Chapter 423: That speck of light…… it

The heat of the two lines of tears that had struck the top of his foot had not yet dissipated.

The aura from the 'Wu' character carved into the stone wall had already seeped into his marrow.

Icy.

Bone-piercing ice.

Not the lukewarm, sickening 'warmth' of this Fake Mountain.

It was a sharp, vivid, blade‑like chill.

Shihou's fur stood on end, his whole back arched like a bowstring.

He hadn't even had time to react—

A flash of white light exploded in his skull.

Violent.

Irrational.

Like a sun exploding directly inside the crown of his head.

There was no image in the white light.

He could see nothing.

But there was sound.

A dry, withered, monotonous voice—boring enough to make one sleepy—like chanting sutras, began to drawl slowly.

"The mind is like a monkey, the will like a horse; one must know how to restrain and release them at will."

"The character 'Wu' lies in forgetting the self, not forgetting the world…"

Just these two lines.

It broke before he could even finish a full breath.

It was as brief as a hallucination.

Shihou's entire body was nailed to the spot.

His legs went weak.

His two hands unconsciously gripped the stone wall before him.

His nails dug into the cracks in the stone, scraping out a piercing sound.

He was trembling.

The tremors ran from the base of his tail up to the top of his head.

It wasn't fear.

It was that a great bell deep in the depths of his Línghún had been struck.

The booming reverberations rolled through his five viscera and six bowels.

It rolled over and over again.

It made his whole body's bones buzz.

That voice—the dry, withered, voice uttering nonsensical words—

He had heard it before.

He had definitely heard it before.

Not just once or twice, but countless times.

So much that the voice itself had been etched into his bones, becoming part of his breath.

But he couldn't recall it.

The black box in his mind was rattled by the impact, yet it stubbornly refused to open.

Shihou's knees gave way, and he knelt before the stone wall.

His forehead struck the rough rock with a dull thud.

It left a patch of red.

He couldn't remember anything.

But one thing was dragged up from the depths by those two lines.

A shadow.

A shadow blurred down to mere outline.

A room.

It was tiny.

The walls were mottled.

A table.

It was dilapidated.

There were tea stains on the tabletop.

A person sat behind the table.

He wore a washed‑white Daoist robe.

His cuffs were patched with two pieces of cloth.

The person held a cup of tea.

Shihou strained to see that cup of tea.

What color was it?

How hot was it?

What shape was the cup?

Nothing can be seen clearly.

That person's face doesn't even need to be mentioned.

All five senses were completely covered by a fog, as if dead.

It's as if something in his brain is desperately covering that face, not letting him see.

The shadow dispersed.

He didn't even stay an extra second.

Aoo—

The stone monkey let out a cry that was neither a monkey's call nor a human's howl.

His right fist slammed hard into the stone wall.

His knuckles burst.

Fresh blood smeared one hand.

He switched to his left hand without a care and kept pounding.

After pounding, he switched back to his right hand.

Two fingernails broke off, and all ten fingers were bloody holes.

Then he began to frantically dig at the scratch of the character 'enlightenment' with his fingers.

He dug until the flesh flipped out, until the bone showed white.

He wanted to dig out more from inside.

Even half a character more would do.

Even one more sound would do.

But the scratch is just a scratch.

The cold stone wouldn't give him a second boon.

The stone monkey lay on the stone wall, breathing heavily like a bellows.

Blood dripped from both hands, pooling into a small patch of dark red mud in the dirt beneath his feet.

He knew who the person in that shadow was.

Not 'know'.

It was every hair, every bone, every drop of blood in his body answering for him.

That person is very important.

More important than his life.

Ten thousand times more important than this fucked-up world.

But he couldn't even recall that person's name.

The sun darkened again.

This time it darkened more noticeably than all previous cycles.

The stone monkey trudged out of the deep part of the Water Curtain Cave with his blood-soaked hands.

Sunlight hit his face, turning pale and cold, as if behind a layer of gauze.

He instinctively glanced at the area where the monkeys gathered.

Then he stopped.

Three monkeys remained motionless.

One was frozen in the pose of reaching to pluck a peach.

Another kept the motion of scratching its cheek.

The third had its mouth open, as if calling, but no sound came out.

A living 3D screenshot.

Even its chest didn't rise and fall.

Other monkeys jumped around them, walking around, as if avoiding an ordinary stone.

Not a single one gave them even a half-glance.

This prison is collapsing.

The sun is dark.

The set is shutting down piece by piece.

He doesn't have much time left.

The stone monkey crouched on the ground, his bloodied hands clasped over his head.

Run out?

Can't run out.

Last time he jumped up to Heaven, he could see clearly—outside was nothing but void.

Smash?

This broken place can't even smash a single blade of grass.

Die?

Even suicide is forbidden.

What did the voice in that scratch say again?

The character 'enlightenment' lies in forgetting the self, not the world.

Forget the self.

Not forgetting this world.

He forgot "I".

The answer is not outside.

It is inside.

Stone Monkey slowly loosened the hands holding his head.

He crossed his legs.

He sat on the stone at the Water Curtain Cave's entrance, worn smooth by his polishing.

He did not know what sitting meditation, Zen contemplation, or entering samadhi were.

He simply closed his eyes.

All the world's sounds vanished in an instant.

Bird calls were gone.

Water sounds were gone.

The monkeys' playful noises were gone.

Even the warmth emanating from the dimming false sun was no longer felt.

Nothing remained.

A deathly silence wrapped him tightly.

Then he heard a sound.

Thud.

Low and deep.

Powerful.

It came from deep within his own chest.

Thud.

Another.

Thud.

Heartbeat.

Each beat made his ribs ache.

Rough.

Domineering.

It carried a violent vitality that clashed with this lethargic world.

That heartbeat did not sound like a monkey's heart beating.

It was more like a war drum being beaten.

Stone Monkey followed that sound inward in the darkness.

Not with his eyes.

It was using a feeling he could not describe to probe deep into his own body.

Through skin and flesh.

Through bone.

Through the viscera.

All the way to the very center of his chest.

He saw.

A tiny point of light.

Like a spark buried under ten thousand tons of earth.

So dim it was almost nonexistent.

Yet it was shining.

It shone stubbornly, unwillingly, gritting its teeth.

The color of that light—

Crimson-gold.

Stone Monkey's breath stopped.

He had stayed in this prison for an unknown number of cycles.

The sky was blue.

The water was white.

The peaches were red.

The leaves were green.

Crimson-gold had never appeared before.

This color did not belong to this false world.

It was his own.

Stone Monkey's consciousness unconsciously reached out a hand.

He wanted to touch it.

He wanted to touch that tiny spark about to go out.

His finger was still an inch away from that point of light—

Heaven collapsed, earth split.

The entire Mount Huaguo seemed to have been kicked hard from below.

The ground cracked.

The peach tree broke at its waist.

The waterfall's stream broke into Debris, hanging in midair.

The troop of monkeys let out a harsh scream, over three hundred monkeys opening their mouths simultaneously, showing identical expressions.

Heaven burst open with fissures.

Behind the fissure was not Heaven, but a chillingly pure white.

Then— a voice crashed down from Heaven.

"Don't touch!"

Two words.

Carrying a rage twisted into madness.

The force of that voice pierced the stone monkey's skull, ripping his consciousness from deep within his chest and violently flinging it back.

The stone monkey let out a Cànjiào, his eyes snapping open.

Fresh blood gushed simultaneously from his eyes, nostrils, ears, and mouth.

His body rolled off the stone.

He crashed heavily onto the ground.

His limbs convulsed.

Every bone in his body creaked.

Pain.

Pain that blackened his vision.

But his mouth corner—

slowly stretched into a grin.

Revealing a tooth stained red with blood.

That Smile was so insane it made one's heart shiver.

The stone monkey lay in the pool of blood, staring at the healing fissure in Heaven, and with a hoarse voice said a single sentence.

"Afraid?"

He laughed, his whole body trembling.

Blood spurted from his mouth corner, and he didn't wipe it away.

"You... are afraid."

The more afraid.

The more it showed that the crimson‑golden speck was my way out.

The Heaven above his head completely sealed.

The fissure vanished.

Everything returned to how it was.

The troop of monkeys resumed their cyclical play.

But the stone monkey noticed a detail.

That False Sun— dimmed further.

And in the distant troop of monkeys, seven more motionless 'statues' appeared.