Chapter 518: A Terrifying Trial!

Wukong's hand holding the teapot went stiff for a while.

"Mother" sprang from the Master's mouth, like a thorn stabbing his heart.

He opened his mouth, but no word came out.

Yao, standing beside him, also froze, the tea cup in her hand hanging in midair.

Bodhi said no more, and the palm fan began to sway again, as if the previous words had been spoken offhand.

Wukong placed the teapot back on the table and gave a muffled "hm".

"Go back."

Just three words.

His voice was very low, as if speaking to himself.

Bodhi gave no reply, closed his eyes and nodded.

The Study fell quiet again for a while.

The wind outside the window blew pine needles onto the courtyard's stone path, producing a fine rustling sound.

Wukong inhaled, rubbed his face vigorously, and pressed the sour feeling back.

He lifted the tea cup again, took a sip, and smacked his lips.

"Master."

"Hm?"

"Some other day, you can go with me, okay?"

Bodhi paused the fan, opened one eye and glanced at him.

He said neither yes nor no, just "hm".

Wukong took this as an agreement, and his mouth twitched.

The atmosphere relaxed a bit again.

Yao took the chance to refill three cups, and the steam warmed the Study.

Wukong had just leaned his body against the chair back—

Bang.

Bodhi placed the palm fan on the table.

The movement was slight.

The sound was also faint.

But Wukong's lower spine shot up a chill with a "whoosh".

He tilted his head and looked at the Master.

Bodhi's face changed.

The previously benevolent old man's expression vanished.

In its place was a cold face as if carved from stone.

The corners of his mouth were flat.

His eyebrows knit together.

His two eyes were half-open, looking down at him.

Wukong was all too familiar with that look.

When he was young, he blew up his Senior Brother's alchemy furnace; the Master looked at him like this then.

"Wukong."

Bodhi spoke.

His voice was neither high nor low, no different from usual.

But the hairs on Wukong's back rose.

"M-Master?"

"Lately the wind's been quite strong, huh."

Bodhi tapped his finger on the tabletop.

"Three hundred old gods, say they're obsolete and they're obsolete. Three Realms' rules, say change and they change. The Heavenly Court smashed, Ling Shan demolished, the Dragon King struck, Hongjun trampled."

Each sentence leapt out; with each, Wukong's neck shrank a notch.

"What now?"

Bodhi's voice lowered by half a tone.

"Wings hardened?"

"Do you think that now, across the Three Realms, no one can control you?"

At this point, Bodhi suddenly emitted a breath of aura.

It was light.

Much lighter than when he previously crushed the Heavenly Dao Chains and slapped Zhun Ti away with a single palm.

But with just that tiny breath descending, Wukong's two legs sprang up with a "ding".

The chair tipped backward.

Clang— it slammed onto the floor.

Wukong stood perfectly upright, his hands instinctively pressed against his trouser seams.

Like a soldier who had committed an offense.

Yao also jumped in fright, the cup in her hand nearly falling to the ground.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from Wukong's forehead.

Cool and breezy.

Although that pressure was light, the feeling it gave him was even more weakening than Hongjun's law grindstone back then.

It wasn't a crushing of strength.

It was a deep-seated fear of his Master.

That kind of conditioned reflex, beaten into him since childhood and etched into his soul.

His mind raced.

What did I do?

Which of my recent actions was wrong?

Strike the old gods?

Those things deserve to be struck!

Abolish their cultivation?

That was also you, Master, telling me to clean up!

Establish rules?

I didn't act recklessly……

Wait.

Could it be the Dragon King affair?

Was stuffing the pearl into Ao Guang's mouth a bit too much?

Or… did sitting on the Jade Emperor's dragon throne cross a taboo?

A hundred thoughts collided in his mind, leaving Wukong flustered.

Master!

He hurriedly spoke, his voice a notch higher than usual.

I didn't bully anyone! Really!

Bodhi didn't move.

No emotional fluctuation could be seen on that cold face.

Wukong grew anxious, rubbing his hands together in front of him.

Those old gods truly deserve to die! They siphon the mortal realm's spiritual veins, torment the common folk—if I don't act—

I'm asking if you've forgotten the rules.

Bodhi interrupted him.

Wukong's words stuck in his throat, neither swallowable nor spit out.

He bowed his waist and shifted half a step sideways, his eyes furtively glancing upward.

Looking at his Master's brow.

Looking at his Master's mouth corners.

Trying to find even a hint of 'forget it, I'll let you off this once' loosening on that old face.

None.

Not at all.

Bodhi's face looked as if it had been dug out of an ice cellar.

Wukong dared not breathe loudly.

His breathing grew lighter and slower, like a thief's.

His hand-rubbing sped up, his palms slick with sweat.

Master, please calm down.

Wukong's voice sounded hollow.

Which rule are you referring to? Tell me, and I'll correct it—

「……」 -> "\"……\""

Bodhi remained silent.

Just staring at him.

Ten breaths.

Twenty breaths.

Thirty breaths.

In the study, it was so quiet one could hear the faint crackle of charcoal in the clay stove.

Wukong felt he was about to be driven mad by this silence.

He was about to kneel and admit fault—whether he was actually wrong or not, kneel first and talk later—

Pfft.

A barely audible laugh escaped from Bodhi's nose.

Wukong froze.

Then he saw the crease at the corner of his Master's stern, cold face twitch.

It twitched again.

Bodhi finally couldn't hold back.

Ha!

He slapped the table with a palm and burst out laughing.

They laughed so hard that the palm-leaf fan slipped off the table edge and fell to the ground.

He laughed until the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes all bunched together.

"All right, all right—"

Bodhi waved his hand, his laughter not yet fully died down.

"Just teasing you."

"Look at how scared you are."

He pointed at Sun Wukong, then tapped the tabletop.

"Great Sage Equal to Heaven who swept the Three Realms, with just one glare from me you turn into a quail—what a disgrace."

Sun Wukong: "……"

He stood in place, his expression shifting from fear to bewilderment, then from bewilderment to embarrassment.

A breath burst from his throat with a "whoosh."

His legs went weak too.

He plopped back onto the chair—wrong, the chair tipped over.

His butt hit nothing but air, and he landed straight on the ground.

"Hiss—"

Sun Wukong grimaced, rubbing his tailbone as he pushed himself up from the ground.

He righted the chair, then flung it down onto it.

"Master!"

His voice cracked.

"You're not just trying to scare me, are you!"

Bodhi had already picked up the palm-leaf fan, swaying it slowly.

His face was full of the satisfaction of having succeeded.

"Who let you shake your legs and prop your feet in front of me."

"Just a reminder."

"No matter how mighty you are outside."

Bodhi lifted his eyes and glanced at him.

"Once you enter this door, you're my disciple. Remember that?"

Sun Wukong rubbed his butt, his face plainly saying "I'm wronged."

But at some point the corner of his mouth had turned up.

"Got it, got it."

He plopped onto the chair, one leg about to kick up—then he pulled it back.

He honestly kept both feet on the ground.

"Master, you really— I thought I was going to get beaten."

"If you get any cheekier, I'll really hit you."

Yao laughed beside him, her shoulders shaking.

She bent over, picked up the teacup that had fallen on the floor, refilled it, and handed it to Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong took it and gulped a big mouthful.

This time the tea wasn't bitter at all.

It's for calming the shock.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, exhaled deeply, and leaned back against the chair to stare at the ceiling.

His heart was still thumping.

He had never been this nervous even when fighting the Original Mistake.

He had never felt this weak‑legged even when arguing with Hongjun.

Just that one move from Master—works better than anything.

He was about to open his mouth to complain a bit.

Bodhi suddenly stopped laughing and set the palm‑leaf fan down on the table.

Sun Wukong shuddered all over.

"Again?"

But this time Bodhi didn't release any pressure.

The old man simply pulled something from his sleeve and placed it on the table.

A gray stone chip the size of a fingernail.

"This."

Bodhi pushed the stone chip toward Sun Wukong with his finger.

"Take it with you tomorrow."

"Go to your mother's grave and burn it."

Sun Wukong lowered his head to look at the dusty gray stone chip, his brows slowly knitting together.

He could feel a extremely faint breath sealed inside the stone chip.

That breath……was so gentle it was unreal.

Like a hand stroking his head.