Chapter 395: Heart of Iron and Stone

Your master is being slowly worn to death by your hesitation every second.

After that voice faded, Sun Wukong stood for a long time, motionless.

Then he did something.

He sealed all six senses completely.

Eye, shut.

Ear, shut.

Even his divine sense was drawn in, shrinking to a point, locked tight onto the foundation of his own Dao Heart, going nowhere.

It wasn't because he feared death.

It was because he feared that if he glanced again, he couldn't keep standing here.

Those voices were too clear.

Those worlds that were dying out were too close to him.

So close that if he relaxed his perception even a little, those despairs would surge over him like waves, pressing him down so he could never rise again.

So he shut them.

All shut.

He sealed himself into a stone statue.

The Tiěbàng lay across his hand, his fingers clenched one by one, the skin over his knuckles turned deathly white, blood could barely be forced in.

Yao stood at his rear side, seeing him like that, her chest felt as if something gripped it, she couldn't catch her breath.

She did not step forward.

She dared not.

That icy aura emanating from Sun Wukong was too heavy.

It wasn't killing intent; it was worse than killing intent—a heaviness so repressed it was about to explode, a deathly silence weight.

It was as if his whole body were nailed to the spot, unable to move, yet inside he was struggling with all his might.

Yao gripped her own hand, nails digging into her palm, just to keep herself from going limp.

But even with his perceptions sealed, what could that do?

The resonance of the Way of the Equal Heaven cannot be severed.

That is part of his Dao, not the six senses, not the ears, but something directly welded onto the Primordial Source of the Great Dao.

Each world's 'Heart-Dead', each civilization's extinction—those pains and despairs would bypass all his defenses and drive straight into his Great Dao.

It wasn't a single needle.

It was countless needles, one after another, never stopping.

Sun Wukong's Great Dao Light was visibly dropping.

That originally gold‑black intertwined chaos light was now being pulled outward bit by bit, its edges fading, turning gray, sinking.

Yao saw it.

She had to speak.

"Wukong."

She stepped half a step closer.

Just that half step, Sun Wukong seemed to have eyes on his back, a low growl slammed over.

"Don't come over."

Those two words were hoarse.

So hoarse it didn't sound like his usual voice, as if his throat had been scraped by something, ragged, but the strength within was real, pressing down heavily.

Yao's steps froze.

She looked at his back, at the hands gripping the Tiěbàng, knuckles whitened to a bluish tint, the patterns on the rod's shaft almost dented from his grip.

She thought, that rod could barely hold up.

It wasn't that the rod wasn't hard enough; it was the wielder's force that was too fierce, a force driving himself to death.

"Save one, die ten thousand."

Sun Wukong's voice leaked from between his teeth, low, hoarse, like muttering yet not quite.

Like a person chewing the same words over and over, until they lost flavor yet still couldn't let go.

"Save ten thousand, and the master is gone."

He paused.

"This deal… isn't worth it."

"It isn't worth it."

He repeated those two words, his tone a bit drifting, a bit empty, as if he had sunk into them.

Hearing that, Yao's eye sockets instantly heated.

She wanted to say something, but her throat was blocked, not a single word could come out.

Sun Wukong said nothing more.

He stared fixedly at that door.

The door was still there, the gray decay on the golden divine chain spreading bit by bit, that crack as fine as a hair still breathing,

opening and closing, as if something behind the door were testing the air with a sniff.

He fixed his gaze on the crack.

Intently, he wished he could use his eyes to plug that gap.

He was forcing himself.

He forced himself to become stone, to become iron, to become something without a heart.

He told himself, for Master, he could not move.

He could not go to save those worlds that were dying.

He could not, could not, could not.

Master still held on behind the door, that Dao Heart still beating, relying on this last breath to sustain him, sustaining his entirety.

If he left, that breath would break.

A disciple's final act for Master was to stay here, to go nowhere.

This was the only "correct" thing he could think of.

So he placed the entire Universe opposite this "correct" thing.

He stood.

The Way of the Equal Heaven again transmitted a violent tremor; somewhere, the last trace of vitality of another world extinguished.

That tremor drove into his Great Dao foundation, pain making the veins on the back of his hand bulge, but he made no sound.

He merely gripped the Tiěbàng a little tighter.

Tight enough that his hand bones emitted an extremely light, fine sound.

Yao heard it, her chest plummeting, she quickly walked to his front side, looked up at his face.

His face was covered in bloodshot.

The whites of his eyes were all red, the Chaos Realm twin pupils turning extremely slowly, like two vortices about to stop turning, sluggish and heavy.

But his eyes never left that door.

Not even a second.

Yao looked at him for a while, said nothing.

Then she slowly turned around, walked back to the edge of the door, and pressed the Illusory Dream power again onto that crack,

Light and thin, trying not to take up much of his attention, just guarding like that.

Silence.

Deathly silence.

The Way of the Equal Heaven's tremor came one after another.

Sun Wukong's Great Dao light dimmed another fraction.

Just then, that cold voice appeared again.

From the void, from every direction, it drilled into his Divine Soul.

"Sun Wukong."

"Do you feel it now?"

"Your Great Dao is dying."

"It wasn't me who killed it."

"You chose it yourself."

That voice carried a nauseating, calm appreciation.

"For each world that extinguishes, you lose a fraction."

"How many can you hold?"

Sun Wukong did not answer.

He merely closed his eyes, opened them again, tightened his grip on the staff, and continued staring at that door.

But that voice did not stop.

"You think you're protecting him."

"But do you know, he can feel it."

"He feels every life you abandoned, every wail, passing through his Dao Heart, coming in, then going out."

"He knows better than you what you are sacrificing for him."

"Do you think… he would be happy?"

Sun Wukong's hand twitched violently.

Just that.

Then he locked it down firmly.

But that voice had already gotten what it wanted, carrying a faint, pleased tone, and dissipated.

In the whole Wanshen Fenchang, only deathly silence remained.

And the crack on the door, as fine as a thread, opening and closing.

Yao stared dead at that crack, palms sweaty, lips pressed into a line.

She did not turn back to look at Sun Wukong.

Because she knows, if she turns back now, she will burst into tears.

Silence pressed down again, heavier than before.

In that silence, Sun Wukong suddenly spoke.

His voice was neither high nor low, extraordinarily flat.

"Yao."

"Mm."

"I want to tell you something."

Yao's hand paused slightly.

"You say."

Sun Wukong paused, the two Chaos Realm vortices slowly turning, turning and turning, they gave rise to an icy clarity that made Yao's back go cold.

"In this match, I seem to have miscalculated a step."