough to feed the little ones, and even… the adults gave up their own portions to feed the young. With all due respect, I’m worried as well. The elders have not eaten anything in three weeks.” Peng paused, steadying the fear in his voice. “We are starving, my King.”

Wukong couldn’t help but feel a stab in his stomach at hearing his most loyal commander—and the only one he had—speak with such anguish. He knew the rest of his family was no better, fearful of leaving the cave and resigned to hunger. The brown-furred monkey averted his gaze, unable to ease the pressure in his heart. So much time had passed with him away, trying to wrest control from the Court on Earth, killing gods and envoys in every land, that he had forgotten to take care of his own. He had never felt like a worse king.

Guilt flooded him, but Wukong had never been one to wallow or stay idle in a crisis. He kept one hand on his abdomen to press against it as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled to calm and center his mind. Turning back to his general, he gave a slow nod.

“I understand… we must wait for the fruits to grow back, but we don’t have time for that. Nor will I risk having you leave the borders of the mountain, where, as you’ve said, yaoguai are already alert and watching. Hmmm…” Wukong stroked his chin, pacing under the general’s gaze. At last, he stopped. “Perhaps fruit has always been our preference, but… our fangs allow us to tear and chew another kind of food: meat.”

Peng could not hide his surprise at the suggestion.

“My Lord?”

“Did you know… the very first thing I ever ate, right after being born, was a fish?” Wukong told him with a calmer expression. “I caught it myself in the river that flows from the peak of Mount Huaguo. I can’t deny that meat in general has more protein than fruit. We need to regain our strength.”

As Wukong explained his plan, young General Peng began to understand, his eyes lighting up with every word.

“Then, what you’re suggesting is…”

“I’ll head to the coast right now and catch as many fish as I can,” Wukong summarized with a confident smile. “And since I spent many years among humans, I also learned cooking. If we roast them over bonfires, they’ll last longer than if we leave them raw. That way, adults won’t need to worry about the younglings—everyone will eat equally.”

Peng could not contain his relief and joy, his growing smile and brightened face revealing everything.

“Oh, of course, my King! I never would have thought of it… surely your wisdom precedes you!”

Wukong felt both pleased and embarrassed at the praise, folding his arms again and shaking his head.

“The least I can do is take care of all of you and tend to your worries. That is a King’s duty. Although…” He avoided Peng’s gaze for a moment. “I regret having been gone so long, leaving you defenseless. I should have returned sooner…”

This time, it was General Peng who shook his head, raising his hands.

“My Lord, don’t be so modest. We will always await your return, no matter how many years pass. And we understand there is a greater priority than us. The Celestial Court’s control over Earth must fall.”

“Though we no longer have many years left…” Wukong thought bitterly, hiding it behind a faint smile. From the moment he first left the island, he had believed his mission was to put a stop to the Celestial Court and seek out the Zhi Jinghua to stop it. But upon returning, he realized… what was the point of ending that war if there was no people left to fight for? He knew that once he recovered, he would resume his arduous journey, but he had to make sure his little ones were safe in the meantime. He did not want to hear of more crises during his absence.

As he drifted into his thoughts again, he forced himself to stir and shift in place. Without erasing the smile on his face, he looked at his black-furred general.

“All of you are also my priority. Now go and spread my message to everyone. From this day, no one will go hungry in my mountain.”

General Peng pressed his hands together and bowed to him with the utmost admiration and respect.

“At once, my King. We are all so glad to have you back.”

Wukong was left alone once again in the middle of the corridor. He had paid little attention to the problems of his own people, and that frustrated him. In the past, he never would have allowed a wave of famine to sweep through his domain. But now, crises seemed to appear everywhere. He wanted to sink back into memories, but quickly discarded the thought. His friends, his commanders, and above all, his master would never have wanted him to lament like some useless fool.

That wound left by the hunter had indeed been a low blow to his pride, but if he was famous for anything, it was for always rising above any problem. Yes, he had slain gods beneath his staff before—he would not allow some wretch of the Court to make him believe his worth had diminished. Catching fish would be child’s play, and he had to see it as an opportunity to clear his mind with an activity that would keep him from sitting idle.

He had a war with Heaven to lead.

Hardening his expression, a bubbling wave of energy rising through his body, he ignored the tightness of the cloth around his stomach and whistled to summon his flying cloud. Once atop it, he set off, soaring into the sky before the hopeful, jubilant gazes of the mountain’s monkeys, heading towards the Southern Sea.

****************************************************

The midday sun blazed from its zenith, and Wukong was quite pleased to feel a little warmth after the chill of the cave. The sand beneath his boots was hot, and the sea breeze carried the salty scent into the air.

He rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen the tension. Taking a few steps back and inhaling deeply, he sprinted forward as fast as his legs could carry him. The instant his feet touched the thinnest edge of the shoreline, he leapt powerfully, soaring through the air for nearly a kilometer on sheer momentum. If he wanted the largest haul of fish, he had to go into the open sea, where the great schools gathered.

The rush of wind around him refreshed and invigorated him, and with a twist in the air, he dove straight into the water. Like an arrow fired from the firmest crossbow, he cut through the sea, plunging several meters into its depths. After swimming a little further, he stopped, suspended in the vast ocean. He could not even glimpse the seafloor beneath him, nor anything that might come from any direction—only endless swirls of inscrutable blue, colored by the shifting light above.

When he had once gone to the Dragon King Ao Guang’s palace, he had managed to endure underwater with a spell—one he now recited again to keep from suffocating. With no more concerns, he began swimming south in search of families of fish.

Beneath the sea, his ears sharpened to detect the slightest shift in the flow, and he narrowed his eyes to pierce the bluish haze. For long minutes, he found no trace of a school, and frustration grew. Perhaps he should change direction? All he saw was endless, empty water… until he paused to reconsider his options.

Floating, his body spinning idly in the currents, he crossed his legs and rested his chin in his hand. He closed his eyes, meditating in complete stillness. He seemed like an inanimate object, neither sinking nor rising.

It wasn’t long before his ears picked up a change in the water’s waves, drawing closer. He opened his eyes again to find a silver fish swimming towards him. He let it pass. Another swam by on his right. Then another. A fourth… until before him appeared the whole family.

Not a single fish collided with him—they flowed perfectly around him. Wukong was astonished to see there were easily more than a hundred, all moving as one. He could not waste the chance. Quickly, he shifted from his pose and swam with the current, keeping pace without trouble. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed the seafloor rising below, and inspiration struck.

He pulled away from the school and dove until his feet touched the white sand far beneath. The fish were headed towards the reef for food, though they had no idea they would become the main course. Wukong gathered all the strength he could and launched himself upwards with tremendous force, spinning like a top to create a whirlpool in his wake.

He tore through the school, and the current dragged every fish along with him. He burst from the surface in a splash, the entire family flung into the air. It was like a rain of fish, their scales glittering like pearls in the sun—but Wukong had no time to waste.

In a blink, he summoned his cloud, plucked a strand of hair from his head, and transformed it into a massive net. He surfed through the sky in a wide arc, scooping up the highest fish, then dove lower to catch those about to fall back into the sea. Circling over the surface, he didn’t let a single fish escape, and the last one he spotted he caught by sinking his claws into its scales.

The fish’s blood ran down his fingers as it writhed in his grip, but Wukong grinned in triumph. Despite the lingering pain in his elbow from the hunter’s wound, he held the net firmly in one hand, the entire school now inside. Tossing the last fish in, he clenched the net tightly, and with both hands, hurled his first catch like a bullet towards the shore.

Unlike when he had first put it on, Wukong now didn’t even feel the weight of his armor—it was part of his body. He shook his head, spraying off the excess water, and gazed again at the reef below.

“Bait… that’s what I need.” A sly smile crossed his face, and he leapt from his cloud into the sea once more. His new goal stayed clear in his mind, and it wasn’t hard to spot them among the corals and seaweed.

Descending to the seafloor again, he cracked several sea urchins in half with a single tap, letting them drift like scattered morsels. To fish, they were a delicacy beyond compare. Soon, another school swirled in, frenzied by the free meal. Pleased, the brown monkey crouched to launch himself upward again.

Repeating the process, he surged through the water, blasting the school into the air. More strands of hair became nets, and he refused to let a single fish return to the sea.

Hours passed, and more than three hauls of fish now awaited him on the shore. It seemed he could fish the whole ocean if it meant feeding his kin—and now that he thought of it, yes, he could. Pride swelled in him at his work, and the reward would be a grand, nostalgic banquet of fish of every size, color, and flavor. His little ones would no longer go hungry for a long time.

“You’re a good King, Wukong,” he thought to himself, smiling underwater. He could not deny that since the Zhi Jinghua began, he had faced many highs and lows he wasn’t proud of. But he would not let problems, no matter how great or small, break his spirit.

Yet when he opened his eyes, his smile vanished in an instant. The water around him was no longer blue but filled with swirls of red. His body tensed, and he looked down to see streams of blood pouring from his stomach. Had the cloth loosened—how had he not noticed? He couldn’t remove his armor down here, so he did the only thing he could: tightened his belt as hard as possible, even as stabbing pain shot through him.

The emergency consumed all his focus. He ignored his surroundings—and that was his greatest mistake. In mere seconds, Wukong sensed a shadow rising around him, but he didn’t even lift his head in time to see it clearly. Jaws lined with rows of teeth closed around him, and a monster the size of a whale swallowed him whole.

*********************************************************

The sea fell into absolute silence.
A fish that large was already a monster, and the moment it saw an opportunity for food, it didn’t think twice—swallowing the first thing that crossed its path. Now it swam on, searching for more prey to fill its stomach, drawn for miles by the heavy scent of blood in the water. But it had no idea that this “appetizer” would become its greatest stomachache.

The beast thrashed violently, halting its path, its jaw forced wide open by an extraordinary strength from within. The Monkey King, wedged between its slimy, slippery fangs, strained to hold the jaws apart, forcing them upward to keep them from snapping shut.

With his injured arm, he pulled his iron staff from his ear, expanding it until it pried the creature’s mouth to impossible angles. Wrapping his tail around the staff, gripping its rows of teeth with his hands, he heaved, launching the aquatic yaoguai spinning through the water, meters away. Several of its teeth were torn loose in the process, left drifting in the current.

The beast shook off its momentum, body writhing, and fixed its gaze on the brown-furred monkey in the distance. Wukong, meanwhile, snatched up one of the fallen teeth and twirled it between his fingers, grinning defiantly, though his anger flared. No brainless beast would dare swallow the Monkey King! And now, before his eyes, he saw the greatest prize he could ever bring back to the mountain.

The giant fish wasted no thought and shot towards him like a bullet. Wukong gripped his staff with his good hand, bracing himself as best he could. Underwater was not his element, but against a fish, he would not lose. He let the monster charge like a mad beast, waited… and as its jaws opened to devour him again, Wukong delivered a crushing blow, bubbles bursting as the fish reeled, dazed.

The monkey wasted no time—he swam in to land a second strike, then a third, until the creature’s bones cracked audibly beneath his staff. But it was not enough. The beast lunged again, furious. Wukong dodged by mere inches, sinking his claws into its scales to cling to its side. The yaoguai, feeling him on its back, thrashed violently up and down, side to side, but the brown monkey clung like a tick, refusing to be thrown off or disoriented.

At last, the fish dove for the depths, and Wukong’s alarm spiked. The deeper they went, the worse the pressure would become—even he couldn’t endure it. He had no reason to sink. He had to rise. Using only his claws as anchors, he clawed his way forward along the beast’s body until he reached its snout. Ignoring the brutal thrashing, he poured his strength into forcing it upward.

The fish fought for control, but stabs from his staff directly into its eyes made it falter, and at last, it surged towards the surface under Wukong’s command. Near enough now, the monkey seized the beast by its nostrils and twisted, launching it with all his might from the water. The yaoguai, massive as it was, soared into the air—and Wukong burst from the sea after it, landing on his cloud.

In less than a blink, he caught up to the enormous body. Raising his iron staff high over his shoulder, he swung like a bat striking a ball, sending the beast flying through the air towards the shore. Wukong raced beneath it, grabbed its tail firmly, and hurled it down with all his strength. For a fleeting moment, he didn’t even recall that this was the same move the black-haired hunter had once used to bring him down.

The monster’s body slammed into the sand, sending up clouds of earth and grit. With what little strength it had left, it writhed helplessly, trying in vain to crawl back to the water. But Wukong was already falling in a dive, and at the last instant, he drove his staff into the fish’s skull with a strike that shook the beach.

The golden tip of the staff shattered the creature’s cranium, spraying the sand with black blood, chunks of brain, muscle, and splintered bone. Wukong landed, spinning over the scaly body as it convulsed violently, headless of its missing brain.

The carcass was slippery and slimy, forcing him to grip its dorsal fin to keep his footing. At last, the monster stilled. The armored monkey straightened and gazed upon the beast’s enormous frame. Its tail fins reached the lapping surf at the shoreline, while the remains of its head nearly touched the grassy edge of the beach.

His body surged with energy, and a triumphant smile spread across his face as the wind rippled his cloak and helmet plumes.

“Yes, yes! That’s what you get for trying to eat me, you filthy beast! Was your brain that small? Too bad! Now you’ll be the greatest feast my mountain has ever seen!”

Wukong burst out laughing. Leaping from the fish’s body, he retrieved his staff, shaking away clumps of blood and entrails. He looked to his nets brimming with fish, then back at the yaoguai. Bending down, he wrenched another tooth free to keep as a personal trophy.

He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, arched his back. Victory tasted sweet.

“What a fine hunt… ah… what…?”

He staggered on his first step. The surge of energy and triumph vanished in an instant. He pressed his hand to his abdomen—and when he lifted it into view, it was drenched in red. Horror struck him as he turned slowly, realizing streams of blood were spilling from the beast’s back, tracing through the sand in a line that ended at his feet.

The cloth around his stomach was gone.

His vision doubled, his world drained of color, and the pressure in his head sank to the ground.

“Ah, shit…”

Wukong could do nothing more. His eyes rolled back, his face paled, and he collapsed onto the sand.

*****************************************************

He didn’t know if time had passed, or if his hours on Earth had already come to an end. He hadn’t even dreamed. He couldn’t feel, couldn’t hear, couldn’t smell. His mind was adrift in an infinite, dark void, without temperature or gravity. It was a strange sensation, as though he had felt it before, somewhere, sometime he could no longer remember.

He didn’t know if he was dreaming now, or walking the path to reincarnation. It wasn’t only the emptiness around him—he felt it within himself as well. Even with his eyes open, Wukong saw nothing but an impenetrable gloom before his nose.

Like an echo bouncing endlessly, he began to hear an ethereal chant, worthy of the most skilled maidens of Heaven. But it was no female voice—it was a male one. To him, it felt both achingly familiar and impossibly foreign at once… a soft humming carried on a reverberating harmony.

His body did not seem to move, and yet, in the distance, Wukong caught sight of a figure. It radiated a golden glow, as though made of that very color. Though his vision was blurred, he noticed a reddish tint streaking among the gold. The being appeared to be seated, its back turned to him—or so he thought, though he could scarcely discern if it was truly someone at all, or just a shifting ball of colors.

Its presence did not bring warmth or joy, but the opposite. He did not want to draw closer, yet his body moved on its own, like a moth drawn helplessly to the light. His sight warped and faltered. Before he could see the figure more clearly, he felt as if a mountain of Dharma itself had come down to crush him.

He could have sworn the figure saw him.

At that instant, his body jolted awake.

He gasped, eyes snapping wide as cold water had been poured over his head. He felt disoriented, and for several seconds, he didn’t recognize where he was. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his breathing uncontrollable.

He couldn’t understand what had happened, or what sort of dream it had been. An immense weight pressed upon his body, and though he fought to move, he could barely twitch, as if unseen hands were holding him down. Distant, barely legible, he heard a voice calling to him, trying to calm him. As his vision cleared, he discerned a figure only a few feet away.

“Easy now… you’re alright, just breathe…”

Wukong swore he had heard that voice before. Deep yet gentle, stern yet youthful… but now it sounded far more soothing than it ever had. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the light.

And there he saw the man helping him—none other than the black-haired hunter who had split his stomach in two.

Far from what the brown-furred monkey might have expected, the man looked relieved to see him awake.

“Ah, finally… you’re awake. For a moment I thought—”

Wukong didn’t wait. He reacted on instinct, driving his fist into the man’s cheek and sending him sprawling back.

Tension froze between them, though the hot sea breeze still beat against them on the horizon. His heart was still racing, breath ragged, unable to believe he truly had him before him once more.

Erlang rubbed his aching cheek, the blow leaving a sharp, burning mark. He didn’t wait long to see the monkey’s fury blazing at him.

“What the hell is your problem?!”

“What the fuck is yours?! I told you I never wanted to see you again, asshole!” Wukong spat, dragging himself back as far as he could, until his spine hit the trunk of a palm tree. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

Then Wukong realized something was wrong. He looked down, horror dawning—his armor was gone. He wore only his black inner robes, and he saw the golden pieces of his armor lying a few feet away, near the demigod. His body tensed further, baring his fangs threateningly.

“What did you do to me… huh?! Answer me!”

Erlang’s patience was wearing thin. He raised his hands, face stern.
“Would you calm down?”

“Oh, and why the fuck would I? You just came back… to finish your job, isn’t that right?!”

“Of course not!”

“Liar!” With one hand, Wukong yanked the needle from his ear, growing it into his staff. Without hesitation, he leveled it at the demigod’s face. “You regretted leaving me alive, and now you’re here to finish me off! To get in the Emperor’s good graces and clear your conscience! Go on, admit it!”

“That’s not true!”

“Spit it out, you lapdog!”

Erlang clenched his fists, holding back the urge to strike him into sense. He rolled his eyes and exhaled in fury.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid monkey!”

The insult burst from his mouth so sharply it stunned Wukong. Silence fell between them again as both panted for breath. The Monkey King kept his weapon raised, not lowering his guard. Even his tail was tense. Erlang, however, drew a deep breath, smoothing back the strands of hair from his face.

He looked at the brown-furred monkey with the same gravity, but no longer raising his voice.

“I arrived here and saw a giant monster on the beach. When I got closer, its head was crushed. And right next to it… was you. You were bleeding out. I…” Erlang looked away for a few seconds. “…I did what I could to keep you alive.”

Wukong scoffed and twisted his face.

“You really think I’m stupid enough to believe that shit?”

“See for yourself.”

The monkey felt a sting in his chest. As much as he didn’t want to break his glare, he forced his eyes downward, his free hand slipping inside his robes. To his astonishment, he found firm white bandages wrapped around his abdomen, stained with fresh red. He checked his elbow as well—like his stomach, it was also tightly bound in layers of bandages.

It felt as though his world had been turned upside down. Now, alongside distrust, an unreadable confusion flickered across his face. Without realizing it, his weapon lowered to the ground. His mind churned with a million questions at once—but the one thing that terrified him most was that a part of him wanted to believe the black-haired one had truly saved him.

No. How could he allow himself to believe that? He hardened his expression again, shooting a deathly glare at the demigod.

“You think this will make me trust you? All of the Court are the same, they make you believe they’re genuine and good, and then they commit atrocities in the name of the Lord of Heaven. None of them can be trusted.” Wukong looked away. “Now leave me alone.”

Erlang felt a knot rise in his throat and couldn’t help but soften his expression. The monkey spoke from experience, and a flicker of curiosity stirred inside him. But he couldn’t dwell on that now—his priority was convincing him to accept his help. He understood that his impulse to amend things went far beyond mere pity or guilt.

“Look, I heard what you said. But do you really think you’ll survive that wound on your own? You can barely move, and when you do, you bleed out.”

“A wound you gave me yourself,” Wukong spat.

“But one I’m now willing to help you heal,” Erlang shot back, leaving the monkey silent. “I could have easily let you die on the beach, but… here we are. Do you know how long I waited?”

At that moment, Wukong became aware of the time. He raised his head and saw the sky painted in orange and gold… it was already dusk. He had gone to hunt that monster and catch fish at noon. Had he really been unconscious for over six hours, with this demigod watching over him? The realization crushed him. He didn’t know what to say.

“And even so, I bandaged your stomach, your elbow, and made sure you woke up,” Erlang continued, sitting in a more relaxed posture with his arm resting on his knee.

Despite his words, the tension in Wukong’s body didn’t ease, and his brow furrowed once more.

“Are you trying to get information out of me? …Bullshit.”

“I’d have used other interrogation techniques, believe me.” Erlang shook his head. “To the Celestial Court, you’re dead.”

That caught Wukong off guard, and for a few seconds he relaxed. He now looked at him with disbelief in his eyes.

“…You lied to the Jade Emperor?”

Silence served as a better answer than any word. The monkey could hardly believe it, and once again, doubt flickered across his mind. He turned his gaze away from the black-haired hunter, sinking into thought. This pursuer was turning out to be far more contradictory than he had imagined. If he served Heaven, why risk his neck helping him? No one had ever done something of that magnitude for him. And why, of all people, did it have to be this demigod? Why… that was the key question.

Their eyes met once again, and although Wukong’s expression softened slightly, his golden irises still burned with intrigue.

“Why…?”

Erlang avoided his golden eyes.

“…If I’m honest, I don’t even know myself. It’s… a mix of emotions that push me to act. Maybe guilt, or…”

“If you say it’s out of pity, I’ll hit you again,” Wukong cut in. But Erlang shook his head.

“Not pity… something much greater, something I can’t yet understand. It’s something that clashes with my duty, and has led me to lie to everyone in the Court.”

“A crime punishable by death up there.”

“Do you think I'm unaware of that?”

A tense silence stretched between them, their eyes locked. Finally, Erlang brushed the sand with his fingers, rubbing it before sighing.

“A monkey must have his reasons for declaring war on the Court… and committing unforgivable crimes. Ah… hey—” Erlang cut himself short when he noticed the pale look on the brown-furred one’s face. His eyes dropped to his abdomen, and he rose to his knees. “It’s time to change your bandages.”

Wukong tensed.

“Excuse me?”

“Look at your stomach, it’s bleeding again.” Erlang rose to one knee and grabbed a flask filled with red liquid resting at his side. Wukong’s alarm bells rang again and he pressed himself harder against the palm trunk.

“What the hell is that?”

“This…” he paused to lift it and show it from a distance. “It’s what’s kept you from bleeding out, idiot. Don’t move while I—”

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!” Wukong bellowed, raising his staff again with both hands, aiming it at the demigod’s face.

Erlang froze, but it didn’t stop him from throwing him a hard glare.

“Don’t be stubborn, monkey, let me do it.”

“I know how to treat myself! Give me that thing.”

The demigod lifted a hand and placed it on the staff’s edge. With no effort at all, pushed it aside until it touched the ground. Wukong froze.

“You barely have the strength to lift your own weapon, and it’s obvious you don’t know. Now stay still, will you?”

Erlang drew closer, but Wukong couldn’t stand having him so near. He shrank back and slammed his bare foot against the black-haired man’s cheek.

“Don’t… come near me, you hear?!” he snarled through his teeth. “You took advantage while I was unconscious before, but now I’d rather die than let you touch me!”

The demigod slapped the monkey’s sand-covered foot aside and exhaled, rolling his eyes. He sat back on his knees, shoulders shrugging.

“Fine then! I won’t do another thing for you, ungrateful monkey. You’ll stay here bleeding out, and this time I’ll watch you die. I’m not asking you to trust me, only to let me help you.”

“Like hell I’ll let you help me!”

“Then your monkeys will be left without their king. And I’m sure all those fish you caught were for them, which means they won’t have anything to eat either. Your choice.”

Wukong felt cornered. His weak body was no help at all, and breathing was becoming harder, but that didn’t stop him from glaring with fury. He growled in frustration. His mind was split, unable to find a middle ground.
“No… I won’t die just because I’m bleeding. It takes much more than that to kill me…”

“Everything that bleeds can die,” Erlang cut him off. “Including you. If you won’t accept it, that’s your problem. If you don’t trust me, don’t. But if you don’t want to pass out again, this time never to wake, or if you won’t do it for yourself, then at least… do it for them. Those monkeys need you. I’ve seen it…”

There was no need for Erlang to remind him that he had snuck into his cave to spy on him, which only angered Wukong further. But no matter how much he hated it, he had to admit he had a point. He could paint himself as an invincible spirit capable of subduing anyone, but his monkeys… they depended on him. For survival, for sustenance. Without a king to protect them, they were vulnerable to attacks and slaughter. Wukong bitterly remembered the first conquest that ravaged his mountain centuries ago, when he left Ao Lai to seek the secret of immortality.

Now his people were starving, and if he leaves again, nothing assured him they wouldn’t be attacked by some yaoguai preying on the weak. In those seconds of reflection, Wukong stopped tensing. He hated the kind of emotional blackmail the black-haired one had used, but he knew it was truer than any manipulation. The brown-furred one raised his eyes and shot the hunter a hard look from just a few feet away.

Erlang raised his hands again.

“And as you can see,” he paused to point his head behind him. Buried in the sand lay the three tips of his spear, along with a couple of smaller knives. “I’m unarmed. Monkey, let me help you.”

Wukong stayed still. He had never imagined a situation where he would end up mortally wounded, much less that the hunter who had mercilessly driven his spear into his eyes would now be the very same (and only) one willing to help him. His eyes darted back and forth, uncertain. As the seconds passed, Erlang never looked away from him.

But… he had to admit he had no one else. He couldn’t share his worries with his own, he had to appear imposing, without a hint of anguish on his face. Outside the island, he was supposed to have sworn brothers, but he hadn’t heard from them again after they failed in their attempts to recruit others for the war against Heaven.

He was alone. And the cruelest irony was that the only one he had was the hunter whose life he had spared.

Wukong let out a deep, helpless sigh. For once, he was forced to swallow his pride and let be helped. Not only for himself, but for them…

His gaze darkened as he looked back at the demigod.

“...Do anything out of line,” he paused, lowering his hand to grip his iron staff tightly, “and I swear I’ll crush your head.”

Erlang, though he didn’t smile, looked pleased with the answer. He nodded silently and slowly came closer on his knees. He set the vial of dye to one side and, as carefully as he could, brought his hands towards the black tunic of the brown-furred monkey. He gently pulled the fabric aside and began unwrapping the bandages, focused on his task.

Wukong brimmed with tension. He didn’t take his eyes off him, and his body twitched briefly at the touch of the black-haired man’s fingers brushing against his skin. He felt the pressure of the bandages easing, and new threads of blood trickled down his abdomen. He exhaled weakly, noticing the color draining from his cheeks again.

Time seemed frozen around them; the only sounds were the soft waves reaching the shore and the rustling branches and leaves stirred by the sea wind, bathed in the orange glow of sunset. Neither dared to speak—Wukong tense and ready to strike at any suspicious movement, Erlang focused on removing the bandages layer by layer from around his stomach.

Finally, the demigod pulled off all the blood-soaked wrappings, and Wukong couldn’t help breathing harder as the cold touched his wound. Erlang’s heart jolted at the sight of the gash running clean through his abdomen from one side to the other; never before had he seen, up close, a wound he himself had inflicted on the supposed enemy’s body.

“Easy…” he murmured, raising one hand to show the monkey that with the other he was only reaching into his pocket for a cloth.

Slowly, he dabbed the wound to dry the fresh blood. Wukong hissed and flinched. Erlang paused and lifted his gaze to him. Their eyes locked, and after a few motionless seconds, the monkey nodded, granting him permission to continue. Erlang refocused on cleaning, and once it looked decent enough, he set the cloth on his lap and took up the dye.

He poured a good amount into his hand and brought it close to the monkey’s abdomen. But he didn’t touch him yet. Instead, he looked at him again, as if to reassure, to urge him to let go of his mistrust.

“The healing dye.”

Without waiting for a reply, Erlang carefully let his fingers trace the wound. Wukong jolted with a stifled groan, squeezing his staff and fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He turned his head away, eyes clenched shut, holding back more groans.

The dye was no miracle, but at least it would do its part in helping him heal faster. The red of the medicine and the blood blended together. Wukong could feel the black-haired man’s hand moving over his wound, and he fought to keep from crying out, though the pain burned and stabbed like red-hot knives. His tail lashed and coiled, helpless with the restraint of not being able to move.

For a moment, he cracked an eye open and saw the demigod’s hand moving over him. So brazen—how dare he even touch him? A spark of anger flared, but another part of him… sensed that the black-haired one truly wanted to help him, one way or another. Just as he said, something stronger than guilt, remorse, or pity tied them together. But Wukong couldn’t decipher what it was. He turned his gaze away again, snorting between pained gasps.

When Erlang finally spread the last of the dye over the wound, he reached for fresh rolls of bandages and began wrapping them around the monkey. One layer after another, in complete silence. Wukong groaned again as the bindings tightened, but it was necessary. When finished, Erlang withdrew his hands and held them up, until their eyes met once more.

“There. Not so bad, was it?”

Wukong scowled, glancing down at his abdomen now bound in fresh wrappings—surely stolen straight from the Court. Now he wondered if the demigod had lied yet again to get them. The monkey stayed silent, thoughtful, not even noticing that his body had calmed.

“...Do you really believe the Zhi Jinghua is the solution to all the world’s evil? Purging everything ‘impure’ in the Emperor’s eyes—who does he think he is, to decide who’s impure or not? I refuse to accept such a concept even exists.” He fixed his gaze on the demigod, probing his beliefs. “And I doubt Buddha agrees with everything that’s happening. But… where is he? Meditating in the Western Paradise, safe, because he knows he’ll never be purged.”

“We… don’t know anything about Buddha either,” Erlang first answered, struggling to find the right words. But then he took the time to think more carefully. It wasn’t a topic he liked to discuss, but if the monkey had opened the conversation, it meant he wanted to trust him. He couldn’t let him down. “I… don’t trust the Zhi Jinghua either. They say it eliminates impure beings, but… I feel it’s more random. Unpredictable. But those are just my thoughts—I still have to follow orders.”

Wukong nodded in disgust.
“What a shame… you’re just a coward and a pawn of the Emperor. You don’t dare do anything.”

“Is lying to keep you safe and coming down here to heal you cowardice?”

Once again, their gazes crossed in tense silence. As much as he hated to admit it, Wukong had to concede that point. In the end, he smirked disdainfully.

“Fair enough.” The monkey studied the demigod more closely. “...Something binds you to the Emperor, forces you to serve him. Heh, hands tied, hm?”

Erlang stiffened and looked away, refusing to answer. He couldn’t reveal his secrets to that monkey—not yet, at least. Even though he empathized with his fraternal sense of family. His life as a hunter was the only thing keeping his own family safe from the Emperor’s gaze. Not even Nezha knew, nor his master… it was the deepest layer of himself. One he didn’t dare reveal.

“Ah, none of my business,” Wukong retracted, shaking his head. “Unless it has something to do with the Zhi Jinghua. Damn it… what were they thinking?” He tilted his head skyward with melancholy. “By the time the next one happens, I’m sure my family will be cut in half—or worse. It shows no mercy, it takes adults and children alike… it’s truly cruel. Why am I telling you all this? If you were ordered to kill me again, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“...How can you be so sure?”

Wukong narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further. Feeling the slightest trust, he dared to set his ego aside.

“I owe you for sparing my life, and for healing me. But let me warn you, I won’t hesitate to fight again if they provoke me.”

“I hope we won’t have to go back to that. But if the time comes… I hope you hide your tail next time,” Erlang retorted, tilting his head with arrogance.

“Tch…” Wukong clicked his teeth at such audacity. He was ready to leave, to bring his catch back to his little ones at last, for several hours had already passed. He didn’t want them waiting any longer.

Using his staff as support, he slowly stood up, grumbling with pain, but managed to get to his feet with far more energy than just a few minutes ago. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but silently he was grateful for the demigod’s healing dye.

“...That’s enough. I must return to the mountain and share all this fish, if you hadn’t noticed. Tonight there’ll be a grand feast, and you’re not invited, by the way.”

Erlang couldn’t help but smile at seeing the monkey’s defiant humor return, and he so stood up, brushing sand from his robes. But as he picked up his weapons again, he froze completely. His face paled with horror, remembering that Nezha had already recovered enough, and the heavenly banquet had been announced for that very evening. And that evening was today.

“Shit!” he muttered, leaping upright. If he was already late to his own banquet with his uncle as host, he’d be in trouble for sure.

Wukong watched him with confusion and unease at his alarm, but Erlang didn’t come near him again. He backed away, step by step, until the distance between them grew wider and wider.

“I-I have to go, I can’t be late!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“See you later!”

And without offering further explanation, Erlang leapt and transformed into a white hawk, shooting across the ocean like an arrow to ascend back to the Court as fast as possible. Wukong stood dumbfounded on the beach, watching him fly away until he finally vanished from sight.

As he carried and dragged both the nets full of fish and the sea monster he had managed to catch, he couldn’t stop replaying the demigod’s last words in his head. “See you later”? Did he actually plan to return? He had no idea, and his mind failed to piece it together.

What a strange demigod they had assigned as his hunter…

*****************************************************

Nezha was grateful for being ambidextrous. Otherwise, he would have no chance of enjoying the enormous feast before his eyes. He handled the chopsticks with extreme ease in his left hand, while his right arm rested in a sling made from his own sash. Once he learned from Erlang that part of the reward would be a banquet organized by the Jade Emperor himself, Nezha couldn’t help but use his own fire while sleeping to heal a little faster. That way, he was fit enough to attend the ceremony.

No chamber in the Jade Emperor’s palace looked inferior to another, and the dining hall was no exception. The golden columns filled with jade-carved patterns gleamed with radiance, the finest silk-paper screens leaned against the walls, depicting the most detailed paintings Nezha had ever seen. The ceiling, which could not even be fully seen, seemed like a sea of mystical mist where phoenixes flew in circles, radiating multicolored lights and serving as the most beautiful adornments.

The majestic dining hall overflowed with guests who, to the prince, mattered little or nothing. Marshals, maidens, officials, other hunters inferior to him… Nezha had no one to really converse with, for he didn’t even dare look at his father, seated across from him; his brothers had very high expectations of him, and as usual, Erlang was nowhere to be seen.

Now that he thought about it, ever since that battle, the prince had begun to perceive his friend as a bit more… unusual than before. First, he had been unsettled by that oddly out-of-place audience with the Supreme Laozi. Then, on this very day, he had only received a brief visit from Erlang before he disappeared again, and by now, Nezha had no idea where he had gone. Thanks to his deep sleep, it felt as if he had rested for minutes, but in reality, hours had passed. In silence, worry sprouted in him like a dirty speck.

Taking a quick glance among the guests—most of whom Nezha barely knew by name—he looked towards the Jade Emperor, seated at the head of the long table. He did not look pleased at having to wait beyond the appointed time. If they had managed to accomplish the mission, Nezha was certain Erlang would not escape punishment for being late. As soon as the Lord of Heaven and Nezha locked eyes, the prince looked away in a flash. He couldn’t stand the sight of that old man looming over him.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he ignored his brothers’ attempts to catch his attention.

“Nezha,” his father called in a grave voice.

The prince jolted out of his bubble and turned to face his family. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him with uncertainty, pride, and sternness. His father, the Devaraja Li Jing, was a man so strict that he tolerated not a millimeter of imperfection in his sons, and since his gaze was always fixed on Nezha, the prince had no choice but to obey. He straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

“What is it?”

“I was just looking for a way to wake you up,” laughed Muzha, his second elder brother. Unlike his father, whose face was stern, and his brother Jinzha, who wore a quiet calm, Muzha greeted him with a smile on his face. “Before anyone else said it… I wanted to congratulate you on that hunt, brother. We just heard—you defeated a god-slayer demon! That is an enormous achievement.”

“You are truly strong, Nezha,” Jinzha added, bowing his head.

The young prince, however, wished the ground would swallow him whole. He couldn’t accept his family’s congratulations, for he hadn’t even been able to lay a finger on that monkey. His muscles tensed, and he forced the sincerest smile he could.

“Ah, it was nothing, brothers. Erlang and I had a great battle with that ape, but in the end… it wasn’t enough for him.” He tried to adopt his confident posture, but every fiber of his being prevented him from believing it. Deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve any recognition, and the true host of that banquet was someone else. He wasn’t worthy of being there…

“And how is your arm?” Muzha asked. “It’s been centuries since the last time a monster left you incapacitated.”

Nezha tensed.

“It’s fine. Just a minor inconvenience,” he replied curtly, avoiding his gaze. He didn’t want to appear weak before his family, but the wound inflicted by that monkey—and the fact that everyone there knew he had been recovering in the Healers’ Courtyard—weighed heavily against him. His credibility was at stake.

“Ah, Erlang,” the Jade Emperor proclaimed. His booming voice echoed through the dining hall, interrupting Nezha. All the guests turned their heads to fix their eyes directly on the demigod standing at the entrance.

Erlang loathed such sudden attention. He froze. He feared they would suspect the real reason for his delay at his own banquet, and in that case, he needed a quick excuse. Silence hung heavy for seconds that felt like hours. He diverted his gaze to his friend, and Nezha’s look asked him the most obvious question: “Where have you been?” He couldn’t answer there, for now he had an emergency. Standing firm, he bowed with regret and respect before the Emperor.

“Your Majesty, I apologize…”

The Lord of Heaven interrupted him with a hand gesture, shaking his head.

“Only because this banquet was prepared for you and Prince Nezha will I let it pass. Please, enter and take your seat of honor.”

Erlang fell silent and only nodded with shame, quickly walking to sit on his red silk cushion, at the perfect height for the table. He and Nezha sat side by side, and the prince wasted no time questioning him.

“Where the hell were you?” he whispered. “We’ve been waiting, and you’re never late for anyth—”

“Wait,” Erlang hushed him, fixing his eyes on the Emperor as the monarch raised his hand to command silence, ready to deliver his opening speech.

All the guests at the table also fell silent, their gazes fixed on the Lord of Heaven; some full of expectation, others with solemnity and formality, while Nezha and Erlang barely contained their urge to continue whispering.

“This banquet is dedicated to the victory of two of our most skilled monster hunters. Together, they slew a savage demon who had been killing our own. With this threat neutralized, our activities may continue, and the Zhi Jinghua will proceed with its annual course.”

The Emperor began by holding one hand vertically in front of his chest. Then, the rest of the diners followed. Erlang and Nezha silently imitated the gesture.

“Oh, reverend be Tathagata, for granting us the divine gift of the Zhi Jinghua! We bow to his order and offer jade lotuses in his name. May the hand of the Supreme Patriarch bless the banquet we celebrate under his merciful gaze, and may the hunters responsible for restoring peace to Earth be rewarded. Amitabha!”

All repeated the prayer three times in unison. Even Nezha did so without complaint, but Erlang could not help but feel detached from everything around him. Once he had been honest with that monkey, there was no turning back. He hated having to feign devotion to something he was questioning in his mind, yet still fought to hold onto. His whole life had been spent in service and reverence to the merciful supremacy of Buddha—why stop believing now? Still, keeping silent was another severe offense at Court, so he had no choice.

“Amitabha…” he murmured with a vacant gaze.

Once the initial ritual was over, the Emperor gave the signal to begin the banquet. Some hunters of lower rank congratulated them and toasted to them, raising their cups. The two friends were forced to drink with the others, feigning smiles they both knew were false. The music of soft instruments, played by exceptional artists, floated as lightly as leaves in the wind. The atmosphere grew livelier.

Nezha once again received with forced pride all the praise and concerns directed at him. That feeling rendered him powerless. Many seemed surprised that he had been injured, and that frustrated him. Bitterness grew inside him as the evening went on, and instead of focusing on pointless conversations, the prince lowered his gaze in silence and began to serve himself a little of everything he saw on the grand table.

Most of the dishes were vegetarian in nature, though some came from mythical creatures, which were always served at Court banquets. Among these were phoenix and parts of dragon, but Nezha chose not to reach for such options. He served himself broths full of noodles, celestial dumplings, tender and juicy jade lotuses… though he avoided dragon meat, seafood was more than welcome at his dinner. Soon, his plates could hold no more.

Erlang, on the other hand, served himself only the minimum of what he recognized and liked, taking humble portions from the grand dishes. He picked up the chopsticks made of the finest polished dark wood in the Three Realms and took his first bite. His eyes never left the prince, who avoided his gaze. He had to seize the moment—before the bombardment of questions resumed—to exchange a few words with him.

“Nezha…” Erlang began quietly, ignoring the laughter and chatter of those around them. “How are you feeling? How’s your arm?”

Nezha didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stuffed his mouth with food—shrimp wrapped in lettuce, rice soaked in sauce. The tension between them was obvious, and for a moment Erlang feared the prince might suspect something of his behavior. After forcing down the mouthful, Nezha let out a long sigh.

“…Like a fucking useless. You have no idea, Erlang. Just look at them.” He gestured at his brothers, engrossed in their own conversation, and at his father, who followed along with the discussion. Not a single glance was spared for him. “They know I lost, everyone knows it. Do you think flattering me with lies will make me feel better? All they have for me is pity.”

“That’s not true,” Erlang cut him off, his voice firm. He couldn’t tolerate the prince degrading himself over a battle where luck hadn’t favored him. “They’re your family, and they—”

“Bullshit!” Nezha muttered through clenched teeth, slamming the table with his fist. Erlang froze, stunned, as both Jinzha and Muzha fell silent to look at their younger brother. Li Jing’s gaze burned into him in heavy silence.

Nezha cleared his throat, lowering his fist slowly, and met his father’s eyes again. Erlang could see the prince’s muscles straining tighter than the chains of the Great Pagoda, and he feared Nezha might lose control in front of all the Court officials. But Muzha broke the silence.

“Is…everything all right?”

It took Nezha a few seconds to reply, as if he were swallowing all his rage.

“Yes, Muzha. Keep eating, will you?”

The middle brother looked unconvinced, but Nezha gave him no chance to speak further. He turned back to Erlang, fixing his eyes on him.

“Where the hell were you? Everyone was… I was waiting for you.”

“I, uh…” Erlang hesitated but recovered in a heartbeat. “I had to take care of something on Earth.”

“What the fuck do you have to do on Earth? And you didn’t even notice the time to show up late? You’re never late for anything.”

“It was just this once, all right?” His voice sharpened as annoyance crept in. “Why do you suddenly care so much?”

“Beca—” Nezha stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together and forcing himself to lower his voice after glancing around. “Because I don’t want to sit here alone, surrounded by these fake idiots! They piss me off, and besides…you know as well as I do this banquet is meaningless.”

“You should enjoy it. It’s a celebration of our victory for hav—”

“It was your victory.” Nezha cut him off, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t you dare lecture me again. You know I did nothing in that fight.”

“Nezha, do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now? You’re letting yourself be consumed…by a monkey!” Erlang shot back, his voice low but edged. “Come on, you’re better than this.”

The prince stared at him in disbelief.

“‘This’? My pride was insulted, trampled, and humiliated!”

“And what are you going to do about it? Brooding won’t make that monkey come back and give you a rematch.” Erlang met his gaze with equal sharpness. “Act like who you are—move on and grow stronger. We could…we could train once you recover and—”

“You only say that shit because you don’t know what it’s like to lose!” Nezha shouted.

Erlang paralyzed. His mind went blank, and his face reflected it perfectly. For a few seconds, the banquet around him faded, leaving only Nezha before him. The demigod couldn’t form words; he couldn’t believe his friend had actually lashed out like that. Suddenly, his chest tightened with rage. Nezha had no idea what Erlang was risking since sparing that monkey. He was gambling everything on a life that had never felt right to him, one he was only now beginning to face. He had no right to lose.

Erlang was about to fire back in kind, but his muscles loosened when he saw the prince trembling. Not only from rage about to erupt, but from a storm of feelings: frustration, disappointment, pressure—so much pressure. He looked ready to explode. In that moment, Erlang realized he hadn’t understood Nezha at all, and worst of all, he had done nothing to help calm him down.

He raised a hand to try one last time, but Nezha suddenly leapt to his feet. All eyes in the banquet hall turned towards him. The guests stared in surprise and expectation, as he was about to make some grand statement, but to Nezha, they were nothing but blurry clouds of people. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He didn’t need to look to know that Li Jing was ordering him back to his seat, but his brothers watched him with genuine concern.

“Nezha…” Erlang tried once more. But the young prince’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Nezha squeezed his eyes shut and grasped his shoulder, pretending it still hurt from his slow recovery. After a deep breath, he glanced at the Emperor and bowed just slightly.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty…but I must withdraw to…to rest my shoulder. With thy permission.”

Erlang caught one last furious glare directed at him before the prince turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the hall, eventually leaving the Celestial Palace altogether. The demigod lowered his gaze to Nezha’s plates. He hadn’t even eaten half of what he’d served himself. As for Erlang, the conflict had stripped him of any appetite. He set his chopsticks down and buried his head in his hands, trying to think of a solution.

Among all the immortals who treated him with respect or formal indifference, Nezha had been the only one to truly bond with him. During their years of hunting together, they had developed a brotherly, silent connection. He couldn’t just do nothing…but he didn’t know what to do either.

If he dared to chase after him and talk now, Nezha surely wouldn’t listen—his head was hot, and Erlang knew he didn’t function under that kind of pressure. And with the web of lies he’d been weaving to protect the monkey, Erlang felt unable of confiding in him. Nezha’s hatred for the brown-furred trickster was obvious, and the last thing he’d want was to ally with them both and continue lying to everyone. Right now, Erlang felt a wall too thick between him and his friend. As much as he longed for honesty and support, Nezha would be the first to expose him and kill the monkey himself. His lies were driving them apart.

“Er’lang…may I have a word with you outside?” someone asked.

The demigod lifted his head and saw the prince’s second brother, Muzha. The young man looked troubled, and his eyes demanded a conversation. By this point, Erlang couldn’t refuse. He nodded silently, and together they rose from the table, leaving the banquet behind as they stepped out into the open air of the Celestial Palace.

The Jade Emperor’s gaze followed them until they disappeared through the doors.

**************************************************

From the moment he sat on his cushion, Muzha sensed something was wrong with his brother. And as soon as he saw how close he was to bursting out in front of the demigod, his suspicions were confirmed. Outside the Celestial Palace, he leaned against one of the columns that held the entrance, crossed his arms, and faced the black-haired warrior.

“What was all that?”

Erlang took several long seconds to answer. His discomfort was evident.

“… I’m not even that sure myself. Nezha is deeply troubled by the battle against that yaoguai.”

“And do you think his attitude is exaggerated?”

“Well…” he hesitated again, avoiding the apprentice’s gaze. “I think he shouldn’t drown in defeat. The important thing is that he’s alive, and he can prove his worth again in another fight…”

Muzha nodded slightly.

“As far as I know, this is the first time Nezha has ever lost a battle since ascending as a god.”

“Really?” Erlang asked in surprise. Muzha nodded again.

“Jinzha doesn’t like to talk about it, but… Nezha doesn’t enjoy being one. More than once he has tried to kill our father. Whenever he wants to rebel, Father subdues him with the Pagoda in his hand. He has to obey his orders, live up to his standards… it’s no wonder Nezha has never been defeated before. Until now. And Father doesn’t look pleased. He hasn’t punished him only because I spoke with him.”

Erlang struggled to process so much information in such little time. He’d always been aware Nezha had some problem with his father, but he never imagined it reached that extent. Now he understood why the prince always refused to talk about his progenitor, why he deliberately dodged the subject. He overexerted himself to remain in Li Jing’s good graces, and even so, the punishment of the Pagoda was sometimes unavoidable. Erlang realized in that moment, that both of them were equally trapped. Though he grasped what Muzha was saying, he was still unsettled.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I’ve seen the two of you, and Nezha values you more than anyone else in the Court. He refuses to open up to me or Jinzha, he’s too proud… but aside from us, and though he’ll never admit it, he’s grown fond of you.”

At that instant, Erlang felt a knot in his stomach that stole his breath. He could hardly believe Muzha’s words, much less that Nezha cared for him like another brother. Had he truly paid so little attention to his feelings? He had always focused on the insults, the scoffs, the brusque manners of the prince towards him, but now that he thought about it… they had spent years as a hunting guild. Their adventures against all sorts of yaoguai over the years and how well they lived side by side resurfaced in his memory.

Erlang felt like a complete fool. If he had had a slight initiative before, now he couldn’t back down from trying to mend things with him. But once again, fear overtook him. He couldn’t afford to be genuine, not when he was always lying to his face about the monkey, and that hardly counted as true help. Much to his dismay, he was forced to seek another alternative for now.

“…Nezha must be angry with me, he won’t want to talk to me tonight. Muzha, you’re his brother, and it seems you understand him better than the Devaraja or Jinzha. You should be the one to talk to him.”

Muzha gave a wry smile.

“Are you passing him off to me?”

“I know him too, and if I go looking for Nezha, he won’t listen. ” Erlang replied with regret. A sudden impulse made him confess the bare minimum; although he didn’t know the apprentice well, something about him gave off a sense of peace. “There’s something… that keeps me from being honest with Nezha, unfortunately. I know right now he needs genuine support, and I can see you’re the right one for that.”

“Nezha won’t open up to me that easily…” Muzha sighed, turning his gaze towards the horizon of the Court. “I won’t dig into your problems, but I’ll give you this: at least I can try. Helping is a powerful act of mercy.”

“You are a disciple of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, right.”

“This world grows stranger every day… but I choose to believe in the forgiveness she taught me.” Muzha turned back to the black-haired warrior. “I’ll go find him. But you must promise me you’ll speak with him tomorrow.”

“I promise,” Erlang said with a faint smile.

He felt relieved, for the apprentice not only understood him, but also grasped that, as a brother, he would be able to calm Nezha much more than Erlang could now. His promise would not be empty, for once back at his residence, the first thing he would do was think of a good plan to smooth over the pending argument with the prince.

The two exchanged a soft look and nodded in silence. Muzha pushed off from the column and started walking towards the only place he was certain Nezha would have gone. Before setting foot on the stairs below, Erlang called out to him once more.

“Muzha!” The young man turned his head. “Thank you.”

The apprentice smiled at him, and without another word, descended from the Celestial Palace in search of his frustrated and wounded younger brother.

***************************************************

No matter how wildly he moved, the trembling in his body would not fade. Standing at the center of the same training field where he had once managed to subdue Erlang, Nezha, instead of focusing on attack patterns, only threw random punches and kicks. His spear danced between his hands, striking cuts, sweeps, and thrusts into the air in what he wanted to believe looked synchronized, but he was only attacking with whatever came first to mind.

Nezha didn’t measure his strength, stumbling when he lost balance, then recovering with rage to continue fighting the invisible enemy. Fury controlled his body; he couldn’t think clearly. He demanded his limbs move with ease, but his whole body was stiff as a log. Spinning on his feet made his head reel, and he staggered forward with a thrust.

He forced himself to stop in the middle of gasps. He shook his head to concentrate, staring in frustration at his spear.

“I…idiots…fucking idiots, bastards, motherfuckers!”

He growled and resumed his frantic, uncontrolled dance. His ribbon trailed behind him like a halo, and without the tension he needed, his shoulder shot with pain each time he spun too abruptly. His torso felt the same—his ribs shifting inside him—but he only roared to endure the burning and refused to stop.

His hatred and anger spilled out through a chaotic battle style. He hated his brothers’ pity, the hypocrisy of the Court offering a mediocre banquet, he hated his father simply for eating in front of him, and…he hated that Erlang wasn’t a pillar of support for him. In Heaven, there was no room for mistakes, and having lost to a filthy monkey only made his fury boil in his veins. Ignoring the cries of pain from his wounds, Nezha became a tornado of attacks—punches, kicks, sweeps, slashes…the sand beneath his feet scorched with the flames erupting from his spear.

A sudden twist to the right cracked his torso with a sound that rang in his ears, and instantly his strength left him. He dropped the spear and fell to his knees. Stifled groans escaped his mouth, and his vision blurred in flashes.

He shut his eyes tightly and grasped his spear, trembling. He loathed that consuming feeling—this…helplessness. When had he become so incapable in battle? Nothing assured him he would emerge victorious in his next hunt. He hated to admit his friend was right, but there was truth in that he couldn’t believe he had let himself be dragged down so low by a monkey. Yet seeing his body unable to fight as it should, he realized it wasn’t only his reputation at stake, but his worth, his honor. He had never allowed himself to lose against anyone, and knew sooner or later his father’s punishment would be inevitable.

At the thought of that Pagoda, he clutched his mouth to hold back sobs. His eyes shook, reflecting horror. His father always demanded absolute perfection, and any mistake was a ticket to punishment. The pressure overwhelmed him, and he curled in on himself, hugging his body.

The silence of the training ground was absolute, broken only by his sobs. His tears fell directly into the sand, and through his blurred vision, Nezha noticed his golden spear. Hesitant, he reached out to grasp it. The gold didn’t bend under his grip, and in the moonlight, the metal reflected like a mirror. Nezha lifted his weapon, studied the lotus petals before the blade, and saw his reflection in the steel.

He stared into his own eyes, stunned. He couldn’t allow himself to break, not now…if his father dared to punish him, so be it. He gripped the spear tighter and forced himself up. He spun his weapon between his hands, however, the spear trembled in his hands. After wiping his eyes with his free hand, he prepared to continue. He cut the air in a sweeping arc, ready to release a wave of fire. Nezha froze when the blade of his spear was blocked by a forearm.

The prince stared in shock at his older brother.

Muzha gave him a faint smile.

“You’ve got sand in your head, you know that?”

Nezha immediately pulled back his spear, and instead of relief, he snorted in disdain.

“Now what? Did you come on behalf of Jinzha or Father to scold me and drag me back to that stupid banquet?”

“Not at all.” Muzha shook his head. “I know well when you’re angry, you come to train…” He paused, inspecting the surroundings. Scorch marks scarred the sand everywhere. “But this doesn’t look like the training of a prince.”

“Why the hell should I care!” Nezha exploded. “I train however the fuck I want. Now leave me alone.”

Muzha kept the smile on his face as he patted his hands.

“The sand is not a worthy opponent for you.” He raised an open palm to his brother, narrowing his eyes. “I’m ready.”

Nezha’s rage faded into confusion. He spun his spear in his hand, making it vanish, replaced by a delicate lotus at his belt.

“No offense, Muzha. But of the three of us, I’d say you’re the worst trained.”

“I lose nothing by training with you. Do you?” Muzha tilted his head. “Go on, hit me.”

Nezha didn’t know what to say, and with a sigh, gave in. He raised both fists, adopting a new combat stance, while his brother stood still in place. Without another second, he charged at him. He threw a punch that lifted grains of sand, but both remained motionless. Nezha looked at his brother in disbelief, pulling his fist back with a grimace of pain.

He shook it with a groan, demanding an answer from the elder.

“W-what…?! What the hell was that?!”

Muzha couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You really thought that just because I’m Guanyin’s disciple I’m not seasoned in combat?”

“Breaking an oak tree would’ve been easier!”

“Come on, again.”

Nezha hardened his face and clenched his fists. A new rain of blows crashed into Muzha’s palm, who didn’t even take a step back. Punches and kicks struck against his hand, and as seconds passed, Nezha realized Muzha wasn’t here to pester him—he was enjoying it. That only confused him more, and he slowed down the pace of his attacks.

“Tell me…how did you…reach this point?” he asked between weaker blows.

“Finding and perfecting the element we embody is crucial. Mine has always been wood.” Muzha stopped and caught his brother’s fist. “But yours…”

With a sharp twist, Nezha was lifted off the ground, spun in the air, and slammed onto his back. He coughed, groaning from the pain in his ribs. Small flames flickered over his body, a desperate attempt to heal. Muzha watched him.

“It’s a fire that not even Father can control.”

The prince sat up in the sand, but after a moment staring at his brother, he turned his head away with a frustrated snort. He didn’t get up again. Muzha softened his expression and crouched to meet him at eye level.

“…There’s something else that happened in that battle you haven’t said.”

“What’s the point of telling you? Everyone already knows I was on the brink of death. Father knows it…”

“Even though you helped bring down that demon, you don’t feel satisfied.”

“How could I? When I…” Nezha cut himself off, shaking his head. “You’ll tell Father, won’t you? Great, another Pagoda on the way.”

“Believe me, I won’t say a word.”

“How can I trust you, or Jinzha?” the prince glared at him. “You don’t care that I’m practically a slave!”

“Yes, we do! Very much! Do you really think it pleases us to see you like this? You think it pleases me?”

“Then why are you here?!”

“Because you’re my brother, Nezha!” Muzha grabbed his arm, then let go after a deep breath. “…You’re my brother, and I promised our mother I’d watch over you. Haven’t you wondered why Father hasn’t punished you yet? It was me, Nezha. I spoke with him. He won’t lock you in the Pagoda for what happened.”

Nezha went blank. His mouth opened slightly in disbelief. It was hard to believe Father listened to reason thanks to his brother, but of course—it was Muzha, not him. Still, it was enough for his main anger to vanish. The two fell into a deep silence, and Nezha hugged his knees, unable to look his brother in the eye.

“…I…I couldn’t do anything,” he finally admitted. “I wasn’t able to land a single strike. I just saw that monkey and…I had no time to react, I had nothing. I felt the blow that shattered my ribs and…Erlang fought the whole battle. In my state I barely survived against some clones. Useless replicas, do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Then, when I tried to fight him, he broke my arm. If it hadn’t been for Erlang, that monkey would’ve killed me.”

Muzha remained silent, listening, and as the story went on, he couldn’t help but reflect sorrow in his eyes. Nezha kept avoiding his gaze.

“He deserves all the credit, he killed him. I… couldn’t contribute anything. Now everyone in the Court knows I came back injured, they’ll take me for a mediocre warrior. Father surely already sees me that way. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but… it was a blow that not only left me at death’s door, it also… destroyed everything I had built—my reputation, my effort, my perfection, my honor—before everyone. I no longer care what I think of myself; the only thing that matters is looking good in front of those… idiots, in front of Father. Because I’m nothing but a monster who must obey and remain chained for all his life. He himself said it, you were there that day. My suicide meant nothing to him. Sometimes… I wish I had never been resurrected.”

Muzha’s eyes widened in horror, unable to believe it. So many years subjected to Li Jing’s control, his brother had depended on his father’s approval to keep moving forward, since he had accepted that his voice and opinion meant nothing to him. It was like a stab to the heart, and slowly, he raised his arm to wrap it around his younger brother’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“And on top of that, Erlang… ever since that battle, he’s been acting so strange. Why would he ask for an audience with Laozi? And it’s the first time he’s gone down to Earth two days in a row. Before… he wouldn’t even bother to go. He stayed with me here in the Court. And now, arriving late to a banquet made by his uncle? Something’s off, Muzha. I can feel it… and I know he’s hiding something from me. He’s… he’s my best friend. It feels horrible not being able to rely on him.”

“Er’lang… did tell me that he has a problem that keeps him from being honest with you,” Muzha replied. “But he asked me to come find you. I don’t deny that he worries deeply about you, and just like you do, he holds you in high esteem, Nezha. I’m certain that… when the time comes, you’ll be able to understand each other, with no secrets or walls.”

Nezha’s shoulders slumped at hearing that, and he felt a weight in his chest as he was torn apart inside. Thinking back to the battle, he frowned and clenched his fists.

“Damn monkey… even if Erlang already took care of killing him, it doesn’t stop me from hating him. I just… ugh! Bastard… I wish I’d decapitated him myself!”

The prince swatted away his brother’s arm and stood, kicking the sand. He couldn’t sit still any longer. Muzha rose as well and followed him closely.

“As much as you’d like to go back to the past and change what happened… the only thing you can do is accept the ‘defeat.’ I know losing is unthinkable to you, but Nezha… only by falling can you learn to rise again.” The two brothers locked eyes. “You have the strength, the courage, and the power to be far more than what you are now. That monkey didn’t kill you, you survived, and only that will make you stronger. Even if you can’t see it, you have the potential to surpass me and Jinzha, and above all… Father. You only need to find your worth, not for him, but for yourself.”

“But… with that Pagoda, whatever I value in myself doesn’t matter.”

“Forgiving is difficult, yes…” Muzha nodded, looking up at the sky. “But if you succeed, if you manage to forgive yourself, brother… believe me, you’ll be able to destroy that Pagoda.”

“Muzha… aren’t you conspiring against Father?”

“I would be fulfilling the word of our mother, and… you’ve always conspired against him. Since when did you give up?”

Nezha fell silent. He averted his gaze and held the little lotus in his hand. He didn’t know what to answer, because his brother had struck a chord. Ever since he surrendered and accepted that he would never escape the Pagoda, he had become weak.

“I don’t approve of Father’s methods. They go against what Guanyin has taught me, and that’s why I’m here. Maybe, in retrospect, you’ll understand the same compassion I’m sharing with you, Nezha.”

“Compassion?” Nezha spat. “Warriors and hunters follow orders, we’re not allowed compassion.”

“It’s the greatest virtue a warrior like you or Er'lang could have,” Muzha assured him. “Honor lies in knowing when to spare a life, not take it.”

At that, Nezha stopped understanding his brother’s words. What was all this talk of forgiveness about? He understood that he needed to find his worth again, but being compassionate to others, sparing lives? He couldn’t quite grasp it. It only tangled his thoughts further, which he showed by shifting uncomfortably in place, crossing his arms. Muzha looked at him and smiled.

“I think someday you’ll understand what I mean.”

“Don’t come at me with Bodhisattva riddles, Muzha.”

The disciple chuckled, noticing that his brother had relaxed much more. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, walking until he stood in front of him.

“Want to try again?”

Nezha looked at his elder brother in confusion, and was surprised to see a silver iron staff appear in his hands, spinning and dancing gracefully between his fingers. Muzha adopted a defensive, alert stance, with a challenging smile.

In that instant, Nezha noticed his body was no longer tensing up. Somehow, that talk with his brother had borne fruit in him, not only relaxing his muscles but also his mind and heart. He looked down at his hands, which had stopped trembling. He lifted his gaze to Muzha, and couldn’t help but return the smile.

The lotus in his palm transformed into his golden spear, which now felt perfectly balanced—not too light, not too heavy, like a part of his very being. He took his stance as well, expecting a good duel with his brother under the white moonlight. With no one to interrupt them, the setting was perfect. In silence, a part of him thanked Erlang for sending Muzha to his aid.

“You bet I do. Don’t hold back.”

“Neither should you, brother.”

Their feet slid across the sand, and without waiting another second, Nezha lunged forward. His spear clashed against the iron staff, and so began a harmonious exchange of strikes, slashes, and thrusts. His mind focused only on his opponent and his own body. Unlike when he had started, his movements were strong and determined, without a single trace of trembling.

And thanks to Muzha’s willingness to help from the beginning, Nezha felt an inevitable wave of closeness to him. He had always seen him as someone unreachable, who, like Jinzha or their father, would place expectations out of his reach. But with this duel and his words, he understood that Muzha wanted to offer genuine help. Their bond as brothers grew stronger with every clash of their weapons.

Nezha couldn’t have felt more relieved that night.

******************************************************

So focused were they on their fight that neither of them noticed they were being watched. From far away, at the foot of the Heavenly Palace stairs, Erlang sharpened his vision to see the brothers sparring. His heart filled with peace at the sight of Nezha brimming with energy. He decided to return to his residence for the night.

Flying in the form of a hawk, he soared above the training grounds and took one last glance at the pair of brothers. Muzha had already done his part; now it was up to him to fulfill his promise.

And as the air filled his lungs with inspiration, a new idea emerged in his mind.

Chapter Text

HIS FIRE WHEELS SKATED over the grass without burning it, and the demigod’s footsteps made no sound; as if he wasn’t even touching the ground. Both hunters crossed the forests of the Eastern mountains in mere seconds, following the trail of their target prey. The wind from their speed whipped against their faces and rippled their clothes, yet they felt as light as feathers, free to move without restraint.

They dashed through hollows, leapt over fallen logs, climbed rocks and crags in a single bound; puddles bore witness to the demigod’s boots, and plants swayed as they rushed past. The air of the lush woodland filled their lungs and their bodies with energy. When they exchanged a glance, Nezha silently thanked Erlang for taking the initiative to go hunting.

The Emperor’s emergency had been only once, but their routine as hunters had to remain alive every day—accepting requests both from other deities of the Court and from temples and complexes in need of aid. Erlang’s surprise gift had been to choose an interesting hunt at first light on the second day. Nezha accepted without protest. The earlier conversation with his elder brother lifted his spirits, and though he still carried suspicions about his friend’s behavior, he could never turn down a hunt—especially knowing Erlang wanted to make amends after such a disastrous banquet.

“That thing is fast…” Nezha muttered.

“It can’t be far,” Erlang tried to encourage him, eyes fixed ahead.

Nezha fell into thought for a few seconds, his body moving almost on autopilot, skating alongside the black-haired hunter. Curiosity gnawed at him, and he could wait no longer.

“What was that audience with Laozi about?”

“…Why ask that now?” Erlang shot him a glance.

“You’ve never needed to speak with him. It’s the first time you’ve requested a meeting with that old man.”

Erlang stayed silent. Letting his body run on its own, he turned his gaze away. That pressure in his chest, the battle between his moral code not to lie and the impulse to keep the monkey a secret, tormented him. In the end, the impulse won. He crafted a believable answer in his head before speaking, fearing he had taken too long.

“…I asked him for a regenerative pill,” he admitted.

Nezha raised a brow.

“How come?”

“Your fight with that monkey got me thinking… Since then, I’ve agreed we should be better prepared for any hunt. For safety…”

They were forced to leap over a fallen tree, flipping in the air before continuing their pursuit.

“That simian won’t be a problem again,” Nezha cut him off tensely.

“I’d rather prevent it.”

With that final response, Erlang had no intention of saying more. Nezha turned his eyes away, focusing ahead. Though part of him wanted to believe him, a trace of doubt remained. He had no time to press further, for he noticed Erlang slowing down. He imitated him, until both stopped in the middle of a wide clearing.

Paths branched in every direction, and no matter how hard they searched the thick vegetation, they saw no colors beyond the greens and browns of the trees. Erlang crouched to inspect the last trace of the yaoguai: two sets of footprints, as large as their faces, pressed into the soil. Beyond a few meters, there were no more signs. While Nezha scanned around for another clue, the demigod ran his fingers along the print. It wasn’t deep, meaning the creature had been moving quickly, and the ground was still damp. He gave it five minutes at most.

Nezha clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Tch, slippery bastard… it could’ve gone anywhere!”

Erlang rose, brushing his fingers off, and gave him a faint smile.

“Patience, Nezha. We can’t expect monsters to come to us. Look around… what do you see?”

The demigod stepped aside, giving the prince space to participate, arms crossed. Nezha wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the young one’s doubtful murmurs. Erlang kept his smile; it felt like they were back in their old days as a hunting duo. Back then, he had been something like a tracking teacher to Nezha, and it amused him that the boy still struggled. It was like teaching a rebellious apprentice. Though of course, their bond went far deeper.

“Hmmm… hmmmmmm…”

Nezha grew more frustrated with each passing second, unable to notice anything out of the ordinary in a forest full of bugs and beasts. He was about to delegate the tracking back to Erlang when his eyes finally caught something unusual. A few meters from the clearing, the trees leading back into the dense forest leaned oddly—one to the left, another to the right, and the pattern repeated. On closer inspection, the trunks bore deep claw marks.

His eyes lit up and he pointed at the bent willows.

“There!”

Without hesitation, Nezha skated closer to examine them. Erlang followed with pride. He himself had noticed the tilted trunks seconds after reaching the clearing, but he wanted to give Nezha the chance to contribute. The two hunters approached the trees, and the prince ran his hand over the gouges of the first trunk. The damage reached deep into the wood, branches splintered and twisted unnaturally. Nezha turned to the other leaning willow and found the exact same pattern.

Erlang lifted his gaze to the prince.

“You see something?”

“…That thing tried to leap between trees to avoid leaving tracks—but that was stupid, and left them all wrecked. It’s bigger than I thought.”

“Good,” Erlang praised. “But further ahead it stopped jumping, and left no visible tracks. We should split up to cover more ground.”

Nezha realized Erlang had set aside the tension from his earlier question about Laozi; he was genuinely enjoying the hunt again. That sensation eased the pressure in his chest and softened his expression. He lowered himself until his wheels brushed the grass.

“That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard you say in a while,” he joked. “I’ll take the West.”

“Then I’ll go East.”

Nezha reached up, plucked a leaf from the nearest branch, and handed it to the black-haired hunter.

“If you see this leaf burning with fire, it means I’ve found it and need you to come.”

Erlang closed his fist around the leaf.

“Very well. And I’ll make such a thunderous racket you’ll know exactly where I am.”

The prince rolled his eyes, smirking.

“Don’t brag, old man.”

“And you, show off.”

They exchanged glances and couldn’t help but laugh quietly. The air between them had lightened, and neither could have felt better. Turning their backs to one another, they took separate paths until both vanished among the trees.

 

***************************************************

 

Erlang advanced through the undergrowth and hidden trails of the grove, sharpening his senses. His footsteps made no sound upon the soil or leaves, allowing him to focus on everything around him as he searched for a trace. Insects and birds sang in the distance, but he sought something far harsher, far stronger. He had moved at least a kilometer east from the last meeting point, yet he did not give up on finding the trail the beast had left behind.

Minutes passed without pause, and for a moment Erlang feared the worst: that he had lost the track. But then, his eyes caught the sudden drop of a steep slope, and he leapt to its edge. He fell several meters, rolling to cushion the impact. Breathing lightly, he glanced at the embankment he had just descended. Its wall was veiled by a massive willow, its trunk thick and its roots gnarled and protruding. Erlang tensed. At the tree’s base, there were scraping marks where grass had been torn away, leaving bare earth. He turned and realized he had stepped into another clearing, smaller, yet surrounded by dense vegetation.

His ears caught shrill cries coming from the willow’s roots. He spun around, instinctively laying his hand on the hilt of his sword. Then, a much heavier sound thudded closer. Something dragged itself and stomped at the same time, snapping branches and crushing shrubs in its path. Erlang instantly backed out of the clearing, pressing his back against a nearby willow, as stiff and tall as a pine.

He sneaked out just enough to glimpse what approached. His heart lurched the instant he saw the massive white fox enter the clearing. With red legs and tail, dark eyes with radiant irises, and sharp blue spines running down its back to the base of its tail, the kuai carried two boars—each the size of cattle—clamped in its jaws, their legs and tusked snouts dragging lifelessly through the dirt.

Its size was staggering, and it was no wonder it had bent trees by leaping onto them, nor that its footprints matched the breadth of Erlang’s head. The demigod crouched low, eyes forward, steadying his breath until it was nearly imperceptible. The fox paid no heed to his presence.

Everything clicked into place in his mind. The hunt’s commission had come from a village in the Southern Continent, where a “giant white fox had stolen shipments of meat provisions.” This was no ordinary fox—it was a Huli Jing, one of the fox spirits descended directly from a single ancestor. That ancestor had once destroyed an entire dynasty; Erlang knew the tale well. He had never believed he would see a Huli Jing in the flesh, and yet here it stood… his mission was to kill it.

In his free hand, the three-pronged spear appeared, ready to strike from his hiding place and pin it to the ground. But what he saw next froze him.

From a hole among the willow’s roots, three pups emerged. White-furred, marked with red, their tiny spines barely sprouting among the fluff. They yipped, wagged their tails, and tumbled playfully around the fox. Erlang’s heart stopped. The monster was not a “he,” but a “she”—a mother.

The female opened her jaws and dropped the boars before her younglings. With squeals and grunts, they tore into the skin with tiny teeth and claws, clambering over the feast their mother had brought. Erlang couldn't move. No one had told him he was to hunt a Huli Jing with cubs in her care. Against his will, his mind wandered into two scenes.

He remembered the monkey, wounded in the cave, trying to rest with a swarm of infants clinging to him, desperately seeking a father figure. And then—he saw himself. Nearly a year had passed without visiting or seeing his family, and he thought of his mother. Being with her had always given him a warmth no one else could. It was the bond between mother and child—the love that united them.

The pressure in his chest grew so heavy he had to draw several deep, silent breaths. He had shown mercy to the brown monkey for reasons beyond his own understanding, but this… this was different. He had a mission, a commission to fulfill. He could not lower his guard. Besides, he had invited Nezha to hunt with him; he would not disgrace him with more lies than necessary. If he failed to complete the task, with what right could he call himself a hunter? He could not shift his view of all yaoguai. Not all were like the monkey. His duty left no room for pity—not again.

Without a sound, he rose from the tree, clutching his spear tight to stop the tremor in his hand. Erlang stepped from hiding to confront the Huli Jing. His gaze darkened as he saw her nuzzle her cubs, licking them gently, oblivious to the threat standing only meters away.

Erlang raised his weapon high and hurled it with all his might. The trident struck the fox square in the torso, slamming her against the earthen wall. The pups scattered, fur bristling, their terrified cries echoing for their mother. But she recovered swiftly. Clamping her teeth around the spear’s shaft, she flung it aside and turned to face her hunter, enraged. Her skin was resilient—her flank bled barely, and she stood firm. She stepped forward without hesitation and roared until the whole clearing quaked.

While he had to recover his spear, Erlang drew his sword. Its long blade gleamed under shafts of light piercing the canopy. This time, he would not relent. The pups, panicked, did not retreat into the willow’s burrow but fled up the trunk, claws digging into the bark until they vanished beyond the slope. Erlang let them go—his eyes were fixed on one target.

As if invisible bells had rung, beast and hunter charged at once. Erlang leapt, dodging the first snap of her jaws. His blade scraped across the fox’s back. Both landed apart, but with a kick, the demigod reclaimed his spear, and now armed with both weapons, he wasted not a heartbeat before launching a second assault.

The Huli Jing wheeled on him, spines along her back flaring open. With a violent sweep of her massive tail, she flung soil into the air and released a volley of razor-sharp scales. Erlang deflected those aimed at his face and thrust his right hand forward in a stab. The beast slid aside with uncanny agility, countering with a swipe that tore through his tunic and scored his bicep.

Erlang felt a burn in his arm. The instant her claws drew blood, he leapt back. But the mother gave him no breath. She lunged, slashing and snapping wildly. The demigod dodged some, blocked others, yet found himself at a disadvantage. He was forced backward, unable to defend with full strength while one hand was occupied.

As another vicious strike came, Erlang let his sword drop in a blink. With both hands gripping the spear, he delivered a flawless counterattack. Sparks burst from the clash, staggering the monster.

It was the perfect moment.

With one foot, he kicked the flat of the fallen sword, flipping it into the air. He caught the hilt and, now wielding both weapons, unleashed a storm of cuts that tore flesh and splattered blood across the ground.

The beast rolled, then kicked herself upright, leaping to evade the spear’s three-pointed thrust. The tree she landed on bent under her weight, but she used it as a springboard, launching herself back at the hunter. The impact’s inertia hurled her backward, claws sinking into the earth to halt her slide. She whipped her tail in vertical and horizontal sweeps, hurling scales at the charging demigod. Erlang slashed through her tail, earning a fresh wound across her flesh, forcing her to retreat several paces. Yaoguai and hunter locked eyes, neither yielding.

The fox growled, baring fangs, but Erlang suddenly noticed something strange. The spines on her back glowed blue, and those buried in the ground released thin tendrils of smoke.

Before he could react, the mother ran in a crescent path, spewing bubbles of fire towards him. Erlang met her stride, slicing each flare with his spear. But when he was mere feet away, the beast roared, flames igniting her right eye. The demigod faltered, disoriented for a heartbeat. The Huli Jing seized the moment, whipping her tail with violent force to hurl a fiery orb.

Erlang had a blink to recover, but when he looked ahead—
the ball of ghostly fire exploded in his face.

 

*****************************************************

 

Once the pattern of trees and tracks vanished, Nezha felt lost. And to his misfortune, Erlang was nowhere to lean on. He hated being disoriented in the woods—orientation was by no means his strength. All he saw was an endless flood of green. Rocks, trees, shrubs, grass stretching as far as the eye could see… Without a clue, finding that foxlike kuai would be a nightmare.

He chose to retrace his path and examine the last trace, hoping to deduce on his own where the creature had gone. Skating with ease over the foliage, his mind focused on recovering the monster’s trail. He recognized the willows he had passed earlier—he was close, and at least this way he could also have a chance of running into his friend.

Halfway down the path, Nezha stopped dead. His heart froze, refusing to beat. For a few seconds, he nearly lost consciousness, clutching his chest. He extended one hand to keep himself upright on his wheels and let out a strangled cry. He recognized that sensation instantly: his father’s Pagoda.

Once more, the pressure returned—but multiplied a thousandfold. Nezha collapsed, unable to rise. It felt as if the weight of the entire planet pressed down upon his back, his body trembling as he fought just to stay on his knees. Leaves and grass around him tore loose and flew away. It was the invisible might of the Pagoda that his father could trigger from afar, though even this was not a fraction of its true force. That mechanism had a single purpose.

“Nezha.”

The voice of the Devaraja Li Jing thundered through the grove, and the prince found himself unable to lift his head. He had no idea how long he could withstand that crushing weight that felt as if it was shattering his bones—it was unbearable. He loathed his father for even conceiving this method of communication.

“W-what… do you want?” Nezha hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“I come only to warn you,” Li Jing began. His tone was severe, neutral, utterly devoid of empathy. “A few kilometers west of your location, imperial reports have ceased. They are twenty-four hours late.”

“And what the hell… does that matter to me?” Nezha snapped.

Instantly, the weight intensified, forcing his face dangerously close to the ground. His knees were about to give out.

“It should matter. The Emperor fears the pattern will repeat.”

“C-can’t you see… I’m busy, old man?!” he shouted.

“I will not permit you to investigate alone. But I order you: once your hunt is finished, you will return to me at once.”

A boiling fury surged inside him. He hated that his father forced obedience through threats. What would it cost the man to send a messenger, or wait until later? He had always suspected that, deep down, Li Jing enjoyed torturing him—and this only confirmed it. Nezha had long accepted there was no escape; there was no reason to prolong these cruel rituals.

He pressed his lips tight, shaking his head, his fingers clawing into the earth. Both his legs and arms, straining to keep him from being crushed flat, were on the verge of breaking.

“Fine… fine! Just leave me the fuck alone, you miserable old bastard! Get this off me!”

In the blink of an eye, both his father’s presence and the Pagoda’s invisible weight vanished. Nezha collapsed, gasping for air. His muscles had gone completely limp; it would take time before they recovered. The pain in his bones ran through his whole skeleton. Forcing himself, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Thrice… as many times as needed to calm the thunder in his chest.

Slowly, his senses returned. The rasp of leaves and dirt beneath his bare hands and knees, the clean breath of the forest air, the songs of birds and insects, the groan of branches. His pulse stopped pounding at his temples, and strength trickled back into his limbs. He sat on his knees, preparing to reorient his mind towards the mission with Erlang—when footsteps nearby put him on alert.

Opening his eyes just a fraction, he caught a flicker of white. Nezha clenched his weapon and hurled it with the force of a crossbow bolt. The spear’s tip buried itself in the ground, erupting into flames. His vision sharpened in the space of a blink. As he propelled himself forward to retrieve the weapon and face the threat, he froze.

Three yaoguai pups stood before him.

Foxlike, with white fur, red paws and tails, and faint blue spines pricking up from their backs. They squealed, their tiny bodies bristling, baring their fangs as they huddled close together. Nezha studied them, startled—then smiled with disdain.

“What a coincidence… my hunt is a fox exactly like you, only bigger… Don’t tell me you three are…? No, impossible. I can’t believe it!” His tone shifted to mocking delight. “How lucky can I get—hitting the jackpot with three little devils. Your mother’s already being hunted, and you won’t be spared either.”

Nezha raised his spear high, aiming straight at the pup in the center. He was a second away from driving the blade through its soft skull when a voice echoed in his head. His brother’s words came back to him.

No. He couldn’t allow himself to feel compassion for these beasts, who when grown would remember nothing—and commit the same or worse atrocities as the rest of their kind. Huli Jing could not be trusted. Li Jing would kill them without hesitation. But… Nezha had never wanted to become like his father.

What difference was there between sparing them now, only for them to die anyway under the Zhi Jinghua? Would that still count as compassion? The more he thought, the less he understood Muzha’s message. The pups trembled with fear, yet did their best to appear threatening. To Nezha, they looked like little more than white puffballs with milk teeth. His grip on the spear tightened, but his body refused to move.

"Fuck…”

He grit his teeth, his hand shaking. The lotus petals of the golden spear folded back, ready to release their flame upon the pups. His face twisted, caught in inner war. One more command, and the babies would be ashes. Since when had a warrior—a god like him—grown soft before yaoguai? His duty demanded he end the threat, purify the world of them. It all came down to his honor. The honor of a true warrior…

A tremor shook the forest. Both the pups and Nezha snapped their heads in the same direction. East. Erlang.

The prince looked up, spotting flocks of squirrels and birds bursting from the treetops, and even from there, he caught the scent of burning. Alarm surged through him, and just as he turned back—the pups were gone. Vanished.

“Fuck!” Nezha cursed, leaping onto his wheels and speeding towards the chaos.

Flames, crashing trees, and lightning split the forest, sending animals scattering. Nezha raced past them. If he had found the cubs of a Huli Jing… then Erlang had found something far greater.

An enraged mother.

 

****************************************************

 

His feet danced over scorched grass. With every passing second, the beast grew fiercer, hurling herself at her hunter with even greater rage; and Erlang struggled to keep pace. With a leap, he dodged a claw that slammed into the earth. He slid to evade a snapping bite, but the kuai was fast, and in an instant she swept her tail, hurling the demigod several meters away.

Erlang had to admit the Huli Jing was no easy prey—she was battle-hardened. Parts of his tunic lay scorched, his hands smeared with soot and dirt, yet he felt no fatigue.

More bubbles of blue fire shot towards him, and the soles of his boots began to glow golden. Sprinting at the fox demon, he wove through the flames, bursting apart those that blocked his path. The blade of his spear gleamed with white lightning. His eyes never left the mother as she leapt from tree to tree—until she finally dove at him. Just inches before her fangs could close around his skull, Erlang raised his weapon and struck back with a flawless counter.

The Huli Jing reeled backwards amid the flashes. Her body crashed into boulders that split under her weight. Her vision had barely cleared when she saw the demigod before her, sword gripped in his left hand. One swing would tear her throat open.

One movement from victory, Erlang froze mid-strike. Though he had steeled himself to slay the mother, his body refused to obey. In those milliseconds, he remembered the pups. He remembered his own mother—and above all, he glimpsed the monkey. Would he even agree with hunting other monsters? He didn’t know, but the tightness in his heart drained the strength from his limbs.

As if his hand itself could not spill blood, the sword plunged into the dirt, inches from the kuai’s head.

Her shock didn’t last long. She roared at the demigod and wasted no time in bristling her spines to their full height. A single lash of her tail flung the black-haired hunter through the air, dragging him across the ground.

Erlang barely rose to one knee before the fox beast pounced, slamming him flat. Only his spear kept her fangs from tearing off his face. The Huli Jing clamped down on the weapon’s shaft, shaking her head violently to wrench it aside. Erlang’s clothes tore under slashing claws, fresh scars carved into his body.

Incredible—one moment of hesitation had turned the battle against him. He didn’t know how much longer he could last in the struggle. He was trapped.

The fire around the fox’s eye burned brighter, and she grew even more savage. She had every intent to wrench the spear from his hands and bite off his head. But in the midst of the clash, her ears caught the whistle of something rushing straight at her. Before she could react, a pair of blazing wheels slammed into her face. Friction split her skin and scorched her whiskers, and the force hurled her through the air, snapping trees apart.

At last, Erlang had a breath. He leaned on his spear to stand, facing his savior. Unlike their last battle, he was glad to see Nezha lending a hand. The prince spun his golden spear and leveled him with a severe glare.

“You took down a god-slayer alone, and now you can’t finish off a fox? Come on, focus!”

Erlang rolled his eyes.

“I’m glad to see you too, Nezha.”

Both hunters turned as the kuai’s roar warned them, and together they cut down the fire bubbles streaking in every direction. The fox had one last trick to play.

“This time, I don’t want to see you hesitate. If you won’t gut her, I’ll take her head myself.”

The demigod had no answer. Back to back, they covered each other’s flanks. Shards like blades whistled towards them; their spears deflected them with ease. Through the haze of blue fire, their focus snapped to a single point.

The Huli Jing seemed to stride upon the air. Her back spines glowed with fury as her tail lashed. With each flick, another tail appeared. Nezha and Erlang tensed. One, then another, then another… until she blazed with five flaming tails. Not yet nine, but unmistakably a yaoguai of centuries. With two bounding leaps she circled the hunters, and on the third, she hurled herself at them. The instant her paws struck earth, her five tails erupted in blue, red, and rose flames.

Forced apart, they jumped to opposite sides to dodge the blast. As the fire slid harmlessly off Nezha’s skin and clothes, Erlang already felt the searing burn along his arms and legs. He spun through the air as bubbles shot towards him at blistering speed. He blocked scales and sprang aside from a fatal claw. Regaining balance, he slashed his spear, sparks and lightning bursting forth. Before he could strike, the fox’s body was snared by the prince’s red sash—and Nezha lunged.

With a yank, he dragged her close, his golden spear carving a deep line across her neck. He rained thrust after thrust, his flames clashing against hers. Firestorms collided, heat surging in waves. A sweep of her five tails flung him back, but he countered with a blazing arc. The Huli Jing wailed, slipping like an arrow to escape the Samadhi flames. Enraged, she charged the hunters again.

She lashed fire from her tails, then with a swipe, vaulted into the air, spinning to slam her spiny back onto the prince. Her scales seared, and she sprang away. The triple-pronged spear struck her again, only for her to whirl with another elegant sweep of her tails. The flames were fierce, and if not for Erlang’s arms shielding the blast, his face would have borne the full burn.

The heat stung Erlang’s eyes, but he forced himself to focus. He had failed once—he would not again. This mother would not leave the forest alive. Nor would they.

“Erlang!” Nezha shouted, his spear dancing between his hands to keep the fox at bay. “The tails—cut the tails!”

Of course. They were the yaoguai’s weakness, her source of power. Without them, she could summon no fire. Amid the chaos, Erlang spotted his sword still buried in the earth. He sprinted to reclaim it—light, but deadly—and sliced clean through the first tail. The Huli Jing shrieked, flinging scales and bubbles, but the demigod dodged them all with swift leaps and slides.

The second tail fell soon after. Nezha proved the perfect decoy, meeting the fox head-on without faltering. His excitement blazed—adrenaline boiling in his veins as he wielded his body with precision. At last, he was proving himself the partner Erlang needed in a hunt. This was how it should be.

The Huli Jing recoiled in horror as a surge of lightning split her rear. A quick glance—only one tail remained. The other four had been cut off. Desperate, she unleashed her power in full, roaring so loud their eardrums throbbed in pain. Seizing the moment, she lunged, slamming her weight onto the prince.

Stunned, Nezha was hurled into the trees, leaving the mother to focus on the final hunter. She charged. Erlang snapped out of his daze and faced her rush. He sheathed his sword to grip his spear firmly, charging to meet her. After all, she was a yaoguai. She had harmed villagers, stolen their food, brought nothing but trouble. A demon—soulless, unfeeling, undeserving of life.

It was too obvious… or not? The monkey had done far worse than steal a few boars, and Erlang couldn’t kill him. She was only acting on instinct—protecting her pups. That was a mother’s true aim… and instinct was nothing compared to a mother’s love. As he ran, his thoughts scattered, disoriented. His pace faltered, his gaze slipping into emptiness.

“Erlang!!”

Nezha’s distant cry snapped him awake, but when he looked up, the fox was already upon him. Erlang raised his spear to defend, but no strength remained in his grip. With a swipe, she knocked the weapon aside and clamped his right arm in her jaws. Blood splattered his tunic, but the shock numbed his voice. She shook him like a ragdoll and flung him high. The demigod smashed through a tree, splitting it in half, before crashing into the dirt and carving a deep furrow in the ground.

He could barely feel his arm. Blood poured from the deep punctures left by the yaoguai’s fangs, and he was certain several tendons had been torn from the violent shakes. When he tried to rise, his arm nearly dangled lifelessly at his side. His head spun, the impact had knocked the air from his lungs. His vision struggled to focus, and every sound reached him from far away.

With great effort, he managed to stand, clutching his wounded arm and panting heavily—only for his pupils to shrink in alarm as he saw the yaoguai’s figure lunging at him once more. This time to finish him off. Drawing his sword would take too long, and he was painfully aware he had no strength left to block. His hesitation once again led him to ruin.

The sharp claws of the Huli Jing were mere inches away from tearing into his face. A blazing flash erupted between them. A new golden blade interposed itself, trailed by crimson flames. Nezha, moving at impossible speed, appeared to keep his friend from being ripped apart. The sword in his hands cleaved clean through the creature’s four limbs. A piercing roar burst from the fox spirit as its body lost balance in mid-air and tumbled across the forest, slamming into a willow that shuddered at the impact.

Erlang collapsed to the ground as soon as he saw the prince before him, the massive fox body looming beyond his shoulder. Shock consumed him. His face was smeared with dirt, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. A part of him couldn’t believe a Huli Jing had reduced him to this state… but on the other hand, his mind had been elsewhere throughout the fight. As he tried to push himself up, he heard Nezha’s footsteps rushing towards him.

“Erlang! Fucking hell… Shit, your arm…” The prince pulled him up by his good shoulder, unable to hide his shock at the wound. “Damn it… What the hell happened? Why didn’t you block it? It was easy—even for me! And now, because you lost focus, your arm’s completely fucked.”

“I…” Erlang stammered, unable to give a clear answer.

“Cut the bullshit. You’re acting strange, you hear me? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What the fuck was that out there?”

Erlang couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes, when their exchange was interrupted by pained howls. Both turned towards the crippled fox, still sprawled where it had landed. A dark pool of blood spread beneath it. It writhed and shrieked in agony, voice raw with pain; where its legs should have been, only four mangled stumps gushed red without end. The demigod averted his gaze, horrified to see the slit limbs lying just a few feet away. His heart lurched, and for a moment nausea shook him.

Countless monsters had fallen beneath his spear and Nezha’s, but he couldn’t recall a single fight where they’d had to mutilate a creature in such a way to win. And worst of all, this one still lived, howling every second. It felt too cruel—even for a yaoguai.

“…Why did you do that?”

The prince stared at him, incredulous, throwing his arms open with bitter sarcasm.

“Ohhh… Don’t mention it, asshole? ‘Thanks, Nezha, for saving my butt and keeping my face from being ripped off’? What kind of question is that?”

Nezha glared at the fox with hatred, flicking the excess blood from his blade with a single motion. Its wails irritated him, and he intended to make it pay for Erlang’s wound.

“You’ll see, filthy bitch!”

The prince rushed forward until he stood only inches from the yaoguai’s head. He saw it weeping and writhing, bleeding ceaselessly, but there was no trace of pity in his darkened gaze. He twirled his weapon in his fingers before raising it high with both hands. One strike, and the hunt would end with a decapitated Huli Jing.

The moment Erlang saw his stance, he reacted without thinking.

“Wait!”

He hurled forwards, blocking the prince’s golden blade with his own. The edge hovered just a hair’s breadth from the creature’s neck. Silence fell between them like a sheet of ice, and Nezha gawked at him in disbelief.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Back off!”

“Nezha, please, just wait…” the demigod pleaded, his sword trembling in his left hand. “There are other ways to—”

“Erlang, this bitch almost ripped your arm off, and now you feel compassion?” Nezha cut him off. He pulled his blade away from the fox only to turn on his friend. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. What the hell is wrong with you? Stop playing dumb and let’s finish the job. That’s why you agreed to this hunt in the first place, or have you forgotten already?”

“Of course not. But… just look at her.” Erlang pointed at the beast with his sword. “You already cut her legs off. If she doesn’t bleed out, she’ll starve. She’ll never walk again. It’s the same as killing her—we’ve neutralized the threat. There’s no need to execute her.”

Nezha couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Do you even hear yourself? What the fuck, Erlang! And even if this monster’s going to be erased by the Zhi Jinghua, what does it matter? We were ordered to kill it—those villagers lost an entire storehouse of supplies because of this thing.”

“She did it to feed her cubs,” Erlang retorted. “There had to be a reason, and—”

“I can’t believe you’re seriously defending a yaoguai…” Nezha pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You said it yourself—whether we kill her now or wait for the Zhi Jinghua, she dies either way! We can ensure her death another way…” Erlang paused, then gestured toward the sash. “If you tear off a piece of your ribbon, it will regenerate. Even if it won’t be as strong as the original, it’ll be enough to restrain her. She won’t escape, and she’ll die bleeding.”

Nezha fell silent for a long moment. If he had suspected his friend was acting strange before, now he was sure of it. A month ago, the Erlang he knew would never have stopped an execution, never proposed “merciful” alternatives. He would never have hesitated in battle, never allowed himself to be maimed to the point of losing an arm. He would never have arrived late to an event hosted by the Emperor. And it had all begun just days after that battle with the monkey.

Yet amid his anger and uncertainty, Nezha remembered his brother’s words: “The honor of a warrior lies in knowing when to spare a life.” That single phrase clashed violently within him. Could even delaying death count as compassion? Both Erlang and Muzha were following a pattern he didn’t understand—and it infuriated him. This change in his friend wasn’t natural. Something was happening, of that there was no doubt.

Thankfully, Erlang didn’t press him further, giving him time to think as the fox spirit’s gasps and shrieks filled the air. At last, the prince drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He opened his eyes and shot the demigod a hard glare before turning his sword back into the lotus at his belt. Reaching behind him, he tore a strip from his ribbon. The fragment grew until it stretched long enough to bind the yaoguai.

The beast screamed in terror as the ribbon wrapped tightly around her, dragging her towards an unknown destination. The two hunters watched as her massive body vanished into the mist, and for a fleeting moment, the Huli Jing met Erlang’s eyes. He had granted her a chance to escape once the prince withdrew. Whether she took it or not was up to her, but the path had been silently opened. Her roars and cries were the last sound as her figure slipped from the warriors’ sight.

Despite giving in to Erlang’s request, Nezha felt no satisfaction. He wrinkled his nose and turned back on his friend.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he asked, furious. “We’re always being tested. Tests that define our loyalty to the Court. If we think of disobeying, it doesn’t matter if we’re locked in the Grand Pagoda—we’ll be erased by the Zhi Jinghua. Our lives are at risk every second. If we become impure, all we can do is count the time we have left. The only values that matter are the Court’s. You’ve seen how those who reject the rules and the Buddhas’ teachings end up. Do you want that? To vanish from the Three Realms, without even reincarnation? To simply stop existing?” His voice shook. “Decide whose side you’re on.”

Erlang looked at him with heavy sorrow in his eyes. Just like before, his mind could not form an argument. He couldn’t refute him, because if he did, not only his life, but the monkey’s life he had spared would be in check. He had already told too many lies; he couldn’t keep stacking them—not now. Not with his sworn brother.

“…Since when do we know what ‘impure’ really means?”

He averted his gaze and started walking, bones aching, in search of his spear somewhere on the battlefield. What had once been a den for a mother and her cubs was now a wasteland of ashes. His right arm dangled, dripping blood into his boots, and though he gripped it tightly, he could barely feel his nerves. The throbbing pain in his flesh made him gasp.

Nezha followed him with his eyes, a weight pressing on his heart, until he forced himself to speak the truth he dreaded.

“Erlang!” the prince called. The demigod stopped. “...I know when you’re lying to me.”

Erlang’s soul dropped dead. He didn’t need to turn to know how Nezha was looking at him. His attempt to mend their bond had only bred deeper mistrust. And it was all because of the doubt that monkey had planted from the start. But there was no turning back—ever since he spared him, there could be no return.

He tilted his head slightly but didn’t meet Nezha’s eyes. Instead, he carried on, the prince’s burning gaze searing his back.

 

******************************************

 

With a single gulp, the soup from the bowl was gone. It was already his fifteenth dish of the night, and he wasn’t even remotely full. He hated to admit it, but Wukong couldn’t handle alcohol all that well. When it came to food though; he alone could devour an imperial pantry and still be hungry. Another twenty delicacies crowded the table as waiters came and went to clear the empty plates.

The yaoguai had hidden themselves from celestial eyes. Hunts and the Zhi Jinghua had driven their populations to the brink of extinction, so only those permitted could enter and access the services among them. Taverns included; tucked away in mountains and caves, they served as meeting points for all races and wandering spirits who survived—or who fought for a cause greater than themselves. Wukong belonged to the latter group, and he hoped his guest, already ten minutes late, did too.

When he had entered, Wukong received a storm of stares—surprise, confusion, fear, hatred, distrust…a little of everything. But none in the tavern dared address him. They knew of his feats—how he had killed gods—and his terrifying reputation stretched across continents. Before leaving, he had made sure his mountain wouldn’t suffer ambushes, that his little ones would be safe for the day.

The Monkey King sighed in satisfaction at the taste lingering in his mouth from the last soup, and without shame propped his feet on the chair in front of him. Unlike other days, for that noon, he had chosen more formal robes: red and black, with his helmet lacking its feathers. It gave him a noble, less warlike aura—but no less imposing. He heard the footsteps of a server coming to clear plates, and caught his attention with a gesture.

“Bring me the strongest wine you’ve got in store…” Wukong paused, his eyes flicking to the entrance. He returned his gaze to the lynx yaoguai who served him swiftly. “Two cups. Hurry.”

The kuai bowed silently and withdrew. Wukong looked straight ahead and saw a massive gray yaoguai approaching his table. Bare torso, heavily muscled, unmistakable hooves, and the head of a horse set atop his broad shoulders. An iron muzzle wrapped his snout, and deep black eyes stared into him.

Wukong grinned, leaning back in his seat, and opened a hand in welcome.

“Ah, Pi-ma… You’re late, Gray Steed.”

“You know how many detours I had to take to dodge the Celestial Watchers? Those bastards guard every main path up the mountain.” The horse snorted as he noticed Wukong’s feet on the chair he meant to take, then sat beside him. “Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Wukong.”

“Why not? At least I show up on time.”

“Not all of us have a thirteen-ton iron staff… I wonder if that bare ass of yours could take a lash of the whip.”

“By the time you tried, you’d already be dead.”

Their eyes locked in abrupt silence. Pi-ma glared, while the monkey looked perfectly at ease. Then, suddenly, both yaoguai chuckled under their breath before breaking into roaring laughter. Snickers and neighs echoed from their corner. The lynx server rushed back with a large bottle of wine and two flat cups on a tray. He set them before the diners, placing the bottle in the middle.

The horse was the first to act, grabbing the wine to pour for himself.

“As loose-tongued as ever, Wukong… it’s been a while.”

“Indeed, Pi-ma.” The monkey agreed, and after the steed poured, Wukong seized the bottle to fill his own cup to the brim. “Last time I saw you, you were just a colt in training. Now you’re nothing but muscle. We should toast to that.”

Pi-ma neighed.

“More cordial than before—I like it.” He raised his cup high. “To old times, and to the gift of the present!”

Wukong smiled.

“To the pleasure of seeing you, my friend!”

Their cups clashed in a toast. Wine splashed, and both drained their drinks in one gulp. Wine streaked down Wukong’s chin, and lowering his empty cup. He sighed, animated by the burn of the strong liquor tingling down his throat. Pi-ma snorted and shook his head.

“Not bad… but nothing compared to the spirits from my Lord’s mountains.”

“I value any wine that reaches me since the Zhi Jinghua,” Wukong replied, pouring another round. But the horse fell thoughtful at that. The monkey cracked one eye open, gesturing towards the food with an open palm. “You’ve come a long way; go on, serve yourself. My banquet is yours as well.”

Pi-ma nodded in acceptance, reached for some white tomatoes, bit into one, and groaned with delight at the fresh flavor.

“White cave tomatoes… extremely rare, tender, and crisp. You’ve got fine taste in food.”

Wukong smiled again, tail swishing at the compliment.

“I hosted banquets every week on my mountain… of course I know my vegetables and fruits.”

“But… hey,” Pi-ma shifted the subject as he ate, leaning over the table with curiosity. “Even in my Lord’s mountains, word has spread of your battle. Two hunters—one you nearly killed, and the other…”

Wukong’s chopsticks tightened mid-bite.

“…Drove his spear through my gut, yes.”

“So it’s true? No one had ever managed to scratch you. What happened, Wukong? Everyone thought you were untouchable.”

The monkey avoided his gaze, bitter. He didn’t want to dig into his wound, and now he regretted that word had spread—that the hunter had chosen to spare him. He poured himself more wine and took a sip before answering, clicking his tongue in disdain.

“Tch… that bastard just cheated. Grabbed me by the tail, can you believe it? He could’ve broken my arm or struck me, but instead he took the low road. Pathetic…”

“Hah!” Pi-ma laughed. “I hope that taught you to tuck your tail next time.”

Wukong scowled.

“I have nothing to hide. The Celestials are the ones who fight dirty.”

“Say what you will, but… I think I know who they were—especially the one with the trident spear.”

Wukong’s interest sparked instantly. He lowered his cup, eyes locked on the horse.

“I’m listening…”

“The one you nearly killed—did he have wheels of fire?”

“Correct.”

“Rumor has it he’s a prince. Son of one of the Devarajas… From what I know, only one has an intriguing history on Earth. You know the Chentang Pass?”

“That coastal pass that’s always under the Court’s watch—and in ruins?”

Pi-ma nodded.

“Some say the prince hails from there, that he’s older than the first Zhi Jinghua.”

Wukong’s gaze darkened.

“That’s impossible.”

“The age of gods is unfathomable…” Pi-ma crossed his arms. “That’s for the prince. But the other one… you were truly lucky to survive.”

“What about him?”

“That hunter has left his mark on Earth… great yaoguai have fallen to his spear. He always answers to the Emperor's calls. For that reason… we believe he’s a demigod. Someone important to the Lord of Heaven.”

Wukong fell silent for several moments, staring down at his plates as the words sank in. A sudden sting throbbed in his stomach—his wound. He still wore the bandages the black-haired hunter had given him, and the entire encounter resurfaced in his mind. If what the horse said was true, and that hunter was indeed someone relevant in the Emperor’s circle… then why had he helped him? Had all his words and actions—healing him, bandaging him—been nothing but a facade? Distrust churned within him, etching itself onto his face.

“For the Court, you’re already dead.”
“Is it cowardice to risk my own life to come down and help you?”

No one knew the demigod had descended to aid him. That moment had been theirs alone. Now Wukong drifted between truth and lies, his mind split. Part of him wanted to believe, but instinct screamed not to trust. If that hunter ever descended his mountain again, there would be a serious reckoning—or, at worst… a final duel. No tricks. Only one victor.

Pi-ma had fallen quiet, noticing Wukong drifting from the conversation.

“Wukong.”

The monkey finally shook his head, refocusing on the horse.

“Apologies. Just… remembering that battle.”

“In any case… if you cross paths with him again, you’d better be ready, and exceedingly cautious. Demigods are powerful—they must not be underestimated.”

Wukong nodded at last, sighing. He poured another drink and offered some to Pi-ma in silence. Seeing the talk had drifted far enough, the steed decided it was time to reach the real matter. He raised a hand to refuse the wine.

“Wukong…” The horse paused, meeting his eyes with sudden seriousness, while the monkey kept attacking another plate of food. “You requested an audience with the Bull King, and he sent me in his stead. You know this, and that’s why I must ask you to lay it out. I know you love to beat around the bush, but we're running out of time.”

Wukong stayed silent. The grin on his face faded slightly, and he exhaled heavily. He set down his chopsticks, leaving a half-eaten dumpling on the nearest plate.

“There’s no need to state the obvious, Pi-ma. I just wonder why he sent you instead of coming himself…”

“Since the first Zhi Jinghua, the Western mountains have fallen into chaos. He’s trying to hold onto the last fragments of peace…he’s far too worried and busy with other matters. The Yaksas are planning a coup. He cannot risk abandoning the throne…not to mention, he was just recently married.”

Wukong’s eyes went wide as plates. Beyond surprise, he quickly felt insulted by the gray horse.

“He got married, and didn’t invite me to the wedding? How rude, I thought he was one of my six sworn brothers—we made a pact! If I ever married, I’d at least have the decency to invite him.”

“You must understand—you’ve become an outlaw to the Celestial Court.” Pi-ma crossed his arms. “Ever since you killed that first local deity who served the ones above, the Emperor has had his eye on you.”

“And what did they expect me to do? Sit back and watch while the Zhi Jinghua wipes us out year after year?” Wukong noticed his fury rising, then leaned back into his chair, drawing a long breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry…”

Neither dared to say anything more. The toast they’d shared just minutes ago already felt like something from a faraway past. Their eyes avoided each other, and the noise of the tavern swelled in their silence: stray conversations, laughter, the clinking of glasses, cutlery scraping on plates, and waiters rushing about. Only a few continued to glance at him from a distance.

Suddenly, Wukong felt uneasy—but he couldn’t ruin the only negotiation he had left with his sworn brother, who hadn’t even bothered to show up. He couldn’t deny it either: everywhere he looked, he and the other yaoguai kings were in trouble.

He decided to try once more, meeting Pi-ma’s gaze. Maybe break the ice before getting to the heart of things.

“What’s…her name?”

“She’s Princess Rakshasi. Young and beautiful, I only saw her once, at the wedding. I’ve heard she has a stern character and rules with strength. At least she’ll be able to help my Lord manage all the disaster.”

Wukong nodded, letting out another sigh. He picked up his chopsticks and ate the last bite of the gyoza.

“…I sent him a message a while back, but I never received a reply. That’s why I wanted this audience. Since you come in his stead, you must have his word. Well then, what does he say?”

Pi-ma held his gaze in silence for a few moments. He snorted and cleared his throat.

“In the words of the Bull King… ‘Brother Sun, fear gnaws at my heart. The Zhi Jinghua has struck us all alike, and I cannot allow my domain to collapse under Heaven’s authority. The Yaksas, who once swore me loyalty and service, now conspire in the shadows. Distrust grows, and the celestial armies stir within the clouds. To lose more than half of your own and your sworn brothers every year to the Zhi Jinghua…these are losses we cannot stop, except by following the gods’ path of purity.’”

The Monkey’s brow furrowed, his body tensing. He shot a hard glare at the horse, already guessing where this message was going. He feared the worst.

“Excuse me?”

“…‘Once, we fought legendary battles and our alliance was unbreakable. I do not wish for your enmity, yet the danger of rebellion against the Celestial Court is reckless and irresponsible. I have a wife and an entire kingdom to protect, and now I see only one path to withstand the Zhi Jinghua: cultivation and service. My throne is at stake, and to fight both Heaven and the Yaksas, those red demons…I need neither strength, nor hatred. Brother Sun, you hold a special place in my heart, but I will not risk all I have achieved for a war against the Emperor.’”

At that moment, Wukong’s very soul dropped to the floor. His eyes narrowed, his face went pale. No answer came to him at first—he stared at the horse in shock. He straightened in his chair, unable to believe it. He shook his head, pain tightening in his chest.

“No…no, how could he…? How can he turn his back on me?”

“These were my Lord’s words to you, Wukong.”

“He can’t leave me to lead a war against Heaven alone—he was my last hope!”

“What about your other brothers?”

“They won’t answer, and others have refused me too…” With every passing second, the tremor in his voice gave way to restrained rage. He clenched his fists and bared his fangs. “Cowards…they’re all fucking cowards!”

“Wukong, think for just a minute.” Pi-ma raised his hands to calm him. “My Lord suffers, as do we all, and he has much at stake. He cannot hurl himself against the Emperor—that would be suicide.”

“I cannot believe these weaklings once thought themselves my equals…they’d rather surrender than even try!”

“They’d rather use their heads! A war against Heaven…at this point, it’s a lost cause.”

Wukong leapt to his feet. His chair flew back against the wall, and immediately every patron turned to watch. The Monkey pointed at the horse, trembling as he held back from exploding.

“Don’t you dare…don’t you dare call my war, my battles, my struggles a lost cause—don’t you dare, Pi-ma!”

Pi-ma rose too, though he tried to soothe him.

“Wukong, will you sit down? Don’t make a scene.”

“Your King already made it the moment he decided not to help me. How dare he? I gave him a warrior’s purpose, I accepted him as my brother—we swore loyalty, in crisis and in prosperity—and this is how he repays me?! Coward, bootlicker!”

“He has everything to lose! What about you? You started this war, you killed gods, and now they hunt you. You cannot drag the world into fighting for you—my Lord has a duty, to all of us!”

Wukong froze for a second. That single question lit the fuse that detonated inside him. In a blink, the monkey lunged forwards and smashed his fist into the horse’s muzzle. Blood spattered his knuckles, and Pi-ma crumpled to the ground.

“I’ve lost my entire family, and still I choose to fight!! I fight for those who can live, I fight for what remains of mine, for those yet to come! I will not make them resign to serving a genocidal tyrant—I want them to live free!” Wukong jabbed two fingers at him. “The Bull King has betrayed me—he’d rather kiss the Emperor’s ass than fight! Shame on him! He should't even be called my brother. Go, deliver my answer: I will not accept his half-measures. I’ll give him one last chance to open his eyes—if he doesn’t, it will be too late. For him, his wife, and his whole kingdom. They're warned!”

The entire tavern’s eyes were on him, but Wukong had only the horse in his sights. His heart thundered, his body shaking with the effort of not pummeling him further. He had barely any pillars left to lean on—if any, perhaps only one—and even that seemed shaky, whether genuine or expertly manipulative. Doubt gnawed at him over the demigod, the weight of his little ones pressed down on him, and the last of his sworn brothers refusing him had ripped open the wound in his belly anew.

He didn’t want to fight the horse—he had nothing against him. But that painful memory of all who had been lost to the Zhi Jinghua weighed far too heavy on his heart. No one had the right to provoke him with it—not even his friends.

Pi-ma whinnied in pain, shook his head, and wiped his bloodied nose with the back of his hand. Rage clenched his fist, but he only rose to his feet and glared at the monkey. He cast a quick glance around—they were drawing too much attention. And like Wukong, he had nothing against him. He would be forced to fight only if the monkey pushed his insults against his Lord to the limit. Deep down, though, he understood Wukong’s fury.

He knew Wukong was doing all he could to resist the Court, but as a loyal subordinate to the Bull King, there was nothing Pi-ma could do. For a moment, he even felt pity for him. He wiped the blood away, snorted, and shook his head.

“…I'll let him know. Wish you luck, Wukong…for you’ll need it.”

Wukong gave no thanks. He bared his fangs with a growl, but let him go. Pi-ma’s hooves echoed on the stony floor until he passed through the tavern doors. Amid the heavy silence and countless eyes on him, Wukong looked back at his table, still laden with untouched dishes. The weight in his head and heart, and the burning in his stomach, had stolen his appetite.

With a resigned sigh, he pulled a small pouch of gold coins from his robe and dropped it on the table. Under the watchful stares of every yaoguai present, Wukong held his head high and strode out of the tavern.

Outside, Pi-ma was gone. No doubt the horse was a swift messenger…and the sun now hid behind black clouds that carried ill omens. The wind’s chill struck him, and a powerful instinct to return home overwhelmed him.

The horizon across all the lands neighboring Ao-lai bore the same sight: gravity undone, with landscapes and ruins of towns and cities floating high in the sky. A constant reminder that the Zhi Jinghua did not only purge the living, but bent the Earth itself into abstract chaos.

Wukong leapt onto his cloud and set off east, towards his island. He had never felt more alone. His sworn brothers would not stand with him in this war, his little ones depended on him, the Zhi Jinghua drew near—and the bitterest irony of all was that the only one who had dared help him was none other than the demigod close to the Emperor, the one who had spared his life and torn open his belly.

He prayed for the day luck would finally tilt in his favor.

 

*******************************************************

 

“Lord Laozi!…Supreme Immortal?”

No answer. Erlang was starting to grow accustomed to the Sage’s mysterious entrances every time he stepped into the Tushita Palace. He had taken his first steps into a chamber whose walls rose vertically, vanishing into a mist of white haze. But more than a hall of refining, alchemy, or spiritual cultivation, Erlang had stepped into the largest greenhouse of his life.

It wasn’t limited to potted plants; trees of every species, many unknown even to the demigod, grew in all directions. The pathway was barely visible among the foliage. Ferns, willows, pines, poplars, reeds…they were only a fraction of this endless wilderness. What struck him most was the absence of bird song or insect buzz, so common in such places. Instead, there was an ominous silence…and he could not help but feel uneasy.

Two possibilities crossed his mind. Either Erlang was still too ignorant in the herbology of Earth, or thanks to the Zhi Jinghua, flora had mutated into species he would have deemed impossible. His instinct leaned towards the second option. Walking along the marble path, he saw he was entering a section full of flowering plants. He recognized the white plum tree, and the sight of something so familiar gave him comfort.

So many species, so many blooms…it was like a rainbow stretching from the ground up to the ceiling. The demigod couldn’t take his eyes off the majestic sight. As with the trees, there were flowers he had never seen before. Lowering his head after the strain in his neck, he froze in front of a group of orchids.

They weren’t a uniform color; their petals shifted between iridescent hues, with a dominant indigo-blue that reflected the light. Erlang favored white and yellow, but he could appreciate beauty of every shade—especially when it lived in such a unique form, in orchids the size of his face. They radiated their own ethereal glow, and Erlang felt like a moth drawn to the light.

His attention was so captured by the details, the colors, the textures of the orchid that he didn’t notice other plants had been drawn to him. A hybrid between a Venus flytrap and a lily slithered closer, raising itself to the height of his head. Its jaws opened wide, waiting for the perfect strike.

A crack of leaves behind him made Erlang tense. Without taking his eyes off the glowing orchid, his left hand went to the hilt of his sword. He spun on his heel, and with a clean slash, severed the head of the Venus hybrid. He grimaced at the strange specimen, stabbing the blade into the stem to lift it up for closer inspection.

Erlang frowned. He had never seen such a hybrid.

“What the hell…”

Before he could examine the grotesque design further, a lash of fibers snapped against the sword’s blade. Erlang startled and released the hilt. He turned to the intruder, but the moment he saw the silhouette, he realized who it was.

“You damn brat!” growled Laozi, striding towards the demigod. He smacked Erlang on the shoulder—barely moving him—and with the fibers of his Fuzi, retrieved the Venus’ head. “Do you know how rare these carnivores are? Hybrids, one of a kind across the Three Realms, and you go and behead them. Very bad, Er’lang Shen!”

Erlang flushed red with embarrassment and bowed apologetically before the Sage.

“Forgive me, Supreme Laozi. I didn’t mean to—I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Humph!” the old man grumbled, handing back both the Venus’ head and the sword. Erlang, surprised, accepted them. Laozi gave him a quick look and noticed the thick bandages wrapped around the demigod’s right arm.

The Sage raised a curious brow, tapping the injured arm with his staff.

“It must have sensed you were wounded. These Venuses are clever—they detect flesh when you’re near. And as you saw, they can move on their own. But Er’lang Shen, wearing bandages after a hunt?”

Erlang could feel the elder’s intrigue. Sheathing his sword, he averted his gaze.

“It was…successful, but I ran into trouble.”

Laozi studied him for a moment, as if unconvinced. At last, he rolled his eyes and dismissed it with a wave.

“At least I should commend your punctuality. Follow me.” He turned, then glanced back over his shoulder. “The pill you asked for is ready.”

Erlang’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Why else would I summon you here? Besides, I told you it would be finished in two days, and as a Sage, I always keep my word.”

Those words gave Erlang a burst of much-needed energy. Still holding the severed flower head, he hurried to catch up with the Immortal. Before long, they had left the greenhouse behind and entered a workshop more fitting for Laozi’s alchemy. Vegetation still grew here, but at the center Erlang recognized one of the Sage’s many furnaces, roaring with red fire.

“I thought you had only one alchemy furnace, Supreme Laozi…”

“Boy, if I had just one…I’d never finish my daily workload. What your uncle has asked of me has consumed far too much of my time.”

“…About the Heaven cracking?” Erlang ventured.

Laozi shot him a glare.

“Will you hold your tongue? You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

Erlang shook his head quickly. The elder sighed with relief and rummaged through scrolls scattered across tables, among plants and stones Erlang could hardly identify.

“I’d like to go straight to the matter, but first things first.”

He lifted a small packet of white silk paper tied with a golden string and handed it to the demigod. Erlang turned it over curiously—it felt like a pill inside, but he needed to be sure. Tugging the cord open, he revealed a greenish pill, the size of a common eye. The Sage straightened his back with pride.

“Just wait a few seconds, and any ailment will vanish. It can even regenerate lost limbs. A marvel. You couldn’t expect less from the best alchemist of the Court, young man.”

At once, the image of the brown-furred monkey came to Erlang’s mind. This pill was the bridge to building real progress between him and that yaoguai. An initiative the monkey couldn't deny was genuine. The first step towards something greater…something terrifying.

A shiver ran down his spine. He had no idea what awaited in the future, or whether the monkey would even accept his help. But he could not turn back now—he had already risked too much to keep it hidden.

Closing the packet again and tying it shut, Erlang knew exactly where he needed to go next. He lifted his head, smiled politely at the elder, and bowed in respect.

“You have my deepest gratitude, Supreme Laozi…”

The Sage stopped him with a raised hand.

“Don’t think you’re free yet. Remember, Er’lang…you owe me two favors. And soon I’ll collect the first. Understood?”

The demigod’s smile vanished. Still, he lowered his head and nodded silently. He only hoped it had nothing to do with Mount Huaguo or its surroundings. The monkey would never forgive him if his home was attacked again.

Laozi pointed the furnace with his head, and Erlang knew what to do. He tossed the Venus' head inside, letting get burned by the Samadhi fire. Laozi shook his Fuzi.

“You may go now. Return to Tushita Palace when I call upon you to settle that favor.”

“Yes, sir. With your leave…”

Erlang never looked back. He hurried out of the palace, greeted once again by the setting sun. His feet carried him down the white-stone paths of the Court. He ignored the deities he passed; he had a single goal in mind.

He slowed as he neared the Southern Gate. He was grateful for the freedom to leave Heaven without being questioned by the guards. He stepped towards the colossal doors, waiting as the groan of metal announced their opening. From there, gazing upon the lower realms, his heart lurched—whether in fear, excitement, or both.

He secured the pill’s packet in his pocket and prepared to leap. But just before he pushed off, he stopped and turned back. He could have sworn he felt a strange sensation…as if he was being watched. Not by the guards, but by someone else.

He stood silently for a few moments, scanning the heavenly path in detail. Nothing seemed out of place.

And yet, he didn’t feel safe. But he couldn’t afford to waste more time. He turned towards the cloudy edge of Heaven, sprinted, and dove from the last step, plummeting into the skies below.

Erlang’s intuition had been correct. For the moment he left the Court, Nezha pulled his head out from the wall he had used as cover. His face was darker than ever. He no longer believed it a coincidence that his friend left Heaven the very moment he received the pill.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t follow him. But that was enough to confirm what he already suspected—his friend was not nearly as simple as he pretended to be.

Nezha realized Erlang had a life he was deliberately keeping hidden.

 

*****************************************************

 

Frozen in time, the island of Ao-lai was bathed in the golden light of sunset. The eternal reminiscence of past battles scarred the landscape, and the open wound left by the Zhi Jinghua remained palpable. Mount Huaguo, the largest and most imposing in the province, struggled to stand tall despite lacking half its structure, with debris floating in the air. Its name spoke of flowers and fruits, yet the fruits had not ripened, and no flower could be seen upon its slopes.

Gliding through the sky with each agile beat of his wings, Erlang in the body of a hawk approached the island. He recognized the shore where he had once spotted the massive fish the monkey had hunted the day before, and as Mount Huaguo grew larger, the mighty waterfall gleamed like liquid gold under the sun’s rays.

This time, Erlang felt no fear of wanting to cross it. Yet before his wings touched the water’s mist, something caught the corner of his eye. Beating his wings in place, he lifted his head and spotted the figure of the monkey—above all, the long phoenix feathers swaying over the cliff. He was seated, as if waiting for something. The demigod forced himself to stay focused and flew strongly towards the mountain’s peak.

When he finally reached the summit, relief washed over him, though confusion followed close behind. The more he looked at the monkey, the more different he appeared… physically, he was the same one Erlang had always known, yet there was something about him—distant, devoid of emotion. His gaze was lost on the horizon, as if he had no intention of acknowledging him. But Erlang couldn’t remain a hawk and turn back. As his feet touched the ground, he shifted back into his true form and, hesitating, began walking slowly to the chestnut-furred figure.

Though the afternoon sun burned against his skin, the tension between them was cold as ice. Erlang felt a knot tighten in his throat, and still the monkey hadn’t turned to face him.

“...Monkey...” he began in a low voice, taking another step until he stood just a few feet from the armored figure. “I... I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

The monkey kept his head turned away, and Erlang feared he had arrived at the wrong moment. A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. Had the monkey already uncovered his true identity, shattering the trust Erlang had tried to build? Had something happened in the hours of his absence? It was impossible to tell, for even with his back turned, the chestnut’s demeanor was unreadable.

His heart pounded faster, but Erlang forced himself to grip his tunic tight, steadying his resolve, and looked at the monkey with greater seriousness.

“Hey, if you’re planning on giving me the cold shoulder now...”

At last, the brown-furred monkey clicked his tongue mockingly.

“Don’t waste your breath, hunter.”

Erlang froze. His body rigid as oak, his eyes locked on him.

“...Excuse me?”

The monkey sighed with a chuckle, rising from his spot. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his hands before finally turning to face the demigod. His stance and expression were nothing unusual, and yet Erlang found them strangely alien.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for, hunter.” The monkey placed a hand on his waist, his faint smile never fading. “I thought his words would make no sense, but here we are.”

The demigod couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing, and it showed on his face. Yet a faint suspicion began to grow within him.

“What... what are you talking about?”

“He anticipated you would come.” The monkey pulled a needle from his ear and transformed it into the iron staff. Erlang tensed, but it was in vain—the monkey simply pointed westward with the bar. “He created me and left me as a sentry at the cave’s entrance. To prevent ambushes... and to wait for you.”

In that moment, Erlang’s theory was confirmed.

“You’re one of his clones.”

“Ha ha! I thought you were smarter than that, hunter,” laughed the monkey’s exact replica. “The true Handsome Monkey King is over there.”

Erlang followed the direction of the staff. He sharpened his gaze, and beyond the valleys and lower mountains, he made out a gigantic tree. Even from miles away, it was so vast he was sure it rivaled Mount Huaguo in size. And it wasn’t only trees—its roots stretched and twisted, growing into a forest all their own. The demigod couldn’t pull his eyes from the sight until he remembered his mission.

He shook his head and turned back to the clone, confused.

“How did he know I’d come?”

The replica smirked slyly.

“You told him yourself, fool.”

Erlang turned his head away, embarrassed. Yes, he remembered now—before leaving the beach, he had promised to see him again. A simple “see you later” could mean so many things... once again, he had underestimated the monkey. He silently scolded himself for forgetting.

He took a few steps northwest, fixing his eyes again on the massive tree that vanished into the island’s mist.

“...What is that place?”

The monkey planted the staff into the ground, leaning on it with arms crossed.

“Just a few centuries ago, it was an ordinary willow... but thanks to the effects of the Zhi Jinghua, the tree grew to a colossal size, spawning a forest from its roots, branches, and split trunk. It’s hard to tell where exactly it still clings to the earth... The Monkey King wanted to name it "Línggen Sēnlín". The ‘Forest of the Eternal Rooted Tree.’ Small as they may be, its roots have reached Mount Huaguo.”

Astonished, Erlang couldn’t stop gazing at it. The clone laughed again, their eyes meeting.

“So, he’s inside there?”

“If you manage to find the willow’s original trunk, that’s where he’ll be. Paying tributes... and waiting for you.”

The demigod felt a strange turn in his chest, even to himself. If the monkey had already anticipated his return and had been waiting for some time, Erlang had no reason to keep him waiting longer. At the same time, he recognized the monkey’s wit in leaving a clone as both guardian and messenger. That monkey was cleverer than he expected.

His muscles eased, granting him the freedom to approach the far edge of the summit. He turned once more to the brown-furred replica, bowed his head in gratitude, and leapt into the air. In a cloud of lightning, his body shifted back into the hawk, soaring across the island’s skies towards the northwest, never losing sight of the colossal willow with its endless roots.

The longer he stayed on this island, the more it surprised him with landscapes he had thought impossible.

A sudden surge of energy made him beat his wings faster, eager to reach his encounter with the monkey.

 

***********************************************

 

Línggen Senlín was a living being itself, its entire ecosystem forming its body, growing without precedent. Its roots and branches intertwined not only across the ground but stretched meters into the air. The tree had created undergrounds and sub-levels, micro-forests within itself. Vines wove paths, nets, and bridges of lianas, and Línggen Senlín’s height was such that it held its own water formations. Sunlight barely pierced through the endless layers of leaves and branches.

Thousands of animals and species survived thanks to it. The creaking of wood and branches mixed with the songs of birds and insects, forming a paradoxical symphony. Yet no yaoguai had ever conquered it—the labyrinth of branches was unbreakable. It was thought the tree would remain untouchable forever, but someone had managed to envision a path and reach its summit. That someone now stood upon the roots of the original trunk.

Wukong felt a pang of nostalgia as he walked through Línggen. It had been long since the last time he entered to conquer it, and though his fame had spread across the seas and the entire island, that meant little now. He could not risk settling his monkeys within the Tree of Eternal Roots, for aside from the dangerous yaoguai that had made it their home, his people were too few to cover it all. The Zhi Jinghua had granted him a new domain, but had stolen much of his tribe.

Aside from the war he himself provoked, trying to repel and hunt the gods of the Celestial Court, Wukong was driven by the fire of vast investigation. He did not only long to stop the Zhi Jinghua, but to understand it. Why did the Emperor create it? Why did it affect the very matter of Earth on such a scale? Where was Buddha and the rest of the Western Paradise—had they truly agreed to such a measure? These questions left him sleepless many nights.

One piece of evidence stood before him: Línggen Senlín. Supposedly, it had mutated and grown without limit since the first Zhi Jinghua. Yet each time Wukong returned to its vast roots, he sensed a strange energy. A force beyond this world surrounded the tree—an invisible aura, a pull that drove it to keep growing, twisting upon itself. Whatever it was, Wukong was convinced Línggen was not only a product of Zhi Jinghua, but of something higher—something tied to Heaven itself.

At the foot of the tree’s primordial roots, the monkey had long ago built an altar. Barely a meter high, yet detailed with stone carvings; in the center rested a ceramic vessel, filled with the ashes of past incense sticks. Flowers and peaches lay to its sides, and at the base, two oil lanterns burned undisturbed by wind or rain, eternally lit.

Wukong plucked a hair from his head and transformed it into a stick of incense. He placed it in the ashes, and with a brush of his fingers over its tip, it lit without effort. Kneeling, he bowed his head in silence. The fragrance reached his nose, but he did not move. Still as a statue, the only thing the breeze stirred was his fur and the phoenix feathers of his helm.

He flinched at no sound—not even the wings of a hawk that landed on a nearby branch. The bird did not take its eyes off him. Wukong felt observed, studied…he did not need to look, its very presence said it all. His guest had arrived.

Five minutes passed in silence before Wukong finally stood and opened his eyes. The incense had burned away. He smiled with irony and sorrow, lifting his head. The hawk vanished—but behind him, he felt a presence. Wukong did not know whether to feel excitement, curiosity, suspicion…perhaps a little of all three. When he turned, he came face to face with the black-haired demigod.

“Should I start getting used to your daily visits?”

Erlang raised his brows, as if he hadn’t ruled that out.

“Maybe.”

Wukong rolled his eyes, stifling a dry chuckle.

“At least you keep your word, hunter.”

Erlang said nothing. Neither did the monkey. Tension grew on its own between them, and the demigod could not understand why. Though Wukong looked more relaxed than last time, his eyes told another story. The distance between them had grown. The monkey had learned something.

The pill weighed in Erlang’s pocket like an anvil. He could not simply hand it over and leave—he didn't mean it. He wanted to help him heal, yes, but not only that. His goal was to move forward. He wanted to believe he was doing the right thing.

Crossing his arms, Erlang glanced around, studying the forest of roots and branches that swallowed them whole.

“What a curious place to choose for a meeting.”

“Do you like it?” Wukong asked with sarcasm. “I hadn’t been back in ages. Seemed perfect for our little game.”

“‘Game’?”

Wukong narrowed his eyes and softened his tone.

“If you’ve come to check on the wound you left me…it’s getting better,” he admitted. “That tincture of yours…was truly helpful.”

“Amid all these problems…hearing at least one good thing is a relief.”

The monkey sighed, studying him once more. The biggest doubt in his mind had to be set aside for later. For now, his plan was to lighten the air. Part of him wanted to stop distrusting.

“Hunter, I know you have questions. So do I. Why don’t we…play a game?”

Erlang caught on to what he had meant earlier, eyeing him with intrigue.

“Oh? Letting out your primitive side, I see.”

“Gods love to play, to wager. This is no different. You’re in my territory, and if you want to spend your time on more than just tending my wound…”

“It’s important we get to know each other,” Erlang concluded.

Wukong smiled, pleased they were on the same wavelength.

“Says the celestial hunter whose very name I don’t even know, only that he throws lightning when he’s angry.”

Now it was the demigod who sighed, returning the smile as he folded his arms.

“And says the monkey who stole armor and a dragon’s staff, and slayed gods.”

“Correction! They were given to me. But if you want the whole story…you’ll have to play.” Wukong’s grin widened. With a leap, he burst into smoke—his body transformed into a striking bird, black-feathered with a red breast. He fluttered above the demigod’s head before darting off through the branches.

Erlang shielded himself as the monkey flew past, but once he saw him ascending, he wasted no time. His body crackled with lightning as he became a hawk once more. Both birds rose through the layers and branches until they settled upon one thick enough for the two of them.

Despite Wukong’s dark plumage, his feathers gleamed golden under rays of sunlight that pierced through the leaves. Standing beside him, Erlang finally noticed what kind of bird the monkey had become. He recoiled instantly, agitated. Even as a hawk, he did not hide his grimace of disgust.

“My god…you had to pick that bird?”

Wukong turned, shaking his wings.

“Why not? My personal touch to the bustard's design—”

“Bustard!” Erlang blurted. “Do you know how vile that bird is? They’re hideous, shameless—going off to mate with other birds like—”

“Hawks, cranes, phoenixes…I know!” Wukong cut him off, laughing aloud. “That’s exactly why I chose it!”

Erlang could hardly believe the monkey’s audacity as he laughed and shook himself. The nerve…he couldn’t even look him in the face, transformed into such an abomination.

“You’re…repulsive. Insolent. Horrid…”

“There, there. Thank you kindly!” Wukong bowed with mock politeness, then whipped Erlang with his tail feathers.

The demigod squawked, flapping his wings furiously.

“Don’t touch me! I refuse to play with you as that…thing.”

At that, Wukong only burst into roaring laughter.

“What’s wrong with you? You sound like a bitter old man! Ancient…wrinkled!”

Erlang was starting to truly lose patience. Hard to believe this was the same monkey who had nearly killed Nezha with a single blow, now taunting him like a child. Wukong finally calmed, and with a shake of feathers, transformed again—this time into a magpie, only with crimson feathers instead of blue.

“Better, grandpa?” Wukong asked with a sly chuckle.

The hawk rolled his eyes, straightening himself on the branch.

“…Acceptable.”

“Well then…” Wukong paused, gazing at the endless forest stretching before them. “It’s simple. If you manage to catch me anywhere in this colossal tree, I’ll grant you one question—anyone you want. The same applies to you.”

“So if I catch you, I get to ask you whatever I want?” Erlang asked. When he saw the magpie nod, he fell thoughtful for a moment. It was nothing unusual, just a simple game between them—and at the same time, a ticket to learn more about him. In the end, Erlang nodded, his expression easing. “Very well, let’s see how fast you really are. I’ll give you a head start.”

That made the monkey’s feathers ruffle with excitement. He spread his wings wide.

“Don’t underestimate me!”

With a leap, Wukong shot off the branch like an arrow. His small figure sliced through roots and branches, soaring straight ahead, climbing, diving, weaving, until he vanished into the grandeur of the Línggen Senlín forest.

Erlang remained on the branch, watching until the black-and-red speck disappeared from sight. He counted to ten, granting the monkey his advantage. Once the last second passed, he leapt after him. He retraced the path he had seen the monkey take until the forest swallowed him up, and from there, he was on his own. He sharpened his senses and tried to think like Wukong. The obvious move would be to keep going straight or fly upward… but doubling back? That was exactly the kind of trick the monkey would pull. Erlang turned and headed west.

Meanwhile, Wukong had already covered a great distance in just those ten seconds. While flying, he spotted the perfect hiding place: a dense family of shrubs large enough to swallow him whole. Without hesitation, he rose higher and slipped into the foliage. Nestled among the leaves and twigs, he stayed hidden.

He glanced around. No sign of the white hawk. “Too easy,” Wukong thought smugly. He was certain the hunter would take ages to find him, so, safe inside the bush, he returned to his true form and got comfortable. It was like lying on a plush bed, the branches not bothering him in the least. He folded his hands over his stomach and shut his eyes for a nap.

His great mistake, once again, was his tail. It dangled carelessly outside the bush, draped across the branch in plain sight.

The demigod, in hawk form, swept across an entire level of the forest. He scoured corners, crevices, hollows of the trunks—no sign of the monkey. But he was undeterred, and used every minute to continue the hunt. Just as everyone said, he was the finest tracker of the Court. A mere magpie would not best him at hide-and-seek.

Sooner or later, he lost track of time in that forest. He wasn’t sure if half an hour had passed, or more… Erlang wondered just where that monkey could have gone. Rising another level, he faced two paths: to the east, a maze of roots and bare branches, endless and tangled. To the west, the forest thinned, vegetation abounded, and he even spotted shrubs along the branches.

A difficult choice… If he chose wrong, time would slip away, and not only would he look like a fool, but the monkey might grow bored. He studied the barren branches. No birds, only camouflaged reptiles and insects—no flash of red or gold that might betray Wukong’s true form.

He turned westward. More insects, massive in size, and flocks of multicolored birds—but no magpie. Frustration crept in. The thought of shouting and conceding the round crossed his mind, but he dismissed it instantly. He would never surrender—whether it was to the death or to a game, Erlang never yielded.

His eyes landed on a broad cluster of shrubs spilling across a branch. And then he saw it. Among the green, plain as day, lay a limp tail hanging down.

The monkey’s tail.

The brazen fool had hidden himself again—leaving his tail out in the open. Erlang chuckled at the second coincidence, but wasted no time. He shot straight towards the shrubs, talons ready.

Inside the bush, Wukong lay sprawled, head pillowed in his hands, body utterly relaxed. Unaware of the hawk arrowing to him, he grinned to himself, a low chuckle slipping out.

“I think I’ve won~”

He barely finished the thought before Erlang was upon him. With sharp claws, he seized the monkey’s tail and yanked hard.

“AAH!” Wukong shrieked as pain jolted him upright. He burst out of the bush with a high-pitched yowl, kicking at the air. Erlang released him and swerved aside, avoiding the strike.

Wukong landed heavily on the branch, clutching his tail with both hands, fur bristling all over. The sight reminded Erlang of a furious housecat, which only amused him more.

“Argh, dammit! What the—ahh!” Wukong’s words dissolved into spasms as the raw, scratched part of his tail throbbed under his touch. He jerked his head up, eyes blazing at the hawk. “What the hell is it with you and my tail, huh?! That obsession isn’t healthy, you cheat!”

Erlang landed and shifted back into himself, though his face was alight with hilarity. For the first time that day, he laughed freely at the monkey’s tantrum. With all the weight of the Court pressing on him, it felt good—refreshing—to laugh.

“You practically beg to be caught, monkey,” Erlang said between laughs. “It was as if you wanted to hand me the perfect clue. Who hides but leaves their tail hanging out?”

Wukong growled, finding no humor in it. Yet despite the anger, he was startled to see the demigod laughing before him. He shook his head, forcing himself back to composure, and stood with a huff.

“You’re shameless. A monkey’s tail isn’t a toy.” He turned his gaze to the vast horizon of the Línggen, and as the seconds stretched, his anger ebbed. At last, he sighed and placed a hand on his hip. “Whatever… you caught me. What’s your first question?”

Erlang hesitated, thoughts racing. He had countless questions, and he wasn’t sure where to begin. But before asking the most important ones, he needed to build trust.

So he chose the question that had intrigued him from the very start.

“The Emperor called you a stone monkey, unlike the others of the mountain. How exactly were you born, if you came from a solid rock egg?”

The question caught Wukong off guard, and his anger melted at once. His features softened as he wandered along the branch until he found a comfortable spot to sit. Erlang followed silently, and both settled with the vast forest unfurled before them.

Wukong let his feet and tail dangle, hands clasped as he organized his thoughts.

“…I was born atop the Flower Fruit Mountain,” he began, his gaze distant. “Long ago, I was nothing more than a stone egg, as you said. For millennia, that rock absorbed the essence of sun and moon, Heaven and Earth… until one day, it cracked, and I was born. The moment I opened my eyes, rays shot from them straight into the Heavens. I suppose from then on, the Emperor knew of me.”

He recounted his birth in detail, Erlang listening closely. The demigod noted the nostalgia in his voice, the occasional chuckle—but as the tale went on, the monkey’s smile slowly faded.

“Not long after, I was found by an old mandrill. She taught me how to run, to climb… I ate a fish, but she showed me fruit instead. Then she led me to meet the other monkeys of the mountain.”

“…What was her name?”

“Liu,” Wukong replied, shifting with a melancholy air. “She served as my master, and I named her marshal, even. But… she was always my mother.”

Erlang had never expected such a story. On one hand, he was astonished; on the other, a pang of sorrow struck his chest. Unlike himself, born within the arms of a family, this monkey had been born alone, from stone. No wonder he was so deeply bonded to the monkeys of Mount Huaguo. Though adopted, they were the closest thing Wukong had to a family.

As much as Erlang wanted to ask more about the old Liu, he sensed the monkey’s reluctance and chose not to press. It was enough. It had been a good place to start.

“You had a mother’s affection, and you still have the monkeys of the mountain. That’s what matters.”

Wukong nodded, and in that instant, he knew the demigod was trying to comfort him.

“I know. They are… the only thing I have left.” He rolled his shoulders and neck, standing up from the branch. “Well then, it’s your turn to run, hunter. I’ll give you ten seconds~ One, two…”

Erlang was instantly alarmed.

“What the…?! Monkey!” he exclaimed.

The demigod wasted no time. He dropped from the branch, transformed again, and shot off as fast as he could. He twisted and dove through gaps in the roots, plunging down as many levels as possible to cover ground. That monkey… he had taken advantage of the moment and jumped straight into the second round. He hadn’t even given him a chance to breathe.

But he wouldn’t let him win so easily.

While he counted the seconds, Wukong kept his eyes fixed on the hawk until it vanished into the foliage. His mind tangled with thoughts. On one hand, he regretted revealing so much, but on the other… he wanted to believe that due to this game, he could place his trust in the hunter. Still, he had to make sure of his intentions, and he already had the question for that.

“…Ten! Here I come!” he shouted.

Wukong leapt down, shifting into the magpie, and began his search. He followed the hunter’s path, and after a certain point, he veered off to search the surrounding area. Like an arrow, he zipped between roots and branches, inspecting each one with meticulous care, leaving no stone unturned. Yet he didn’t grow impatient; he knew that the hawk’s white feathers would stand out easily amidst all the green and brown of the forest.

His wings made no sound as he flew, and thanks to his small size, he could slip into holes barely wide enough for his head.

Meanwhile, Erlang believed he had found the perfect hiding spot. After descending a few sublevels, he discovered a hollow section in the main trunk of the tree. Without hesitation, he darted inside and concealed himself there. Every meter he flew, he marveled more at the magnificence of the Línggen Senlín. Truly, it had no equal across the Four Continents. Inside the trunk, it felt like another biome entirely.

He didn’t lower his guard as he nestled among thick vines, but he trusted in his knack for choosing a good hiding place.

Minutes passed. After an exasperating search around the tree, Wukong finally shifted back into himself to weigh his options. He had seen no sign of the hunter, and at least he gave him credit for that. He stayed perfectly still on a branch, listening for any anomaly. Arms crossed, he closed his eyes, sharpening his hearing until he could catch even the faintest snap of the smallest twig. In the distance, he detected a faint echo. Studying the trunk, he realized it came from a hollow. Without wasting a moment, he leapt and shifted once more, diving inside.

The hollow of the Línggen stretched as far as the eye could see, top to bottom, sheltering both birds and reptiles. Now he honed his sight, sharper than any mortal’s. His heart raced when he caught a glimpse of a white speck among the vines below. Instantly, he connected it to the hunter and dove at full speed.

When he was just meters away, Wukong shifted back into his true form and caught the hawk with both hands. Erlang shrieked in fright, flapping his wings and trying to claw at the monkey to no avail. The fright nearly gave him a heart attack. He broke free with a forceful jolt, slamming into the trunk. His talons dug into the wood as he panted, wings spread wide.

Wukong laughed, smug and victorious, gripping the thorny vines for balance.

“Ha! In this forest there’s only one white hawk. You’re terrible at camouflage.”

Erlang was still reeling from the shock.

“Damn monkey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Careful now — the mighty demigod who wounded me almost died of fright in a game, ha ha!”

Erlang growled in frustration, prying his claws out of the trunk. He flew to a branch, shifted back into himself, shook his robes free of feathers. He faced the monkey, who had climbed up to meet him.

“That was dirty… but fine, you caught me,” he admitted. “So what’s your question?”

“Now you know what it feels like.” Wukong smirked, but then grew more curious. “I know teammates are supposed to watch each other’s backs, I know that.”

“Uh-huh…” Erlang muttered, his confusion plain as he tried to guess where the monkey was going with this.

“But the way you protected that boy in battle… it makes me see that you two care more for each other than you let on.” With that, Wukong went straight to his question. “Who is that kid to you?”

The demigod froze in surprise. He hadn’t expected the monkey to be so curious about Nezha, though for some reason, he felt the monkey was holding back from asking deeper things. Just as he was.

Erlang hardened his expression.

“He’s no kid, for your information,” he shot back. “He’s much older than you, and of high prestige in the Court.”

“Oh, such prestige, and yet I beat him in a single strike?”

“Don’t start,” Erlang warned. “But… I’ll give you this much: he matters. I’ve known him for years. We’ve always been one united team of hunters.”

“So he’s a sworn brother, then?”

Erlang avoided his gaze. He disliked talking about Nezha — worried the monkey might use it against him.

“…You could say that.”

Wukong looked pleased with the answer and flashed a defiant smile.

“See? Not so hard.”

The demigod rolled his eyes.

“That was your question?”

“What, were you expecting something more personal? I’ll take note.”

Erlang sighed at the monkey’s caution, but he couldn’t stay mistrustful forever. Wukong was thinking the same. Maybe they wouldn’t tear down all their walls through this game, but they had to make progress. The monkey bounced on his feet, now in better spirits.

“My turn to fly. Don’t cheat this time!”

“No promises.” Erlang smiled back.

And so, Wukong leapt from the branch, shifting again as he darted out of the hollow. As silently agreed, Erlang counted to ten, and once more, the chase began.

The afternoon wore on, the sun slowly descending. Round after round, they exchanged all kinds of questions.

“Did you really meet Ao Guang in person?”
“What’s the strongest liquor in Heaven?”
“How did you erase your name from the Book of Death?”
“What happened to your arm?”

“Why did you start down the path to immortality?” Erlang asked.

In that round, they had ended up at a natural reservoir atop the Línggen Senlín, nestled high in the canopy. The demigod had spotted a timid magpie bathing in the water and dove for it without hesitation. Thus, both of them wound up soaked.

Erlang wrung out his hair, while Wukong stood in the water, splashing some on his face to cool off. That question darkened his expression.

“…Because of the beginning of the Zhi Jinghua,” he confessed, his gaze distant. “If I wanted to investigate and stop it, I couldn’t risk being erased. And even though I scratched my monkeys’ names out of the book, most of them disappeared over the years. All but me.”

They fell silent for a time. The same question weighed on both: why hadn’t the Zhi Jinghua erased him? Erlang suspected it was more than just purity, for how could one who had slain gods be considered pure?

“That journey continues even now, and I won’t stop.”

“…I know you won’t.”

Wukong lifted his head, surprised at him. He wasn’t sure how to interpret it, but from the demigod’s tone, he sensed that Erlang was aware of his struggle — and perhaps… had no intention of stopping him. That made him smile bitterly as he dipped his hand into the water.

When he was about to splash the demigod, he froze at the following question.

“What were you doing at that altar?”

Wukong straightened up and took a few seconds to think about his answer. From his posture, Erlang knew he was uncomfortable talking about it, but he could no longer take back the question.

In the end, the monkey sighed.

“I built it myself, centuries ago. I renew the flowers and fruits, but I never remove the ashes or let the candles go out. It’s… the only way I have to remember and pay tribute to those who were erased by the Zhi Jinghua. But it’s ironic…” The monkey smiled sadly. “I suppose you know that not even the soul is spared. Everything about you disappears, so… none of the souls that were erased can hear my prayers. Because… they simply don’t exist.”

At once, the demigod felt the atmosphere darken. From Wukong’s gaze, he read that he had lost too many to the Zhi Jinghua, and yet he still built them an altar to honor their memory.

“And why here?”

“I feel this tree very personal to me… besides, what I built is my tribute, but the true honor to those who are gone is the mountain, the monkeys that are still alive...And me.”

The two stared at each other for a long time. Erlang was surprised to see him smiling faintly, as if the mere conversation had lifted a heavy weight from his heart. He returned the gesture, and Wukong crouched down to dip his hand into the pond.

He flung a splash at the demigod, who jumped back.

“What the—?! Hmph!” Erlang huffed, kicking up water at him in return.

Wukong shielded himself with his arm, laughing as he sent another splash twice as big. Their armors, which had just begun to dry, were soon soaked once again.

As the rounds went by, Erlang forgot his original goal of extracting information. He found himself drawn deeper into the games, driven instead by the thrill of asking trivial questions and truly getting to know him. The monkey gave him a real challenge each time they sought each other out, chasing one another through the tree. His body buzzed with energy, his heart pounded in his chest, and he relished the speed. But what excited him most, deep down, was finding an equal — whether in a simple game, or in the convictions that pulled the demigod back to his roots.

They tangled in the branches, hidden among the fruit, pouncing on each other; breaking through roots and tumbling until they landed in nets of plants. Their laughter rang out with genuine joy.

The game of the hawk and the magpie left its mark on the Línggen Senlín.

 

******************************************************

 

The sky was almost entirely painted in dark blues, the sun sinking below the horizon. Erlang was taking longer than usual to find Wukong in this round; no matter how thoroughly he searched the tree, he couldn’t catch sight of him. He scoured every level, every root and branch, but found neither monkey nor magpie.

He decided then to climb to the canopy and peer through the leaves that faced the tree’s outer edge. Looking west towards the horizon, the demigod finally spotted the Monkey King.

Wukong didn’t seem to have any intention of hiding—his figure stood stark against the last light of day, perched at the edge of the smallest branches outside the vast forest. Erlang approached and shifted back into his human form. His weight made the branches bend, and Wukong turned his head over his shoulder to look at him.

Unlike the playful mood from before, his face was serious now.

"Hunter…" he began. "Before you ask me, let me ask you something first."

He took the demigod’s silence as permission and turned his gaze to the fading dusk.

"Whatever happens with us, the yaoguai kings, rumors spread like sand in the wind. My battle with you and that kid was no exception."

Erlang didn't understand where this was leading.

"Yeah…?"

"Valuable information reached me, but instead of giving me clarity, it only planted more doubt." Wukong tensed. "You are more than just a Court hunter, so I’ll ask you this once. Who are you to the Emperor?"

The demigod froze. All afternoon he had been genuinely enjoying himself, forgetting that a vast chasm still stretched between them. And all because of the Lord of Heaven. He had no idea how the monkey had discovered his complicated tie to the Jade Emperor, but once the question was out, he couldn’t ignore it.

That was why Wukong had seemed so distant during their game… He didn’t know how the monkey would react if he told him the Emperor was his uncle. As much as he preferred to disown that connection, he couldn’t deny the truth. With dread tightening his chest, he feared this would shatter everything he had tried to mend.

"I… he…" he faltered.

Erlang drew a slow breath, forcing aside the knot in his throat, and confessed:

"The Jade Emperor… is my uncle."

Wukong felt his soul drop to his feet. All this time he had fought against and grown close to the Emperor’s nephew—a direct relative. He had suspected Erlang might be some special soldier, but this truth struck three times harder. His face went pale, and he almost lost his balance on the branch, though he managed to steady himself.

Betrayal, exposure, humiliation… rage and fear welled up in him, too much to digest at once. He could not believe that the one who had spared him, healed him, played games and shared stories, was the damned nephew of the greatest butcher Earth had ever known.

Wukong clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles shook and turned white. Slowly, he faced Erlang again. In his eyes, there was no trace of friendship. The backlight cloaked him in shadow.

"Now… give me one good reason not to smash your head in. I’m begging you." he threatened, reaching up to his ear and drawing out the iron staff without hesitation.

Erlang instinctively stepped back. His worst fear had come true—but in a way, he had always expected this. Unlike the whole Heavens, whom he had deceived to keep the monkey hidden (and safe), he wouldn’t afford lying straight to Wukong’s face. If he had said he was the Emperor’s nephew, then he would tell the truth.

Moving very slowly, Erlang reached into his pocket. Wukong watched him sharply, ready to strike. The demigod pulled out a white plum blossom. He crushed the petals in his fist, letting the wind lift them between the two of them. Each petal transformed into a projection of a person. Soon, a couple and a small girl appeared.

Wukong raised his weapon as the petals took shape, but made no move to attack. He froze, staring at the phantom family.

The child darted around her parents, showing them a jade lotus clutched in her tiny hands. The man, already aged, lifted her into his arms and perched her on one shoulder. The mother, by contrast, looked young and radiant, with a long dress trailing along the ground and a translucent ribbon halo flowing behind her. She was a goddess.

She accepted the lotus from her daughter and stroked her cheek. The three smiled with warmth, bound in familial love, unaware of the two warriors watching them.

Erlang looked on with aching nostalgia, pain piercing his heart.

"I am no god, as you believe. In the Court, it is strictly forbidden to have feelings, to fall in love… it carries the harshest of sentences." he explained, gesturing towards the goddess with an open palm. "My mother came down to earth and fell in love with a mortal. I am the second child of their marriage, and my sister… is the youngest."

As the demigod spoke, Wukong’s muscles eased, though his stance stayed guarded, his face still tight with distrust. He said nothing, eyes fixed again on the avatars.

"To the Emperor, my mother vanished, and he has never stopped searching for her. He accepted me into the Court, but she has yet to face her punishment, and no one else knows I have a sister. You once said I was hand-tied—that’s one way of putting it. If the Emperor discovers my mother’s whereabouts, her punishment will be merciless, and my whole family will be dragged down. And… if he learns I have lied to him about you, then my fate will be equal to or worse than hers."

"…Then why risk it?" Wukong asked. With so much information dropped on him, he sank deeper into thought. Above all, one question gnawed at him. If the demigod truly had so much to lose, why gamble everything on helping him?

Erlang took a few seconds to answer. The avatars dissolved into the wind. The last light of day fell over his face as he lifted his gaze to the heavens.

"… I couldn’t kill you. I am still searching for the reason why, but if I’ve staked everything on lying to the Court that you are dead, it’s because… the Zhi Jinghua is not the answer to this world’s corruption, and you are the first I’ve met who has dared to do something about it."

For the first time on that branch, Wukong lowered his guard. He couldn’t tell if this was pure truth or the greatest manipulation he had ever heard. He didn’t know what to believe—but Erlang’s posture, his voice, his eyes… the boldness of showing his family to someone who was supposed to be his enemy, and telling the truth despite the risk—it all inclined him towards thinking the demigod’s intentions were real, even genuine.

That last sentence struck him as though Erlang was being inspired by him to take a new path—one without hiding, without blind obedience… the first step towards awakening.

Before he realized it, Wukong had already lowered his staff, his face lost. Erlang, for his part, felt a strange relief in his heart, as if a heavy burden had lifted. To finally speak the truth, even once, was liberating.

The silence between them stretched for long seconds, until Wukong broke it.

"… Don’t think words alone will convince me."

"Actions take time. And… if I wanted you dead, I would have already delivered you to the Emperor."

"Your uncle."

"To me, he is no family."

Erlang spoke with such conviction that Wukong found it impossible not to believe him. He remembered then the struggle the demigod had endured at the moment of beheading him… something he would never forget. And the fact that Erlang had taken the time to approach him, to learn about him through questions, was worth some credit.

But not enough.

Wukong shrank his weapon and tucked it behind his ear, a smile tugging at his lips. He crossed his arms, posture loosening.

"A rebel of Heaven… heh. And here I thought I was the special one."

"I wasn’t the one who started the war." Erlang shot back with a smile of his own.

The monkey let out a snorting chuckle, and the tension between them eased. The demigod studied him for a moment, and then asked one of the questions that had intrigued him most.

"… What is your name?"

Wukong narrowed his eyes without losing his smile. He shook his head.

“You’ll have to earn more trust if you want to know that, hunter.”

“Then…why did you decide to wage war against Heaven?”

At that question, silence reigned once more. The sun vanished, giving way to the beginnings of night, and the wind rippled their garments towards the horizon. Wukong lowered his arms and stepped back until his heels hung over the edge.

He raised his brows at the demigod, defiant.

“Come get me.”

And without another thought, Wukong let himself fall into the void.

Erlang couldn’t hold back his surprise and rushed forward, watching him transform into the magpie. This was the last round. But this time, he wouldn’t give him an advantage. Smiling, he leapt from the branch, and in his dive, his body shifted. With powerful wingbeats, he chased after him.

Both birds shot through the Línggen Forest like arrows. They slipped between leaves, zigzagged through roots and branches. They soared upward and plummeted down. They spun, squeezing their bodies through holes. The wind stripped feathers from them, letting them drift gently into the unknown, but the speed filled them with adrenaline.

Erlang flapped harder to close the distance, and just inches away from the magpie, he opened his beak, ready to snap at the monkey’s tail. Wukong darted upward in an instant, and in a puff of smoke, returned to his true body. He swung from the vines, casting Erlang a mocking glance.

“Not even close!”

“Just wait and see!”

Wukong gained ground leaping from vine to vine, until he landed on a branch. Then, he launched himself once more, soaring upward as a magpie. The demigod beat his wings faster to keep up, unaware of the monkey’s plan. Wukong laughed wildly during the chase, flying and dancing between the branches. Together they ascended through the forest and its levels, until mid-flight they shot out like bullets from the treetop.

The night’s chill shook their feathers, but neither faltered. Wukong flew as fast as he could, and Erlang never lost sight of him. Soon they left the Línggen tree behind and reached the floating mountain ruins. With bold agility, the monkey skimmed past a chunk of solid rock, brushing its surface with the tips of his feathers.

At the summit, Wukong returned to himself for momentum. And with a mighty leap, hurled himself at impossible speed beyond the clouds. Erlang couldn’t hide his awe, and to follow him, he was forced to mimic the gesture.

Together, they reached the very boundary between Earth and Sky. The night spread as an ocean of stars and celestial nebulae, colors stretching beyond human sight. For them, rivers of auroras rose, shimmering in rainbow hues, bathing reality in iridescent light. Their leaps had swept away all clouds below them. The entire isle of Mount Huaguo lay at their feet, the Eastern Sea beyond, and further still, the borders of Ao-lai peeked into view.

The floating mountains drifted in an indecipherable pattern, and if they sharpened their gaze, they could even glimpse the palaces of the Celestial Court. But Wukong kept his eyes on the world beneath. He raised his hand and brushed the aurora dancing beside him, scattering sparks and brilliance.

A sensation of emptiness and fullness at once overwhelmed Erlang. How many times had he seen the same landscape each time he descended to Earth, and yet, that night, fascination burned in his eyes. His heart skipped, his breath trembled.

Never before had he truly beheld the beauty of Earth until that moment.

Wukong landed softly upon his flying cloud, staying beside the demigod who floated in the air. The night wind stirred their clothes and hair. The monkey took delight in the expression on Erlang’s face, then returned his gaze to the horizon.

“For this…for this world, I choose to fight.” His chest brimmed with warmth. “ Sometimes I forget, amid war and death…how beautiful the world can be, life itself. Don’t you think so?”

Though Erlang gave no reply, his silence said it all. He was lost, awestruck, by the magnificence of the land where he was born, where his family lived, the Earth his mother had fallen in love with.

And now, it was the Earth for which that monkey fought.

Both lost all sense of time, suspended in the air, contemplating. Words were unnecessary—the sound of night cleared their minds. Wukong sat astride his cloud and let out a relaxed sigh.

“Even if you didn’t manage to catch me… I’ll grant you one last question, hunter.”

At that moment, Erlang remembered the weight in his pocket. He reached inside and drew out the packet that contained Laozi’s pill. He turned to the monkey and offered it.

“Would you accept one last aid…before the wound closes?”

Wukong studied the package, surprised. He reached out and took it, puzzled. Tugging the golden string, his eyes widened. It was a pill no larger than a marble. From his words, he knew it was meant as medical support to finish healing the wound in his stomach.

He smiled faintly and wrapped it again in the silk paper, keeping it tight in his fist.

“I think I’ll let it scar on its own.”

The answer could not have pleased Erlang more.

Still, Wukong kept the pill in case of emergency. Though he did not voice it aloud, he treasured the gesture deeply. He knew it was a work of the Sacred Laozi—without doubt, the dark-haired demigod had gone out of his way to atone for what he had caused.

They sank once more into silence, filled with peace, contemplating the vast night and all its wonders. Instead of floating apart, Erlang sat beside Wukong.

Though walls still stood, both felt a bridge rising between them.

Chapter Text

THE MESSENGER WAS ABOUT TO LEAP back to the Celestial Court, when a strike from that iron staff shattered his leg.

He tumbled to the ground with a scream of pain, staring in horror as his lower limb was reduced to bare bone and torn muscle, a growing pool of blood spreading beneath him.

Fueled by adrenaline, the messenger did what he could to crawl away, to escape the burning monastery. But a boot pressed down on his back, pinning him in place. The man turned his head, facing his assailant.

His eyes brimmed with terror, and he could not help but sob.

“P-please, spare me! Mercy!”

But on Wukong’s face, there was no mercy to be seen. The ends of his staff dripped with blood, and his golden armor was splattered.

Behind them, what had once been a temple, it now collapsed under the flames. Every sentinel, warrior, and messenger of the Court had fallen beneath his staff. Some lay sprawled on the ground, across the rooftops, others burning in the fire. The man before him was the last one left, and Wukong would not allow him to escape to alert Heaven.

He would grant them no such pleasure.

Wukong twirled his staff between his fingers and raised it above his head. A chuckle slipped through his teeth.

“Do you believe in kharma?”

“W-what…?”

The messenger never finished his question before the staff crushed his skull. Bone and brain splattered across the stone, staining Wukong’s hands further.

He found himself strangely unsettled to realize that his hands were trembling. His heart pounded and his breath came in ragged gasps. Rising up, he flicked the excess blood from his staff with a sharp motion.

He turned around and gazed at the temple engulfed in flames. He felt an unspeakable emptiness inside. He was supposed to be doing this to free the world from the tyranny of the Court, and thus have a chance to attack Heaven directly. But deep down, he realized he never wanted to resort to this. He never imagined himself in such circumstances, when clearly in his happiest days, he reigned within his mountain, with all the monkeys cheering and shouting for him.

The strong beating of his heart did not cease, and Wukong was forced to remain motionless. The smell of black smoke consumed the air he breathed, and he gripped his staff tightly to silence the trembling of his hands. Stained with guilty people, he couldn't help but feel the weight of their souls on his shoulders.

Part of him wanted to be with his brothers and family, like in the old days. Swearing loyalty to each other, toasting together, and making their way through any adversity. Now, he was alone. It was at times like this that he felt that loneliness most strongly.

But his mind wandered to the hunter. That demigod, the revealed nephew of the Emperor himself, who had dared to help him heal a wound that he himself had inflicted, dared to confess that he was protecting his family, trusted him to play among the branches of the Linggen Senlin... took care of him when he was unconscious. Everything about that man was strange. He couldn't quite understand his reasons, but at the same time, he felt that every action and every word was so sincere...

Thinking about their last encounter, the weight on Wukong's heart lightened, and finally, he was able to breathe. He opened his eyes, and his heartbeat had calmed down. He saw his weapon stained red and caressed the handle gently. As pathetic as it sounded, that hunter helped him cope with the loneliness that was taking hold of him.
Wukong let out a deep sigh, shrunk his staff, and tucked it behind his ear. After whistling, the flying cloud descended from the sky, and he jumped on it.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, he shrank his staff and tucked it behind his ear. He whistled, his cloud descended from the sky, and with a single bound he mounted it.
In less than a blink, Wukong’s figure vanished into the distance.

 

*********************************************************

 

Nezha gazed with dead eyes at the border of the Celestial Court. To anyone else, it was invisible, and didn't really exist. But to him, it appeared as a translucent barrier only a few feet away, like an impenetrable sheet of glass.

Some deities had the luxury of descending to Earth without passing through the Cardinal Gates, but he was forced to resign himself to doing so only under direct orders, or by requesting permission from his father. That act humiliated him, like a child begging to be allowed outside to play. Li Jing always gave him the same answer—no—so eventually Nezha had grown tired of asking.

Even so, hatred and rage pulsed within him. He hated having to lower himself to the role of a lackey, limiting his very existence to the will of his father and the Heavens. But more than anything, he hated that his best friend would lie to his face and deliberately keep things from him. All those years of trust between them seemed to mean nothing, for if Erlang couldn’t bring himself to speak and lean on him, what was the point?

His heart was divided. His eternal hatred towards his father urged him to rebel and escape whenever he could, but his years of imprisonment beneath the Pagoda had taught him a harsh lesson: his will was useless against the desires of the Emperor. For that reason, he had resigned himself to obey orders, and had long forgotten the day he chose to surrender.

But deep within, the flame of his yearning for freedom had never been extinguished. That was why he now stood at the edge of the Court.

Ever since discovering Erlang’s departure to Earth, he hadn’t seen him roaming nearby, nor even received notice of a new hunt. Nezha had used that time to meditate, to train, and to gather enough courage to try again.

He had the strong feeling Erlang was conspiring against Heaven, and even his brother Muzha encouraged him that night never to lose faith in himself. He also recalled his years of glory, when he had forged his own path despite his father’s rejection—and despite the whole world. He had to reclaim what he had lost.

He silenced the impulse to turn back and return to the Court. Instead, he drew closer and placed both hands upon the barrier. He pushed and pressed against it. The field did not yield even an inch, but he didn't relent. His feet anchored to the ground to keep him steady, and his fingers clawed at the barrier, trying to pierce through it.

He applied more force. His body began to tremble from the strain, and from his bare feet flames erupted, wrapping him entirely. Crimson fire concentrated in his hands as he fought to break through the border and escape. He clenched his teeth, and his eyes glowed with intensity.

Waves of heat blasted outward, scorching the vegetation behind him. Nezha’s eyes widened as he heard a crack right where his fingers pressed. A fissure, in the barrier. Suddenly, his body felt like a furnace, and he pushed harder, emanating more flames. He used his hatred as fuel.

A roar burst from deep within his throat, searing his vocal cords. His fingers pushed further, and as the fissure widened, they broke through. Then he began to force both arms apart, straining to open the passage. Not even his foot could slip through the gap, so he strained to widen it further.

The ribbons binding his hair came undone, and whipped wildly, caught in the energy of his flames. His arms shook uncontrollably, but he couldn’t stop. He could only go forward until the barrier opened wide enough to let his body through.

Soon, the opening in the force field was as wide as his head, and he planned to keep tearing until he shattered most of it, if necessary.

“Nezha!”

The booming voice of his father struck him like a heart attack.

All his concentration vanished in an instant, and with a mere falter, the barrier did its work and sealed itself again. Nezha leapt back and fell on the floor. The Samadhi fire around him extinguished, and the prince checked his hands in horror. Relief washed over him when he saw his fingers still intact.

But now, he had a far greater problem.

He turned and staggered to his feet, panting, facing the Devaraja only a few meters away.

“Father…!”

“Why were you…?” Li Jing began, incredulous. “What were you thinking, Nezha?”

“I…”

“You know you cannot leave the Court!” he thundered.

“…Without authorization,” Nezha finished, lowering his head.

“And by ripping open a fissure in the Court’s borders? Do you know what consequences that would bring? The Emperor would never pardon such a vile act.” Li Jing strode towards his son, his glare as merciless as his voice. “Where were you planning to go?”

“Nowhere…”

“Lie to me one more time and…” his father threatened.

That was when Nezha could no longer contain his fury.

“What the fuck do you care, you rotten old bastard?!”

Li Jing froze in shock at his son’s words, but in an instant, the Pagoda was no longer in his hand. Instead, Nezha collapsed under the weight of the real one.

He lay immobilized against the ground, crushed beneath a golden, translucent Pagoda that carried the weight of the Earth itself. He trembled, struggling to move even an inch, but it was impossible. Soon, he felt and heard his own bones splintering in every limb.

“Where were you planning to go?” Li Jing repeated, without a trace of compassion.

Nezha fought to breathe through clenched teeth, spitting strands of saliva.

“F-fuck…you!”

The pressure increased. The prince coughed up a spray of blood, a red stream running from his nose.

“Insolent… No matter how many times you obey, deep with you are always a rebellious child. How many times must I crush you beneath the Pagoda before you learn?”

At that moment, Nezha fell silent.

The pain was unbearable, his bones ground to dust beneath the Pagoda’s weight. Scarlet flames flared desperately around his body, trying in vain to regenerate. But the damage was too great. From the pressure and the heat alike, Nezha’s tears evaporated before they could fall.

“Where did you want to go?” Li Jing asked again.

Nezha couldn’t endure anymore and spat a heavier mouthful of blood. His rebellious will broke.

“To… to Chentang Pass!”

At last, his lungs drew breath again, after what felt like the longest seconds of his life. Nezha gasped and coughed, unable to rise or move. The ground beneath him was cracked and crumbling to rubble.

“For what purpose?”

“I wanted… I wanted to see… my mother…”

The silence between them thundered. Li Jing’s expression didn’t change, but the moment he heard his son speak of his mother, he did not hesitate to raise his hand, and once again the Pagoda crushed him.

Nezha gave a strangled scream, his arms and legs collapsing as blood sprayed out, his bones tearing through his flesh. Once more flames enveloped him as he screamed voicelessly for mercy.

“Never mention your mother again,” the Devaraja threatened. “We are blessed by the Emperor’s grace. So long as we serve his will, we are free from the Zhi Jinghua. To cling to desires and distractions blinds you from seeing the whole vessel.”

“P-psychopath!” Nezha roared. “I have the right to see her temple—she is my mother!”

“Chentang Pass is forbidden because of you!” The Pagoda’s pressure silenced the prince once more. “Define yourself by your deeds, by your life in the Court. Our will is the Emperor’s. We follow his virtue, and we are rewarded… You must burn this into your mind, Nezha! Or the Pagoda will be your eternal punishment.”

All at once, the golden edifice vanished from above the prince, and he could breathe again. But the penance had cost him dearly: the pool of blood beneath him grew larger, and his flames could not mend bones ground to powder.

Nezha swallowed his sobs, refusing to weep before his father. Li Jing stepped closer, knelt, seized his son’s cheeks, and forced a pill down his throat. At a painfully rapid pace, and beneath his screams, the grievous damage knit itself back together. His arms and legs were whole once more.

But the pain lingered, and the prince barely managed to lift himself onto his forearms. His head spun, his temples throbbed. The metallic taste filled his mouth, yet he forced himself to look his father in the eye.

Though his gaze had lost its luster, it still reflected pure hatred.
Nezha did not hesitate—he spat blood into his father’s face.

In return, he received a slap that left half his cheek burning red.

Li Jing rose with disdain and wiped his son’s blood from his face with the sleeve of his robe.

“Get up. Remember we have matters to discuss. I’ll expect you in the palace.”

“S-son of a bitch…” the prince muttered.

But the Devaraja let the insult pass, turning his back to return into the depths of the Court.

It took Nezha several long minutes just to kneel again. With no one present, only then did he allow his tears to fall. But before self-pity could overwhelm him, he harshly wiped his face dry.

He turned back to the barrier. There was no trace of his escape attempt.

His thoughts drifted again to Erlang and Muzha. His best friend could come and go as he pleased, being the Emperor’s nephew; and though his brother supported him, Nezha felt his affection distant.

At last, he realized freedom was reserved only for the privileged.

 

**********************************************************

 

The moment Mount Huaguo’s summit came into view, Wukong’s heart nearly stopped.
He halted his cloud abruptly, his pupils contracting in sheer shock. Upon the mountain’s slopes, where the peach trees had ceased bearing fruit many seasons ago, now hung branches heavy with ripe, rosy peaches.

Across the meadows and trees, Wukong spotted colors blooming—lotuses opening in the ponds, orchids sprouting among the bushes, chrysanthemums painting the grass in pink, white, and yellow. Though they were few, to the Monkey King they stretched like an endless field.

At full speed, he descended to land upon the settlement, noticing that blossoms now adorned the peach trees as well.

Unlike the cruel battlefield of only hours ago, his home now welcomed him with joy and hope. He shared it too, a broad smile of relief spreading across his face.

“My King! My King!”

Wukong turned and saw General Peng rushing towards him with other monkeys close behind.

The black-furred monkey in light armor skidded to a halt after bounding on all fours, bowing breathlessly before his sovereign. Meanwhile, the younger ones leapt at their king, and Wukong caught them in his arms, staggering under their weight. They howled with excitement, eager to show him with their open palms what was already plain to see.

“Ha, ha! Alright, alright… enough, down you go, little rascals!” Wukong laughed as five small ones clung to him. Only two climbed down and sat beside the general; the other three remained draped across his shoulders and back.

Wukong noticed that the general carried a thick root, the size of a sword’s hilt, and the young ones held similar roots in their hands or coiled in their tails.

“Peng… is it working, then?”

“Absolutely, my Lord!” the general replied, brimming with excitement. “You were right—the roots of the Línggen Senlín are truly miraculous, they carry the abundance of Heaven itself!”

The smaller ones nodded eagerly. Wukong’s expression shone with satisfaction, his tail swishing on its own.

“It seems my hunch about the Línggen was right… and I can see the results perfectly. Our mountain will once again live up to its name.” He rested a hand on his waist. “You know what to do. Call the others, cut down the roots nearest us, and use them to revitalize the mountain. The more abundant, the better for us all. Together, we’ll enjoy Mount Huaguo in its old glory once more.”

General Peng bowed his head.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Hand me the one you have, Peng, and fetch another.”

The black-furred monkey did not hesitate, passing the root into Wukong’s hands. The Monkey King dismissed him, and after patting the little ones, they too slipped down from his shoulders and followed Peng up the mountain forest. They would call the rest of the troop so that all could finally emerge after so long, to work and rejoice in the mountain, while their king remained in place, admiring the growth of the new flora.

A warm sensation filled him, making him forget the solitary battle he had just waged on the Eastern Continent. To see fruits and flowers blooming so vividly after months of incurable barrenness—and the answer had always been in the mountain itself.

Yet Peng’s words left him thoughtful. Something had shifted after the Zhi Jinghua, and his suspicions that Heaven was behind it grew stronger. For now, the effects on nature were positive, but if abusing the power of the Línggen brought about something worse, it would be better not to risk it.

For now, he set aside his concerns and began the work of restoring the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit to order.

Without a doubt, at the next visit,—Wukong was certain he would see him again soon—that demigod would be in for a surprise.

 

********************************************************

 

Erlang didn't remember the last time he saw the sky painted in orange and pink by a sunset. But the magic of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit never failed to impress him every time he descended.
A few days had passed since that last night when he had played hide-and-seek with the brown-furred monkey. The demigod needed to wait a while before returning to the island, for ever since that fight with Nezha, he had carried the feeling of always being watched.

But once he reached the mountain, his eyes widened in surprise at the colors it had taken on. He had never thought he would see it so full of colors and fruit, as its very name promised. He could also see a great number of monkeys scattered across the mountain—at the foot of the waterfall, and deeper in the woods—yet all of them looked happy. Erlang couldn’t help but feel warmth in his chest, remembering his first encounter with them. They deserved to enjoy their own home.

In the form of a hawk, he did not descend to enter the cave, but instead decided to explore the base of the mountain. A cloud of smoke restored him to his true body, and he contemplated the peach trees, covered in flowers and fruits as vivid and ripe as ever.

Unlike other times, Erlang could perceive many more sounds of wild fauna; life was returning to the mountain.

The air of nature filled his lungs, and the demigod felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He remembered the days on Mount Mei with his family. He would roam the mountain top to bottom, a master in the hunt, and felt at home simply for being surrounded by the Earth where he had been born.

He placed a hand on the nearest peach tree and studied the fruits hanging closest to his face. He couldn’t deny how tempting they looked, but it would feel like stealing, knowing this was the monkey’s domain.

An unusual crack among the branches caught his attention. He lifted his head, but saw nothing beyond the common animals. He could have sworn it was as if some large body had slipped through…

“Planning to eat without permission?”

The monkey’s face startled him. Erlang gave a little jump back, though the shock passed quickly.

Wukong, hanging upside down from the branches by his tail, laughed mockingly. Yet the joke didn’t last, for the branch couldn’t hold his weight and snapped in two. The monkey crashed to the ground in a shower of leaves and peaches.

The demigod couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the sight.

“Don’t worry…I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I—aghh…” Wukong groaned as he sat up among the branches. “I say otherwise. No one can resist a good peach. Especially the Emperor’s nephew.”

Erlang’s smile turned bitter.

“I was raised in humble places… Even now, I cannot grow used to the Court’s abundance.”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say…” Wukong flicked his tail to grab a pair of peaches and tossed one to the demigod. “Follow me.”

Erlang caught the fruit and studied it curiously before walking alongside the monkey. It seemed they were leaving the grove.

“Well, I’m relieved you’re more open to talk.”

“I still owe you for your help…”

The two stopped at the edge of the forest, and Wukong leapt onto his cloud. He beckoned to the demigod to join him, and soon soared into the air. Erlang wasted no time; he stored the peach, leapt up, and transformed once more to follow.

Together they flew over the mountain and left it behind. They crossed vast stretches of jungle and smaller hills, until, hidden away from the outside world, they descended into a clearing. The space was covered in flowers from edge to edge, and what struck Erlang was the strange yet harmonious pattern they formed—white and pink, with touches of yellow, blossomed in a design that echoed a classical symbol.

Erlang set his feet on the scarce patches free of flowers, eyeing the brown monkey with curiosity. At last, it was time for the matter at hand.

“How did you make the flowers grow? The last time I visited, everything was barren and… not a trace of ripe fruit.”

Wukong smiled faintly and faced him.

“I always had a hunch about the Línggen Senlín. Its roots are far more powerful than they seem.”

“Could it be…?”

“Enough talking.”

The monkey tilted his head and reached behind his ear. He drew out his staff and enlarged it until its girth matched the size of a rice bowl. He spun it in his hands, caressing the iron shaft.

Erlang watched, uncertain of where this was going.

“Back then, I didn’t tell you its name,” Wukong continued. Golden characters glowed along the staff’s length. “Ruyi Jingu Bang… so heavy, no one could lift it but me.”

“…Monkey?”

Wukong tore his gaze from his weapon.

“To me, combat is one of the best ways to cultivate the body. You clear your mind, focus on your movements, and the weapon becomes a part of you.”

Slowly, Erlang summoned his three-pointed spear. They began to circle one another, never breaking eye contact.

“Your style impresses me, hunter, and the fact that you are the Emperor’s nephew raises my expectations even higher.” Wukong leveled his staff at the demigod. His grin bared his fangs. “No tricks of grabbing my tail—just a clean duel. I challenge you!”

The demigod arched a brow, answering with the hint of a smile.

“And what would I gain?”

Wukong burst out laughing.

“I doubt you’ll ever make it! But in the very unlikely and hypothetical case…a banquet.”

Erlang stood pensive for a few seconds. The brown monkey was offering him a banquet within the mountain… he would have the chance to bond more closely with the monkeys, a good way to atone for the harm he had caused.

Besides, Wukong was inviting him—despite all his distrust, he was testing him with this friendly duel. He wanted to trust. Erlang could not disappoint him.

He twirled his spear in his hand before gripping it firmly.

“It would be my pleasure.” Erlang pointed the spear towards the brown monkey’s face. “Don’t hold back.”

“I don’t mean to!”

A breeze rippled their clothes and sent petals swirling into the air as Wukong and Erlang lunged at each other. Their weapons clashed for the first time in so long, flowers flying all around them.

Their feet moved instantly, dancing across the field of chrysanthemums and plum blossoms. Wukong pressed forward, Erlang gave ground; and when the demigod saw a sweep of the Jingubang aimed at him, he leapt over the brown monkey. Landing behind him, he thrust his spear. Wukong danced his steps aside and countered in a blur.

Unlike their first battle, where anger, hatred, and desperation had ruled, here in the clearing where they had only each other, none of that had any weight. It showed in every attack and dodge, flowing with an unreal grace for warriors so mighty. They seemed like a peach blossom and a white plum one dancing in the air.

With every slash and sweep, more flowers were sent flying with the path of their weapons, and the clash of iron against iron struck sparks in the air.
Though they moved with looseness and fluidity, they were using all their strength. Wukong lunged and sprang to hammer his staff into the ground. Erlang blocked with his spear, and when the chance arose, he charged—not only to cut through the air and strike, but also using his feet with expert precision, his spear’s shaft as the perfect support.

With no thought of tail tricks, both the monkey and the demigod stood perfectly matched.
In a heartbeat, Wukong felt the spear’s tips graze his fur as he dodged. It made a growl rise in his chest, and barely had he pulled away before he drove a thrust at the black-haired demigod. Erlang stepped back, and the golden tip of the staff grazed his chin.

The monkey stared in disbelief, as if both the movement and the demigod’s smug face taunted him.

“Arrogant!”

Wukong charged, raising his iron staff high above his head. Erlang, in turn, braced his spear low, running to meet him.
The impact of both weapons struck at the perfect middle point. Sparks, flowers, and grass burst into the air, and both warriors staggered back, astonished.

Gasps escaped Erlang’s lips, and Wukong gave him a defiant smile. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Yeah, good!”

Wasting no time, both warriors brandished their weapons and charged again. This time, the clash didn’t send them flying. They became locked in a contest of strength, each pushing from his side. Neither had the advantage. The iron scraped with every inch it moved, and both shared the same trembling tension. Wukong pushed harder, though Erlang dug his weight firmly into the ground. He refused to be forced back.

The brown monkey clenched his fangs and furrowed his brow. In a contest of endurance, he wouldn’t let himself be beaten either. But seeing the demigod’s eyes, he knew the adrenaline was the same. As warriors who measured their worth by their fighting strength, no matter how much harder they pressed, neither made the other yield.

Thus, five minutes passed. The strain in their muscles made them tremble, yet neither advanced nor retreated. Quickly, they lost all sense of time, their focus locked only on each other. Erlang’s trident brushed against Wukong’s face, and the end of the monkey’s staff grazed the demigod’s shoulder by mere fibers. In unison, they pushed harder. Grunts and groans poured from their throats, and the monkey’s tail lashed about.

Wukong couldn’t feel more impressed. He knew the demigod gave him a fight, but never had he believed he could match him in raw strength. Truly, he had struck gold having as a hunter someone who could force him to use his full power. The thought alone thrilled him.

At last, a smile began to tug at his lips, baring his fangs. A chuckle slipped free, though he didn’t give an inch against the black-haired warrior’s force.

“You’re stronger than I remembered…! I’m amazed!”

Erlang allowed himself a smile in return, without easing the pressure.

“The last thing you should do… is underestimate me.”

“We’ll see.”

And unwilling to remain caught in an endless struggle, Wukong vanished, slipping off to the right.

Erlang was hurled forward by all the strength, planting his spear in the ground to catch his balance. He had barely straightened when, from the corner of his eye, he caught the iron staff swinging in for the first blow.

The demigod was flung across the field of flowers, rolling through dirt that stained his clothes and face. A burning pain cut through his side, yet he found a way to stand. He looked in disbelief at the monkey, who burst into loud laughter.

That only made Erlang grip his weapon tighter as he leapt into the air.

“Cheating monkey, magic’s not allowed!”

“And who said I used any?” Wukong laughed.

Erlang hurled his weapon towards the monkey. Without wasting time, he reclaimed it with a kick, swinging a slash that would surely split the golden armor in two. But Wukong, who had foreseen the attack, kept his staff low and swept it at just the right moment.

Plum blossoms scattered into the air, and without realizing, some tangled in the demigod’s hair. Meanwhile, he sensed another kind of look from the monkey, as if he noticed something Erlang himself did not…

Once more, at mere inches apart, spear and staff whirled in a flurry of strikes and blows, though none landed true. Every chance he had, Wukong stirred more flowers into the air, and Erlang hardly understood why. More than a desire to fight and prove his strength, the monkey seemed intent on something far more playful.

Each swing of their weapons sent bursts of wind across the field, setting petals of every flower swirling around them. Amid the duel, Erlang heard the brown monkey’s mischievous chuckles, and little by little, his initial anger at the trick faded.

The tension in his body eased, and his three-edged spear, more than a weapon—just as Wukong had said at the start—became a part of him. Without noticing, Erlang had fallen into a spear-dance alongside the brown monkey he had sworn weeks ago to hunt down.

Wukong leapt to evade a sweep from Erlang’s lightning-charged trident, and in that instant, their eyes met. From above, Wukong could glimpse several emotions: adrenaline, challenge, the vigor of battle… but also a kind of intimate joy, reflected in a soft smile beneath sly eyes. Wukong was enjoying himself.

For a moment, both forgot the walls that separated them.

They clashed weapons once again, pressing against each other. Wukong couldn’t help but laugh, and Erlang allowed himself to answer with a smile. The demigod pressed harder, his golden-gleaming boots skidding left as he struck.

Around them swirled a storm of flowers, carried by the shifts of air and the warriors’ movements. They spun in arcs, traced crescents, and burst apart, yet the shower of petals over both never ceased.

It was as if each knew exactly what the other would do, coordinating perfectly to block or counter. They seemed to breathe the same air, and feel the same heartbeat thundering in their chests.

One clash of weapons spun them on their heels, bringing them face to face once more. They froze in place, and the whirlwind of flowers settled, giving way to a soft rain of colors carried on the evening breeze.

The three points of the spear fixed upon Wukong’s eyes, while the iron staff’s tip brushed the demigod’s nose.

Erlang panted but held firm, just like Wukong. Realizing this, the demigod suddenly felt his weapon grow heavier. The monkey hadn’t let out even a gasp in their first battle, but now… Erlang saw him pant with excitement.

Wukong took a few seconds to catch his breath, yet never tore his gaze away. Instead, he smiled again, tail swaying playfully.

“The plum blossom… it suits you.”

“Huh?”

Only then did Erlang notice the faint weight of several things atop his head.

He slowly lowered his trident, holding it tip-down, and raised a hand to his hair. His fingers found a cluster of soft, white plum blossoms, arranged in a strange pattern. His hand traveled further, to the opposite temple.

The harmony of flowers had formed a crown of plums upon him.

He plucked a petal, studying it in thoughtful silence. Then, catching the monkey’s gaze upon him, he felt his heart skip a beat, and turned his head away.

Wukong, too, had petals clinging to him, though peach blossoms—pink and tiny—nestled in his armor and fur. He rested the Ruyi Jingubang upon his shoulder, unwilling to wipe the calm smile from his face.

Erlang lifted his gaze, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“All this… was your plan.”

“I thought you’d be smarter than that,” Wukong laughed.

“But… why?”

Wukong tilted his head, taking in the flower field around them.

“Fighting without pressure or missions ordered by the Court… the body tells more truths than words. Besides—” the monkey turned to him, “you can’t deny you’ve a fondness for plum blossoms.”

“…And you for peaches,” Erlang countered.

“They’re the prized fruit of my mountain, and certainly my favorite. How observant of you.”

Erlang fell silent for a while. He touched the crown of blossoms around his head again, and the thought that the monkey had remembered that detail—surely from the day he’d revealed his family’s secret—stirred something in his heart.

At last, his spear vanished, and he clapped his hands together.

“So then, should I assume it was a tie?”

Wukong burst out laughing.

“A tie!? Fool, I landed a hit! That makes me the winner.”

“You took the easy way out, monkey,” Erlang shot back. “You cheated at your own game, so your strike’s invalid. In that case… I’d say the victory is mine.”

“Don’t get too arrogant,” Wukong teased with a grin. “I was just faster than you. Not my fault you’re a sore loser.”

“I know a magic trick when I see one. You vanished so I’d stumble.”

“That’s because you can’t control your strength.” Wukong crossed his arms, mocking.

Erlang huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Hopeless…”

Wukong chuckled victoriously. He shrank his iron staff and tucked it back into his ear. With a gesture to the demigod, they began walking together through the field.

“Maybe you won’t get that banquet… but I think this is enough.”

At first, Erlang didn’t understand what he meant, but then remembered the fruit he’d kept in his pocket all along.

He pulled out the peach, astonished it hadn’t split or crushed during the duel. He glanced at the monkey, then softened when he saw him holding one of his own.

Erlang took the first bite. Juice spilled and dripped down his fingers, but the sweet, refreshing taste renewed his strength. The peach flesh melted easily, perfectly balanced in flavor. No wonder the monkeys were in love with the fruit.

As they walked, sharing their desserts in hand, Erlang silently thanked the gesture. He might not have won that banquet from their wager, but… for the fact Wukong trusted him enough to share the fruit of his mountain, the crown of blossoms, and the duel they had just fought… he needed no feast.

Wukong muffled laughter as he devoured his peach bite after bite, licking his lips.

“So, what do you think, hm? Better than the peaches of the Court?”

Erlang let a gentle smile form as he looked once more at the flower field.

“…Not bad at all.”

 

***************************************************

 

An arrow whistled just above his head. Nezha ducked and rolled to the side, blocking another projectile shot from his flank with the shaft of his golden spear.

In this new training ground of the Court, within the wide spaces and halls specialized for all sorts of combat drills, there were automatic crossbows installed at corners and high points; they aimed at anyone stepping into the center of the white sand clearing to train their reflexes.

The crossbows fired bolts tipped with real celestial steel, at the speed of a blink. They followed a repeating pattern, the rhythm rising or falling depending on the subject’s body and style of combat.

At first, this method was not approved to test the warriors. However, thanks to the insistence and vision of Devaraja Li Jing, eager to harden his men even further, only one closed training ground was ordered to be built. But Nezha had the impression the hall was made for him.

No matter how his bones still ached after the last crushing in the Pagoda, he would not allow his body to grow useless. He had to push himself past his limits—to keep up with his father’s expectations, to strengthen his body with power and reflexes for the next hunt…and also, to vent his rage.

He hadn’t spoken again with Erlang about what he was surely hiding, because as much as it angered him that his friend lied and concealed things when descending to the mortal realm, he couldn’t deny Erlang was his only and best friend in the Court. Despite his anger and resentment, deep down he didn’t want to lose that friendship.

As Nezha deflected arrows with his spear, leapt, spun, and even blocked them with his bare hands and feet, his mind drifted. That meeting with his father had left him pensive, and though he wished to repress it as always, a part of him wanted to lean on someone.

His brothers were with their respective Bodhisattva masters in the mountains, so Nezha had to go back to Erlang. He still had strong suspicions about him. His change in demeanor wasn’t normal, though in the last few days he seemed calmer—something about him still felt different. Ever since that battle with the monkey. Again, he thought of that brown-furred simian, and split another volley of bolts in half as they fired.

His father’s report had been strange. Erlang descending to the mortal realm nearly every day, and the memory of the monkey…everything seemed connected by invisible threads leading somewhere…

A shift in the air made him tense. Just as Nezha turned, he spotted an arrow flying straight at him. Instead of using his spear, he threw his hand forward without hesitation, and with his palm, deflected the arrow out of reach.

The crossbows deactivated, and the prince faced the intruder.

Erlang slowly lowered his drawn bow and studied the training hall. Hundreds of arrows lay broken or embedded in the walls and floor, so he deduced the prince must have been absorbed there for hours. Setting the bow back on the weapon stand, he approached with a smile tinged with regret.

“I can tell when you wear yourself out training…even though we just returned from a hunt this morning.”

Nezha rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Warriors like us must always sharpen ourselves when we can. One mistake from neglecting the body, and it could be fatal. What are you doing here? Done with your daily business in the mortal realm?”

Erlang ignored the provocation.

“I came to see you.”

“For what, exactly?” Nezha growled. “To train?”

“You’ve already done that yourself,” Erlang replied without raising his voice. “…I know you believe that ever since that Huli Jing, you should distrust me. But it’s the truth when I say you’re my only friend in the Court…You’ve trained enough already. Let’s walk, and talk.”

Nezha couldn’t hide his surprise. He was expecting some kind of lie or abrupt change of subject from Erlang, but hearing those comforting words…though he wouldn’t admit it, they moved his heart. He appreciated that the demigod still cared for their friendship, which was more of a brotherhood by now, considering how many years they had hunted together as a duo.

His spear vanished into the lotus at his belt, and his muscles relaxed. Nezha walked towards Erlang, and after exchanging a silent look of gratitude, they left the crossbow field.

The day felt fresh, without the sun scorching their skin despite the clear sky. They chose little-traveled stone paths, so they easily found space and silence just for the two of them.

While Erlang looked ahead, Nezha’s eyes wandered side to side, trying to find something to focus on. He noticed the white lotus flowers, visible through the mystical mist, and the broad green leaves that accompanied them.

Before diving into the matter at hand, the demigod thought it wise to ease the tension between them, to break the ice. Erlang tilted his head and glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye.

“You’ve fought better these hunts, Nezha.”

“You’re not my teacher to point out something so obvious.”

“I’m not, true…but I acknowledge it, as your friend. You impressed me with that earth serpent.”

The prince returned the look.

“That? It was nothing…”

“You incinerated its entire burrow, gave it no chance but to surface,” Erlang recalled. “That was clever. Or what about the swamp demon?”

“Among so many pools, even you got confused,” Nezha admitted, starting to smile. “Sometimes I think your head is hollow, Erlang. You’re either too smart, or too stupid.”

Erlang chuckled. The atmosphere felt much lighter between them.

“You managed to burn a wind yaoguai—you nearly torched an entire field of crops.”

“But I didn’t, did I? It was that idiot who whipped up a hurricane. You’re the one who went flying!”

Both hunters laughed together.

“You’ve had to save my back these days, I admit.”

“You’re getting soft, I feel stronger than you,” Nezha teased. Erlang shook his head.

“No matter how strong I am, monsters remind us that…we’ll always be a team. We’ve got each other’s backs, hm? I couldn’t count on anyone better.”

Nezha looked at him with a calm smile, though the comment left him silent for a few seconds. He crossed his arms, thoughtful, as they walked without clear direction. Erlang sensed his friend was once again thinking of that battle.

“…Erlang, do you think any other yaoguai could be as dangerous as that monkey?”

“I’m not sure…” he replied, looking away. “We’ve never been called for an emergency of that scale, and…either way, the Zhi Jinghua will do its work.”

“I guess so.”

The demigod stepped ahead and looked back at the prince.

“But that doesn’t rule out the possibility. If we face another hunt like that, I want you to know you’ll have my support, Nezha.”

They both stopped and exchanged looks. Though Nezha felt Erlang’s mind was elsewhere more than here in the Court, he sensed a glimpse of truth in his words. No matter how much things worsened externally, they could always have each other—or so the prince wanted to believe…because he couldn’t ignore the lies, and what Erlang worked so hard to hide.

His friendship with Erlang was divided. But despite that, he wanted to believe he could trust him, wanted to earn enough of his confidence for his friend to open up.

Nezha turned and went to the edge of the path. He fixed his gaze on the lotus plants emerging from the mist, but especially on a newborn bud, whose petals had not yet opened. Resting his arms on the stone railing, he lost himself in contemplation. Erlang followed in silence, knowing there were walls between them now.

“Is everything all right?”

“My father…” Nezha began. “He summoned me a few days ago. Right after the hunt with that Huli Jing, in fact.”

Though he wasn’t looking, Nezha knew Erlang shifted uneasily in his place. Until then, they hadn’t touched on that fight.

“They’re worried. In several bastions and control points across the Eastern and Southern continents, contact has been lost. You know how rigid they are here—let a single minute pass without reports from the mortal realm, and they panic.”

“Yes…”

“I went down to investigate a few. They were completely deserted. No witnesses, no survivors. Some corpses had been burned, and others…I only saw their bodies crushed.”

Erlang’s face showed no strong emotion, but inside, his system was already on high alert. He feared the conversation was going exactly where he dreaded.

“Do they have any clue what it might have been?”

Nezha shook his head.

“Officially, no. But…shit, we’re talking about imperial bastions here. Those temples were armed to the teeth. No human or minor yaoguai could have destroyed everything and killed everyone…”

“Nezha, where are you going with this?”

The prince fixed his somber eyes on him.

“…I suspect that damned monkey is still alive.”

At that moment, Erlang’s heart stopped. He had been utterly naïve to believe that Wukong would simply remain idle on his mountain, and he remembered the monkey’s words: that he would keep fighting to free the world from the Celestial Court. Now it all seemed so obvious, and he cursed himself for not having thought of it sooner. By helping Wukong heal and recover, he had allowed him to return and destroy outposts, slaughtering Heaven’s soldiers. Though part of him felt no regret, the other half was exploding with panic. If the Court discovered his entire scheme and that Wukong was still alive, not only would he be in danger—his family would be too. The likelihood of being exposed was almost certain, and for the sake of doing what he believed was right, he might have doomed his parents and his younger sister.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, his body tensed—and, of course, Nezha noticed. The prince frowned at him.

“Erlang.”

“But…” the demigod snapped back to attention. “What makes you think that?”

“Come on…he’s the only one who’s ever given the gods trouble. I don’t doubt that if anyone could destroy bastions, it’s that monkey. Besides, if the Zhi Jinghua didn’t erase him before, it’s not far-fetched to think he didn’t die from the gash you gave him. I told you, you should have decapitated him.”

“It’s impossible he’s alive. I confirmed his death. Mount Huaguo was drenched in blood.” Erlang hardened his tone. “He’s dead, Nezha.”

“Then how do you explain so many outposts being destroyed?”

The demigod straightened up and shook his head. He had to calm his nerves and project confidence, or else Nezha might see through him. Suddenly, he felt something moving in his pocket. As tiny as a palm, with little feet that sent a shiver down his thigh. It climbed up his leg to his hip, and he immediately brushed his hand over it discreetly.

Nothing. He felt nothing. Nor anywhere nearby. He darted his eyes to both sides without moving his head. Suspicion gnawed at him, and he drifted away from the conversation until Nezha pulled him back.

“Erlang.”

The demigod shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to return to his friend. But the strange sensation that they weren’t alone still clung to his body.

“Sorry… As I was saying, monsters are getting stronger—whether from the effect of the Zhi Jinghua or something else. It could have been a coordinated attack by several demons at once, or maybe that monkey’s rebellion inspired other yaoguai to rise up. Too many possibilities. You can’t rely on one assumption without evidence…”

“Why are you so intent on contradicting me?” Nezha growled.

“Because I saw him.” Erlang pointed. “…I saw him dead, Nezha. I’ve told you before. If we can’t base our unit on trust…”

“Trust, you say? Then I’d love to know why you keep going down to Earth so often—right after you killed that monkey.” Nezha’s gaze darkened.

But Erlang refused to be intimidated.

“I have the Emperor’s authorization to leave and return whenever I want. Once it was to confirm his death, and since then…I remembered I have connections on Earth I don’t want to forget.”

“…Connections you didn’t care about before that fight with the monkey. Erlang, you didn’t even leave the Court for months!”

“And what’s the problem with leaving?!”

“The problem is, ever since you told me that monkey’s dead, I feel like you’ve been hiding something from me!”

The warriors fell into complete silence. Erlang stared in shock at Nezha, who was on the verge of exploding with rage and frustration. Neither of them wanted these walls between them—barriers made from what Erlang kept avoiding, refusing to say to his best friend.

The demigod’s face softened with anguish, and he let out a deep sigh. His heart longed for the day he could tell Nezha the truth without fear, but he had too much at stake—Wukong, his family… The prince’s first reaction would be fury, for allying himself with the monkey who nearly killed him, and he would betray Erlang without hesitation. It would all fall apart.

As much as they wanted to trust each other, they couldn’t. And that hurt them both deeply.

Erlang tried to approach him, slowly.

“Nezha, I… I didn’t mean to make you think that—”

“No, I…” Nezha faltered, crossing his arms and stepping back. “I’m sorry.”

Erlang didn’t feel that apology was entirely sincere. He knew Nezha distrusted him, but he clung to the friendship that bound them.

“Every time we’re near the Zhi Jinghua, there are only problems. The monkey, my father… Muzha wants to help me, but he’s limited, and I know nothing of Jinzha. You’re the only friend I have in this Court of hypocrites… You said it yourself—if we don’t trust each other enough to rely on one another…what else do we have?”

The demigod lifted his hand to rest on the young prince’s shoulder. He opened his mouth, but suddenly froze.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a brown speck on the stone railing. Focusing on it, Erlang’s blood ran cold. A monkey. The tiniest he had ever seen—a pygmy marmoset.

His face went pale, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. How the hell had a monkey that small slipped into the Court? How had he not noticed? So that’s what had climbed up his pants… He tried to connect the dots, but no explanation came. Apart from the first time he had seen Wukong lying among the baby monkeys, he had never seen such a miniature again. Why was it here now?

His ears tuned out Nezha’s voice. All that mattered now was catching it, hiding it, and returning it to Mount Huaguo. Erlang stepped towards the railing, but the tiny monkey leapt and clung to the prince’s belt. Nezha didn’t even notice it was there.

The young prince sighed and turned away, pressing his fingers to his brow.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a wall… I know we’ve been friends for many, many years, and we’ve gone through—”

His voice faded. The marmoset was about to climb up his back, but Erlang saw the perfect chance. With the balance and speed of a blink, he lunged forward and grabbed it. He opened his hand—it was empty. Then he saw it at his elbow. He slapped his other hand over his arm, but now it was on his shoulder. He clapped both hands together to trap it, but when he peeked through his fingers to check, the tiny monkey shot out with a leap. Erlang dove forward and caught it midair. He was forced to squeeze tighter to keep it from escaping, but the marmoset let out a sharp squeal.

“…And I need, I wish that—” The prince cut off as the squeal shattered his thought.

Nezha turned, facing Erlang, who had one hand behind his back and the other covering his mouth. His face was a mask of confusion.

“What the fuck?”

Erlang was forced to fake a fit of coughing as an excuse.

“Sorry, Nezha…”

“Was that you who made that sound?”

“Made what sound?”

The demigod hated playing dumb, but he had no choice. At least Nezha looked more puzzled than suspicious, scanning the stone path around them. While he was distracted, Erlang felt the marmoset struggling in his hand and squeezed harder to keep it still.

“…As I was saying…” Nezha resumed, when he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary and turned back towards his friend—only for another squeal to ring out. “What the—?!”

Erlang coughed harder and began backing away. He couldn’t stay here any longer or Nezha would discover the little creature. He had to leave, now.

“That—that wind yaoguai left me with aftereffects. I’ll go to the Healers’ Courtyard, sorry, Nezha!”

Without further explanation, the prince watched in shock as the demigod hurried off the path until he disappeared from sight. Nezha stood frozen, his head a mess over what had just happened.

He had never heard a sound like that before—and from Erlang, no less. His confusion left him stuck, lost in thought, right there on the road.

 

*********************************************************

 

The first place that came to his mind was his residence. He clenched his hands tight while jogging down the stone path, and once he had lost Nezha, he stopped and looked at his palms, still closed around the tiny monkey.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Erlang wanted to see the little thing’s face again, but as soon as he opened his hands a few centimeters, his heart froze when he found nothing.

He checked his pockets and the sleeves of his robe, but there was no weight. It had slipped away… again! Trying to disguise his panic, he scanned his surroundings. Among the white limestone, he spotted a gray blur hopping away, and Erlang wasted no time running after it.

Taking advantage of the fact that there were no deities nearby, he lunged at the monkey. Once more, his hand came up empty. He couldn’t understand how a pygmy marmoset from Earth could have such skill at slipping away, much less in the Celestial Court.

A sharp squeak caught his attention, and Erlang raised his head towards the nearby temples. The tiny monkey was leaping across the tiles above the entrance to the Healers’ Court. The demigod jumped and transformed into a hawk, propelling himself through the air to catch it with his claws. The little thing dodged with a nimbleness Erlang thought impossible, forcing him to brake midair, flapping.

He returned to the tiled entrance and dove for it again, but the marmoset dropped into one of the silk lanterns. Erlang cursed under his breath, shifting his body into a white ferret.

“Get out of there!”

The ferret slid across the wooden carvings until he reached the right lantern. Seeing the monkey inside, Erlang shook the silk lamp violently. The little one rolled inside, bumping from one side to the other, but the ferret didn’t relent. He kicked and rattled the lantern even harder.

Finally, the creature slipped out through the hole at the bottom of the lantern and scurried back onto the main path. Erlang leapt from the entryway, resuming his true form, but the marmoset was already gone. He sprinted after it, both of them racing through the Court—darting down pathways, weaving among trees, Erlang being extremely careful not to step on the lotuses the monkey hopped across.

The marmoset squeezed itself into a hole between two massive gates. Erlang skidded to a stop, slamming his hand on the wooden doors to keep from crashing. It was the residence of a deity… judging by the carved patterns, he had a good idea whose it might be. But the urgency of catching the monkey outweighed reason. He pushed the doors wide open. At once, Erlang recognized the estate of the Star Lord, Wu Qu. A strict, severe man—one who would not be pleased to find him trespassing.

He spotted the monkey racing across the grass, circling the mansion at the heart of the compound. Though Erlang dreaded running into the master of the house, he had no choice but to pursue it.

What he hadn’t counted on was that, though Wu Qu seemed to be away, his handmaidens were in charge of the household. Erlang froze as he stumbled upon five young women, seated around the rear courtyard. They were enjoying peaceful cups of tea, laughing among themselves, oblivious to the intruder. Erlang felt his soul hit the floor when he saw the monkey scamper straight towards their table.

He had to act.

“Excuse me, ladies?”

Erlang stepped forward into their line of sight. The handmaidens who faced him gasped at once.

“It’s him, it’s Er’lang Shen!”

“Er’lang, the nephew of His Majesty!”

The rest turned, and all five rose, bowing with admiration. Within moments, Erlang found himself surrounded. They spoke over one another so quickly he couldn’t understand a word.

While trying to calm them, Erlang caught sight of the monkey on the table. It had climbed up to inspect the snacks—took a bold bite out of the tip of a gyoza, then stomped across the fluffy dumplings, leaving prints all over the delicate dough, before diving into a salad. It ruined the entire arrangement of vegetables as it munched shamelessly.

“Shit!” Erlang thought in alarm. How was he supposed to clear the handmaidens from their own courtyard now? He needed to think of something fast before they noticed…

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Prominence,” said one maiden in a long green hanfu.

“Please, allow us to serve you some tea.”

“The leaves are freshly picked,” added another in blue. “Soothing, and good for muscle tension!”

“A hunter like you must be under such stress.”

“Let us serve you!”

Erlang couldn’t let them turn their heads. While he scrambled for an answer, they were already tugging him to a chair. They urged him to sit, then gathered back around him. From the corner of his eye he saw the striped tail sticking out of the salad bowl. His heart pounded, muscles tensing.

As the maiden in white poured him a fresh cup of tea, the others wouldn’t stop staring. Two held silk fans, hiding their blushing cheeks and grins.

“If you are looking for Lord Wu Qu,” began the one in green, “he is away on duty, and won’t return for some time. You may wait here, it would be our pleasure…”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Erlang cut in quickly, waving his hand. “I can… I can have some tea and return later.”

“He is such a busy man…” one murmured.

“A busy hunter…” corrected another.

“Ahem!” snapped the white-clad maiden, silencing them before turning back to Erlang with a smile. “All of us in the Court are aware of your work as a yaoguai hunter. It is arduous, and full of danger…”

The marmoset stirred inside the salad, poked its head out, and insolently locked eyes with Erlang as it chewed on a piece of lettuce. The demigod clenched his fist under the table, instinct screaming at him to snatch it up, but he stayed put.

“…and so we all admire your devotion,” the maiden concluded. “Allow me—Er’lang, I am Yun’u, head maid of Lord Wu Qu.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, and all of you as well…” Erlang inclined his head.

“So gallant!”

“So noble!”

“Would you like me to serve you something else? Perhaps a little salad…” offered the maiden in green.

“Not salad!” Erlang blurted, seeing her already lifting the bowl. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Tea will do just fine.”

The maid, puzzled, set the vegetables back down. The marmoset hopped out of the bowl and scurried beneath the sleeve of the girl in blue. Erlang tracked the small bulge moving inside the fabric and scrambled for a distraction.

“You haven’t had the chance to leave the Court, have you?”

The five women shook their heads.

“Then, while I finish my tea, I can tell you one of my many hunts…”

Yun’u and the others leaned closer with curiosity and fascination. Erlang began recounting one of his earliest missions—choosing the tale of the stone serpent. As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the marmoset, who now marched across the table, stood on its hind legs, and dunked its head into a teacup to drink.

Erlang tried not to let his voice betray his anger at the little one's audacity.

When the maiden in yellow reached to take the cup—where the monkey’s face was buried—Erlang snapped.

“And then…!” he raised his voice. The women froze. “Then Prince Nezha and I broke its fangs, tied it with his ribbon, and I cleaved the rock with a single stroke!”

The handmaidens were dazzled by his tale, and the one about to touch the cup lowered her hand. Still, the insolent marmoset kept drinking, until it plunged all the way into the teacup.

Erlang couldn’t go on stalling. He had to get the animal off the table. As the girls peppered him with questions, he reached for a pair of wooden chopsticks, bracing them against the stone surface, his thumb pressing while his hand kept them taut.

“We’ve never heard of a yaoguai like that…” Yun’u remarked.

“No demon is ever quite the same, right?”

“No… no, it isn’t.”

That was the moment. Erlang released his grip, launching the chopstick like a dart towards the cup.

The porcelain didn’t break, but the monkey was catapulted clean off the table. The maidens jumped in surprise, Erlang feigned shock, and in the commotion, he leapt to scan the grassy courtyard.

Nerves seized him when he saw no gray fluff—but then he spotted it. The little creature clung to the hair of the blue-dressed maiden, gripping tightly while its hands rummaged through her ornaments, pulling pearls and pins loose.

Erlang’s palms were sweating. Seizing the moment, he reached straight into her hair and yanked the monkey from her jewels. The maiden shrieked, horrified.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“You had a bamboo leaf tangled in your hair…” he improvised, hiding the monkey behind his back. He pressed his thumb into his fist to make sure he still had it.

The young woman blushed, covering her face with her fan and averting her gaze.

“We apologize for the commotion, Your Prominence…” Yun’u said quickly.

Erlang shook his head.

“No, it was my mistake. I… didn’t measure my strength.”

He felt the marmoset squirming in his grasp, then winced when it bit down on his fingers. Erlang clenched harder, but the monkey let out a sharp...

SQUEAAAK!

At once, the five maidens’ eyes darted to him in confusion. Erlang coughed loudly to mask the little cries and made up his mind to get out. He began backing away quickly.

“M-my apologies, Yun’u, ladies… I must be going!”

Without waiting for their reply, Erlang spun and strode out of the estate, leaving behind a group of bewildered women.

They exchanged glances, and Yun’u looked down at the untouched teacup they had poured for the demigod.

“He didn’t even take a sip…”

 

**********************************************************

 

“Why do you have to be such a troublemaker?!”

Erlang growled in anger and looked down at his palms clenched tight around the little monkey. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake of opening his hands and letting it slip away. His feet moved automatically, trotting in the direction of his residence. No matter how far it was, the monkey couldn’t cause more chaos there.

In response, he heard a shriek and felt tiny fangs sink into his fingers.

“Oh, don’t even think about it!”

Erlang passed by other gods traveling the same road, quickening his pace as he climbed onto the longest bridge of the Court. Made of red wood, the bridge stretched across the full width of the Celestial River. Golden and purple currents flowed beneath his feet in a steady rhythm, and Erlang couldn’t help but glance at them as he walked.

His steps slowed when the bridge began to tremble. The demigod turned and quickly pressed against the railing to let the imperial cavalry pass. The soldiers’ armor was filthy, and the heavenly horses had hooves caked with dirt and mud; they had surely just returned from some important mission on Earth and were heading to the stables across the bridge.

What Erlang hadn’t counted on was that the cavalry rode in a wedge formation, and he realized too late that he was the only one who hadn’t cleared the bridge for them. No matter how far back he leaned, a brown horse rammed into him.

Both steed and rider staggered, and the demigod crashed to the ground. The blow of those hooves left him only with aches in his arms and cheek. The soldier glanced over his shoulder as his horse rushed back into formation.

“Watch yourself, Little Sage!”

Erlang found no reply for that shout and let the cavalry retreat off the bridge. He shook his head, standing with some dizziness—until his face went pale in horror. The marmoset. He looked at his hands, empty. His eyes darted across the bridge at lightning speed, but the shriek he heard made his soul drop to the ground.

He lunged to the railing. Drifting down the river’s current, the gray ball of fur floated like a leaf on a summer’s day. Erlang swore he could feel his blood pressure plummet.

“Shit!!”

His instinct screamed to jump, but swimming in the Celestial River was an offense punished with methods so torturous that the demigod shuddered. Yet he couldn’t leave the monkey to drift until someone else found it. He bore the grim duty of taking responsibility.

He looked to both sides, gripping the wooden railing tight. In the distance, he saw officials and dignitaries of the Court beginning to cross the bridge again. If he was going to jump, he had to do it now.

He cursed and, as he leapt, his body transformed into a water serpent. He splashed into the river and slid his length downstream as fast as he could.

Being inside the Celestial River was a strange sensation… his soul and body wanted to separate and wander off on their own, but Erlang fought to stay whole. Moving was difficult, and he seemed to see nebulas and colors rather than the inside of a river. He grew easily disoriented, crashing against stones in his path, though the current always carried him forward.

Among so many abstract shapes, Erlang could barely make out the little monkey, who, unlike him, spun in the water and dodged rocks with incredible ease. The demigod growled to himself and swam faster.

When he was just a few feet away, the serpent opened its jaws to catch the monkey. But as he snapped shut, a sharp pain struck his fangs. He had bitten a stone. The real gray monkey had slipped into a bed of weeds. The Celestial River was playing tricks on his mind…but he would not let it win.

Erlang dove into the plants, thrashing furiously and trying to reach the small creature. Suddenly, his body was ensnared by the weeds, and he writhed violently. They felt as rigid as Nezha’s bindings. The demigod looked ahead and saw the marmoset floating downstream once more. He could not afford to lose to such a tiny…insignificant, defiant, irritating monkey! An electrifying rage consumed him from head to tail, and he unleashed a surge of lightning that vaporized the weeds holding him. The water around him crackled, but he seemed immune to the effect. Erlang focused his mind and threw all his strength into swimming.

As they drifted farther down, the demigod came across docks above the surface, and long wooden oars dipping into the river. His heart sank as he realized they were nearing the imperial fleets sailing the Celestial River. He pushed faster, twisting past the oars with flexible agility, while the monkey crashed and spun against everything it touched.

Determined not to fall for the same trick as before, Erlang drew close enough and with a whip of his tail struck the marmoset hard towards the riverbank. He shot after it, and this time didn’t hesitate to snap it up in his jaws. This time he wasn’t hallucinating. Without giving it time to escape, the demigod surged to the surface and returned to himself, leaving a furrow of water carved into the grass.

His fist clenched tightly around the monkey, though the rest of his body was useless. He coughed up water, struggling to get up. His head spun, and he saw unrecognizable shapes even with his eyes closed. Then he understood why it was forbidden to swim in the Celestial River; it wasn’t only sacred and offensive to enter it, but also terribly harmful.

He saw four pairs of his hands, gasped in ragged breaths, and nausea wracked his throat. He covered his mouth to avoid vomiting, and in the chaos, heard the monkey’s shrieks inside his fist.

“Shut…up…”

“What the—?! Hey!”

Erlang hadn’t calmed when he felt a rough tug on his shoulder that forced him to stand. He nearly lost his balance and toppled onto the man confronting him; but instinct jolted a wave of energy awake. He didn’t want to be touched. The first thing he did was land a punch to the man’s cheek, sending him crashing to the ground.

The sting in his knuckles drove another pang through his head, as if thousands of needles split his forehead, and he groaned in pain.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The demigod turned when another yank forced him to face the man.

“Don’t you know who I am?! You’ll regret this!” The admiral raised his fist, ready to smash Erlang straight in the nose, but stopped in surprise as he recognized him. “For fuck’s sake… it’s you. The Emperor’s nephew…”

“L-let…me go!”

Erlang shoved him back, and both staggered. He clutched his free hand to his chest, fighting for breath. The man stared at him in disbelief.

“What the hell…? Where did you come from? And…soaked in the Celestial River! Oh, kid…you’re in deep trouble!”

The demigod shook his head and finally steadied himself. He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. His vision cleared, and soon enough he recognized the figure before him.

“Admiral…?”

“Admiral Tian Peng, to you!” he corrected. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I…”

“This is no place for hunters without authorization, and don’t think being the nephew of the Lord of Heaven will save you, Er’lang Shen. What were you doing in the Celestial River?”

Erlang felt cornered. He had no mind to invent another one of the countless lies he was tired of telling everyone at Court. The Celestial River’s water had stripped him of every defense, and he barely had the strength to keep the monkey hidden in his fist, behind his back.

The only thing he could think was to tell the truth—but without all the details.

“I was struck by an imperial horse and fell into the river,” he confessed, standing tall.

“Bullshit,” Tian Peng growled. “No knight would dare touch you.”

“It was my mistake, for not moving aside in time to let the formation pass.”

Tian Peng didn’t look convinced. He frowned and crossed his arms.

“Which horse hit you?”

“Chestnut.”

“And what were you doing on the Celestial River bridge?”

“I was on my way to my residence. I had left the palace of Wu Qu, and—”

“But that fool is on the other side of the world, that makes no sense.”

Erlang nodded.

“He's absent, yes…but his maidens received me in his place.”

At that moment, Tian Peng’s expression shifted completely.

“His maidens?”

“That’s right…”

“So they’re receiving just anyone with the excuse of seeking Lord Wu Qu?”

“Uh…” Erlang hesitated.

“Say no more!”

Tian Peng turned and grabbed the closest thing to a towel from the nearest table. He tossed it to Erlang and glanced around.

“I’ll buy it, kid. Now I remember I need to discuss something important with that grouch…” The admiral scratched his chin.

Confused but without protest, Erlang dried his face and hair. Yet when he closed his fist, his heart lurched. The monkey was gone. He looked around, alarmed, and his body tensed as he spotted the gray fuzz among the admiral’s wine bottles.

Tian Peng turned back to the table and pulled out two flat cups to share.

“Never seen you in person before. You’re shorter than I thought, ha! Let’s see…”

The marmoset snooped among the bottles, rising on its hind legs to study one much larger than itself. The admiral’s hand moved along the drinks, pondering which would be best. His fingers closed on the handle of the wine the monkey was staring at so intently.

Erlang’s alarm shot through the roof, and he rushed to stop him.

“Wait!”

He grabbed the admiral’s wrist, earning a look of confusion. The demigod swallowed and straightened, clearing his throat.

“That wine is too strong… It’s usually shared between companions of great closeness. Since this is the first time we meet in person…I would consider this one instead.”

Erlang pointed to a wine at the far end of the table. Tian Peng released the bottle and thought for a few seconds. At last, he shrugged and followed the suggestion.

“Huh, wine from grapes harvested on Mount Kunlun. You’ve got good taste in drink, and you know its rituals, boy.”

Slowly, the demigod let out a breath of relief and removed the monkey from the bottle. He clenched his fist, and with his other hand, received the cup of the new wine.

“For today I’ll overlook the river incident…since you gave me valuable information about Lord Wu Qu. But I don’t want to see you coming out of the Milky Way’s shores again, you hear me?”

Erlang raised his cup.

“Of course.”

Both clinked their porcelain cups in a soft toast, and while Tian Peng downed his wine in one gulp, Erlang was about to sip his when he flinched—the little monkey had beaten him to it, finishing the drink by itself.

He gasped and hastily swatted it away. He still didn’t understand how it managed to slip out of his fist, but thanks to that, his urge to return to his residence only grew stronger.

Tian Peng licked his lips and set the cup down on the table. He raised his brows, surprised to see that the demigod’s cup was also empty.

“Well, well! Who would’ve thought you could hold your liquor, though not as much as me. This is nothing but grape juice to me!”

“I appreciate the drink, Admiral Tian Peng…” Erlang placed his cup on the table, stepping back towards the path. “But I must take my leave.”

“What? Oh, come on…” the man lamented. “I just opened the bottle, boy!”

“Forgive me, Admiral.” The demigod pressed his fist to his palm in a polite salute. “But it’s urgent. I’ll visit another time, I promise.”

Tian Peng growled.

“You’d better, Er’lang Shen!”

The admiral turned to pour himself more wine, but then remembered with horror the most important matter at hand.

“Wait!” he shouted. “At least tell me where Wu Qu’s palace is!”

But when Tian Peng turned back, Erlang was already gone. He sighed bitterly and stirred his cup.

“Brat…”

 

**************************************************

 

The doors of his chamber swung open, and the little monkey darted in, bouncing against the bed.
Erlang rushed to shut the entrance and windows, leaving no way out. He grabbed two slips of silk paper and, with a brush at his dresser, hastily traced a character, turning them into talismans. He fixed them to the windows and doors, and after checking that the pygmy marmoset still sat on his bed, he allowed himself, for the first time, to breathe.

By now, Erlang was exhausted. Not only had the constant stress of chasing the monkey kept him on edge all day, but plunging into the Celestial River had left his body a complete wreck. Even now he still felt dizzy and weak.

Leaning against the doors, he cast a severe look at the little monkey.

“I can’t believe all you’ve put me through… Stupid monkey!” he bellowed. “You humiliated me and made me look like a fool in front of everyone you crossed paths with! You’re shameless, absolute chaos, and a headache! Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if someone had seen you? I save you, I try to hide you, and all you want is to wreak havoc wherever you go… you ungrateful little brat!”

Erlang lunged and caught the monkey in his fist. He glared at him, truly angry. He squeezed tighter than ever, and the marmoset squirmed, shrieking. In that moment, the demigod froze, realizing that for the first time the little one was looking at him with fear.

He immediately opened his hand, letting the monkey tumble back onto the bed. The creature scurried to the far end, curling into a ball. Erlang stared in shock and sighed, lowering his shoulders. He couldn’t stop feeling frustrated and furious, but he knew he must not unleash that rage on the tiny thing.

Then, a sharp pain stabbed his head, and for a few seconds he no longer saw his room. Figures shifting in color and shape flashed before his eyes. He squeezed them shut, clutching his head, and let out a bitter groan of pain. He didn’t know how much longer these effects would last, but he only prayed they weren’t permanent.

Noticing he was still dripping water onto the wooden floor, he moved slowly to his wardrobe. Deprived of sight, he relied on his hands to strip off his robe and begin removing his armor. He had just taken off his bracers when another chirp sounded behind him. Erlang turned his head over his shoulder, and as his vision barely settled back into reality, he spotted the monkey perched at the bed’s edge, watching him in silence.

“…What do you want now?”

The monkey chirped softly in reply, and Erlang exhaled. He set aside his robe and bracers on a basket, then pulled a small eyebrow brush from a drawer. He didn’t use it often, but now he had the perfect excuse.

Approaching the bed, he knelt and showed the brush to the little one. The monkey tilted his head curiously, not moving away. Erlang lowered the brush and began to run it gently over the marmoset’s tiny head. The animal shivered, then closed its eyes, relaxing as if it adored the sensation. Erlang, too, found the soft friction of the brush against the grey fur soothing. Resting his cheek on his free arm, he continued brushing in silence.

The simple act calmed him. Watching the monkey’s little face relax in contentment, Erlang allowed himself a faint smile. He didn’t know how long he spent brushing, but he had to admit it was addictive, a balm to his nerves.

After several minutes, the demigod lowered the brush and opened his hand to the small one. The marmoset stirred and slowly climbed into his palm. Erlang straightened and studied him closely, letting the monkey wander among his fingers like branches. Its fur was grey, its nose and mouth almost bare of hair, its tail long and striped, and its eyes large.

“…How did you get here?”

As if understanding, the monkey sat on the back of his hand and stood upright. To Erlang’s surprise, he discovered a string tied around its belly, fastening a watermelon seed. He frowned. Why on earth would it carry a watermelon seed strapped to its stomach? Then memory struck.

He had seen this pygmy marmoset before—back during his very first visit to the Water Curtain Cave. Wukong had been lying with a pile of baby monkeys, and in his palm rested this same little one. Of course, the creature belonged to Mount Huaguo. And as far as Erlang knew, no monkey acted on its own, much less dared approach him after that first attack he and Nezha had led.

So… the Monkey King had to be behind this. Somehow, he had slipped the little one into Erlang’s pocket, making him carry it into the Celestial Court himself. But when? The marmoset couldn’t have stayed hidden in his clothes for so long, and the last time he descended to the island, he had that friendly duel with the brown monkey. Unless… the tiny one had been there too, waiting for the perfect chance to sneak in, under Wukong’s orders.

But why? What did Wukong gain by making him bring this monkey to the Court, carrying a watermelon seed on its belly? Erlang didn’t understand. Wukong’s motives and methods were a complete mystery…

A new chirp broke his thoughts. The two locked eyes, and Erlang lifted the brush again, running it gently along the monkey’s back.

“Are you… sent by him?”

This time, the little one stayed silent.

Erlang sighed in defeat, placing it back on the bed as he stood.

“You’re too small to talk, I imagine. What a mess…”

He returned to the wardrobe to continue. Stripping off armor and underrobes, he left himself completely undressed. The dripping water chilled his skin, so he took a towel, drying himself and wringing out his long hair. He then slipped into soft dark cotton pants and a loose white shirt. He had no intention of leaving his room tonight, nor energy to see anyone or accept any tasks.

Closing the wardrobe, he rolled up his sleeve to look at his right arm. Though days had passed, the scar from the Huli Jing’s bite was still clear. The puncture marks of her fangs, the blood pouring like a river—he still struggled to forget that battle. Walking to the corner, he hung his armor on its special stand.

A hiccup made him turn back to the bed. Nothing alarming this time—just the little monkey sprawled out, letting out adorable “hic!” sounds so loud they reached Erlang. He couldn’t help but smile faintly. Never had he seen a pygmy marmoset drunk on celestial wine, and this was supposed to be the lightest kind, according to Tian Peng.

Deep inside, he was grateful the monkey was drunk. At least it would stop giving him trouble. He thought quickly of something to ease the alcohol’s effects and found an idea. Picking up the basket of wet clothes, he headed for the door. Before opening the seal-protected exit, Erlang glanced back at the little one over his shoulder.

“Stay here… I’ll be back.”

Just to be safe, he slipped out and closed the door quickly behind him. For once, he trusted the marmoset to listen, and he walked away through the house.

The tiny monkey stayed silent atop the bed. Stretching once more, he decided to explore the chamber. He scurried across the bed, climbed onto the nightstand, gave another hiccup, and curiously inspected the first thing he found: a peach pit.

He sniffed it, instantly recognizing the sweet fragrance of Mount Huaguo’s fruit. Without hesitation, he licked it. The taste lingered, so he kept licking until he scraped away the last of the peach’s flesh. Finished, he set it aside and opened the drawer.

Inside were just a few papers and gold coins. He bit one, but spat it out, disgusted by the taste. Leaving the drawer open, he leapt back to the bed. A wave of dizziness made him stumble and collapse. He lay down, gave another hiccup, and had no strength left. All he could do was wait.

Closing his eyes, the dizziness faded, and his body relaxed. With nothing else to distract him, he drifted toward sleep. He might have fallen asleep within minutes, motionless, had it not been for the door’s soft creak.

He stirred, spotting the demigod returning with a wooden bowl.

“What did you… Ah…” Erlang sighed at the sight of the open drawer and moved to shut it. Sitting near the monkey, he said, “I doubt you can handle Court wine, so I think this will help.”

He set the bowl between them. Inside were a few sliced bamboo shoots, and beside it, a single peach for himself. The little monkey perked up, excited, and crept forward to inspect the food. Erlang picked up the peach, leaving the bamboo for the monkey.

The grey marmoset timidly licked the first shoot, then devoured it in eager bites. Erlang smiled and bit into his fruit.

“I figured you’d be hungry too.”

In silence, the two ate—monkey and demigod. Erlang still struggled to grasp how the tiny creature had survived the Celestial River when it seemed more affected by wine, or how it had been so slippery, as if in some comic opera. He suspected the seed had something to do with it, though he let the monkey eat first.

For his part, Erlang finished the peach quickly. He dropped the pit in the bowl and pushed it aside. Kicking off his slippers, he stretched fully onto the bed, feeling his strength leave him. Unlike the monkey, the Celestial River had left his head in shambles, draining the last of his stamina. His bones were heavy, his breath shallow, and though the stabbing pains had ceased, his mind could no longer function.

Besides, he had no reason to risk going out again today. He had already completed the bare minimum of his duties, and the chase had worn him down. A part of him still couldn’t believe a mere pygmy monkey had reduced him to this. He would let time pass, and at dawn, leave the Court to return the little one where it belonged. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

Erlang let the marmoset eat its fill, while he lay on his side. The moment his head touched the pillow, sleep seized his body. He didn’t even pull the sheets over himself. By the time the monkey finished its first bamboo shoot, Erlang was already asleep.

The tiny grey monkey only noticed him much later, once it finished the second shoot that filled its little stomach. It lifted its head, finding the black-haired demigod deeply asleep at his side. Though it chirped, it couldn’t wake him. Full belly and lingering wine dragged down its energy too.

The little one crawled out of the bowl and approached Erlang. After sniffing him, it curled into a ball at his neck, beneath his chin. The warmth of his body lulled it, and with eyes closed, it too surrendered to sleep.

For all the years Erlang had slept alone in that bed, feeling that tiny tuft of fur beside him was like receiving the sun after years in darkness.

 

***************************************************

 

His mind shut down so completely that Erlang didn’t even dream. All that transpired was a silent, dark void. He wasn’t aware of his movements in sleep, or whether he moved at all. He also lost track of time; he couldn’t tell if he had only slept a couple of hours, or an entire day. Only upon waking would he know.

Inevitably, his ears began to pick up faint knocking sounds. It wasn’t the door to his room, but the gates of the great house. Unconsciously, the demigod began regaining his senses; he also felt the touch of tiny hands all over his face.
His cheeks were tugged, his lips pulled open, his nose prodded, and he shook his head to shake off the nuisance. Suddenly, his left eye shot open when the little monkey yanked on his eyelid.

Erlang let out a muffled scream and jolted upright. The monkey rolled away in fright, and the two locked eyes.

“What the…? What was that for?” he muttered.

Still unable to digest his abrupt awakening thanks to the marmoset, his head instantly weighed a ton; on top of that, the pounding continued, echoing from the main doors all the way to his chamber. Whoever was outside needed him urgently.

Erlang didn’t know if the monkey had woken him to answer his visitor, or just to bother him. A part of him leaned towards a bit of both. But he couldn’t stay in bed for long. He didn’t know how much he had slept, though he hoped it hadn’t been too much.

“I’m coming…coming!”

Much to his dismay, the demigod was forced to get up in a rush, and thinking of nothing but answering the door, he left the monkey behind, closed his room, and hurried through the vestibule of his residence to finally open the gates.

Though Erlang was relieved to see him, Nezha’s eyes widened like saucers in disbelief.

“So you’ve been at home, sleeping like a slacker, this whole time? Do you know how many hours I spent looking for you yesterday, Erlang? I thought you’d run off to Earth again like you do every day… and turns out the Emperor’s dear nephew was taking a nap!”

“…Good morning, Nezha.”

The prince took in the state of his friend: loose clothes, the face of someone freshly woken, messy hair, and, to top it off, barefoot. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Erlang stretched and rubbed his left eye.

“Not really…”

Now more exasperated than angry, Nezha frowned, clearly concerned.

“What happened to you?”

“Forgive me, Nezha.” Erlang lowered his head.

The prince sighed and rolled his eyes.

“If you’re about to throw me another bullshit excuse just to avoid telling me the truth…”

“After we parted, something happened, and…”

“And would you care, just once, to actually tell me what occurred? Or did you not hear a single word I told you yesterday?”

Erlang stayed quiet for a few seconds, gazing at him apologetically. Just as he had done with Tian Peng, he could withhold the full truth from his friend, but at least offer the reason for his absence. He didn’t want to worsen their relationship, where every conversation only seemed to deepen Nezha’s mistrust. The last thing he wished was for their bond to reach a breaking point.

“…I fell into the Celestial River,” he confessed.

For a moment, Nezha was dumbfounded. His arms dropped, though the surprise never left his face.

“Shit…! How the hell did you even fall in? Swimming in that river is forbidden, Erlang.”

“I had an accident with the cavalry. And those waters left me… broken. You would never want to fall in there, believe me.”

“…Does throwing stones into the river count?”

Erlang chuckled softly. He shook his head, ignoring the question.

“We had already finished our hunt for the day, so… I didn’t think I had any more duties yesterday. As soon as I managed to drag myself out of the river, I came here and decided to sleep…”

“For over twelve hours,” Nezha cut in, raising an eyebrow.

The demigod looked at him in surprise. To his knowledge, he had never allowed himself to sleep so long in all his years as a hunter. At last, he sighed and nodded.

“In short.”

At least Erlang noticed Nezha was far more relaxed now, with less intent to scold or bombard him with questions. A part of him wanted to mention the little monkey he had hidden in his room, but he knew all too well that the prince would be the first to kill it. Their friendship was long-standing and strong, but Nezha’s duty to obey his father outweighed it.

“You’ll have to tell me the whole story later. Aside from coming to find you… the Sacred Laozi summons us both.”

Erlang frowned in puzzlement.

“For what purpose?”

“If I didn’t know that old man, I’d say it was for some material errands.” Nezha crossed his arms. “But from his tone, I suspect it’s something important.”

The demigod felt a weight settle in his gut. He didn’t believe the Sacred Alchemist would dare involve Nezha in the favor Erlang owed him (the first of many), and he wasn’t comfortable with the thought. He feared that any new thread of information would trigger a storm of questions, and he already knew he would only answer them with more lies. He was growing weary of that routine. The weight of his net, though he barely noticed it, was poisoning him.

“I assume it’s a hunt.”

“I’ve never worked for Laozi, so I wouldn’t know. But he’s calling us now. Come on, at least make yourself presentable and let’s go to that old man.”

Erlang nodded and stepped aside to leave the door open.

“Would you like to come in?”

“No need. Just take off those rags and get moving.”

The demigod sighed with a faint smile and closed the doors behind him, leaving the prince waiting outside. He walked through the corridors of his home and returned to his room. Upon closing the doors, Erlang felt a jolt of anxiety, for the monkey was nowhere to be seen.

“Little one?”

He rushed to check every corner of the chamber. Under the bed, between the pillows, behind the larger and smaller pieces of furniture, inside the drawers of his nightstands and chests; but he found nothing. Then his lungs emptied at the sight of the window doors—where the seal had once been—now bare. He ran to open them and leaned halfway out into the back courtyard. Among the plum trees and the grass, no tuft of gray fur was in sight.

“Shit!”

Panic overwhelmed him. If the little one had dared escape again, Erlang would have no trail to follow, and nothing could assure him the creature was safe. He turned and kicked the doors of his room open, ready to run after it.

But a tiny hiccup caught his attention. The demigod froze at the threshold, turned back quietly, and listened. Then came the sound of paper tearing. His eyes fell on his armor hanging nearby. Tense, he approached and lifted half the breastplate off the rack.

Sitting inside the armor was the marmoset. It was tearing strips from the seal that had once been on the window, and without hesitation, stuffing them into its mouth.

More than relief, Erlang felt alarm.

“Hey!” He dropped the armor onto the dresser and shoved his hand inside to grab the monkey. He pried the half-eaten seal from its grasp and held it firmly in his fist. “Don’t… eat that!”

He placed the paper on the table as well and opened his hand to give the little one a few pats on the back with two fingers. The monkey spat out the shredded pieces, coughed, shook its head, and glared at the dark-haired man. The demigod rolled his eyes with a deep sigh, finally releasing the tension in his body.

“… Could you stay still and calm for ten minutes?”

A screech was all the response he got, which didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t seem to have many options for what to do with the creature while he met with Nezha at Laozi’s audience. Then Erlang glanced at the half-eaten seal, and realization lit his eyes.

“I think I know what you want…”

Carrying the monkey in his hand, Erlang removed the seal from the door and headed out of his room. He walked to the kitchen and entered a small side chamber—the pantry. The marmoset, thrilled, leapt from his palm to the first fruit it saw. If food could calm its chaotic energy, Erlang would make sure it stayed there until the meeting was over.

He already counted on the little one making a mess of the food, but he preferred that over it wreaking havoc across the entire Celestial Court. He stepped back and watched it gnaw on a carrot.

“Eat well.”

Closing the door, Erlang this time affixed the seal on the outside, so it wouldn’t be eaten again. Not wanting to waste any more time, he hurried back to his room and dressed to leave.

All traces of his twelve-hour sleep vanished. His hair showed no stray strands under his half topknot, the armor had dried, and his robes looked impeccable. He fastened the belt with his sword at his side, and finally rejoined his friend.

Nezha frowned and grinned mockingly.

“You took all that time just to put on another pair of rags?”

Erlang returned the smile.

“They’re not worse than yours.”

“Heh… Come on, let’s go.”

Erlang was the first to start jogging once they descended the steps. Nezha followed close behind, and with only a few words exchanged along the way, they set their course for the Tushita Palace.

 

*************************************************

 

For once, Erlang was glad not to discover new chambers of the Sacred’s palace, but instead that they had been summoned to the main refinement chamber. Most of the high-ranking deities already knew the room; in fact, it wasn’t the first time either hunter had entered.

Made of grayish stone, with golden adornments and patterns; banners hung from the ceiling, and in the center of the chamber lay the alchemist’s largest refinement furnace. Built of stainless metal and with nine holes, it was said to be capable of melting and condensing any element into a pill. Or so it was supposed, for Erlang had witnessed the troubles the elder had when trying to refine fallen fragments of Heaven. He would never forget that explosion.

The two warriors stopped at the foot of the stairs leading down to the circle where the furnace rested, while Laozi, his back turned to them, shook his Fuzi to feed the flames. They joined their fists over their palms and bowed their heads.

“Third Lotus Prince, Nezha.”

“Little Sage, Er’lang Shen.”

“Reporting to the Sacred Immortal.” they finished in unison.

Laozi finished stoking the fire and rested his staff on his right shoulder. He turned and faced the two hunters, giving them a stern look.

“Do you think that by greeting me according to protocol you will save yourselves from being late? Young people these days…”

Neither dared to reply. The Sacred climbed the stairs, and the two youths stepped back to give him space. They endured the elder’s burning eyes, but in the end, he motioned for them to rest. Laozi immediately focused on Erlang.

“It’s been some time since I gave you the pill, Er’lang. The least I expect is that it has served your friend well.”

At that moment, Nezha felt disoriented and looked at the demigod without understanding a single word. Erlang stood firm before the Sacred, and knowing the prince was burning holes into his neck with his gaze, he nodded.

“Of course, Supreme Immortal. I will be eternally grateful.”

Nezha was lost. Laozi spoke as if Erlang had asked for the pill to give it to someone else, instead of keeping it for either of them in case another emergency happened during a hunt, just as he had told him. His soul fell to the ground the instant he realized his best friend had once again lied to his face. He turned his gaze away and clenched his fists, doing his best not to explode in front of the alchemist. Now, millions of doubts stormed his mind. Who could he have given it to? Why the lie? Each second made his heart heavier, but he had to keep control.

Erlang, on the other hand, also felt his stomach twist. The elder had spoken more than he should, and only then did he remember he had given two different versions of the story to hide his true motive for the pill. He knew Nezha had figured it out, and as much as it hurt, he didn’t dare look at him.

Unaware of the prince’s turmoil, Laozi nodded, satisfied.

“That’s precisely why I have summoned you. Nezha, your friend asked me for a regenerative pill long ago.”

“Yes, Supreme Laozi… I’m already aware of that.”

“Then I assume you know this young man owes me two favors.” Nezha gave no answer, but Laozi continued. “It is time to collect the first one, and I need you both. You are a hunting unit, your strength lies in teamwork. Reports have reached my ears, and we have found a fragment of Heaven in the East, the Purvavideha continent.”

Nezha tilted his head, confused.

“A piece… of Heaven?”

“I consulted with the Emperor, and, Lotus Prince, you are someone I can trust to know this.” Laozi gave the young man a hard look. “Heaven is breaking apart, and its pieces have been falling to Earth for years. Your friend here is already aware of this.”

The prince was horrified by the news. He nearly shifted on the spot, but remained upright.

“Do we know the cause of the catastrophe…?”

Laozi shook his head.

“Not with certainty… but since the previous Zhi Jinghua, Heaven has become even more unstable. It is of utmost urgency to descend to Earth and recover the fragments that fall, so that I may refine them, and with luck, repair the cracks that have opened.”

Once again, the prince fell silent, struggling to digest the bombshell that had just been dropped on him. Putting him aside, Laozi turned back to the demigod.

“As I was saying… we found a new fragment in Purvavideha. Apparently, it fell upon a yaoguai, and it has become a serious problem for a nearby temple. As a priority assignment, I order you to hunt down this monster, recover the piece, and bring it to me.”

“Do we have any clue what kind of yaoguai it is?” Erlang inquired.

“An insect type. Long, very long… I recommend you proceed with extreme caution, boys. That fragment of Heaven is fresh and thus carries energy so concentrated that your minds will not be able to withstand its comprehension for long. Find that yaoguai, and slay it.”

“We will not fail you, Supreme Laozi.” Erlang pressed his hands together and bowed to him. Nezha, on the other hand, remained motionless.

Laozi walked over to one of the tables in the right section of the chamber and grabbed a rolled-up scroll. He tossed it to the demigod.

“There you will find more details of what I have told you today. Now go, waste no more time.”

Erlang caught the scroll and entrusted it to the prince, then bowed his head again.

“Yes, sir. With your permission, we shall take our leave.”

Nezha barely made a slight bow and turned with his friend to leave the palace. Neither spoke a word on the way back, and it wasn’t until they descended the stairs that the prince stopped.

The demigod walked a little further before realizing the young man was not following, and stopped as well. He turned and faced him. Instantly, a cold tension rose between them, though deep down, Erlang feared confronting him.

“…Nezha?”

The prince did not reply, as if he were using all his strength not to burst out with the obvious. He had no idea why his dearest friend dared to lie to him again and again, nor did Erlang dare tell him the truth. It was because he did not trust him, and that hurt his heart like the stab of the sharpest knife.

Still, despite it all, Nezha wanted to hold on to what bound them, to the friendship he once believed in and sought refuge in. He longed to believe the Erlang he knew was still there, the one who trusted him and kept no secrets. He pressed his lips together and clenched his fists so hard his hands trembled. The knot in his throat kept him from speaking clearly. He raised his hand towards him.

“…For any hunt, one must be prepared…” he began, his head lowered. “Neither of us has had breakfast, so… why don’t we first go to the imperial canteen and get something to eat?”

Erlang felt like the worst being in the universe. They both knew he had lied, but Nezha was trying to put everything aside and cling to the faintest possibility of trusting him again. If he didn’t have another urgent priority to attend to, he would have been happy to accept.

But there was someone who needed to be returned home.

The demigod looked at him with regret and was forced to do what he now hated most.

“I’d love to, Nezha. But, I’ll go back to my house for some dye. Even though I’ve slept all those hours, my head still isn’t working at a hundred percent.”

Nezha took a while to respond, lowering his arm, defeated. From his dimmed gaze, Erlang could tell he didn’t believe a single word.

“Don’t tell me… really?”

“You can order for me too, while I catch up with you there.” Erlang hurried. “I won’t take long, I promise. You do know what I like, don’t you?”

“…The fish menu.”

“That’s it. Before you even sit down to wait, I’ll be back.”

As much as Erlang promised with a faint smile, no change could be seen in Nezha’s expression.

He no longer trusted or believed him.

Nezha sighed, lowering his shoulders. He didn’t want to argue again in a discussion where he would hear nothing but lies.

“See you there.”

Erlang nodded and turned to jog back to his house. But with every step, his heart grew heavier, and helplessness flooded him. He knew that with every word leaving his mouth, his friendship with the prince was crumbling. And soon it would reach a point of no return. He felt a tsunami of fear crashing on his shoulders—the fear of losing someone so dear—but at the same time, it was the very fear that kept him from being honest. He knew Nezha placed duty above all else, for as Muzha had once told him, the prince had begun to see himself as a slave to his father long ago.

When he reached the pantry door, Erlang dragged his hand and tore off the seal. Not only did he have the duty of returning the little one to his home, but an inexplicable longing consumed him to descend to Earth, to see him. To talk, and pour out his deepest fear, for if he had learned anything from those days of visiting, it was that with that monkey, he felt free to speak, without restrictions or punishments.

He entered the pantry and found the little one on the floor, surrounded by a pile of half-eaten fruit, grape seeds, apple cores, peach pits, and more peels. He looked tired, his belly swollen. No doubt he had eaten too much. At least he hadn’t made a mess, as Erlang feared. He crouched down and carefully rested the tiny monkey in his palm. Sometimes it surprised him how small he was—he didn’t even cover his whole hand.

The marmoset curled up, and Erlang ran a finger over his tiny head.

He had only a few minutes, so he would make them worth every second.

“Let's get you home.”

Chapter Text

WUKONG DID NOT FLINCH beneath the torrent of water pounding against his back. His hands rested on the rock wall, and his chin nearly touched his chest. The waterfall that crashed upon him barely tickled, yet it served as a kind of massage—and the most effective cleanser of all.

The drops coursed down his body, waking his nerves with their icy touch, but the brown-furred monkey had long grown used to that kind of cold. To him, it was nothing more than a shower. He took his hands off the wall and stepped fully into the torrent. The water struck his face, but he didn’t stop scratching his head and rubbing his face clean. Then he moved to his shoulders, down his arms, until the flow reached his hands. No matter how spotless they appeared, Wukong still felt them stained with blood.

He shook his head, snorted, and stretched his back. Just as he was about to dive into the small pond, an unfamiliar sound made him pause. He turned around and stepped out from behind the waterfall. Swimming across to the other side, he hoisted himself onto the bank. Miles away, his keen ears caught the howls and euphoric cheers of his little ones.

The sun, paired with a refreshing breeze, painted the Flower Fruit Mountain in a panorama of color. Peach trees and chrysanthemums shimmered like iridescent stars, and among them, the mountain’s monkeys played in clusters, each group rejoicing in its own way. Some lounged on the grass, basking in the sunlight; others leapt from tree to tree, savoring perfectly ripe peaches; while the rest bathed in the river that ran through the gorge beneath the waterfall concealing the cave.

Wukong smiled sadly at the sight. The waterfall where he stood was suspended in midair—a floating crag detached from the rest of Mount Huaguo, large enough to offer him a private pond and natural shower. None of the other monkeys knew that this was where he came to bathe when he wanted to be alone.

Part of him longed to descend and enjoy the day with them, but most of his heart and mind denied him that wish. Over the years, and through countless Zhi Jinghua, Wukong had learned to face his problems alone—to keep his worries from burdening his kin and to ensure them a life free of fear. The pain in his chest was the price of his love for them. But he knew that being who he was, meant creating a distance—a chasm he could never bridge. He couldn’t afford to share his fears, concerns, or burdens with them, no matter how deeply he cared.

He spotted his general, Peng, sitting on a rock, enjoying a bunch of grapes while laughing with the others. From the day he was born, Wukong had known he was different from all of them—and because of that, he bore the responsibility of protecting them at all costs. They were all he had. Seeing them happy again, unafraid to leave the Water Curtain Cave, made Wukong feel that his efforts had not been in vain… even if they cost him an unparalleled loneliness.

Trusting in the mountain’s joy, the brown monkey stepped away from the edge and returned to the pond—this time to dive into its depths. The light turned the water a brilliant blue, casting pale, rare hues over the sand, grass, and algae—colors seldom seen by mortal eyes. Though he lacked the advantages he had on land, Wukong had come to cherish the stillness beneath the surface.

He let the tiny fish swim past and reached the bottom. In the center, amid aquatic moss, he unearthed a roughly carved stone. Its texture was crude, and its lines imperfect, but to him, it was the finest sculpture in the world. It wasn’t a likeness of himself—it was a small stone mandrill, crafted with care to look elderly. Holding it in his hands, he brushed away the moss, stroked its face with his thumb, and pressed his lips together.

His memory was slipping again into the image of someone distant—someone beloved and deeply missed—when faint vibrations stirred through the water. Wukong felt them ripple through his fur like a spider sensing motion in its web. Alert and curious, he placed the stone back exactly where it was and swam to the surface.

Breaking halfway through the water and blinking away the droplets from his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of an adorable pygmy marmoset perched on a rock near the pond. Wukong immediately smiled and approached the shore once more.

“Mo’jie!”

The Monkey King extended his hand, and the little creature leapt on. Wukong brought him close, letting the tiny marmoset rub its head affectionately against his chin. His tail flicked unconsciously in delight.

He stroked the one's back, and the weight on his chest eased. Yet he didn’t need to turn around to know someone else was watching him. He kept his smile.

“I don’t doubt he gave you trouble… I only hope you were gentle with him, hunter.”

Lowering his hand, his eyes fixed on the left side of the rocky ledge. From behind the bushes and stones emerged the black-haired demigod.

“Does it count if I threw myself into the Celestial River to save him?”

At first, Wukong raised his eyebrows in surprise, but when he heard the marmoset’s chirp, he let out a teasing laugh.

“Barely… the least you could do.”

Erlang rolled his eyes, glancing around. The floating crag was just large enough to hold the waterfall and the pond. There were no insect songs, no bird calls. His gaze returned to Wukong, and he made a conscious effort not to look below his face.

“And here I thought you preferred bathing in your cave rather than up in the sky.”

“I like to call it a ‘private ledge for the King.’” Wukong interrupted. “Besides, as a hunter, you should know that higher ground gives you the advantage.”

“For someone who claims to love the company of his monkeys so much…”

Wukong’s eyes hardened. “What, can’t I have a space of my own?”

Erlang crossed his arms and turned his head aside. “I never said you couldn’t. It’s just…” He nudged the grass with his foot. “This place feels familiar, and I’m surprised that—”

“What?”

The demigod narrowed his eyes, smirking. “—you’re thinner than I thought.”

The monkey let out a good-natured snort, his muscles relaxing.

“Well! I never believed you’d be so observant about the monkey you were once so eager to kill.”

Erlang fell silent, his eyes studying Wukong again. The monkey’s grin turned sly.

“And this same ‘thin body’ could snap your bones with a single blow.” He softened his expression, nodding. “But… I trusted you enough to leave Mo’jie in your care.”

“Mo’jie?”

The marmoset chirped in Wukong’s hand, and Erlang lowered his arms.

“I didn’t know he had a name.”

“I gave it to him myself, and it seems he liked it.” Wukong laughed. “He looks fatter and well-groomed… I appreciate that.”

“I think you owe me a few answers in return.”

“Oh?”

Erlang rested a hand on his hip, ready to question him—but his attention shifted to a halved watermelon sitting on a flat stone. He frowned, as a new suspicion formed in his mind.

“What did you gain by hiding a marmoset in my pocket? The Celestial Court is no place for him, and if it weren’t for me, he’d have been discovered and executed.”

Wukong took a moment to reply. His smile faded, and he straightened. He set the marmoset down beside the stone where the watermelon lay and stretched his arms.

“Since you spent an entire day looking after him… I assume you noticed the watermelon seed tied to his belly.”

“The moment I saw it, I should’ve known it was one of your tricks.”

Wukong nodded and gestured towards the marmoset. As he leaned his upper body against the shore, resting his head on one hand, Erlang let the little creature climb into his palm. Carefully, he untied the string and took the seed. Bringing it closer to his eyes, he examined it as best he could.

He found nothing more than an ordinary seed—until he turned it over and noticed tiny characters etched on the surface. His eyes narrowed in focus, and soon, the demigod’s expression shifted to surprise.

“A hidding seal.”

Wukong smiled, pleased by his conclusion.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mo’jie had been a little ‘slipperier’ than usual—and that’s saying something for the smallest breed of monkey.”

As the seconds passed, the pieces began to fit together in Erlang’s mind.

“He managed to stay invisible to everyone… Not even Nezha noticed him when he had him on his shoulder.”

“The perfect spy.” Wukong’s tail swayed playfully outside the water before he shook his head. “But that wasn’t the reason. Do you see that watermelon?”

“What about it?”

“Just look at it.”

Erlang sighed and set Mo’jie back on the rock, then stepped closer to inspect the fruit. It had been sliced cleanly in half, its seeds still intact—except for one missing spot. He touched the inside with his thumb. Though it still felt moist, he could tell the surface had dried. The rind’s green hue had faded, and the fruit was slowly dehydrating.

“Ripe… but drying out. At most, I’d say it’s been open for two days.”

“And how long ago was our duel?”

“Two days ago…”

Wukong chuckled softly, but Erlang turned back to him, frowning.

“Monkey, I’m not following.”

“Just think about it! What’s the most famous myth between Heaven and Earth?”

The demigod took a moment. It felt more like a guessing game than a real question—typical of the monkey. He turned his head away, remaining silent for several long seconds. Mo’jie shuffled towards the watermelon and, without shame, plunged his head into the fruit to start eating. Erlang could feel Wukong’s gaze on him, that mischievous smile refusing to fade.

There were countless myths about Heaven—so many that it was impossible to know which one Wukong meant. But the monkey’s phrasing—“between Heaven and Earth”—stuck with him. It had to be something connecting both realms. He watched the marmoset devour the fruit’s flesh with enthusiasm, then looked back at Wukong.

For a moment, he couldn’t believe the position the monkey had taken—reclining shamelessly, waiting for an answer as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The water and droplets still ran down his fur to his bare chest and stomach, where the scar rested. Erlang had never imagined that beneath the armor that made him appear broad and imposing, there was a lean, wiry figure with a bit of muscle to boast about. Yet Wukong carried himself with such pride that even his body seemed to defy comparison—especially that sharp curve of his waist that Erlang couldn’t help but notice…

Wukong caught his gaze at once and smirked with irony.

“Hunter, the answer’s not down there.”

Erlang jolted, snapping out of his daze. He quickly averted his eyes, fighting the heat creeping up his neck. Clearing his throat, he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Ahem! That… that one year on Earth equals one day in Heaven.”

Wukong nodded, unable to suppress his laughter at the reaction.

“According to the myth, that would mean you get a Zhi Jinghua every single day.”

The demigod fell silent, almost breathless. His mind tried to reject the truth that the brown monkey’s words were shaping, but it was impossible. He shook his head slowly, stunned.

“No… It can’t be…”

“Whoever came up with such a lie deserves an award for making everyone believe it—despite seeing the truth every time you descended to Earth.” Wukong raised his arms. Though still smiling, there was a sharp seriousness in his eyes. “Time flows exactly the same in Heaven and here.”

“But… how…?”

“Either it’s always been that way, or it’s the result of some past Zhi Jinghua.”

“How did you even come up with that idea?”

Their eyes locked. Wukong tilted his head, hesitating.

“Well… I would’ve stayed ignorant forever—if it wasn't for you.”

“Huh?”

The monkey nodded and turned his gaze away.

“I thought I’d never see you again after that battle. But when you came back—again and again—and your visits grew more frequent, I realized something was off. You couldn’t have spent more than a few hours, maybe minutes, in the Celestial Court if you returned to Earth so soon. Yet you didn’t. For you, days had passed. You weren’t in a rush. I could see the passage of time in your eyes. That’s when I began to doubt.”

He looked back at the demigod, shoulders lowered, his tone softer now.

“And thanks to Mo’jie...and mostly to you, I was able to confirm it.”

Erlang stayed silent, taking a few seconds to process. He couldn’t argue. His body had always felt time equally, but his mind had clung to the illusion that it ran differently—until now. Unexpectedly, part of him felt… grateful to the monkey.

“But who could’ve said such a thing…?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was your bastard uncle,” Wukong spat, resting his chin on his hand again, watching the demigod wrestle with the truth. “Now you don’t feel so bad about lying, do you? Congratulations—you’ve just realized you’re not the only one living in a web of myths, surrounded by false faces in that Court of yours.”

Erlang frowned and glared at him, anger flashing in his eyes.

“And you think I like lying to everyone?”

Wukong hushed, propping himself up on his forearms.

“I don’t!” Erlang burst out. “It hurts every single day—seeing my best friend and not being able to tell him the truth! Not just him, but all of them! Having to become one of those ‘false faces’ you said—until every lie makes me sick to my stomach.” He shook his head and let out a deep breath. “I’m tired. Tired of lying, of hiding—especially from Nezha. He’s already got enough to bear with his father, and now… I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m afraid that if I keep this up, I’ll lose a brother.”

Though Erlang’s eyes were fixed on the void, Wukong studied his face, his posture—everything—with a flicker of regret for his earlier words. Straightening in the pond, he lowered his head, letting silence hang between them.

“I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, the demigod moved closer and sat at the edge of the pond beside him. Crossing his legs astride, Erlang fixed his gaze on the waterfall a few meters away. Pain clouded his eyes, and for long moments, he said nothing.

The monkey felt the tension in the air. His eyes flicked to the watermelon on the rock. Mo’jie, blissfully unaware, kept eating, having carved a neat hole through the fruit. Wukong sighed and leaned back against the shore, resting his arms behind him. Both stared at the pond, letting time freeze between them.

As Erlang tried to find solace in the silence, Wukong searched for a response—something to ease the weight in the air. He ran through several possibilities in his mind before settling on one.

“In trying to recruit my brothers, I’ve faced my share of dilemmas,” he began. “Some never answered, and others, those I held close, rejected me outright. Some even said fighting the Court was a lost cause. But even so, I’m still here. In moments like this, we have to remember our purpose—the reason why we do what we do. So tell me, hunter… why do you lie to that kid, Nezha?”

Erlang glanced at him from the corner of his eye and sighed.

“…Because I decided to spare your life. He hates you. He wouldn’t hesitate to—”

“Uh-huh. And why did you decide to spare me?”

The demigod froze, his mind going blank. He’d asked himself that question many times—why couldn’t he kill him? Even now, he didn’t know. He would never forget the moment he was about to behead Wukong—how his body, no, his heart, refused. It rebelled. The target was clear, the reason justified—Nezha had been left for dead. Yet Erlang couldn’t strike the final blow. He’d known it from the instant their eyes met. There was a connection he couldn’t explain, couldn’t name. His emotions tangled within him, and even silence failed to serve as an answer.

Seeing his hesitation, Wukong allowed himself a smirk and a faint, mocking laugh.

“You amuse me, hunter. All you’re doing is lying to cover your own tracks in the snow. I thought humans and yaoguai were the ones who got themselves into trouble without knowing why.”

He didn’t stop, even as the demigod avoided his gaze.

“You say you don’t know why you spared me, of course you don’t. As far as I know, it’s the first time you’ve disobeyed the Emperor. And now, you lie to everyone because you can’t bear the thought of being seen as defiant—of being cornered. Fear, just like in those I once called brothers, eats away at you.”

Erlang turned his head slightly, silent—but Wukong knew he was listening.

“Hunter, lies aren’t a mask—they’re chains. Every false word you speak will only make them heavier, until you can no longer bear the weight of what you’ve caused yourself. And there’s nothing more pathetic than a god—or in this case, a demigod—bound by his own chains.”

Wukong turned towards him.

“You want to free yourself from that weight? Then stop pretending. Tell the truth, even if it hurts the boy, even if it hurts you, even if it makes you look like a traitor in his eyes. I saw your face that day—you fought to lower your spear and kill me, but you couldn’t. You’re here, visiting me, earning my trust, opening yourself up… because you want to believe it’s the right thing to do, after a lifetime of blindly believing the Emperor’s words. And you know what? That’s the strongest act anyone can do.”

At that moment, Erlang’s eyes widened, meeting Wukong’s gaze. Both fell silent, sharing the rest through their eyes alone. The demigod felt every word pierce his heart, down to the deepest layer of his being. Even beneath his armor and robes, he felt exposed before the monkey.

This time, he noticed nothing but his face—the faint, barely visible smile, the confident posture, unafraid to speak the truth no matter how harsh it was—and his eyes, golden like sunlight glimmering on the sea at dusk; intense, with an immortal will. It was as if they reached into his heart, and Erlang felt warmth spread through him from head to toe.

He lowered his shoulders and relaxed his body, and for those few seconds they shared, Erlang felt the weight lift.

He took a deep breath and looked back at the pond.

“I can’t remember the last time I… let myself be honest. Now I see why you chose this place. It’s… purifying.”

“Well… no one besides Mo’jie and you knows about this rock.”

“Really?”

Wukong nodded.

“Mm-hmm… I’ve always felt a cold, lonely energy here. But today, right now…” He paused, shifting in his spot. His tail flicked in the water as he kicked lightly. “It feels a little warmer.”

Erlang lowered his head, embarrassed. His heart flipped, telling him what he already knew: Wukong appreciated his company. He remembered all the times he had visited—the monkey was always alone. Even now, bathing while the rest of the troop enjoyed the day on the mountain. Yet their king preferred to sit in a pond on a floating rock, miles away.

From the memories, the words, and the gestures, Erlang had no doubt that Wukong felt at peace. Once again, their eyes met, and they exchanged a quiet smile.

Soon, Wukong’s smile turned more playful. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“You look dirty and awful. I wouldn’t have trusted just anyone to bring Mo’jie here safely. Once your body gets used to cold water, it’s more refreshing than any warm spring in the Court.”

Erlang lost the air in his lungs, and his face grew hot again. Had he heard that right? The monkey… had just invited him into the water. He swallowed hard, when suddenly he remembered he didn’t have all the time in the world.

He jumped to his feet and took a step back, clearing his throat.

“No need, I’m fine… I have to get back to the Court—Nezha’s waiting for me.”

Wukong shrugged with a small laugh.

“Your loss.”

“I’m not missing anything!” Erlang shot back. “I’ll explain later!”

“Don’t forget what I told you!”

Wukong wasn’t sure if the demigod had heard that last part, as the black-haired man was already leaping off the rock, transforming into a hawk and soaring swiftly back towards the Court.

The brown monkey kept his eyes on the sky until the white speck vanished in the distance. Then he turned back around and sighed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the little marmoset at the pond’s edge and motioned for him to jump in. Mo’jie gathered his courage and leapt, landing with a small splash. Watching him float, Wukong felt a calm settle over his heart—and it wasn’t just because of the tiny monkey.

Unable to forget the look of gratitude and sincerity on the demigod’s face, Wukong decided to submerge himself once more.

 

*************************************************************

 

The hunter divisions had grown so numerous that the Court decided to gather them all under a single banner: the Imperial Hunters' Guild. Brigades typically had more than six warriors in operation, but for Nezha, working with Erlang alone was enough; he couldn’t stand being surrounded by people who cared so little.

He and Erlang were the only ones who received assignments directly from the Emperor and the highest officials of the Court, as well as the most dangerous yaoguai hunts. The rest could barely compare to them in battle—though hunters came from all regions, mountains, and continents: disciples of the Chan Sect, warriors from Mount Kunlun, and even mortals. A little bit of everything.

And as expected, the so-called Imperial Hunters’ Canteen was bustling with life—warriors preparing to depart or enjoying a good meal after a hunt. Outdoors, tables of all shapes and sizes were neatly arranged, while the surrounding food stalls boasted a culinary arsenal worthy of the finest kitchens, even though the canteen itself was located on one of the lower tiers of the Celestial Court.

The head chefs ran their stations effortlessly. The ingredients, always fresh, came from every corner of the world—but only those of the highest purity were chosen for cooking. The young cooks handled the sharpest blade work, while the veterans tended the massive ovens, seasoned dishes, and watched over the great cauldrons of soup.

Menus were handed out in abundance, each tied to a different station: vegetarian dishes, rich meals full of meat and protein, hearty and “comforting” foods, elegant ones, eccentric ones… Variety never lacked in the canteen.

Since they were about to depart on a mission commissioned by Laozi himself, Nezha thought it wise to sit in the section for energy-rich meals. Erlang had also asked him to order a fish platter. Now that he thought about it, the demigod had always preferred fish—he suspected there was more to it than simple taste. As he walked by, many interrupted their conversations and turned to look at him with admiration, while others bowed their heads, but Nezha passed them all by.

Nezha stepped up to one of the food stalls. It was like a miniature canteen within the larger one, equipped with its own stoves and giant pots. Ingredients hung from the rope ceiling, and aside from the wooden tables, the wide counter before the sizzling iron griddles was made of unpolished stone—a rustic touch Nezha appreciated amid all the Court’s polished perfection. The main oven glowed bright behind the chopping boards and grills.

Hanging over the entrance, the name of the section read:

Tiān Liè Háo Yán — “Banquet of the Brave Hunters of Heaven.”

No sooner had Nezha sat down at the counter than a pair of eyes locked onto him—and he didn’t hesitate to meet them.

“Well, if it isn’t Prince Nezha himself! I must be going blind.”

Nezha smiled faintly as he recognized the old woman on the other side of the counter.

“And if it isn’t Tú Dāo Pó in flesh… then the Court must be haunted.”

Aged in appearance but strong in stature, Tú Dāo Pó, the Mother of Knives, crossed her arms and let out a hearty laugh. Among the veteran chefs, none equaled her—except perhaps her sister, who ran another stall farther down. At her own request, Tú Dāo had long refused common pills of immortality or fruits that preserved eternal youth. As head chef, no one dared question her mastery of knife.

“The Emperor adores my dishes, and as long as that’s the case, you’ll see this old face every day in the canteen, Prince Nezha. It’s been a while! I’m glad to see you recovered.”

Tú Dāo Pó placed a hand over her chest, her face softening, and Nezha mirrored the gesture in gratitude.

“You won’t have to worry about me anymore, I promise.”

“I doubt these old bones could take another scare like the last one…” she sighed, then clapped her hands together. “So then, what can I do for you? Filling your stomach before a hunt?”

Nezha nodded.

“An important one, straight from that old sage, Laozi.”

“The Sacred Alchemist himself? He’s never asked hunters for anything…”

“Well…” The prince shrugged. “An emergency came up, and he needs me and—”

“Erlang!” Tú Dāo exclaimed. “Where’s that scoundrel?”

Nezha tilted his head, disheartened. He chose not to dig into the topic of his friend.

“He went to find dye for his hair. Anyway… do you still have the multiple-protein menu?”

“A classic among classics, Nezha… We’ve created new recipes, wouldn’t you like to try one?”

“Maybe another day, Grandma Tú Dāo… We can’t afford delays.”

The old woman sighed and shrugged.

“As you wish, son.”

Tú Dāo Pó was about to shout an order for a huge cut of meat when Nezha stood to stop her.

“Forgive me… and also one fish menu. Another classic, right?”

The cook chief fell into thoughtful silence, studying the prince from head to toe. Nezha felt examined, unable to hold her gaze for long. Fortunately, Grandma Tú Dāo turned around, and the kitchen burst into motion.

“Prepare salmon, perch, and trout! Chop the celery, season the meat—move it, everyone!”

Nezha could hardly remember the last time he’d seen the old cook in action, but it was undeniably a spectacle. She didn’t just direct the flow of the chefs—she personally handled the main dishes. Since no one else sat at the counter, the prince had a perfect view of Tú Dāo drawing a knife as large as a broadsword, the blade both thin and heavy, and slicing the massive cut of meat into perfect portions.

Soon, the smell of cooking food and spices filled the air, and the prince’s mouth watered just from taking in a gentle breath. At that moment, he realized how empty his stomach truly was, and his anticipation grew even stronger. At least he enjoyed the atmosphere of the Canteen — far removed from the elegant and delicate protocols of the rest of the Court. Even the Emperor’s imperial kitchen had nothing in common with this place.

A spark of excitement ran like tiny electric jolts through his fingers as he watched Tú Dāo and the rest of the staff carefully arrange the bowls on a much larger tray. Despite his eagerness, Nezha straightened up and glanced towards the entrance. Not even beyond the Imperial Canteen could he spot Erlang. The pressure in his chest didn’t subside, and he grumbled to himself, turning back. He knew perfectly well the demigod had gone somewhere other than his residence, and among his suspicions, Mount Huaguo flashed back into his mind…

“Come now! Since you’re the only one here, let me serve you first,” offered Tú Dāo.

Nezha blinked and pulled back just as the assistant came into view, placing a large tray before him. Resting atop it were five dishes:
The central and largest bowl held a duck stew rich with spices and star anise. To one side sat a plate of pork ribs glazed with red soy sauce and rice wine. The third dish, smaller but no less appetizing, contained fried rice noodles with shrimp, bamboo shoots, egg, ham, and peas. The fourth, the tiniest, displayed tofu carved like a lotus flower, floating in clear broth and surrounded by sliced mushrooms and vegetables. Lastly, a delicate steamed crab shell paired with grated ginger and rice wine.

It wasn’t called the “Multiple Protein Menu” for nothing. The blend of aromas filled his nose, and for a few seconds, Nezha forgot all about his friend. He grabbed the dark wooden chopsticks, ready to attack the duck dish, when he froze just inches away from touching it.

His gaze met the old woman’s — she smiled back at him expectantly. Nezha couldn’t help feeling guilty despite her permission, so he brought his hands together and bowed his head.

“I thank you for the meal, Tú Dāo Pó.”

The head cook chuckled.

“So much modesty from you — that’s not normal, Nezha. Go on.”

Without further delay, the prince licked his lips and took his first bite of duck. With each turn, he sampled from a different dish. In one bite, he tore all the meat from a rib; under his hands and teeth, the crab shell crunched. He slurped up a tangle of noodles in one pull, filling his mouth with ham and vegetables from the bowl. Every now and then, he sipped from his cup of peach infusion and kept devouring everything like a beast.

Under the astonished gazes of the cooks and attendants, Nezha seemed bottomless. He didn’t slow down, nor hesitate to snatch extra pieces of meat and vegetables from the bowls to sate his hunger. Tú Dāo studied him with pride — yet with a strange concern, as if trying to uncover the troubles the prince was hiding behind every bite.

The duck disappeared within minutes, and Nezha didn’t hesitate to continue with the ribs as his new main course. The old woman looked at her team and nodded.

“Prepare the next one.”

Instead of drawing her giant cleaver again, Tú Dāo walked around the counter and sat beside the prince. He stiffened, unwilling to acknowledge her presence.

“Nezha,” she began. “You eat too fast — even though you’ll have to wait for Erlang to arrive and finish his own plate. When one eats, their true feelings always show, no matter how much they try to hide them.”

The prince abruptly stopped slurping his noodles and looked at her as if he had seen a ghost. He turned his eyes away, feeling the weight of the conversation about to unfold. But in the end, he snorted and shook his head dismissively.

The old woman didn’t give up and smiled softly.

“What’s troubling the Third Prince so much?”

Nezha didn’t answer — instead, he went back to slurping noodles.

“Is it your father again? That man… I’ll have to invite him here myself, so my cooking can mellow that bad temper of his…”

Nezha slammed the bowl back onto the table, startling her. His cheeks were puffed with food, but he quickly chewed and swallowed to speak. Turning his head, he gave her a dim, serious look.

“Don’t assume anything about me, Chef Tú Dāo. And don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

“Son, I’ve been serving you the same menus since your first hunt. I don’t assume, I observe. And I can say with full certainty… you’re worried.”

The young prince sank into his seat and avoided her gaze again.

“It’s just…”

The old woman glanced down and noticed that, though the lotus tofu dish remained untouched, Nezha had stopped eating. From the tilt of his head and the heaviness in his eyes, she knew he was fighting himself — wanting to open up to her, but unable to. In the end, he shook his head again.

“…It’s not like we can fix it anyway.”

“Maybe not now,” the cook placed a hand on his back. “But just talking about it will ease the weight you carry.”

Nezha stayed silent for a few thoughtful seconds. In his eyes, he wanted to believe her. Maybe if he spoke, if he trusted her wisdom, he wouldn’t drown in his own suspicions. But he couldn’t tell anyone — not his father, not his absent brothers. After the banquet, he hadn’t seen Muzha again. And his best friend was at the center of his unrest.

Even if Tú Dāo was right — that after all these years, they’d shared countless meals together — the darker side of his spirit held him back. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

There was no reason to involve anyone else.

The prince smiled, grateful yet sorrowful.

“Don’t worry about me, Grandma Tú Dāo. I’ve always known how to deal with my worries.”

The old cook returned his smile, heavy-hearted. She stayed quiet and didn’t insist further.

Nezha caught the strong scent of freshly cooked fish, and behind Tú Dāo, he spotted a familiar, tardy figure. The old woman turned and greeted the newcomer running towards them with an open palm.

“Better late than never, eh, Erlang Shen? With that punctuality, you still call yourself Little Sage?”

Erlang skidded to a stop just a few feet away, panting from the long run and brushing off hawk feathers stuck to his robes. After fixing his appearance, he bowed deeply to the cook.

“My apologies for being late, it’s just that—”

“Eat first, talk later, young man. The prince already ordered for you — and just in time. Sit, Erlang.”

The demigod nodded sheepishly and sat beside Nezha without protest. The prince shot him a harsh look but, for once, didn’t say anything. Erlang received a tray with five dishes as well: three of fish, one of Mapo tofu, and lastly, cubes of chicken covered in chili.

He took his chopsticks and thanked the cooks for the meal. Without wasting time, he started with the largest dish — thinly sliced carp in spicy red sauce. Unlike the prince, he ate at a steady pace; not fast, not slow. Nezha raised a brow at the flavor.

“Since when do you like spicy food?”

Erlang covered his mouth with his hand while finishing a bite.

“We don’t see much spice in the Court… but it reminds me of my homeland on Earth. Peppers are famous there. By the way… thanks, Nezha. I owe you one.”

Nezha tapped his chopsticks against the table to align them.

“You owe me more than one.”

The demigod couldn’t argue with that and nodded silently. The two warriors ate without exchanging many words. Tú Dāo immediately sensed the tension between them, but she knew it wasn’t her place to fix the hunters’ problems. As much as she cared for them, her duty came first. The veteran stood and returned to her station, leaving them in private.

Slowly, Nezha finished the last bite of lotus tofu and placed his chopsticks down, all his dishes now empty. He looked at his companion, but Erlang seemed lost in thought. Certainly, he hadn’t gone just to fetch medicine for his headache. A lump rose in Nezha’s throat — he wanted to ask where Erlang had gone, what he was thinking, what was wrong… to ask for honesty, for once. But maybe that was asking too much. Erlang wouldn’t tell him anything.

Meanwhile, the demigod couldn’t stop thinking about his encounter with Wukong. The monkey’s words echoed endlessly in his head, making his heart tighten. He couldn’t keep building this web of lies — especially not with Nezha. He had to set aside his fear and tell the truth, no matter the cost. But he had so much to lose… that fear corroded him again from within.

He hated feeling so divided. He wanted to follow the monkey’s advice, but there was too much at stake. He didn’t have much time before Nezha discovered everything anyway. He had to plan his next move…

“…What do you think that yaoguai will be like?”

Erlang blinked out of his haze, swallowing a bite of salmon as he looked at his companion. He did catch the dull tone in Nezha’s voice.

“No matter how difficult Laozi made it sound, I know we’ll handle it. Don’t worry, I trust us.”

“Uh huh…”

Nezha turned away and said nothing more. The demigod felt that sharp pang in his stomach — a warning that things were going terribly wrong. With every passing second, the prince trusted him less, forgetting their brotherhood. He couldn’t let that happen.

Picking up his pace, Erlang finished all five dishes — fish, vegetables, and spicy tofu alike. His stomach felt perfectly full, warmth flowing through him. The strong flavor stung his tongue and numbed it slightly, but instead of discomfort, it brought a nostalgic feeling from his homeland.

With a deep sigh, he drank the last drop from his cup, wiped his hands and lips, and stood up.

“Thank you once again for the meal, veteran Tú Dāo Pó. No kitchen compares to yours.”

“You two have been awfully modest lately…” she waved dismissively.

Erlang turned to the prince.

“Thank you, Nezha. Your meal and mine are on me.”

“Uh… you didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing, really. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Cook Tú Dāo.”

“With your bellies full, success will be in your hands! Take care, boys!”

“Thanks for the meal, Tú Dāo,” said Nezha, and together with Erlang, turned and headed for the exit.

Before stepping out of the Imperial Canteen, the prince glanced back over his shoulder. Even from afar, he caught the gaze of the old cook. Her wise, gentle eyes silently wished him strength — to speak his heart to Erlang. A part of him wanted to believe it.

“Come on, Nezha,” called Erlang. “Laozi's an impatient Sage.”

Nezha turned and answered the demigod with fierce silence. Sparks almost leapt from his eyes as he strode ahead to the nearest exit from Heaven, not looking back once.

Erlang froze for a few seconds at the sight, and his moral resolve shot through the clouds. Following close behind, the two leapt and let themselves fall — descending once again to Earth.

The time to tell the truth had been reduced to that very day.

 

****************************************************************

 

“Amitabha Buddha!” cried a traveler.

“You have no idea how grateful we are!” his companion continued.

Yuniang was already growing tired of hearing laments and words of gratitude every five minutes, but for these people, there was nothing else she could do but tend to their wounds. She finished tightening the bandages on the traveler’s right arm and handed a fresh bowl of vegetable broth to his younger folk, a girl no elder than thirty years. The couple wore torn, filthy clothes; their hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and they mumbled incoherently.

“Rest as long as you need,” advised the young monk-in-training. “But I warn you—until we deal with that insect, do not leave the monastery.”

“We'll do as you say!”

“We’re lucky to find you… three days and three nights out there—it was hell!”

“You have nothing to worry about now. I’ll leave you to rest.”

Yuniang bowed her head, turned around, and left the room. As she walked down the main hall towards the exit, every door she passed whispered with groans of pain and trembling prayers. Ever since the disaster with that monster had begun, the afflicted hadn’t stopped arriving.

As a monastery devoted to serving travelers and wandering pilgrims, their duty was to care for each and every one of them. But as the days went by, Yuniang’s back had begun to ache. Each night she was awakened by the senior monks, summoned to comfort those suffering from terrible insomnia, panic attacks, and nightmares described as “too real.”

The stories were always the same—lost in the forest for days, confused by an energy unlike anything of this world, and terrified by a labyrinth conjured by a single insect. Yuniang had never left the monastery, but she trusted her fellow apprentices’ words, and they only confirmed what the travelers described.

She stopped in the middle of the courtyard and looked around. The place was eerily empty. The few monks passing by whispered among themselves before disappearing into another building. The tension in the air froze the warmth of the monastery and stiffened her muscles. With a helpless sigh, she decided to step outside and get some air.

She knew the path of cultivation wasn’t meant to be easy, yet she couldn’t help feeling more like a nurse than a monk’s apprentice. With no one around to scold her, she leaned against the left wall by the entrance and silently watched the horizon. Out here, no cries, no weeping, no debates among the masters reached her ears. In that brief moment alone, Yuniang let her shoulders drop and took a deep breath.

A sudden explosion in the distance made her lift her head. She squinted at the sky—and her eyes widened as the clouds split open to reveal two figures descending directly towards the mountain. They glowed with different lights, like falling stars about to collide.

Yuniang stepped back, tense, but awe soon replaced fear. The flashes dimmed, revealing a youth riding two wheels of fire, and a white hawk transforming midair into a handsome, black-haired man clad in silver armor and white robes.

Time seemed to freeze. Yuniang swore both men stopped midair to look straight at her. After a few seconds, the celestial warriors descended further and vanished among the lower ridges of the mountain. The apprentice nearly stumbled backward, but quickly regained her balance and bolted into the monastery.

“Heaven’s Hunters! Heaven’s Hunters!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

The nearest monks fell silent, staring at her with confusion and alarm before hurrying to meet her. The eldest of them raised his arms in a calming gesture, though he didn’t touch her.

“Calm yourself, Yuniang… breathe, and speak. What happened?”

The girl clasped her hands and bowed deeply.

“Masters, Heaven has sent hunters to aid our cause—I saw them!”

The monks froze, stunned by her words. Even the one addressing her looked speechless.

“Are you certain of this?”

“Absolutely, Master. I heard an explosion and saw them descend onto the mountain. They’ll take care of the yaoguai!”

The monks exchanged glances, their thumbs brushing over their mala beads as some whispered hopefully:

“Amitabha Buddha…”

“Let us pray for them, Yuniang. And in a few minutes, we’ll ring the bells. They will hear them. We cannot send them into a yaoguai hunt without offering our aid.”

“Yes, Master.”

Yuniang took her place beside him, and together they walked to the main temple hall to offer incense and prayers. She thought of the deities above, prayed for the hunters’ safety, their strength, and perhaps… a bit of luck.

 

*********************************************************

 

The Shadowloop Mountain could appear menacing, yet it held a strange kind of beauty. The trees—mostly massive, ancient weeping willows, twisted and heavy with foliage—blocked out nearly all sunlight. Moss and fungi carpeted the trunks, rocks, and even the grass. There were no birds singing, no deer or monkeys wandering about; instead, the forest itself seemed to speak. The trees creaked, groaned, and whispered among themselves.

Across the horizon, not a single hut or cabin could be seen—the only sign of civilization was the monastery perched high atop the mountain.

The mountain range formed a natural spiral, like a colossal snail shell when viewed from above. Legends told that at its center lay an entrance to the underworld—a labyrinth of caves inhabited by yaoguai, many with grotesque insect forms. Yet even those creatures dared not conquer Shadowloop Mountain. The deeper one ventured, the more it felt like walking in circles. Travelers who entered rarely returned, and those who did often lost their sanity.

Though a stone path ran through the forest, the mountain’s energy felt cursed. Without heightened senses, one would quickly lose their way.

In one of the few clearings near the trail, Erlang surveyed the surroundings. Silence reigned among the willows. He stepped closer to the nearest tree, running his hand along its bark—the brittle texture of the ancient wood, the fine silk of a spider’s web brushing his fingers, and the low creak that followed, as though the willow itself was complaining, all made him pause in thought.

Nezha, meanwhile, turned restlessly on his heels, eyes darting everywhere, his body tense. Finally, he joined his companion with a heavy sigh.

“Couldn’t they have given us a better lead? This mountain is endless.”

Erlang didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the tree, then swept to the vast horizon of the forest ahead. Like the prince, he looked uneasy.

“I’ve never felt energy like this before,” he said, finally turning to face Nezha. “I know it’s obvious, but—Nezha, let’s not separate. This time, we shall move together.”

Nezha met his gaze with a dark expression. The idea of staying close to him for the entire hunt didn’t thrill him. He opened his mouth to argue—but then he felt it.

A tremor shook the ground. The trees groaned, the trunks cracked, both warriors staggered, and the rumbling of something massive crawling between the willows and rocks echoed across the mountains. Then, just as suddenly, silence fell again.

Erlang nearly raised his spear, and Nezha’s hand went to the lotus at his belt—but both froze in place. After a few tense seconds without another quake, they eased slightly and exchanged looks. The prince could no longer deny that this yaoguai was dangerous.

Nezha’s expression softened, and he nodded grimly.

“We won’t split up, then…”

“The rumbling came from the west,” Erlang noted.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Erlang’s features relaxed just enough to agree. With a nod, the two hunters began their mission, heading west through the Shadowloop Mountain. Their steps carried them swiftly across the vegetation and the willows—and in the blink of an eye, the forest had swallowed them whole.

Daylight offered no guidance; the dense branches and leaves blocked every ray. The stone path was still visible, but every so often, they had to stop and search for the next patch of stones to guide themselves. Both knew that stepping off the path would be like driving a sword through their own feet.

Time became meaningless. Nezha could feel despair creeping in. As he followed Erlang, his eyes scanned every direction—but beyond the thick maze of willows, there was nothing. They climbed crags in agile leaps, slid down cliffs through heaps of leaves, crawled beneath roots as thick as pillars, and more than once had to draw their weapons to cut through the overgrowth.

Neither spoke. Their footsteps were the only sound breaking the mountain’s spectral silence. Erlang stopped often to study the trees, while Nezha focused on the ground, yet neither found anything. They no longer knew whether they were ascending or descending the spiral, and Nezha felt they were wasting time.

Descending a slope, Nezha slowed his pace, panting. Erlang was several meters ahead, leading the way, but the prince felt an overwhelming urge to stop. Every second in that place seemed to drain his spirit. Each step felt heavier, and for a while now, his feet had begun to drag. His focus wavered, dizziness creeping in; whenever he lost sight of Erlang, the forest’s horizon seemed to twist and blur. Nezha shook his head and looked down at his bare feet—

—and froze. He was walking backward.

The prince stopped, unable to resist any longer.

“Erlang!” he called, clutching his head and staggering. “Wait—”

The demigod halted and turned to find Nezha standing several meters behind him. His expression tightened, and he hurried back.

“Are you all right?”

Nezha shook his head.

“I don’t like the flow of energy here,” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “It’s disorienting… and I stopped seeing the stone path—I don’t even remember when.”

Erlang’s face paled. He turned on his heel, scanning the ground. Beneath them lay only dirt, dead leaves, and damp moss. Without realizing it, they had lost the path.

His muscles tensed, and a pressure seized his chest. He prepared to leap into the air for a better view of the forest.

“Shit...damn it! I’m going to—”

“No!”

Nezha lunged forward, grabbing Erlang’s wrist with all his strength. His hand trembled from the effort as he shut his eyes, trying to steady his mind.

“Don’t separate… because the moment you do, we’ll both be lost.”

At that moment, Erlang softened his expression and looked at him with pity. Though he found it hard to admit, Nezha was afraid of getting lost in the mountain—of being left alone. For those few seconds, both of them forgot the walls of distrust and lies that stood between them. The demigod slowly moved his wrist and instead clasped the prince’s hand firmly.

“…All right. I won’t leave.”

“Don’t you feel it too?”

Erlang tilted his head, hesitant.

“I’ll admit this mountain looks exactly the same everywhere… but I don’t feel the same confusion you do. Don’t worry, I won’t stray. We must keep moving.”

“Moving where?! We haven’t heard or seen a trace of that creature for Buddha knows how many hours, and it’s supposed to be so huge we should’ve found it by now! We’re fucking lost!”

The demigod raised his free hand, unmoved.

“Easy. Take a deep breath, focus. Don’t let this mountain drive you mad.”

Seeing the prince go quiet, eyes downcast, he took the initiative and held his other hand.

“If you can’t trust your mind, trust your senses. Close your eyes—feel the forest.”

Both Nezha and Erlang closed their eyes and sank into utter silence. Their breathing slowed, and in unison, they sharpened their senses. What had seemed like stillness unfolded into a symphony of sounds and scents Nezha had completely missed before. The smell of moss, earth, and willow trees mixed with the creak of trunks, the rustle of leaves when the trees themselves moved, and the eerie absence of any other animals—he couldn’t even hear the smallest bird sing. Yet insects abounded; ant colonies thrived in the grass, silent spiders lingered in their webs or beneath the leaves, and faint thuds of grasshoppers landing on branches could be heard—but not a single cricket dared to sing.

Amid the barely perceptible harmony of the forest, Nezha felt a current of energy coursing up his body as he sensed the invisible clash of water streaming through a silent brook. He focused harder, straining to find its source. Holding his breath and standing still, he found it.

He opened his eyes abruptly, startled, his head snapping eastward. Erlang opened his eyes too. Without a word, their gaze met in the same direction.

Nezha’s eyes gleamed with a spark of hope.

“Water.”

“Let’s follow it.”

Sharing that sudden excitement, the two hunters broke into a sprint uphill. Their footsteps over leaves and moss made no sound, nor did they stir the surrounding flora.

As they pressed onward, Nezha realized in surprise that he still hadn’t let go of Erlang’s hand.

That warmth against his cold palm softened his heart. Despite everything that had happened between them—the demigod’s lies, his deliberate secrets—Nezha could see that Erlang still watched over him, refusing to let him fall into despair. He felt the unwavering firmness in his grasp, the silent vow not to let go and to keep running together. It wasn’t just about the mission or the risk of getting lost; Nezha knew it was his friend’s devotion—his refusal to ever abandon him.

For those brief minutes, a warmth flooded his chest, opening the faintest door to the thought of reconciliation. His mind wandered to the image of Erlang confessing everything, apologizing for the web of lies. A part of him simply wanted to forgive him—to break down the walls between them. He wanted to trust his sworn brother again, to be his support and to lean on him in turn.

“Nezha, look.”

The prince blinked, shaking off his thoughts, and they both stopped. Looking down, they saw the channel of the long-sought stream—but not a single drop of water flowed through it. Nezha frowned as Erlang released his hand and crouched by the edge. The demigod ran his fingers along the dry bed, pressing into the soil.

Nezha followed the stream’s path upstream. The complete absence of water was abnormal.

“This… doesn’t make sense. We heard water.”

Erlang rubbed his fingers together and rose to give his verdict.

“The soil’s still damp. Whatever stopped the flow—it happened about a week ago.”

“A week!?”

“The mountain’s naturally moist, so it’s hard to say for sure. But this isn’t a matter of hours, or even days.”

Nezha stayed silent for a few seconds. At last, he pointed upstream.

“Then we keep going. If we heard water, the blockage can’t be far.”

“Agree.”

They exchanged a brief look of acknowledgment and continued onward, faster this time. Both shared the same gut feeling—that every step brought them closer to whoever was behind it. The sound of water grew louder; Erlang leaned forward, his right hand summoning his three-pointed spear without breaking stride, while Nezha leapt onto his flaming wheels, gliding at full speed. The lotus on his belt morphed into a golden-bladed spear.

They jumped the last ledge that separated them from the truth, landing in unison and pointing their weapons towards the threat. But both froze in disbelief when they saw that what blocked the stream—now spilling over the edges—was the enormous body of a centipede.

Sharp legs, a grayish exoskeleton—its length was impossible to measure. The hunters turned their heads left and right, and in both directions, the creature’s body vanished into the distance.

Nezha lowered his spear, bewildered.

“What the fuck…?”

He stepped closer to the yaoguai and tapped its shell with his spear’s tip. The blade couldn’t pierce it—it was as hard as celestial iron. Erlang, cautious, approached as well.

“They weren’t exaggerating about its size… how long do you think it is?”

“I can’t even see its head. Let’s follow its legs and finish this—I’m getting sick just looking at it.”

“Wait. There’s something we should do first.”

“What? Oh no… no, Erlang. Don’t you dare.”

“If we let the stream overflow, it’ll cause trouble for the mountain.”

“It’s just a shitty stream! No one even comes through this damned forest—and now I see why! Let’s not waste time, come on!”

But Erlang didn’t move. Nezha stared at him in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“Nezha, you know we don’t hunt monsters just for sport. We do it to preserve—”

“Don’t start giving me moral lessons, Erlang!” Nezha snapped. “We don’t owe this mountain anything, and—”

“It’s not about owing—it’s about upholding our code,” Erlang countered, without even raising his voice. “Not the hunters’ code, but as… beings of the Earth itself.”

Nezha tilted his head, puzzled. Once again, spontaneous acts of nobility emerged from his friend without explanation, when he clearly remembered how months ago, Erlang cared for nothing but slaying demons.

“I stopped being human long ago, and you were born a demigod. What you’re saying makes no sense.”

“It’s just letting the river flow again. I’m not asking you to kill a hundred demons.”

The prince went silent for several long seconds. His eyes darted around, unsure, but finally he sighed in defeat and raised his spear. He lifted it over his head and brought it down on the centipede with all his might. The blade bounced off the shell, making him stagger from the force of the vibration running up his arms.

“Ughh…”

Erlang couldn’t help but smile at the sight and dismissed his spear into thin air. He jumped to the other side of the insect’s body, his boots splashing in the water pooled there.

“There’s another way. Come, help me.”

Nezha shook his head. He turned his spear back into the lotus and wiped a hand down his face. Also, leapt down from his wheels.

“You’re unsufferable…”

“Quit complaining and lift!”

The two positioned themselves in front of the centipede. Erlang crouched and unflinchingly grabbed its body from underneath. Nezha, on the other hand, hesitated for several seconds before even touching the disgusting creature. Its twitching legs and quivering abdomen made it the last thing he wanted to put his hands on—but in the end, he did. Together, they began to lift.

The centipede’s weight was like a whole mountain, and though both shared immense strength, they could barely raise that section of its body a few inches. Their muscles tensed, straining with all their might. Neither could believe a yaoguai could be so heavy—but neither would give up now. They kept pushing with everything they had.

“There!—” Erlang shouted.

The moment they lifted it high enough for the water to pass beneath their ankles, the current did the rest. The stream flowed freely again, soaking Nezha’s feet, but they held on for a few more seconds. The prince’s arms trembled, his breath locked in his chest to keep from dropping it. Erlang gritted his teeth, his arms rigid from tension, but the water was already leveling out behind them.

“How much longer?!”

“Hold on—almost—wait, what the...?!”

Both froze in horror when the centipede’s body twitched, its legs flailing wildly in the air, searching for footing. They were both scratched and jabbed, and as they felt themselves being dragged by the moving creature, Erlang snapped back to alertness.

“Nezha, let go!”

The prince didn’t need to be told twice. Before stumbling, he released the creature’s body at the same time Erlang did, and they both fell backward. The centipede hit the ground with a splash of mud and water, shaking the earth, then regained balance and continued crawling forward.

The two watched in astonishment as it moved on, burrowing through the ground while the willows groaned and cracked in unison throughout the mountain. Nezha got up, brushing dirt and water off his pants and waist armor, then leapt over the centipede to face his friend, who stood there tense with frustration.

“Well, now that you’ve done your noble and completely useless deed for the day… can we focus on the real problem?”

Erlang met his glare in powerless silence. His once-white robes were soaked and stained—but that was the least of his concerns. He exhaled heavily, then rose to his feet, nodding. He looked to the direction the centipede’s legs pointed.

“…Let’s follow them.”

And without waiting for an answer, Erlang broke into a run beside the centipede. Nezha reacted and followed closely, but he sensed there was something he had missed.

Through all the distance they covered in the forest, following the long body of the centipede, neither dared to say a word. But the minutes went by endlessly… and all they saw ahead was the creature’s infinite length, twisting from side to side, weaving through willows, climbing rocks and descending slopes. Soon, both friends stopped running and continued on foot.

Nezha turned his gaze towards the creature’s body. Its armor repeated the same endless pattern, and its legs remained rigid against the earth; just looking at it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He decided not to study it any further and instead focused on Erlang’s back. He noticed the specks of dirt and water stains on his clothes, and his shoulders—tense. Suddenly, the anger from the stream incident vanished.

Both Erlang and Nezha shared a silent feeling: they were tired of fighting. The demigod was exhausted from hiding the truth—it was another weight on his heart. Not being able to trust his friend drained him. And on the other hand, Nezha longed to return to the brotherhood he remembered, where nothing was hidden, where they could rely on one another, and above all, where trust ruled every word and action.

They sank into their own thoughts.

Erlang couldn’t stop thinking—about everything. From his first encounter with the monkey to that very walk. He remembered how, months before the battle, he never bothered to think beyond the mission. But now, after seeing the world from another perspective—the one Wukong showed him—after understanding his struggle and all that he fought to protect—his family, his home, the land he lived on… now he found himself worrying over a mere uninhabited stream.

And again, his mind landed on the memory of that same morning: Tell the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

Each day he extended his lie was another wound, not only for himself but for Nezha as well. The last thing he wanted was to lose his friend, and yet he knew that was exactly what would happen if he didn’t confess. All his conflict came down to one word: confess.

Nezha feared losing his friend forever, since he truly had no one else to rely on. The pressure in his head and chest told him he couldn’t keep hiding in the shadows of mistrust. He wanted to understand him, to grasp his new patterns, but above all, he wanted to be someone the demigod could trust—someone worthy of hearing the truth he deserved.

Amid the icy silence that ruled between them, the prince dared to take the first step. He took a deep breath and, without stopping, fought to swallow the knot in his throat.

“Erlang…” he began, clearing his voice to silence the tremor. “You know what I know. All these days trying to ignore it or hide it at all costs, but more than anyone in the Court, I know how to read you. You can’t deny that ever since you killed that monkey… you’ve been lying to me.”

The demigod also released a deep breath, lowering his shoulders, still walking.

“Nezha…” he began in turn. “I’m aware every single day that you’ve suspected me, and seen me lie to you. I’ve hidden too much, and it’s come to a point where… I can’t bear the weight on my heart anymore.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve with everything you say and pretend to everyone in the Court. But I only know one thing, you’re going to lose. That crap about the pill you told me, that it was for an emergency? Heh…” Nezha let out a bitter scoff. “I can’t believe I was naïve enough to buy such bullshit. And it was all thanks to that old man. You don’t just lie to me, you lie to the entire Court. Since then… I stopped believing anything you say.”

“No one knows better than me how much it hurts you that I did. And I don’t blame you. Dressing the truth in mundane lies… it goes against my own morals. It hurts me too, every second of every day. I want to trust you, Nezha. You understand what it’s like to live caged, and now more than ever, I share that feeling.”

“But I want to believe that my friend is still there, somewhere. After all the years we’ve lived and hunted together—why now? Why lie? The most logic thing would be to distrust you and walk away, but a part of me… wants to believe you’re doing this for a reason far greater than yourself.”

“I caused something far greater than us, even greater than the Court. Fear consumes me, and it keeps me from trusting—even you. And that’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made. From the sincerest, deepest part of my heart, I’m sorry, Nezha.”

“Don’t think I forgive lies so easily, especially not from people I care about… especially you. But I choose to believe that whatever the reason, the Erlang I’ve always known is still there. I don’t want to lose the only one, in that Court of hypocrites, who’s been by my side through everything.”

“…Because I don’t want to lose my only friend.”

“So please…” Nezha lowered his head to take a breath, and despite the heavy beating of his heart, despite Erlang being silent, he was brave. “Trust me, and tell me the truth. Tell me what’s happening to you. Let yourself be honest, for once… and I’ll try to understand.”

Erlang went silent for a few seconds, as if his mind refused to go on; even he didn't hear Nezha say a thing. But he gathered every bit of courage he had—ignoring the tremor in his voice, in his hands, the pounding in his chest—and took the deepest breath he could.

“Nezha… there’s something I need to tell you.”

By the time the bells at the temple rang, Erlang turned around, and Nezha lifted his head. But their souls dropped to the ground.

What the prince had in front of him was nothing but a tangled knot of the centipede’s body. Its length stretched in both directions, and when he turned around, Nezha paled in horror—he didn’t recognize where he was anymore.

Meanwhile, the demigod froze upon realizing Nezha was no longer with him. He spun around, heart in his throat, but all he saw were colorless willows, ready to crumble from age, and the centipede’s body twisting upon itself. The creature blocked his way in every direction except the one he’d already taken.

The greenish glow of the forest was gone—darkness had seeped in. Daylight was fading.

Though separated, both hunters were struck by an indescribable panic. Nezha began to hyperventilate, and Erlang ran in the direction he thought he’d come from, shouting his friend’s name. But the mountain swallowed his screams.

Neither knew where they were anymore—nor when they had separated, nor when the hallucinations began.

Erlang and Nezha had been devoured by the Shadowloop Mountain, trapped within the centipede’s labyrinth.