Chapter 444: That heart… still beats

Darkness closed in behind him.

Sun Wukong gripped his staff and waited three seconds.

No attack.

No sound.

Even that nauseating "digestive" feeling from before was gone.

Quiet.

Unnervingly quiet.

Last time he entered here, bone‑chilling cold, vicious mockery, and an all‑encompassing "deletion" came crashing down on him.

This time?

Nothing at all.

Just a pure, deathly black.

Sun Wukong stood still, unmoving.

He could feel that thing looking at him.

Not a hostile stare, more like… scrutiny.

Observing.

Judging.

It was examining how this "new" monkey differed from the previous one.

Sun Wukong snorted.

"Had enough looking?"

No response.

He didn't care whether there was a response.

He stepped forward.

Not fast.

Step by step, at the rhythm of practicing stance‑training in the backyard of Fangcun Mountain.

Left foot down.

Right foot up.

Steady.

Firm.

The instant his sole touched the "ground," the darkness split beneath his foot, and a flower sprouted from the crack.

Crimson‑gold.

Lotus‑shaped.

Not big, about the size of a palm.

Sun Wukong glanced down, dismissed it, and kept walking forward.

Second step.

Another one.

Third step.

Another one.

With each step, the void under his foot cracked like a smashed eggshell, and a tiny crimson‑gold lotus puffed out.

Not a supernatural ability.

He wasn't exerting any force.

It was pure "being" spilling out, like steam from a boiling kettle that can't be stopped.

Behind him a road had already formed.

A crimson‑gold lotus road, one flower after another, stretched back into the endless darkness like a trail of footprints tossed in a deep alley.

He didn't look back.

He kept walking.

The darkness yielded to him.

Not the violent tearing‑apart retreat from before.

It silently, quietly made way to either side.

Like a stray cat in an alley at night—it doesn't run, but lets you pass first.

How long had he walked?

He didn't know.

This damned place has no concept of time.

It could be the length of an incense stick, or a hundred years.

Sun Wukong didn't care.

His monkey heart beat steady, tick‑tock, like the pendulum of an old wall clock.

"Thud."

"Thud."

"Thud."

After who‑knows‑how‑many steps, he stopped.

A point three zhang ahead.

There is light.

A light point smaller than a firefly hangs in mid-air, flickering, flickering, flickering.

The rhythm is very slow.

So slow it's like the breath of a person who has walked three days and nights in a heavy snowfall, each breath labored, each like the last.

Sun Wukong's throat tightened.

He recognized it.

How could he not recognize it?

That is Master's Dao Heart.

The last time he saw it, it was the size of a fist, its light weak but still somewhat stable.

Now...

Now it's only the size of a grain of rice.

Its light is so faint it almost blends into the background darkness; if not for his Monkey Heart resonating, the naked eye might not discern it.

Sun Wukong's fingers clenched the staff.

His knuckles turned white.

It is being consumed.

Every second it is being consumed.

Like a candle, its wax has burned away, leaving only the last bit of wick still holding that tiny spark.

A breath of wind would extinguish it.

No wind needed.

If it continues to drain, it will go out.

Sun Wukong lifted his foot half an inch forward.

Then he lowered it.

He didn't step out.

He closed his eyes.

Last time.

Last time he also saw the Dao Heart.

Last time he rushed forward.

Then what?

Then it was a trap.

He was swallowed by darkness.

He was thrown into a prison.

His memory was erased.

He almost died inside, not even knowing who he was.

Sun Wukong withdrew that half-step foot, standing firm.

Three zhang.

Just a distance of three zhang.

He could cross it in one step.

He could reach it with his hand.

He could hold that nearly extinguished light in his palm, like holding the last spark.

But he didn't move.

Monkey Heart throbbed.

"Dong."

He used his heart to 'look'.

Not looking at that light point.

But looking at the space around the light point.

In the world with eyes closed, all 'power' and 'law' became tangible patterns.

The space around the Dao Heart... has a problem.

Not chains.

Not a seal.

It is an extremely precise, spiderweb-like spread of a 'rule'.

Each thread is so fine it's invisible, yet densely woven into a net that envelops the Dao Heart at its center.

The net's logic is simple,

Any 'power' that touches it causes it to contract.

The direction of contraction is 'down'.

Toward deeper.

Toward the deeper void.

Along with the source of the power.

Conceptual trap.

The more you try to save it, the deeper it sinks.

The more force you use, the farther it runs.

Sun Wukong opened his eyes.

He looked at the flickering point of light three zhang away.

His face showed no expression.

"Pretty gloomy."

He said.

The moment his voice fell, there was finally movement in the darkness.

A voice came from all directions at once.

"You've gotten clever?"

The voice of the Original Mistake.

Flat.

Even carrying a hint of approval.

"You're not rushing up? Not crying to Heaven and grabbing Earth? Not shouting 'Master, I'm here' anymore?"

"Very good."

"You've made progress."

Sun Wukong didn't respond.

"Then just stay there."

The approval in the voice turned into malicious anticipation.

"Stay there and watch it go out."

"Three zhang. Just three zhang. You can see it, hear it breathing, even smell the scorched scent of it about to go out."

"But you can't touch it."

"If you so much as stretch out a finger, it's gone."

"This is far more interesting than killing you outright."

The voice faded away.

It left a deathly silence.

Sun Wukong still stood there.

Three zhang away, his Dao Heart dimmed for a moment.

That feeling was like watching a drowning person sink three steps away, your hand already stretched to its limit, fingertips just short by the final inch.

One more inch and you could reach it.

But that inch is a cliff.

Sun Wukong slowly squatted down.

He laid his staff across his knees.

No fury.

No anxiety.

Not even the previous urge to smash his head against something.

He squatted there, staring at the light three zhang away.

He watched for a long time.

So long that he himself didn't know how much time had passed.

Then he moved.

Not standing up to rush over.

But reaching his hand into his bosom.

He felt a hard, cool piece of porcelain.

A white porcelain teacup.

Taken from the study.

The tea was still cold.

Not a drop spilled.

He pulled out the teacup and held it in his palms.

The cup walls were icy.

The tea inside was icy.

Even the waft from the rim was icy, carrying the scent of old ink and pine charcoal mixed together.

Sun Wukong lowered his head, gazing at the dark tea in the cup.

The surface was flat as a mirror.

It reflected his own face.

His crimson-gold eyes.

His old Dao-robe shaped armor.

And a thin scar on his forehead that had appeared at some point.

He looked for two seconds.

Then he lifted his head.

His gaze went over the cup's rim and landed on the flickering point of light three zhang away, about to go out.

His lips moved.

His voice was very soft.

It was so light, as if afraid to startle anything.

「Master。」

The light point flickered once.

「The tea has gone cold。」

It flickered once more.

「I'll heat it up for you。」

The words fell.

He had no luck.

He did not activate any Chaos Dao, Equal Heaven Dao, or Order Primordial Source.

No power was of any use.

He merely brought the tea cup close to his chest.

Placed against the spot where the Monkey Heart beats.

「Thud。」

The heart beat once.

What that beat brought forth was not power.

It was temperature.

Pure, non-aggressive, the body temperature only a living being possesses.

Thirty-seven degrees.

The body temperature of mortals.

This warmth seeped from the chest into the palm, from the palm into the porcelain wall, from the porcelain wall into the tea.

The tea inside the white porcelain cup, which had been icy for who knows how long, trembled slightly.

Then,

A wisp of warm air rose.

Thin.

Wavy.

It floated up from the cup's rim, swaying, like a white thread blown awry by the wind.

Sun Wukong watched that wisp of warm air rise, drifting forward.

Drifting toward the Dao Heart three zhang away.

The warm air struck a concept trap like a spider's web.

Those exquisitely precise threads, waiting for power to trigger them,

The threads did not move.

The warm air slipped through the gaps between the threads.

Light and drifting.

Without a single hair harmed.

Because it was not power.

Not a law.

Not the Great Dao.

Not anything that could be defined and captured by concept.

It was merely temperature.

The vapor rising from a cup of cold tea after being heated.

That's all.

That wisp of warm air drifted on and on.

It passed through the first layer of threads.

It passed through the second layer.

It passed through the third layer.

Finally, lightly and gently,

It wrapped around the Dao Heart the size of a grain of rice.

The light point trembled.

It trembled violently.

Then,

It lit up.

It lit up for only an instant.

But in that instant, Sun Wukong clearly felt it.

The aura that returned from the Dao Heart.

Aged.

Stubborn.

Carrying a hint of 'not-yet-defeated' defiance.

And there was also a hint…

Warmth.

It was the warmth of having been warmed.

Sun Wukong's nose went sour for an instant.

He sniffed, pushing his emotions back.

He held the tea cup in his hand, his posture unchanged.

Monkey Heart kept beating.

The temperature kept rising.

The heat continued to drift.

In the darkness, that voice sounded again.

This time it was no longer the malicious glee of watching a spectacle.

This time it carried a hint… of confusion.

"What are you doing?"

Sun Wukong did not look up.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Brewing tea."

"Can't you understand?"

He was silent for three seconds.

The confusion in that voice turned into something deeper, more uneasy.

"It can't possibly pass through."

"The trap I set works against all forces,"

"That's not power."

Sun Wukong interrupted it.

He finally lifted his head.

His crimson‑gold eyes were clean.

No murderous intent, no rage, no emotion that could be exploited.

Only one thing that the Original Mistake had never seen.

Certainty.

A rock‑solid certainty of "I know what I'm doing."

"Your broken net can block a sword, can block a gun, can block the three thousand Dao and the Chaos Realm's laws."

He said.

The voice was soft, but each word was as clear as if carved in stone.

"But you can't block a cup of hot tea."

The darkness trembled.

Sun Wukong lowered his head, continuing to hold the cup and drink his tea.

And three zhang away, the light of that Dao Heart, compared to just now,

was brighter by a point.