Chapter 442: Fists are used to protect that cup of tea

The light scattered.

The last speck of light from the Study flickered out like a candle snuffed by wind, vanishing completely in the blink of an eye.

Sun Wukong's consciousness suddenly sank downward.

Like falling from midair into an ice cellar.

Real sensation surged back in an instant.

It hurt.

The scar on his chest, the one that had been "deleted," throbbed as if being pulled.

Cold.

The surrounding void bored into the bone's crevices like ice shards.

There was also an indescribable nausea, as if his whole body were soaked in a vat of stinking ink.

He knew where this was.

The "stomach" of the Original Mistake.

He hadn't gotten out yet.

But the moment he opened his eyes, he knew everything had changed.

His eyes were no longer the earlier chaotic vortex of mixed gray, black, and gold.

Now they were pure crimson-gold.

Clean and clear.

Bright as two tiny suns hanging in his eye sockets.

Not glaring.

But looking at them made it impossible to look away.

Sun Wukong lowered his head to look at his own body.

He froze.

The linked golden armor that had been "deleted" was back.

But it wasn't the same as before.

That armor had been too flashy, glittering with gold, as if wanting to tell the whole universe, "I'm rich."

Now this one…

This is… a Dao robe?

Sun Wukong blinked, then looked again carefully.

Correct.

It is a Dao robe.

A set of battle armor shaped like a Dao robe, woven thread by thread from crimson-gold light as warp and weft.

Its style was exactly the same as his Master's old Dao robe.

The color washed out to a pale whiteness.

The cuffs were covered in patches.

Even the burn‑torn holes at the hem were faithfully reproduced.

The only difference was the material.

This wasn't cloth.

It was a solid form condensed from pure 【No Regret Dao Rhythm】.

Every thread flowed with the stubborn spirit of "no regrets even if defeated."

Sun Wukong stared at the patch on his sleeve for three seconds.

Then he laughed.

It was a heartfelt, unburdened laugh.

He tugged at his sleeve and muttered.

"Master's taste… is still this awful."

His voice wasn't loud.

But in this deathly silent void, it was crystal clear.

He raised his hand.

Something condensed in his palm.

It wasn't the Golden Cudgel.

Nor was it Chaos Dao Iron.

It was a… tree branch.

An ordinary branch, still with a few green leaves.

Just the kind his Master had casually snapped off from the yard when he was learning staff techniques at Fangcun Mountain.

Sun Wukong gripped it, the feel familiar to the point of agony.

Light.

Rough.

The leaves still prickled.

But the power contained in this "tree branch" was enough to shred the void before him a hundred times over.

He knew.

He gripped the branch and slowly turned in the empty space that held nothing.

He "saw" it.

The "stomach" of the Original Mistake was still turning.

The rules used to "digest" all existence were still flowing.

Black, gray, and transparent.

Like countless poisonous snakes wandering in the void.

But they no longer dared to approach him.

Not that they didn't want to.

But they dared not.

Because they sensed it.

The being before him was no longer the same as the monkey who had relied on brute force, been toyed with, and spun around.

Sun Wukong did not take the initiative to attack.

He merely stood there.

His breathing was steady.

His heartbeat was calm.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

With each heartbeat, the 【No Regret Monkey Heart】 on his chest lit up once.

With each breath, the surrounding void retreated a fraction.

It was not compressed by his power.

But before the weight of his "existence," the void itself actively yielded.

Like water hitting red-hot iron.

There was no time to dodge.

A voice sounded.

It carried terror.

It carried bewilderment.

It also carried a hint… of fear.

"You…"

"Changed."

That was the voice of the Original Mistake.

It, in the deepest part of this void, stared at Sun Wukong.

"Are you no longer angry?"

"No longer hateful?"

"What about your Chaos Dao? What about your killing intent?"

"You… what are you relying on to stand here?"

Sun Wukong did not answer immediately.

He raised the branch in his hand.

He casually drew a line in the void.

Just one line.

Light and airy.

Like a child drawing on the ground with a branch.

But at the moment that stroke passed,

the void shattered.

It was not smashed apart.

It was like a sheet of paper sliced open by a small knife, cleanly splitting into two halves.

Behind the crack, "reality" appeared.

That was another space.

A space not belonging here.

It was like a key slicing open a fake door painted on a wall.

Sun Wukong stared at that crack and nodded.

"It's done."

He walked forward.

One step.

Two steps.

The void beneath his feet solidified into ground the instant his sole landed.

It was not him forcibly shaping it with power.

It was the void itself, fearing to be scattered by his step, hastily hardening.

When he reached the crack, Sun Wukong paused.

He turned his head and glanced at the endless darkness behind him.

Then, without looking back, he said a sentence.

What are you relying on?

He patted the white porcelain teacup he kept in his bosom.

The tea in the cup was still cold.

Not a single drop spilled.

"Relying on a cup of cold tea."

After saying that, he lifted his foot and stepped into the rift.

The rift closed behind him.

No sound.

No light.

It was as if it had never been opened.

In the Original Mistake's "stomach" space, only that sentence remained echoing.

"Relying on a cup of cold tea."

That sentence turned over and over in the void.

As it turned, the void began to tremble.

Not a physical tremor.

It was a tremor on the conceptual level.

The Original Mistake, the "error" itself that has existed since the birth of the universe,

it experienced for the first time an emotion it had never felt before.

Unease.

The unease of "I seem to have messed something up."

It stared, from the deepest part of the darkness, in the direction Sun Wukong had vanished.

It remained silent for a long time.

Then, a low voice emanated from its core.

"Interesting."

"A foolish monkey, discarding anger, discarding hatred, discarding all the strength that sustained his battles,"

"yet became stronger?"

It paused.

A hint of something else entered its voice.

"Wrong."

"Not stronger."

"It is……"

It could not find the right word.

Because it is the very embodiment of Negation, its existence is to erase everything.

But now, it felt it.

That monkey possesses something it cannot "negate."

Not strength.

Not the Dao.

It is a kind of…… meaning.

A meaning of "I will do this anyway, you can't stop me."

The Original Mistake fell silent longer.

Finally, it made a decision.

"It seems……"

"We need to get serious."

The darkness began to boil.

Countless remnants of the "defeated" that it had swallowed, digested, and stored for hundreds of millions of years began to awaken.

The grudges of the three thousand Chaotic Demon Gods.

The despair of Sun Wukong across countless timespaces.

And the last vestiges of unwillingness from the civilizations, lives, and hopes it had erased.

All of it was pulled out by it.

Kneaded into a ball.

Compressed.

Compressed again.

Finally, it condensed into a humanoid form.

A humanoid form identical to Sun Wukong.

Except, this "Sun Wukong" has empty eyes.

Inside, there is nothing.

Only pure "void" flows within.

The Original Mistake stared at this creation and spoke softly.

"Go."

"Go tell him,"

Some things, once lost, are lost.

They can't be found again.

The humanoid opened its eyes.

Then it vanished into the darkness.

And on the other side,

The moment Sun Wukong stepped out of the rift, his foot hit solid ground.

Not emptiness.

It was real, solid ground.

He looked up.

He froze.

This place is,

Wanshen Fenchang.

He has returned.

But something's off.

The cemetery is still the cemetery, the bones still those bones.

But the aura has completely changed.

Before, this place was filled with despair, resentment, and Deathly Silence.

Now…

Now this place is quiet as a sleeping graveyard.

The corpses of the demon gods no longer emit malice.

The remnants of those "Sun Wukongs" no longer whisper.

They just lie there.

As if they can finally rest.

Sun Wukong watched this scene, silent for a few seconds.

Then he bent down, picked up a shattered demon god skull from the ground.

He placed it in his palm.

He gently crushed it.

It turned to ash, scattering in the wind.

"Rest in peace."

He said softly.

"Just leave the rest to me."

Having said that, he raised his head.

His gaze swept over countless bones and landed at the battlefield's end.

There, there was a door.

Not the ultimate gate he had smashed before.

But a new, larger one, slowly opening,

a rift.

From the rift came a voice.

Cold.

Calm.

And carrying a hint… of anticipation.

"Welcome back, Sun Wukong."

"I've been waiting for you a long time."

Sun Wukong gripped the branch in his hand tightly.

A curve formed at the corner of his mouth.

"How coincidental."

"I've also been waiting for you a long time."

He stepped forward.

One step.

Two steps.

The battlefield beneath his feet began to tremble.

It wasn't from his steps.

It was something beyond the rift,

coming through.