Chapter 516: Back to the Study!

All the dust has settled!

Sun Wukong couldn't remember how long that battle lasted.

Maybe three days.

Or maybe three breaths.

When Master said, 'It's come out,' his whole body was like a taut bowstring.

But Bodhi just walked over to that crooked pine tree, raised his bony right hand, and lightly flicked in the void.

Like flicking off a speck of dust on his sleeve.

Then that terrifying aura from the edge of the universe vanished.

Gone completely.

Clean as if it had never appeared.

Sun Wukong stood with his mouth open, dazed for a long while.

Bodhi turned around without even glancing at him.

"Making a fuss over nothing."

The old man's tone was no different from shooing away a fly.

Sun Wukong wanted to ask what exactly that thing was.

Bodhi had already walked into the Daoist temple with his hands behind his back.

He stopped halfway and threw out a sentence.

"Come in for tea, don't just stand outside."

And that was it.

The threat that had made Bodhi frown for days turned to ash with a snap of his fingers.

Sun Wukong stood there for a full ten breaths before he realized——

Master is just Master.

Why did he worry so much?

Yao tugged at his sleeve from the side.

The two followed behind and entered the Daoist temple.

They passed through the courtyard.

They went around the water vat filled with pine needles.

They passed through the corridor piled with old bamboo slips.

They walked straight to the door of the innermost study.

The door was half-closed.

Sun Wukong reached out and pushed it open.

Creak——

The wooden door made a sound exactly like it did hundreds of years ago.

Bodhi sat behind that old desk.

Just sitting there.

It overlapped exactly with every scene in Sun Wukong's memory.

A corner was chipped—something Sun Wukong had accidentally knocked while practicing his staff centuries ago.

Three shallow-to-deep scratches marred the surface, left from when he as a child secretly carved 'I was here'.

Bodhi wore his usual old Daoist robe, patched who knows how many times.

The cuffs were frayed.

A small tea stain still lingered on the collar.

He held a small palm fan, lazily waving it.

It was as if nothing had just happened.

As if he hadn't just crushed a Chaos-level threat with a snap.

As if he were merely an ordinary old man waiting in the afternoon for his disciples to come home for tea.

Water boiled in the clay stove on the table.

It gurgled, steaming.

The steam rose, fogging Bodhi's gaunt old face.

The tea canister beside him was open; the fresh leaf scent mixed with pine smoke, flooding Sun Wukong's nose.

Bodhi lifted his head and glanced.

Just a glance.

Then he set the fan down on the table.

"You still know how to come back."

Four words.

The voice was neither loud nor soft, the tone neither salty nor bland.

It was no different from scolding a monkey caught stealing peaches.

Sun Wukong's nose tip felt sour.

It sourly caught him off guard.

He had defeated the Original Mistake.

He had crushed Heavenly Dao Hongjun.

He smashed the rules of the Three Realms and reestablished them.

He swept across the eight directions of the Universe, trampling everything that blocked his path underfoot.

But none of those compare to how comfortable Master's words "You still know how to come back" make him feel.

What Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

What the peak of the Universe.

In this rundown Study, he will always be that smelly monkey who stole peaches, got caught, and got smacked on the head with a fan.

This feeling is so good he wants to howl.

"Hehe, Master."

He grinned, showing his teeth.

His voice was a little hoarse.

Yao is more clever than him.

She trotted over to Bodhi in a few steps, bent down, and began pounding the old man's back.

Her technique was neither too light nor too heavy.

"Master, you've worked hard; your shoulders are stiff."

Bodhi snorted, not telling her to stop.

The palm-leaf fan was picked up again and waved slowly.

The line at the corner of his mouth curved up slightly, impossible to notice unless you looked closely.

Sun Wukong watched this scene, and the last taut string in his heart finally loosened.

He dragged over the nearby wooden chair missing a leg, propped up with half a brick.

He plopped down.

He threw his legs up onto the table.

He casually snatched a peach from the fruit plate on the table corner.

Crack, he bit into it.

Juice trickled down his chin.

He held the peach in his mouth and mumbled, "Master, this peach is great—sweeter than the ones from Mount Huaguo."

He leaned back against the chair.

His whole body went limp there.

Like a puddle of mud.

Not like a big shot who swept across the Three Realms.

Like a small-time hoodlum coming home on vacation.

Smack.

The palm-leaf fan swiped his raised calf.

It didn't hurt.

But the sound was crisp.

"Put your feet down."

Bodhi's voice was flat.

"Is the table for putting your smelly feet?"

Sun Wukong hehehed.

He pulled his legs back, and his feet planted firmly on the ground.

He sat up straight.

"Got it, got it."

The peach still in his mouth, he tilted his head and grinned at Bodhi.

That look was exactly the same as when, after being scolded by Master centuries ago, he'd clung on shamelessly.

Bodhi glared at him.

The palm-leaf fan began to sway slowly again.

The water on the clay stove boiled over.

The gurgling sound echoed in the quiet Study.

Yao obediently let go, went around to the front of the table, picked up the copper kettle, and poured water into the teacup.

Steam rose.

The tea leaves unfurled and churned in the cup.

Three cups.

One cup offered to Bodhi.

One cup offered to Sun Wukong.

One cup she held herself.

No one spoke.

They just sat quietly in this dilapidated Study.

Outside the window, wind blew through the pine grove.

A rustling sound came from afar.

Sunlight slanted in through the half-open window, casting a warm yellow patch on the floor.

Dust motes swirled in the beam of light.

Wukong finished the peach and casually tossed the core out the window.

Then he picked up the teacup and blew on it.

It's hot.

It is hot.

This time he doesn't need to warm it himself.

He took a sip.

It's bitter.

It's bitter, just like in his memory.

But after it goes down his throat, there is a sweet aftertaste.

Wukong looks at the Master opposite him.

The old man has his eyes closed, swaying the palm-leaf fan back and forth.

Yao sits on the little horse stance nearby, hands cupping the teacup to warm them, a smile on Yao's face.

There is no Heavenly Dao pressing down.

There are no enemies chasing after him.

There is nothing in the Three Realms that needs saving.

There are no disciples that need to be eliminated.

There is nothing left.

All that remains is this leaky, broken study.

A pot of hot tea.

Three people.

Wukong sets the teacup on the table and leans his back against the chair.

He gazes at the beam across the ceiling that is about to be broken by insect rot.

The corners of his mouth are curved.

The battle outside is over.

The debts of the Three Realms are settled.

Those who bullied him are all lying down.

Those who deserved death have died, those deserving abolition have been abolished, and those fated to become mortals farming the land are now digging for food in the fields.

The monkey offspring of Mount Huaguo now run things themselves.

Mortal people no longer need to kowtow to anyone.

In this lifetime, what Sun Wukong owes, is owed to him, has schemed against him, and has been falsely accused of——

All settled.

Not a single item remains.

Starting today.

He is merely a smelly monkey in this study who drinks tea and gets hit by the Master's fan.

That's enough.

Master.

Wukong suddenly speaks.

Bodhi didn't open eyes, just grunted.

The tea is not bad.

Cut the nonsense.

Wukong hehehed again.

The palm-leaf fan across the table gave another puff at his head.

He didn't dodge.