Chapter 519: Fangcun Mountain's Lazy Bone

That gray stone slab was tucked close to his chest by Sun Wukong.

He didn't ask further.

Some things don't need to be asked.

That wisp of gentle breath pressed against his chest, warm enough that he wanted to close his eyes and sleep for ten thousand years.

Early the next morning, the sky over Fangcun Mountain was unusually clear.

Sunlight leaked through the gaps in the pine forest, casting circles of light on the courtyard's Green Stone slab.

Sun Wukong dragged the old dust‑covered rattan chair from the backyard out.

The chair legs scraped the stone slab, making a screeching sound.

He plopped down and leaned back.

The rattan chair let out a groan and swayed twice.

Sun Wukong rested his legs on the chair arms, his ten toes spreading comfortably in the sunlight.

Yao—grape.

He waved at her.

Yao came out with a basin of washed purple grapes and sat on the stone bench beside him.

She pinched a grape, peeled back the skin with her fingernail, revealing the juicy flesh inside.

She brought it to Sun Wukong's lips.

Sun Wukong took it into his mouth, chewed twice, and narrowed his eyes.

Sweet.

The grapes from the old trellis on the back slope of Fangcun Mountain, aged and cloyingly sweet.

Another one.

Yao peeled another and shoved it in.

Sun Wukong chewed the grape as the rocking chair creaked back and forth.

Wind blew from the pine grove, carrying the scent of resin.

He felt he had never been this comfortable in his life.

Shush—shush—

The sound of a broom sweeping the floor came from the other end of the courtyard.

Bodhi bent over, holding a bamboo broom to sweep the pine needles.

His movements were slow, one stroke at a time, like practicing tai chi.

The broom swept across the ground, kicking up fine dust that floated in the sunlight.

The old man swept for a while, then looked up.

He happened to see Sun Wukong lying there like a dead pig.

Bodhi's broom stopped.

His brows knotted together.

Monkey.

Sun Wukong, with grape in his mouth, mumbled an assent: 'Huh?'

Are your two claws broken or what?

Sun Wukong blinked: 'Not broken.'

Bodhi planted the broom upright on the ground.

If they're not broken, why do you let that lass wait on you?

You don't see the pine needles all over the yard? I'm seven hundred thousand years old and still have to sweep myself, while you lie there like a worm!

Sun Wukong spat out the grape skin, landing it precisely in the stone tub three steps away.

He rolled over and switched which leg was resting on the armrest.

Master, that's not right.

He tapped his own nose with a finger.

I just rounded up over three hundred old gods from the Three Realms and brought them back—over three hundred, not a single one missing! Isn't a couple days' rest reasonable?

Try substituting someone else—those brats' combined cultivation is already nearing half an eon; who could take them all in one pot?

Bodhi snorted: 'You have the nerve to say that.'

Coming back from a fight and acting like a hero—big deal? You go out, cause a ruckus, then come home and just lie there like a corpse!

Sun Wukong clasped his hands behind his head, his raised toes twitching.

That's not just one fight, Master. Hongjun fought, the Tathagata fought, Cundi fought, even the Original Mistake got into it.

He counted on his fingers.

So by that reckoning, I should have at least half a year off, right?

Cut the crap.

Bodhi swept the broom in a circle, blowing all the pine needles under Sun Wukong's chair.

Get up and sweep the floor.

Sun Wukong didn't budge.

Master, with a flick of your broom you could clean the whole place—besides, what's your cultivation level? A snap of your fingers would leave this courtyard spotless.

Bodhi stopped.

He pointed the broom handle at Sun Wukong's nose tip.

I just like sweeping by hand—what's it to you?

No problem, no problem.

Sun Wukong hurriedly waved his hands.

Bodhi snorted, then swept.

He swept twice, then turned back.

Spit out those grape skins cleanly, don't litter them on my floor.

All right—— Sun Wukong spat out another grape skin.

Pat—

It landed right on the patch Bodhi had just swept clean.

Bodhi's broom stopped.

Sun Wukong felt a chill on his back.

He slowly turned his head.

Master's eyes narrowed into a slit.

Hmph.

On purpose?

No, no, no!

Sun Wukong sprang up from the chair, his hands flailing in front of him.

It's the wind! The wind from the pine forest! Look, isn't that tree swaying——

Bodhi grabbed the broom and swung it over.

Sun Wukong did a backflip off the chair, landing steady with a clang.

He grimaced at Master, then plopped back onto the chair.

Oh Master, don't be angry—can't I sweep later?

Later? Which later? Wait till sunset or till next year?

Well—wait till we finish this pot of grapes?

Bodhi laughed in anger.

He leaned the broom against the wall, walked to the chair by the stone table and sat down.

Lazy bones.

Lazy since childhood. When I had you sweep the meditation room, you swept all the trash under your senior brother's bed. You think I didn't know?

Sun Wukong gave a hehe laugh: 'Isn't that clever?'

Clever my ass. Your senior brother came to tattle the next day.

Yao's hands kept peeling grapes, but her shoulders trembled.

She turned her face away, holding back her laughter.

Sun Wukong glanced at her, raised an eyebrow: 'What are you laughing at? Don't you even understand the principle of helping husband but not master?'

Yao couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.

I think Master makes sense.

Sun Wukong wore a look of betrayal.

Traitor.

Yao shoved a peeled grape into his mouth to shut him up.

Sun Wukong had no choice but to close his mouth and chew.

Bodhi watched this scene, shook his head, but the crease at the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

He pulled out that old palm-leaf fan from his sleeve and began to wave it slowly.

The courtyard fell quiet for a moment.

Only the creak of the rocking chair and the sound of the fan waving remained.

Sun Wukong leaned back in the chair and spat out the grape skin in his mouth.

This time he behaved, spitting the skin into his own palm.

Then he rolled it into a little ball and flicked it away.

The ball traced a perfect arc and dropped into the wooden bucket at the corner of the courtyard.

He crossed his legs, the chair rocking back and forth, his mouth split into a wide grin.

The afternoon breeze was warm.

The scent of pine needles mixed with the sweet aroma of grapes.

Sun Wukong felt his eyelids a little heavy.

Not from sleepiness.

It's just too comfortable.

So comfortable he didn't need to think about anything.

No need to think of Hongjun, no need to think of the Original Mistake, no need to think of the old gods.

Just swaying like that.

Yao lowered her head, peeling grapes, a smile on her lips.

She turned her head to look at Sun Wukong's defenseless face, then at Bodhi dozing off while fanning himself with the palm-leaf fan not far away.

Her heart went all soft and mushy.

This is pretty good.

No one was hunting them, no one scheming, no one wanted to die.

Master swept his ground, Wukong slacked off, and she peeled grapes in the middle.

This is the kind of day Fangcun Mountain should have.

The sun moved westward from overhead.

The shadows in the courtyard grew longer and longer.

Golden light spread down from the treetops of the pine forest, dyeing the whole courtyard honey-colored.

Wukong's face also got a gilded layer.

His breathing steadied, and the chair swayed more and more slowly.

Bodhi opened his eyes and glanced at the monkey about to fall asleep.

The fan paused.

The old man shook it twice more, taking back that half-swept face.

He didn't hit him.

It's rare.

Let him lie down a bit longer.

The sunset stretched Fangcun Mountain's shadow long and long, all the way to the roots of the old pine tree behind the mountain.

Pine needles still fell all over the ground.

No one tended to it.

Wukong's snoring sounded.

Yao placed the last grape on the stone bench by his mouth, stood up, and refilled Bodhi's cup with water.

Bodhi took the cup, sipped, and fanned himself while gazing at the reddening western sky.

Suddenly.

His fan jerked.

That bony right hand slightly tightened its grip on the fan's handle.

At the edge of the Western Heaven, something was moving.

It flashed past.

It was so fast that even Wukong's perception wasn't triggered.

But Bodhi saw it.

He saw that behind the setting sun, a golden vertical pupil flickered and vanished.

That eye was smiling.