Chapter 479: The tea is still hot

Sun Wukong didn't know how long he had been holding her.

It could have been the time it takes to burn an incense stick, or it could have been ten thousand years.

He only knew that the person in his arms was warm, soft, and rising and falling against his chest armor.

Alive.

He really fucking lived.

When he let go, both his arms were trembling.

It wasn't the trembling from fatigue after many fights; it was the sudden release of a string in his heart that had been wound too tight, and his whole body was collapsing downward.

Yao's face was covered in tears.

Two streams of tears ran from the corners of her eyes down to the tip of her chin, her nose was bright red, and her lips were still trembling.

Sun Wukong raised his hand and used his thumb to wipe the tears from her face.

He wiped once.

He used too much force, rubbing half her face red.

He hastily pulled his hand back, his fingers curled, not knowing where to put them.

"My hands are rough..."

Before he could finish speaking, a fist slammed into his chest.

It wasn't heavy.

It was like a tickle.

But Sun Wukong didn't utter a single word.

"Liar!"

Yao's voice was sharp and hoarse, full of sobs.

"You said it! You said you wouldn't risk your life!"

Another punch.

"You always say 'I'll wait for you to come back'! Every time!"

Yet another punch.

"Do you know what I was thinking when I watched you charge into that black hole?"

This punch came with a hiccup of sobs, striking his battle armor with a dull thud.

"I thought you were dead!"

"I really thought you were dead!"

Her punches grew weaker and weaker, until finally she flattened her palm against his chest armor, her nails digging into the seams of the plates, her whole weight leaning onto him.

Her shoulders were shuddering.

Sun Wukong stood there, arms outstretched, unsure whether to hug her or not.

He didn't talk back.

Not a single word.

That mouth, which usually owed a beating, now split open, showing a row of white teeth, and he grinned foolishly.

Tears still clung to the corners of his eyes, his nose was red too, and his whole face looked ugly and stupid.

But he just kept smiling like that.

He let Yao pound him repeatedly.

Until she grew tired from pounding, her hand resting motionless on his chest, only then did he carefully gather her back into his arms.

This time he didn't use so much force.

Gently.

"I'm here."

He rested his chin on top of Yao's head, his voice muffled.

"I didn't lie to you. Isn't this coming back?"

Yao didn't speak, just buried her face in his chest armor, her shoulders still trembling.

Sun Wukong just held her, not urging her, rubbing his chin against the top of her head.

The sea of flowers still spread beneath their feet, while in the distance blue orbs of light fell in clusters, carrying cheers and sobs from within.

The entire Wanshen Fenchang came alive.

After a good while, Sun Wukong finally let go.

He lowered his head to look at Yao, then turned his head to look at Bodhi, who was leaning against a stone pillar a few steps away.

The old man's disabled right arm hung limp, his left hand tucked into his sleeve, giving off the air of "I, an old man, won't meddle in young people's affairs."

But his eyes clearly held a smile.

Sun Wukong grabbed Yao's wrist.

"Let's go."

"What for?"

Yao was pulled by him and staggered a step.

Sun Wukong didn't answer, dragging her as he ran three steps at a time to Bodhi's front.

Then, this monkey who had once opposed the Heavenly Dao in the Chaos Realm, stepped on Hongjun beneath his feet, and flicked a Saint a hundred thousand li away, fell to his knees with a thud.

Both knees on the ground.

His spine straight.

His forehead struck the broken-stone ground.

Thud.

The first head.

He kowtowed firmly, ash and gravel sticking to his forehead.

"Master."

Thud.

The second head.

He smashed a shallow pit into the ground.

"Disciple unfilial. I have caused you suffering."

Thud.

When he knocked down the third head, his voice had a nasal tone.

Bodhi lowered his gaze to the fuzzy skull on the ground and remained silent for a long while.

Yao stood to the side, stunned for a moment, then lifted her skirt and knelt properly.

She lacked Sun Wukong's pit‑smashing posture, but when her forehead touched the ground, it was just as solid.

"Thank you, senior, for saving my life."

Bodhi's gaze shifted from the monkey to Yao, then back to the monkey.

"Get up."

The old man's voice held amusement.

He extended his still‑movable left hand, first pushing Sun Wukong's forehead, then shoving him back half an inch.

"The ground is cold."

Then he helped Yao up by her arm.

"You've just recovered; don't kneel—speak standing."

Sun Wukong sprang up from the ground, his eye sockets red but his mouth split into a wide grin.

Bodhi looked at his demeanor and shook his head in disdain.

"Enough. Stop crying and laughing all day like a lunatic."

"As long as you, this stupid monkey, cause less trouble for me in the future, I'll thank heaven and earth."

"Hey!"

Sun Wukong slapped his chest, his voice booming loud enough to shake the ears.

"Master, rest assured! From now on I will surely obey! You tell me to go east, I will never go west! You tell me to stand, I will never sit!"

Bodhi raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Of course!"

"You said the same thing last time."

"Last time was last time! This time it's real!"

Bodhi couldn't be bothered to argue with him and rolled his eyes.

Yao stood at the side, watching the master‑disciple pair bicker; her tears weren't dry yet, but the corners of her mouth had already turned up.

Sun Wukong suddenly remembered something.

He lowered his head and slipped his hand inside his breastplate.

That spot, ever since he entered the interior of the Original Mistake, has always guarded one thing.

How many battles fought, how many beatings endured, how many somersaults turned.

Always kept against his chest.

He pulled it out.

A white‑porcelain teacup.

Not a single crack on its body.

Steam rose from its rim.

Sun Wukong stared at that wisp of steam for two seconds, then laughed.

"Master."

He held the teacup with both hands and bowed to present it to Bodhi.

His posture was solemn, unlike him.

"The tea you wanted."

"Disciple has refilled it for you."

Bodhi's gaze fell on that teacup.

White porcelain, the steam curling.

Exactly the same as the one he used back in the Study on Fangcun Mountain.

The old man extended his left hand and took the teacup.

When his palm felt the warmth of the cup's wall, something flickered across his gaunt face.

It vanished quickly.

Bodhi brought the teacup to his lips and took a light sip.

He swallowed it.

"Good tea."

The old man smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes.

It's just a bit bitter.

Sun Wukong froze for a moment, scratched his head: "Bitter? I've been warming it this long, I shouldn't……"

Yao let out a puff of laughter.

Sun Wukong reacted, then laughed along.

Bodhi held the tea cup, leaned back against the stone pillar, corners of his mouth curved.

The three laughed together.

The flower sea spread silently beneath their feet, the light balls in the distance kept falling, and newborn cheers came intermittently.

The sky over Wanshen Fenchang brightened at some point, a warm light poured down, falling on these three master-disciples.

It was as if this place, dead for hundreds of millions of years, finally saw its first morning.

The laughter gradually faded.

Bodhi finished the last sip of tea, then handed the empty cup back to Sun Wukong.

Keep it safe.

I'll brew again next time.

Sun Wukong took the cup and tucked it into his lapel, his movements more careful than when hiding any magic treasure.

Bodhi's gaze shifted toward the distance.

There, the distortion of the void was intensifying.

That ancient, unfathomable aura grew stronger by a third.

Accompanied by a long sigh, it came from the faraway horizon.

"Junior brother, junior brother."

That voice carried a smile, gentle yet holding endless vicissitudes.

"You smashed all my chess pieces, even overturned the board."

"Now it's about time we played a new game, right?"

Bodhi's hand, which had been lowering the tea cup, froze.

He did not turn back.

But Sun Wukong saw, the master's disabled right hand, its fingertip twitched.