Chapter 449: I'm not afraid of you, but I'm more afraid of Master's slap

That Cànjiào echoed in the void for a long time.

It went on so long that even Sun Wukong felt his ears getting a bit annoyed.

The Original Mistake's ten-zhang tall figure clutched its chest and staggered back a hundred zhang.

Its posture was extremely disheveled.

Grayish-white "blood" poured out from the cracks.

But that wasn't liquid.

It was countless fragments of shattered Concept that it had devoured.

Some fragments still retained blurry images—a civilization that had been erased, a Star that had been negated, a timeline that had been deleted.

It was like a trash bag stuffed for tens of thousands of years that someone had punctured with a stick, its contents spilling out with a splish-splash.

The images weren't exactly disgusting.

But looking at them made one feel relieved.

Especially relieved.

Sun Wukong did not pursue.

He retreated to Bodhi's side, standing steadily before Master.

The staff was stained with grayish-white "blood".

He flicked it away in disgust, but it didn't come clean.

Tsk.

He turned his head and glanced at Master.

Bodhi leaned against a broken wall that had come from somewhere unknown, eyes half-closed.

His complexion was paler than before.

Not ordinary pallor.

It was the kind of waxen yellow left after all blood and qi had been drained, overlaid with a thin layer of frost.

Those few 'guidings' just now had exhausted his last bit of spirit.

He barely had the strength to lift his hand.

His fingers hung at his sides, trembling slightly; he couldn't even clench a fist.

Sun Wukong's heart gave a thud.

He said nothing.

But his mind was as clear as a mirror.

Master couldn't hold on much longer.

That Dao Heart had been rekindled.

But his body was depleted too severely.

For tens of thousands of years, it had been wildly drained as an energy source; its Dao foundation had already shattered into dregs, leaving not a trace of magical power.

A cup of hot tea can warm the heart, but it cannot revive life.

We must be quick.

We must be quick.

Dragging it out, he cannot win.

The Original Mistake obviously realized this as well.

Its Cànjiào gradually subsided.

That ten-zhang tall figure no longer approached.

Its body began to drift backward while its domain expanded.

It was not an aggressive expansion.

It was 'expanding' space.

It stretched the battlefield from a courtyard into a plaza.

From a plaza into an expanse of water.

The farther away, the harder it was for Bodhi's nearly ruined spiritual eyes to precisely locate the anchor point it hid in the cracks.

The farther away, the less Sun Wukong's staff could reach its chest.

It was running.

Hall of the Original Mistake, the first 'mistake' at the birth of the Universe.

It was running.

Sun Wukong turned his head and glanced at Master.

Bodhi's breathing was very ragged.

The old man strained to open his eyes, looking at the retreating grayish-white figure in the distance for two seconds.

Then he gently shook his head.

The meaning was clear.

He couldn't catch up.

It was running.

Old man can't catch up.

Damn.

Sun Wukong cursed.

He stared at the distant, ever-retreating grayish-white silhouette, his staff turning twice in his hand.

He didn't chase.

If you can't catch up, chase.

Master said you can't catch up—that means you can't catch up.

He went the opposite way.

The scarlet-gold staff 'Dong!' plunged into the void beneath his feet.

Then he sat down with a plop.

He sat right beside Master.

Cross-legged.

The staff was planted at his right side.

Same posture as when watching the sunset on Mount Huaguo.

Bodhi tilted his head to look at him.

His cloudy old eyes held a hint of doubt.

Sun Wukong scratched his Back of Head, pursing his lips toward the distant ash-white figure desperately trying to escape.

"Master, it got away."

"Can't catch up."

Bodhi stared at him.

He didn't speak.

Sun Wukong gave a heh laugh.

That roguish smile crept back onto his face.

"But it got away."

He extended a finger and tapped the faintly glowing ash-white anchor remnants hovering in the void.

"Its fleeing shows it's scared."

"Such things will eventually come back."

"Its nails are still lodged here, half broken, half intact; if it doesn't return to fix them, it will forfeit this territory entirely."

He leaned against the broken wall behind him, finding a comfortable pose.

"When it comes back, I'll beat it and that'll be it."

Bodhi looked at him for three seconds.

During those three seconds, his gaunt old face showed an extremely subtle change in expression.

It wasn't a smile.

It was a complicated, old-fashioned sense of 'This monkey actually learned to use his brain.'

Like seeing your own dim-witted student who spends all day climbing trees to pick peaches suddenly turn in a passing assignment.

Not bad.

Barely passable.

He let out an 'hng'.

He closed his eyes.

His whole body relaxed, his breathing slowing to steadiness.

He began to rest and recuperate.

Sun Wukong said nothing more.

He just sat there.

His right hand rested on the staff, left fingers slightly curled, magical power condensing into a thin golden barrier that shielded the gaunt old man behind him.

His eyes scanned the surroundings.

The distant ash-white figure had retreated to the far horizon, almost invisible.

But its aura remained.

Like a wolf stabbed with a knife, retreating to the darkness to lick its wound, ready to pounce back at any moment.

Sun Wukong wasn't afraid.

What he feared was something else.

He glanced sideways at Master.

That face was too thin.

His cheekbones jutted high, his eye sockets sunk deep.

The bone structure beneath his skin was so distinct it was painful to behold.

Back on Fangcun Mountain, although Master was also slender, his frame held vigor, his gaze sharp enough to pierce skin.

Now it's different.

As if something had drained all his vitality from inside out.

Only an empty shell remained, stubbornly holding on.

Sun Wukong's fists clenched.

His five fingers dug deep into his palms.

His knuckles emitted a faint 'click'.

Then he relaxed them.

He drew a deep breath.

It wasn't a sigh.

He was pressing down on the surging sourness and anger in his chest.

How many tens of thousands of years has Master been tortured in this ghostly place?

How many tens of thousands of years has he been drained like a battery?

How many tens of thousands of years late has Sun Wukong arrived?

He dare not ponder the answers to these questions.

Thinking about them would drive him mad.

Going mad would make him act foolishly.

If he acted foolishly, Master would have to endure another beating.

No.

Hold steady.

He issued himself a death order in his heart.

In this battle, no impulsiveness allowed.

No going mad.

Don't let Master worry for you again.

You damn well are already the Great Sage.

You're no longer the howling little monkey on Mount Huaguo.

Pull yourself together!

Sun Wukong's gaze swept again over the distant, faintly glimmering grayish-white anchor point remnants.

One.

Two.

Five.

Eight.

There are still eight that aren't completely shattered.

Some are cracked, some have dimmed, but they still hang in their original positions.

The Original Mistake wants to run back to repair these anchor points.

This is the foundation of its "existence" in this space.

Equivalent to feet.

Without feet it cannot stand.

If it can't stand, it can't run.

If it can't run, it can only face Sun Wukong head-on.

Face to face—

Then it will get beaten.

An idea slowly took shape in his mind.

Crazy or not?

Crazy.

But it works.

He won't wait for it to return and repair.

He proactively goes to smash all the remaining anchor points.

It's fine if Master's eyes are temporarily unusable.

Just now Bodhi pointed out several directions, and he memorized them all.

Those anchor points are indeed hidden in the "cracks of concepts"; mortals cannot find them.

But Sun Wukong has already figured out their approximate locations.

Master is a scalpel of extreme precision.

Sun Wukong is a hammer big and ruthless enough.

Can't locate precisely?

No problem.

If the hammer is big enough, no need to aim precisely.

One smash, and that area plus whatever is hidden inside gets pulverized—done.

What's there to look for?

This is the Way of "shimming table legs" that Master taught.

No talk of precision.

No talk of elegance.

Only one word—

Works.

Sun Wukong's mouth curled up.

He turned his head and glanced at Bodhi, who was resting.

Wait for Master to catch his breath, then have him confirm the direction.

Then he will act.

Pull out that turtle grandson's final foothold completely.

Leave it without even the qualification to run.

But before that—

He must keep it safe.

Keep the Master safe.

Must not allow any more mishaps.

Sun Wukong pulled the crimson gold staff from the ground and laid it across his knees.

His gaze turned toward the distant expanse of emptiness.

The grayish qi still surged there.

The wrath of the Original Mistake could be felt even tens of thousands of li away.

The humiliation and fury of being beaten up by a monkey and a half-dead old man working together.

It will come back.

Sun Wukong knew.

A wounded beast is the most dangerous.

Its next strike will surely be fiercer, more ruthless, and even more unreasonable than before.

But he is not afraid.

To be honest, he fears nothing now.

Has he ever been afraid?

Of course he has.

He feared for the Master's safety to the point of death.

But now the Master is behind him, breathing.

Alive.

Warm.

He can still hit his head.

Then what the hell does he have to fear?

These Three Realms—no, in this whole universe, Sun Wukong fears only one thing.

It is the Master's slap.

Everything else.

Come.

All come.

This old man is waiting.

In the depths of the distant void, that retreating grayish figure halted.

Its aura suddenly changed.

No longer the panic of flight, nor the weakness from injury.

A colder, heavier presence coalesced within that grayish hue.

Then a voice came over.

Very far.

Very faint.

But each word seemed etched into the void.

"Bodhi."

"You think… your wasted eyes can still help this monkey a few more times?"

He paused for a beat.

"Next time, I won't let it see me."

"I will let it see—your death."

Sun Wukong's pupils contracted sharply.

He sprang to his feet.

He gripped the staff tightly in his hand.

Behind him, Bodhi's breath suddenly halted.