Chapter 425: What If… the World Doesn't Need You?

That thought Debris hasn't fully dispersed.

Shi Hou's tear beads hung on his chin, his mouth still holding that mad grin.

A crimson‑gold speck of light pulsed once deep in his chest, then again.

Each pulse poured scorching warmth into his limbs and bones.

Then—

The vision appeared.

He didn't look at it of his own accord.

Something seized the gap the light created and forced itself into his skull.

Like a bucket of ice water poured over his head.

The vision showed a street.

Lanterns and streamers were strung, red silk hung from both eaves.

The suona blared thunderously, and firecracker debris littered the ground.

An eight‑pole grand sedan chair stood at the alley entrance.

A woman in a bright red wedding dress stepped out of the doorway.

Her veil didn't hide her face.

She smiled with curved eyebrows and eyes, two pink flakes fluttered on her cheeks, so happy as if nothing in the world could ever sadden her.

Shi Hou didn't recognize her.

He was sure he had never seen that face before.

Yet his whole body was frozen in place like struck by lightning.

Something in his chest was wildly pounding his ribs.

A name was stuck at his throat.

Two characters.

He could feel the shape of those two characters pressing against the base of his tongue, like a red‑hot iron ball lodged there.

He couldn't spit it out.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't expel it.

In the vision, the woman turned her head and took hold of a man's arm beside her.

The man wore a groom's robe, his features blurred, his appearance indistinct.

But in her gaze toward him was full of dependence and joy.

No hesitation.

No regret.

Not even a trace of anything about "monkey".

Shi Hou's nails dug into his palm.

The vision switched.

Mount Huaguo.

Not the fake one beneath his feet.

He couldn't tell the difference, but his bones discerned—it was real.

The peach trees had withered more than half.

The ones that hadn't withered were also wilted, with a few sparse fruits hanging.

The waterfall in Water Curtain Cave had thinned to a white line, weakly flowing down.

The monkey troupe was still there.

But they were all old.

Hunched, with gray‑white fur, they walked tremblingly, as if a gust could topple them.

An almost hairless old monkey sat on the big stone at the cave entrance, squinting in the sun.

A younger monkey shuffled over, tilting its head to ask.

"Grandpa, I heard the spirits beyond the mountain say there used to be a Great King on Mount Huaguo, is that true?"

The old monkey's cloudy eyes rolled.

Its withered mouth stretched, chuckling twice.

"What Great King?"

"The old man lived eight hundred years; Mount Huaguo never had any Great King."

"You must have misheard the story."

Shi Hou's heart was seized by an unseen hand.

The grip left him breathless.

He wanted to rush in.

He wanted to tear his throat and shout at them—"I'm here! I'm your Great King!"

But the vision was sealed.

He could only watch.

He could only watch, eyes wide, as that group of monkeys whose faces he couldn't recall, yet made his innards ache… lived well.

Even better than when he was there…

No Heavenly Soldiers came to besiege.

No monsters came for vengeance.

No reckless thing dares to disturb even a blade of grass on Mount Huaguo.

Because—

There has never been that reckless monkey who stormed the Heavenly Palace and ripped a huge hole in Heaven.

The scene changed again.

Three Realms.

Panorama.

The heavenly court's palaces shone gold and jade, celestials came and went in orderly fashion.

The mortal realm's market bustled, vendors' cries rose and fell.

Ling Shan's bell tolled long and far, monks queued to chant sutras.

Peaceful.

Tranquil.

Orderly.

In a teahouse, the storyteller slapped the sounding board.

"Today I'll tell a tale from five hundred years ago—"

The tea patron beside him didn't even lift his head, waving a hand to cut him off.

"Oh come on, Old Zhang, what Great Sage Equal to Heaven? You've told that eight hundred times. How could a monkey storm the Heavenly Palace? Change it! Tell us about the Wang family next door!"

The storyteller gave an embarrassed smile and closed his prompt book.

The characters on the cover were clear to the stone monkey: "Journey to the West: Deliverance from Calamity."

Covered in dust.

The edges were curled up, as if no one had opened it for ages.

The entire Three Realms.

Every inch of land.

Every corner.

No one remembered Sun Wukong.

The heavenly palaces he shattered in his rampage were rebuilt even more splendidly than before.

The demon lairs he slew on his pilgrimage sprouted new wild grass.

All evidence of his existence—name, deeds, karma—was pulled away thread by thread, like unstitching the fabric of this world until it was clean.

The stone monkey plopped down on the ground.

His two eyes stared wide like copper bells, filled only with bewilderment.

The scene faded.

But that icy chill had already poured from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

He was not needed.

He had never been needed.

Yao… whoever she was, she lived happier without him.

Mount Huaguo was more peaceful without him.

The Three Realms ran more smoothly without him.

His existence—like an extra stone jammed into a perfectly running machine.

The result of jamming it in was only one thing.

It broke the gears.

A voice sounded in his mind.

It was not the previous kind of violent, hysterical roar.

It was an extremely calm voice.

So calm it made one's spine chill.

Like a teacher patiently and gently explaining a math problem to a student, utterly 'reasoning'.

"You saw it."

"Your existence is the root of all suffering."

"You stormed the Heavenly Palace—Mount Huaguo suffered collateral damage. You went on the pilgrimage—countless demons died because of you. You resisted—the whole universe was dragged into war."

"If… you had never existed."

"Wouldn't everything be better then?"

The stone monkey's hands trembled.

Not from anger.

But because he had raked through his empty skull and found no words to rebut.

Those scenes were too clear.

Those karmic ties made too much sense.

So clear it was like a rope strangling all his struggles, all his unwillingness, and all memories not yet surfaced, tight around his gut.

He lowered his head, staring at his own furry hands.

Withered.

Weak.

He couldn't even lift a stone.

These hands stormed the Heavenly Palace?

What person have these hands saved?

Do they believe?

Deep within the chest, that just‑lit crimson‑gold light point seemed as if someone had poured a ladle of cold water onto it.

The light quivered.

It dimmed a bit more.

The stone monkey opened its mouth.

It wanted to say something.

But its throat was empty, not even a single syllable could be forced out.

They just sat there in the mud, like a rain‑soaked Yě hóuzi.

And that calm voice gave no urging, no pressure.

It simply waited quietly.

Waiting for that light, it would extinguish itself.