Chapter 515: Back Home!

Peace in the Three Realms!

Two streaks of light, one ahead of the other, swept across the star river.

Sun Wukong, shouldering the Iron Staff, flew ahead, while Yao followed half a step behind; their speed was not fast.

Compared with the days of desperately hurrying before, this trip felt more like a stroll.

From Mount Huaguo to Fangcun Mountain, they crossed three thousand great worlds.

Sun Wukong deliberately chose a route that brushed the mortal realm.

When they flew over the Southern Zhanbu Continent, he lowered their altitude.

"Look over there."

Sun Wukong nudged his chin downward.

Yao looked in the direction he pointed.

It was a small town.

At the city gate there was no Heavenly Court notice, nor any Ling Shan salvation talisman hanging.

It was just an ordinary, bustling small town.

People came and went on the streets of the town.

An older woman selling buns pushed a cart, calling out.

Two vendors banged the table, arguing over the price of a basket of radishes.

The blacksmith shop rang with clanging sounds nonstop, and sparks leapt out of the doorway.

Three men in short brown robes squatted under the wall base eating noodles, slurping loudly, and didn't mind the broth splashing all over them.

At the western edge of the town stood a school, where a group of children swayed their heads and read along with the teacher.

They were not reciting Buddhist sutras or Daoist classics, just the common Hundred Family Surnames and Thousand Character Classic.

There was not a single temple.

Walking the whole street from start to end, one could see no merit box.

At this time last year, every three steps there was a monk carrying a bowl for alms.

Every shop had to hang a string of Heavenly Court safety talismans before daring to open, each costing three to two taels of silver; without one, "Heaven would send disaster."

Now they're gone.

All gone.

The shop's doorway displayed a self‑made sign, with garish, crooked big characters reading "Zhang's Biscuit Shop" and "Li Family Tofu."

It was a bit ugly.

But it was alive.

Sun Wukong perched on a cloud head, looking down, his mouth stretched wide.

"Hey."

He patted Yao's arm: "Did you see? That chubby guy selling baked pancakes."

"Saw it."

"Last year at this time that fellow was so poor his pants were worn out, because he couldn't pay the Ling Shan 'pre‑payment for transcendence.'"

"Now look at his belly; it's round like a ball."

Yao let out a laugh.

The two continued flying forward.

After crossing the Southern Zhanbu Continent's border line, the terrain below changed.

The dense forest and mountains were the domain of the demon race.

Before, the human race dared not set foot even a half step in such places.

But now—

A wide earth road stretched from the human town all the way to the foot of the demon mountains.

Caravan groups were traveling the road.

Human caravans.

Hauling carts full of grain and cloth toward the mountains.

Opposite, demon troops also emerged.

Several fox demons that had taken human form pushed carts loaded with mountain herbs and pelts.

The two parties met in the middle of the road.

The human lead's big man waved his hand at the fox demons.

The fox demons also nodded, smiling and returning a greeting.

Each went their own way, no one troubled the other.

A stone stele stood at the crossroads.

Several lines of large characters were engraved on the stele.

Sun Wukong tilted his head and glanced at it.

"Human‑Demon Mutual Market Agreement… Both sides shall not invade… Violators dealt with according to the new Three Realms regulations…"

He smiled.

These fellows learned quickly.

Much faster than he had imagined.

"Alright."

Sun Wukong rolled his eyes, his tone full of satisfaction: "No need for old Sun to worry any more."

Yao walked over and glanced at the stone tablet: "You even bother to manage this kind of thing?"

"Who's managing it?"

Wukong stubbornly said, "I'm just passing by, taking a look."

"I've looked at three cities."

"……Shut up."

Yao covered her mouth, silent, her shoulders trembling.

Wukong pretended not to notice.

His gaze swept over the land from above.

Cooking smoke rose from every village.

Someone was bending over to transplant seedlings on the field ridges.

By the river, kids were having a water fight, their laughter carrying far.

In the market, some were arguing, some haggling, someone stole half a pear and was chased all over the street.

Chickens flying, dogs jumping—chaotic.

Noisy and bustling.

Messy and disordered.

But they were alive.

Everyone was living well.

No need to kneel.

No need to be afraid.

No need to pay money to pray for an illusory afterlife.

Wukong looked down at the human world's bustling life, feeling something indescribable in his chest.

It wasn't some great Dao enlightenment, nor a resonance of the Equal Heaven realm.

It was simply happiness.

Happiness that made his whole body feel clear and transparent.

This is what he had been fighting for all this time.

Not to make people kneel to him.

Not to have the Three Realms call him Great Sage Grandfather.

It was just those trivial, lively, chaotic days down below.

"Let's go."

He grabbed Yao's wrist in one swift motion.

"What are you doing?"

"Going home. The tea must have gotten cold."

Before his words finished, their speed suddenly tripled.

The wind rushed into their ears with a wailing sound.

Yao was pulled so hard her hair flew up, and she couldn't help smacking him: "Slow down!"

Wukong didn't listen.

He flipped a somersault in midair, his whole body like a golden top, spinning Yao around once.

Yao let out a sharp scream.

Wukong laughed heartily.

The two, one ahead of the other, passed through the final layer of clouds.

The scenery beneath their feet changed.

No longer were they seeing human towns and fields.

They had arrived at Fangcun Mountain.

The mountain isn't high, nor is it treacherous.

It's just an ordinary green mountain, covered in pines and cypresses, with an old Daoist temple halfway up.

The temple's roof was missing two tiles.

The moss on the steps was green to the point of appearing black.

The crooked-necked pine by the gate still looked half-dead.

Nothing had changed.

Wukong's foot landed on the stone steps before the mountain gate, the slab making a soft "tap" under his weight.

He straightened his body.

He lowered his head to look at himself.

His clothes still had mud and peach juice from the little monkeys of Mount Huaguo rubbing against them.

He brushed off his clothes, wiped his face twice, and swept his hair back.

Yao watched his actions from the side, trying not to laugh: "You're still fixing your appearance?"

"You don't understand anything."

Wukong glared at her.

"You need to be presentable before Master."

"When you last pulled bugs out of someone's nose, why didn't you talk about being presentable?"

"That's different."

Sun Wukong walked in, neck stiff.

The air on Fangcun Mountain was different from outside.

Quiet.

It was not that kind of dead, heavy quiet.

It was the quiet of living water flowing over green stone.

It was the quiet of old tree roots digging deep into the soil.

Wind swept through the pines, carrying the clean bitter scent of pine needles.

Inside the courtyard wall, there was faint movement.

Gurgle—gurgle.

The water boiled.

Sun Wukong's steps halted.

Then he quickened his pace.

He took three steps in two strides, leapt up the steps, and shoved open the creaky old wooden door.

In the courtyard.

A stone table.

A bamboo chair.

An old copper kettle sat on the fire.

White steam rose from the kettle's spout.

Sun Wukong shouted at the top of his voice.

"Master!"

"We're back!"

His voice echoed twice through the mountains.

No reply came from the depths of the courtyard.

The bamboo chair stood empty.

Two clean cups sat on the table, as if prepared beforehand.

But Bodhi was not at the table.

Sun Wukong's smile froze.

His gaze swept quickly over the courtyard.

The copper kettle still rattled.

The tea canister stood open, its leaves still full.

Everything was ready.

Yet no one was there.

"Master?"

Sun Wukong called out again, his voice softer than before.

The wind blew in.

The old pine's branch in the Daoist temple's rear courtyard swayed.

Then Sun Wukong heard it.

It was not the Master's voice.

It was an extremely faint vibration.

It rose from the soles of his feet.

From deep within the earth.

From a place even farther than Fangcun Mountain.

That vibration's frequency was not unfamiliar to him.

It matched exactly the resonance of the black giant tree at the edge of the universe.

All expression vanished from Sun Wukong's face in an instant.

He turned his head.

In the rear courtyard, Bodhi Patriarch stood with his back to him beneath the old pine.

The wind lifted a corner of the old man's Daoist robe.

His right hand—the withered hand corroded by the Heavenly Dao—clutched something tightly.

Between his fingers, a thread of faint gold light flickered.

"Master."

Sun Wukong lowered his voice.

Bodhi did not turn.

He uttered only three words.

His voice was light and faint.

But Sun Wukong felt as if punched in the chest.

"It has emerged."