Chapter 447: One slap, one cup of tea, one cry of 'stupid monkey

Who let you come?

That sentence hit Sun Wukong's ears, ten thousand times more effective than the flowery Power of Negation of the Original Mistake.

His tears came out with a swish.

It wasn't resentment.

It was that kind of qi, blocked for ten thousand years, suddenly finding an outlet—my nose soured, my eye sockets heated, and I couldn't hold it back.

This damn old man.

Ten thousand years.

Trapped in this damned place, frozen for who knows how many ages.

The first thing he said upon waking wasn't "You've come," nor "You've worked hard," but "Who let you come?"

Just like the hot-tempered old Daoist on Fangcun Mountain who used to grab his ears and drag him out.

Not changed at all.

Sun Wukong sniffed, then rushed over in three steps made two.

He held the warm tea cup high, as if afraid to spill it.

"Master, don't scold me first!"

"Have a sip of something hot!"

"You've been frozen for how many ten-thousands of years—warm up first—"

He hadn't finished speaking.

A hand, skinny as a chicken claw, lashed out.

Smack.

Crisp.

Clean.

Landing squarely on his forehead.

Sun Wukong's head jerked back, his body following with a stagger.

It wasn't the force.

Bodhi in this state couldn't even break a chopstick.

But this slap carried a kind of deterrence that transcended physical law.

It was a conditioned reflex formed over hundreds of years on Fangcun Mountain.

More effective than any Chaos Dao or Equal Heaven Path.

The body reacted before the mind.

The neck shrank back on its own.

The shoulders slumped on their own.

Just like the pose when he was caught stealing peaches back then.

Bodhi pulled his hand back.

That thick-knuckled hand trembled slightly.

It wasn't from anger.

He had just broken out of that level of seal, his vital energy depleted to the extreme.

Just being able to stand was already an extraordinary effort.

But his mouth wasn't idle.

His mouth was never idle.

"Did I call you to come?"

His voice was hoarse, like the sound of century-old wood snapping.

"Those clues are your life-saving trump card!"

"It's not an invitation to send you to your death!"

He glared at Sun Wukong, his murky old eyes full of the frustration of wanting iron to become steel.

"Stupid monkey!"

Sun Wukong rubbed his forehead.

Does it hurt?

No.

There's no force at all.

But he rubbed it earnestly.

Just as earnestly as when he was a child.

Then he broke into a grin.

He grinned, showing his teeth, with traces of wetness still at the corners of his eyes.

"Master, this slap of yours is lighter than before."

"Did you not eat enough?"

"Come."

He pushed the tea cup forward.

Steam rose from the rim, reflecting both of their faces.

One face, aged beyond belief.

The other, smiling in a way that begged for a beating.

"Drink tea. Just warmed. While hot."

Bodhi glared at him.

The thing in that glance was so complex that even Emptiness couldn't interpret it.

Disdain.

Helpless.

Heartache.

There's also a tiny bit—extremely tiny—of unwilling-to-admit relief.

He reached out and took the teacup.

His withered finger paused when touching the warm porcelain rim.

Just that.

Very short.

Then he gripped it tightly.

Bodhi lowered his head, looking at the tea in the cup.

Steam rose, blurring his wrinkled old face.

Three seconds.

It was quiet for three seconds.

Then he raised his hand.

Sun Wukong instinctively shrank his neck.

A slap landed on the Back of Head.

Lighter than before.

So light it hardly had any force.

The palm pressed against the back of his head, staying less than an instant.

Like a pat.

Also like a rub.

The speed of pulling back was fast, as if hiding something.

Sun Wukong didn't dodge.

He stood before his master, taller than this thin old man by a whole head.

But his back was bowed.

His waist slightly slumped.

Same posture as when he stood at the desk as a child, unable to recite his lessons.

A habit ingrained in his bones.

Can't change.

Nor does he want to change.

The two just stood like that.

No holding his head and weeping.

No tear-jerking lines like "Master, I miss you so much."

One slap.

One cup of tea.

One "stupid monkey."

Enough.

For this master-disciple pair, everything is enough.

Bodhi held the cup and drank slowly.

The movement was very slow.

Tea slid past his dry, cracked lips into his throat; a hint of color returned to his waxen face.

A hint.

Just a hint.

But it's better than before.

Sun Wukong watched his master drink tea, the corner of his mouth kept split.

Silly smile.

Pure silly smile.

This warmth lasted about five seconds.

Then the surrounding darkness came alive.

A grayish-white breath surged from all directions, like a beast long dormant finally awakening from instinctive Fear Heart Demon.

The voice of the Original Mistake sounded.

Different from the terrified scream a few seconds ago.

It steadied.

It regained that condescending tone.

"Long time no see—Bodhi."

The voice squeezed out from every corner of the void.

"You look older than last time we met."

"That monkey of yours really has some skill, actually managing to wake you up from my belly."

They paused for a moment.

That pause carried malice.

"But do you think—a dying old wreck plus a monkey that just learned to stand—can turn the tables?"

Sun Wukong's gaze turned cold.

He was about to speak when Bodhi had already drained the last sip of tea from the cup.

The old man's action was very calm.

They finished drinking.

They passed the empty cup back to Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong instinctively caught it with both hands.

It was exactly the same motion as when he brought tea and water for his master on Fangcun Mountain.

Bodhi raised their head.

Their gaunt face turned toward the deepest part of the darkness.

Those cloudy old eyes held no emotion at all.

No fear.

No anger.

Not even any fighting spirit.

Just looking on.

Looking on plainly.

Like watching a noisy child.

Then he turned his head.

Their gaze fell upon the simple, unadorned red-gold staff in Sun Wukong's hand.

They looked for two seconds.

The corner of their mouth twitched.

Didn't know whether they wanted to laugh or scold.

In the end, they showed no expression.

Only one sentence remained.

When he spoke, he didn't look at Sun Wukong's face.

They were looking at that staff.

Their voice was still dry and hoarse, each word seeming to be squeezed out of a rusted iron pipe.

"Monkey."

"Master can't lift the staff."

His hand hung at his side.

Those hands that once copied the scriptures of the Three Realms now trembled so badly they could barely hold a cup of tea.

Bodhi turned their head.

On their withered face was an expression Sun Wukong had never seen on their master's face.

It was an entrusting.

It was trust.

Moreover, it was the relief of an old soldier who had fought through countless ages, finally waiting for a successor.

"You come."

Two words.

Light and airy.

But the weight that struck Sun Wukong's chest was heavier than all the attacks he had endured over ten thousand years combined.

Sun Wukong slipped the empty tea cup into his sleeve.

The red-gold staff turned once in his hand.

He had no grand declarations.

He simply took a step forward.

He stood before his master.

Facing the darkness.

Back to his master.

Just like when he first set out from Fangcun Mountain ten thousand years ago.

Their master was behind them.

He was ahead.

It was his turn.

In the depths of the darkness, the aura of the Original Mistake surged suddenly.

A pair of giant eyes formed from pure void opened in the endless darkness.

It fixed its gaze on the trembling old man behind Sun Wukong, and its voice carried something Sun Wukong had never heard before.

It was wariness.

"Bodhi... what exactly did you do to this monkey?"

Bodhi did not answer.

He leaned in the void, like an old man who had just woken up and hadn't yet come to.

But his cloudy eyes were fixed on that pair of void giant pupils.

His lips moved slightly.

What he spat out was not an answer.

It was four words.

They said to Sun Wukong's back.

"Don't lose face for me."