Chapter 517: Brew tea!

Master and disciple's idle chat!

The peach pit rolled twice outside the window, then fell into the mud in the courtyard.

Wukong wiped the peach juice from the corner of his mouth onto his sleeve, about to pick another.

Bodhi shifted the fruit plate to the side.

"Finish eating first, then take another."

Wukong sheepishly pulled his hand back.

The copper kettle on the mud stove began to bubble vigorously, its lid rattling pap-pap from the steam.

Bodhi set down the palm-leaf fan, reached out and lifted the copper kettle.

His movements were very slow.

So slow that Wukong had the illusion—the old man was doing it on purpose.

The copper kettle tilted, and hot water trickled into the purple-clay teapot.

The stream of water struck the pot's base, making a clear dripping sound.

Bodhi rotated the pot and poured out the first infusion.

The rinsing water flowed along the groove at the table's edge into the tray below, washing away the tea leaves' surface foam.

Wukong just lay on the table, watching.

He stacked his arms together and rested his chin on them.

His golden eyeballs followed the master's hand as it turned.

He wasn't in a hurry at all.

He could watch all day.

Bodhi lifted the copper kettle again for a second pour.

This time the flow was finer and steadier, like a transparent silk thread drawn from the spout.

Steam rose, warming the old man's fingertips to a faint red.

That hand—the hand that once crushed a Chaos-level threat with a flick of a finger—was now just brewing tea.

So steady it seemed he had never done anything else.

Wukong felt he could lie there and watch until the heavens grew old and the earth turned barren.

The tea leaves steeped in the pot for about twenty breaths.

Bodhi lifted the lid, glanced in, and nodded.

He picked up two coarse porcelain cups from the table and turned them over.

There was a small notch on the bottom, chipped when Wukong, a few hundred years ago, used it as a marble to play with.

Bodhi aimed the kettle's spout at the cup, and the tea poured down.

The color was amber, clear and clean.

One cup was pushed toward Wukong.

One cup was pushed toward Yao.

Bodhi did not pour for himself.

Tea aroma rose from the cups.

First came a light bitterness, then a sweet aftertaste.

Wukong's nose twitched.

The moment that scent entered his nasal passages, he froze.

He had lived for who knows how many hundreds of thousands of years.

He had been to the Chaos Abyss, and stormed to the end of the Universe.

He had smelled the sweetness of immortal peaches, the fishy odor of dragon's saliva, and the burnt smell after stars exploded.

But the aroma of this cup of tea was better than all of those combined.

So fragrant that his mind went blank, forgetting everything about the Equal Heaven Path and the Chaos Primordial Source.

All that remained was this warm wisp of tea scent in his nose.

He didn't know why.

Probably because it was brewed by the master himself.

Bodhi watched his dazed expression, the creases at the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Try it."

The old man's voice was plain and ordinary.

"This time it's hot."

Just four words.

But Wukong's nose tingled again.

This time it's hot.

He didn't have to warm it himself.

He didn't have to risk life and limb crossing the whole universe just to bring a cup of ice-cold tea to the master.

This time, the tea was placed right before him.

Hot.

Wukong lifted the teacup.

He first blew on it.

The steam was blown sideways by his breath.

He blew on it again.

Then he moved to the rim of the cup and carefully took a sip.

The tea scalded his lips when it touched them.

He smacked his lips.

Bitter.

Just as bitter as before.

But that warmth slid from the tip of his tongue down his throat, all the way warming his stomach.

It was so warm he wanted to sigh.

"Delicious."

Sun Wukong set the cup down and grinned.

"Better than that last cup."

Bodhi snorted: "That last cup had been cold for thirty thousand years—how could it be good?"

Yao also lifted her cup, took a sip, and her eyes lit up.

"Master, these tea leaves aren't ordinary."

"I grew them myself on the back slope of Fangcun Mountain."

Bodhi picked up the palm fan and waved it again: "Nothing special—just aged."

Sun Wukong lifted the cup again and took a big gulp.

This time he didn't blow on it.

It was so hot he sucked in air, his tongue flicking twice inside his mouth.

Bodhi gave him a sideways glance: "What's the rush? No one's competing with you."

"Hehe."

The study fell silent for a moment.

The wind's sigh through the pine trees drifted in through the window cracks.

The flames on the clay stove leapt twice, crackling once.

Yao set down her cup and jabbed Sun Wukong with her elbow.

Sun Wukong understood and sat up straight.

"Master, I have something to tell you."

Bodhi, eyes closed, waved his fan: "Speak."

"I've dealt with those old gods outside."

"Hmm."

"Over three hundred. Not one escaped."

"Hmm."

Sun Wukong waited two seconds.

"That's it?"

He added: "As for Tai Xu, I didn't kill him outright. I crippled his cultivation and tossed him to the mortal realm to farm."

"Hmm."

"The rest I turned into mortals too. Yao had them fitted with dao shackles so they can never cultivate again."

"Hmm."

Sun Wukong opened his mouth, feeling a bit stifled.

He had taken care of over three hundred old gods.

Over three hundred!

He also established new rules for the Three Realms.

Master, how about giving some reaction?

Yao watched the spectacle from the side, holding back her laughter.

Bodhi's fan paused.

He opened one eye and sized up Sun Wukong from head to toe.

"Not bad."

"Four words."

Sun Wukong: "……"

"Passable?"

"He swept away three hundred old gods, and that's just passable?"

"He set rules for the Three Realms, and that's just passable?"

Sun Wukong glared at Bodhi, wearing the expression "Are you teasing me?"

Bodhi closed his eyes, kept fanning, and the crease at the corner of his mouth curled up again.

"Old fox."

Sun Wukong held his breath, stuck in his throat.

Yao finally couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.

Sun Wukong turned and glared at her.

Yao immediately covered her mouth and shook her head, indicating nothing had happened.

"Fine then."

Wukong let out a sigh, leaned back against the chair, "Just make do, then."

He crossed his legs.

Smack.

The palm-leaf fan swiped his knee.

"Sit properly."

Wukong lowered his legs.

Bodhi fanned twice more, then suddenly spoke.

"That Grand Void."

Wukong pricked up his ears.

"How did you break his Grand Void Escape?"

Wukong blinked, then hehehed.

Master was asking about the process in a roundabout way.

"He wanted to run away."

Wukong perked up, sat straight, and gestured, "Just tore open a space rift, I whacked that rift—him and the space together—flat with one blow—"

"Flattened?"

"Like swatting a mosquito. Smack!"

Bodhi snorted: "Crude."

But the palm-leaf fan didn't swing back.

Wukong just knew—Master may not say it, but he's pleased inside.

He continued speaking.

He talked about how those old gods knelt and begged for mercy.

He talked about how satisfying it was to stomp on the Grand Void's treasure offering right in front of him.

He talked about how Yao efficiently slapped shackles on those guys.

Bodhi kept his eyes closed the whole time.

The palm-leaf fan swayed neither too fast nor too slow.

Occasionally he grunted, indicating he'd heard.

But Wukong noticed—the old man's palm-leaf fan was swaying slower and slower.

Eventually it almost stopped.

That skinny hand rested on the fan handle, motionless.

Bodhi seemed to have fallen asleep.

Yet it seemed he was listening intently.

The sunlight outside shifted from afternoon to dusk.

The light patch crawled from the floor up to the wall base.

The tea grew cold.

When Wukong finished the last part, his voice trailed off on its own.

The study fell quiet again.

He gazed at Master's gaunt face across from him.

The old man really was old.

His wrinkles were deeper than before.

His hair was whiter than before.

But he was still here.

Alive.

Sitting behind this rickety table.

Waiting for him to come back for tea.

That was enough.

Wukong was about to rise to refill Master's tea when Bodhi suddenly spoke.

His voice was very soft.

So soft he almost didn't catch it.

"Your mother's grave—it's time you went to see it."

Wukong's hand holding the tea pot froze midair.