Chapter Text
Liu’er Mihou, I vow to always protect you, to stand by your side, to love you completely through turmoil and strife. I vow to be an everlasting light to your eternal shadow. I vow to keep you forever in my thoughts. I vow that, no matter where life takes us — to the highest peaks or the deepest depths — I will never be far from you. I vow to comfort and care for you as gently as a ray of falling sunlight. I vow to always be yours. I vow to give my whole heart to you.
There are truths that Macaque has uncovered over the course of his time within the realm of the living. The desperate wants of mortal hearts, the vanity and pettiness of the divine, the need for control in an ever-changing world.
Power creeps into the souls of those who know better and exercises a desire that’s hard to ignore. Macaque has seen it happen too many times, and he’s not so much of a fool to believe that the same won’t happen to him now that he’s been given another chance at life.
He just hopes, when that moment comes, he remembers what’s important.
But there is no set path to life. Perhaps in some circles and beliefs, but Macaque has been burdened with all-sight and can chart the pathways of time with his eyes closed. And now that he’s experienced death and can speak of it with his own breath, the entire cycle is clear to him.
He is far from the only being to know the full experience, but others that do know harbor a denial that’s buried deep into the marrow of their bones. Or they give a quick tap to their temple, tricking their minds with magic as they play with their own memory. It’s easier to swallow that way.
As a being who should be dead, Macaque has toyed with the idea of manipulation of the mind himself, but such a thing would only cause more problems. The pain would be forgotten, but so would the little good he’s experienced. There are…too many things he wants to hold onto, despite his attempts to speak to the contrary.
Though he’s an oddity (a double oddity now) whose presence disrupts the order, the Celestial Realm has left him alone for the most part. Macaque counts his blessings, grapples with the idea that he still can be blessed, and nurses his festering hatred for them.
Because their cruel plan worked. Their punishment of intentional separation and torture instilled a fear in his soul that will never go away.
Yes, he’s seen the truth for what it is. He understands it to the point of being able to articulate and explain it, but terror grips him all the same. He’s completed a twisted circle. Meanwhile, Heaven sits up high, having their feasts and banquets while laughing at the misfortune of those below.
It’s much too late, but Macaque truly understands what Azure was saying now. But his hatred doesn’t end with those who remain blissfully ignorant to the plight of lesser beings. It extends to the realms below where demons and shades gather together, sewing plots and schemes while nurturing a flawed penchant for cruelty and personal malice.
Throughout his life and resurrection, Macaque has maintained his stance on the importance of details. The truth can be gleaned by being attentive and observant. Secrets can be revealed by noticing something that others don’t. He’s dedicated his entire life — lives — to this principle. He takes notice of the small things and commits them to memory.
For example, the ingredients needed to create a piece of eternal night and the processes to obtain them, war strategies that don’t account for reinforcements and the combined power of a heavenly foe, the exact amount of strength required to bludgeon and permanently blind a celestially-blessed eye.
Important things.
Macaque spends much of his time fine-tuning these details and turning them over in his head, connecting pieces and solving mysteries that others wouldn’t bother dedicating any amount of time to. He obtains various knowledge: the creation of each subset of magic, the history of the Mortal Realm and its many countries and territories, the names and roles of every divine who inhabits the pastel skies. He uses everything he’s accrued to discern the truth.
Trouble only starts when he looks inward.
Thanks to a truly harrowing experience within the translucent walls of a cursed mirror, Macaque has seen the truth for himself, and long hurts that he’s kept cradled to his chest have decayed into lies and assumptions that are worthless to him.
Most of this…was his own doing. That’s what disturbs him the most.
Not that the punishment and torture of his former mate didn’t strike a vengeful chord against Heaven that even Azure would be proud of. The punishment was tailored specifically to Wukong, and though Macaque is still lacking in details, he’s able to understand the gist.
Wukong’s too much of an idiot to see the damage that’s been done to his eyes.
So, to reiterate (He needs to reiterate as much as possible. He’s still having a hard time coming to terms with…this.), separation; torture; recovery and imprisonment; a journey and a betrayal; then murder on a summit.
And now, after failed attempts at vengeance, thwarting a maniac’s plans for destruction, and teaching the fourth celestial primate how to be a celestial primate, they find themselves back...here.
On Flower Fruit Mountain.
Macaque would call it poetic if it didn’t make a part of him die inside. (He’s allowed to make those kinds of jokes.) This place is no longer his home, despite all the evidence that says otherwise. And there’s…quite a bit of evidence, more than he would’ve suspected after nearly fifteen hundred years apart.
A ghost of himself has haunted this mountain in the intervening years between his death and resurrection. Smeared and faded paintings on a boulder outside of Wukong’s hut, tattered clothing being held together by resolute threads, objects and items that he commonly used being hidden in the piles of “organized” junk in the bushes and trees near the stairs.
Hidden — because looking at it means acknowledgement, and acknowledgement leads to pain — these reminders of himself are in close proximity to Wukong’s dwelling, and Macaque…feels a confusing twist in his heart, his judgement clouded by feelings of resentment and anguish.
He remembers what this place used to be. It was every demon’s dream to carve out a piece of territory for themselves, find a like-minded mate, and spend the days doing whatever their heart desired.
They had that. They lived it. … But every dream inevitably ends in smoke.
“So…what do you want to do?”
Macaque looks over at the bane of his existence, the one and (thankfully) only Sun Wukong. The phoenix feathers of his headdress blow in the breeze as he stands with his arms crossed and one brow raised. He’s practicing patience, which Macaque knows is terribly difficult for him.
They’re outside his hut. Down the steps and closer to the mouth of Water-Curtain Cave, they stand opposite each other.
Macaque crosses his arms, too. It looks better on him than on Wukong. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Wukong blinks. “Huh?”
Gods above, he’s so stupid.
“You told me to come over sometime. Well,” Macaque uncrosses his arms and gestures, generally, to himself— “here I am. What we do is your choice, since you are the one who extended the invitation.”
Frowning, Wukong voices his displeasure. “Do we really have to be so formal about this?”
“I think so,” Macaque returns to his crossed-arms position, “considering our other options are ignoring each other, fighting, or being argumentative. Formal sounds like the best option.”
“... Fine.”
Wukong rubs at the back of his neck with his right hand, a nervous habit he’s always had. He’s so easy to read with his loud gestures and animated expressions. Just one look is enough to know what’s on the Great Sage’s mind. Macaque dislikes that he still knows this useless information.
Once the whistling starts, Macaque sighs deeply in aggravation, wondering, once again, why he’s here.
Wukong stops suddenly and looks at Macaque with a smile. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna go for a walk?”
… That’s what he comes up with? Nevermind the eight days Macaque gave him after his initial invitation to think of something, just now — in front of Macaque’s face — he decided a walk would be a suitable enough activity for two enemies (or whatever) to do together?
Why is he even surprised?
Macaque sighs loudly, like the entire situation is more of a hassle than anything else and, yes, that’s quite accurate. Why is he here?
“... Fine,” Macaque huffs, glaring at the ground.
And that’s how it starts.
The day is bright with spring, and the many sounds of the mountain assault Macaque’s ears relentlessly. He places his hands in the pockets of his maroon pants and hunches his shoulders forward. A deep frown digs into his cheeks. The weather sings about him, but Macaque is disinterested in appreciating it.
They stick to the worn, dirt path, and Wukong keeps step with him easily. The Great Sage has his arms crossed behind his head as he walks forward without a care. With trees on either side of the trail, they’re given a small amount of shade, but the annoying sound of the wind rustling through the trees rings against his eardrums.
Macaque’s ears twitch irritably.
“Let’s turn here,” Wukong suggests suddenly, pointing to the right. The path winds down a steep hill and delves into a thick forest. The canopy of trees allow for little sunlight to peek through. Macaque remembers the young ones would play there often. Others would make nests.
He and Wukong used to take naps against the large tree trunks in that forest, hands and tails intertwined as the hours passed slowly.
Macaque’s upper lip curls with a sneer. He glares at Wukong but gets no reaction. “Why.”
“To get a break from the sun,” Wukong tells him, waving his hand up at the golden rays of the brightest star. “It’s shadier down there.”
Without waiting for a response from Macaque, Wukong turns to the right and begins down the trail.
This…faith that Wukong knows Macaque will follow after him is somewhat demeaning. On principle alone, Macaque decides to stay where he is.
Noticing this, Wukong stops and looks over his shoulder at Macaque. “Something wrong?”
Macaque doesn’t answer. He just stands there in his miserable posture, miserably irritated by the sounds both near and far, miserably bothered by the humidity in the air, and miserably upset by Wukong’s inherent need to lead him wherever he wants to go.
He’s not going to follow Wukong blindly. This situation isn’t that serious, but Macaque feels the need to assert himself regardless.
But in a turn of surprise, Wukong backtracks up the path. He lowers his hands and offers Macaque a sheepish smile. “Sorry, did you want to go to the left? We can.”
… How startling. Wukong would normally set a course or objective or plan and lead. Most of his ideas were foolish, spur of the moment things, but he led others into that madness all while speaking assurances that everything was fine.
Wukong still is terrible at coming up with plans. He still has a way of getting people to follow him based on the bare minimum of information and plenty of inspiring words. He plays at being confident and dependable when he’s anything but. He only listens to others when there’s a roadblock.
There is no roadblock here, yet he asks for Macaque’s opinion anyway. The thought and behavior comprising this minor situation is worth examining.
A test, then.
Macaque straightens his posture and neutralizes his expression. “I want our walk to end here.”
Wukong immediately looks crestfallen. His expression cascades into this vivid display of disappointment. His thick brows furrow, he frowns, his nose scrunches up slightly. “Oh… Okay.” He sighs and looks at Macaque with a very timid smile. “Uhm, so maybe…next week you could come back?”
No whining? No complaining? No overdramatic pouting?
Macaque saw changes on their journey for the lantern pieces. Making amends to demons he likely won’t ever see again, apologizing, showing mercy. Hell, he saw changes when fighting Wukong again, the amount of restraint he showed and his fierce protectiveness of MK.
But he doesn’t trust it regardless. How can he? After being promised paradise and given a staff through his right eye instead, how can he, in good conscious, trust the very person who killed him?
Macaque’s aware of the effect of time, but Wukong is immortal. Without a desperate need to change, he won’t. That’s how he’s always been.
In the face of this…kindness and consideration, Macaque eyes it warily. “Nevermind,” he tells Wukong. “Let’s keep going.”
Without waiting for a response, Macaque turns to the left and charts their course himself. It’s not like this path is much better. There’s less trees and it winds around to circle the beach, but it’s a choice Macaque made for himself.
He needs to get used to that. That’s what he wants to focus on in this life.
“Why the flip flopping?” Wukong asks once he’s jogged to catch up. He’s on Macaque’s left side now. Out of the corner of his eye, Macaque can see a twinge of irritation lining Wukong’s brow.
There’s that pout. Macaque knew it wasn’t completely gone.
“I’m not allowed to change my mind?” Macaque asks harmlessly. A breeze comes and blows his cape behind him. The sound of it being buffeted by the wind is exceedingly irksome.
“I didn’t say that. It’s just not like you.”
“You don’t know what I’m like anymore.”
Wukong stops short, but Macaque keeps walking, eyes forward.
“Liu’er,” Wukong says. Macaque’s name falls from his mouth like a stack of bricks. “Don’t say that. I know you better than anyone.”
Now, Macaque stops walking. He closes his eyes and pretends that the wind is a beautiful blessing instead of the constant nuisance he knows it to be. He compares himself to how he was before, ever at Wukong’s side, his shadow, his warrior, his mate. Any pursuits he wanted to chase were repeatedly put on the back burner. He held back his own potential just to please someone who ended up killing him.
Macaque pivots on his foot and walks back to stand in front of Wukong. He stares down at him with discontent and barely concealed rage. “Really.”
“Really,” Wukong replies. He looks up into Macaque’s eyes fearlessly. “We know each other well enough that we fought perfectly in sync after thousands of years.”
Macaque can’t really say anything to that. The proof is well-known to both of them. With just a single glance or word, they knew each other’s thoughts.
Most would give anything for that. Macaque gave everything for it.
“Do you not want me to know you anymore?” Wukong asks in a surprising show of awareness.
Macaque makes a point to not look away. “… Maybe.”
Wukong holds his gaze for a moment, stubbornness glaring through his expression. But then he calms, adjusting his stance to put his hands on his hips. “That’s your choice…but I want to know you.”
Macaque frowns. “Funny you think I care about what you want.” And he turns, walking back down the path he chose.
“Then why are you here?” Wukong calls after him. “Why are you walking with me? What do you want?”
And that’s the rub, isn’t it? He doesn’t believe that anyone quite gets it, especially Wukong. Macaque had a want, something so feral and delicious it consumed his every thought. But in being given another chance at life, he’s also made to contend with everything life entails — change most of all.
When the Lady Bone Demon was alive, his goals were readily lined out. Now that she’s dead, all of her ambitions — and Macaque’s debt — died with her.
What is a corpse supposed to want?
Macaque stares down at his boots and reflects on this. The words come to him easily, and he knows that’s as close as he wants Wukong to get. “I’m trying to figure that out myself,” he mutters.
And he keeps walking.
Just as he remembers, the path leads to one of the many beaches on the mountain. It’s not one of Macaque’s favorites. The sand is too dry and dark, the water too murky. This beach is closer to the Flaming Mountains that serve as a deterrent to humans. He always made a point to stay away from this area.
Macaque keeps to the path at the edge of the forest. Patches of sand crop up between the growths of grass, but it’s better than venturing out into that dark dryness. Large clouds form in the sky and grant them mercy from the sun. The waves sound different here. Another reason to dislike this beach.
Wukong’s taken to walking behind him instead of beside him. He’s gone silent. Macaque didn’t know that was fucking possible.
“You upset?” Macaque asks, unprompted. He may as well clear the air now.
“No,” Wukong whispers because he knows Macaque can hear a pin drop on the moon. “Just sad.”
“So…you’re upset, then,” Macaque decides, puzzled by that answer. Sad is just a synonym for upset. Gods above. “Why?”
“I don’t want to make this about me.”
“Smart. I appreciate that.”
“You won’t talk to me, though.”
“I am talking to you.” Macaque makes a sharp left turn and chooses the lesser evil of walking through another forested area of the mountain. It’s particularly dangerous here. He remembers saving young ones from golden-eyed vipers and sharp-clawed leopards.
He’s not as strong as he once was, so the shadows aren’t as obedient, but he compensates with his hearing. There are…seven annoyances nearby, and all it takes is a flick of a spell to divert their attention elsewhere.
Wukong’s oblivious because his observation skills only encompass the larger picture. Even now, he follows in Macaque’s exact footfalls, displaying trust without saying a word and, once again, leaving Macaque to manage the smaller details. “You know what I mean.”
Macaque goes quiet for a moment and leads them calmly through the forest. The sound of the grass crunching under their boots brings comfort in its steadiness. He only speaks when he’s given enough thought to what he wants to say. “You’re upset that I’ve changed in a way you don’t like?”
They cross through the lush undergrowth and low-hanging leaves of the forest. Fruit trees are speckled between the large and small trunks of other types, vines and large branches that are perfect to hang onto or jump from connect the crowns of the trees. Macaque reacquaints himself with their beauty and power.
When Wukong finally answers his question, his voice is small. “... After what you’ve been through, I’d be more surprised if you didn’t change at all.”
He’s full of surprises today. “Hm.”
Wukong steps closer, moving to walk just behind Macaque instead of several paces back. He fiddles with his hands and tries to articulate himself properly. “You just seem…lost to me.”
“I think, given my specific circumstances, a period of instability isn’t too strange.”
“I guess so…”
“And what do you want, Wukong?” Macaque asks. He stops walking and turns around, hands crossed over his chest. “You’re acting like you’ve got everything figured out.”
Wukong opens his mouth to immediately reply, but then thinks better of it, glancing down at the tall grass by their feet. He rubs his left hand against the back of his neck again, nervous and unsure. “... I figured out a few things recently.”
Macaque raises a brow. “And I’m guessing that’s what led to this?”
Squinting his eyes in confusion, Wukong asks, “‘This’?”
“This. Us.” Macaque motions back-and-forth between them. “Your want to fix this.”
Wukong frowns at that. He lowers his hand and balls it into a fist at his side. “You agreed to fix this, too.”
“... I did.” Macaque won’t deny that. He regards Wukong with a neutral expression, pausing for a moment before pushing forward. “But answer my question anyway.”
“Huh?”
Macaque takes a deep breath, displaying immense patience. “Why do you want to fix this?”
Something changes then, in the air, in the way Wukong’s looking at him. He tilts his head to the right and falls silent, considering, but there’s a light shining in his eyes that isn’t caused by the sunlight. It’s glowing and…cosmic.
“Because…I relearned the importance of bonds,” Wukong answers, placing his left hand on his chest. He smiles fondly, as if recalling a sweet memory. “Liu’er, my bond with you was my first true one. A part of myself has always been kept with you. I want to restore our connection.”
Macaque masterfully hides how those words wiggle like worms into the cracks of his heart. But his grief and anger grabs hold of each and every one of them, never letting him forget how these sentiments mean nothing in the face of cold, hard facts — Wukong murdered him carelessly and thoughtlessly. They can’t ever escape that.
Oblivious to this, Wukong continues. “I’ve…been isolating myself for a long while, keeping people away. I didn’t want to make new friends or connections because I fuck everything up.”
Macaque nods. “And I think that was pretty self-aware of you.”
The light of the stars begins to fade in Wukong’s eyes as he frowns, looking up at Macaque with a token of disbelief in his expression. “But Liu’er, that’s no way to live.”
Immediately incredulous, Macaque stares at Wukong in slight shock. “After everything you’ve done, you think you deserve that?” Macaque steps forward, uncrossing his arms to poke Wukong in the chest with a sharp claw. “You killed me in cold blood. Do you really have the right to make new connections? Have you changed enough to earn that?”
Wukong takes a step back, hands raised as if he intends to grab Macaque’s wrist and push him away. “I...”
But Macaque follows after him. He walks forward and forces Wukong to stumble, frightened when faced with his own sins. Macaque is death in Wukong’s eyes, the cold and biting reality of it. “You keep talking about all the good that journey did you — tell me: How would things have gone in our final battle if you were then who you are now?”
At the question, Wukong stops walking backward. He stands straight, with strength renewed in his limbs and in his stance. He allows Macaque to jab his claw into his chestplate and stares up at him with wisdom and knowledge that Macaque hasn’t seen before. “Honestly, if I was then who I am now, I wouldn’t have fought you at all.”
Macaque has a hard time believing that. He stays silent.
“No matter what you did, Liu’er, I wouldn’t have fought you.” Wukong places his left hand on Macaque’s wrist, warm fingers against cold skin. “I’d try and fix it first. I’d talk to you so I could understand, because I treasure our connection and I want to maintain it.”
It’s said with certainty, with the calm of autumn and the peace of sunset. Wukong stares up into his eyes and speaks only the truth. And that…change, that potential timeline, is so tragically sought that Macaque can’t justify giving it anymore thought.
He jerks his hand away, letting warmth leave him like it always does. He glares at the forest floor. “This is pointless, throwing hypotheticals around. What matters is the decisions you’re making now.”
“I agree,” Wukong mutters. “…I want to try and fix things with you, however I can.”
Macaque sighs deeply in the face of that resolve. Wukong always shoots down each and every obstacle or potential problem and carries on fearlessly. He did the same in the mirror, meeting Macaque’s trepidation and doubt with love and certainty.
There’s nothing he can do about it. It’s stubbornness, too, and Macaque doesn’t have the patience to deal with that. He turns again to lead the way through the forest. He takes about five steps before Wukong speaks again.
“And what about you?”
Macaque stops but doesn’t turn around.
“Why do you want to fix this?” He hears Wukong move to stand directly behind him. The wind comes again, blowing their capes in the breeze. “You wanted to kill me before. Has that changed?”
He supposes that question has been burning in Wukong’s mind since the mirror. What happens now that they’re working on fixing this? None of the feelings involved have suddenly vanished; they’ve been explained, recontextualized, but the pain remains. That urge for vengeance is the same. It festers in Macaque’s heart, itching to strike and take hold of something that would give him instant gratification.
But when he entertains those thoughts now, he’s stopped by glimmering shards of glass. He remembers a hand against his cheek. He remembers words spoken in earnest.
Macaque gives in to change. It’s futile to stand against it.
“… You said we are unique creatures,” Macaque whispers. He closes his eyes and tilts his head upward, embracing the sky. “That we don’t belong anywhere else, and we need each other.”
“And I stand by that,” Wukong says firmly.
That assurance is heartening. Macaque opens his eyes to the wonder of blue and white. “No matter how I feel about you…or what I want, that fact won’t change.”
He hears the subtle sound of Wukong drawing in a breath, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t understand, or he wants Macaque to continue on his own. That’s fine; he’ll make it abundantly clear.
Macaque turns to face him, kicking up dirt and leaves. The abundant sounds of nature and life are their companions. This place…used to be his home. He knows every inch of this mountain. He knows every secret. He can’t deny or run from his past. He can’t forget his memories here. He can’t forget Wukong. They’re so…intertwined with each other. It’s sickening and fascinating.
“You and I are inherently unique,” Macaque begins, keeping his hands by his side, ensuring his expression doesn’t give him away. “We were born within months of each other. We have the same life experiences. The same history.
“The time I spent with you…being your friend and mate…” Macaque lightly shakes his head, “it only lends itself to that truth.”
Wukong stares at him oddly. “Liu’er?”
Now Macaque smiles, perhaps for the first time since he’s come to visit. “You said it yourself, Wukong. You know me better than anyone.” He turns and resumes their walk, heading deeper into the forest.
That closeness is everything. No matter how badly he hates it, their… connection, even if strained and in pieces, still has more depth and knowledge than any other he has made or will make.
Macaque has accepted that truth.
After passing through the forest, the path Macaque chose leads them into an open area that’s sparse with trees. Wildflowers grow in the patches of lush grass. The trees here have high branches. The little ones would often challenge each other to reach the crowns. It requires great flexibility, experience, and agility to climb to the treetops and see the view. He remembers Wukong would often clear the trees in one leap, leading to others asking him for advice or to carry them up on his back.
Macaque hears them now, passing through the branches. They shake twigs and leaves onto the meadow below. Quick shadows that are hard to notice for others, but clear as day to Macaque. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he and Wukong walk side by side through the meadow, monkeys peering at them through the gaps in the trees.
They haven’t spoken in a while. It’s been nice. It’s possible Wukong’s thinking over their earlier conversation, or he doesn’t know what else to ask about. Either way, the silence doesn’t bother Macaque. He loses himself in other sounds. Like, one particular branch of a tree they’re approaching shaking repeatedly, leaves cascading toward the ground.
Wukong takes notice of this, too, eyes quickly focusing in that direction. He looks upward and scans the branches for activity. Without noticing, he adjusts the direction of his steps to investigate.
Interested, Macaque follows after him.
They move to stand under the tree, searching the branches and leaves for a mischievous monkey causing trouble. Wukong finds them first. He places his hands on his hips and frowns, narrowing his eyes as he gives a loud and authoritative chirp that demands respect and attention.
No monkey or ape on Flower Fruit Mountain can ignore such a call from their King. Even Macaque, who doesn’t reside here, feels himself stiffen, halting all movement. He reluctantly glances Wukong’s way as if waiting for instruction. He hates himself for it, but it’s driven by instinct.
“Xiaoping!” Wukong calls, raising a brow. “What are you doin’ up there?”
Head poking out from within the dark leaves of the tree, this…Xiaoping reveals themselves to be a young capuchin monkey, white faced with a long brown tail. They expertly climb down a bit to come closer to their monarch, hanging off of a thick branch with both arms. “Havin’ a great day!”
Macaque snorts at how silly this one is. Xiaoping swings back and forth on the branch as if their traipsing around in the trees didn’t cause a ruckus.
Wukong closes his mouth, contemplates, and then shrugs with a laugh. “You know what? Good deal. Carry on.” He takes a single step forward, but Xiaoping drops down to hang on another branch in order to come closer to them.
“Lao Sun!” Xiaoping calls, continuing to climb down the tree, “who’s that with you?”
Wukong turns to Macaque, golden eyes regarding him as if for the first time in a long time. Then, the most disturbing thing happens — Wukong smiles with the light of spring, colors of orange, gold, and red singing in the afternoon sun.
“An old friend,” is his answer, and something dark and tormented twists in Macaque’s stomach.
Xiaoping leaps from the branch and lands on the shoulders of their King. Now that they’re closer, Macaque can clearly identify that they’re a male. Xiaoping’s eyes are a dark and sweet brown, curious and playful like most monkeys.
He crawls over until he’s perched on Wukong’s left shoulder. He leans toward Macaque. Then, with a happy chirp, Xiaoping holds out a hand. “Hi! I’m Sun Xiaoping, the best monkey on this mountain.”
Wukong snorts, unimpressed. “That’s bold to say when you’re sitting on your King’s shoulders.”
Xiaoping takes a moment to consider this, retracting his hand to place it against his chin. He gives two taps, then smiles at Macaque again. He leans closer, as if telling a secret. “I’m the best monkey on this mountain.”
Macaque chuckles, already endeared to this young one. He takes his right hand out of his pocket and scratches the top of Xiaoping’s head in a show of care and protection as elders do to the young. “I like your spunk, kid.”
Xiaoping chirps again, tail nearly smacking Wukong in the face. Upon being accepted, Xiaoping jumps over to Macaque’s right shoulder and immediately begins to sniff him and play with his hair. “Are you gonna live here? All monkeys are welcome here, y’know.”
Macaque twitches his ears, a clear and easy tell to not mess with them, which Xiaoping respects. “Thanks, but I’ve made my home elsewhere.”
Xiaoping hops on top of his head and bends over to look into Macaque’s eyes. “Aw… Well, I hope you change your mind. You seem really fun!”
Before Macaque can say anything about that, Xiaoping leaps from his head and onto Wukong’s. Then he leaps onto a branch in the tree nearby. He hangs by his tail and waves to them with both hands. “Bye-bye, new friend! Bye, Lao Sun!”
And off he goes, climbing back up the branches and into the crowns of the trees to cause more chaos and mayhem.
Macaque can’t help but wonder about Xiaoping’s age. He looks at Wukong. “When was he born?”
Wukong blinks, looking at him as he recalls the exact number. “Uhm…about four hundred ninety years ago. He’s a troublemaker.”
“Hm. You’ve got your hands full.”
That makes Wukong laugh. He crosses his arms behind his head and starts walking again. “Don’t I always.”
After leaving the meadow and the high-branched trees, they come upon an old stone path. Plants and grass grow through the cracks forming in the surfaces, the stairs chipped and broken in places. This path is the one the demon kings would take to reach Water-Curtain Cave. Seeing it in this state just speaks to how much time has passed.
They take to the path without speaking a word to one another. The evening is setting in. He and Wukong tread carefully, both of them aware of the amount of time that’s passed and concluding that this walk is nearing its end.
Out of the corner of his eye, Macaque watches Wukong as he steps lightly. He looks carefree, golden eyes on the scenery around them, a small smile on his face. He must’ve loved every second of this walk. He’s so easy to please.
But, as they near Water-Curtain Cave, Macaque thinks on what his answer will be to the obvious question: Will he want to come back and do this again? His gut reaction is to refuse, but deep down, he knows he can’t do that. He did agree to work on things, and if this is how they begin that process…fine. It’s not the worst way they could’ve gone about it.
If nothing else, it’s interesting to see how the mountain has changed in his absence. And, in their few conversations today, they…reached an understanding of each other, Macaque thinks.
They reach the waterfall in no time at all. Wukong hesitates at the stepping stones that sit in the pool. He glances at Macaque once they come to a stop, a question in his eyes.
Macaque isn’t paying attention to that. The spell guarding the entrance to the cave has changed slightly. Could MK have something to do with it…? Macaque feels traces of his magic, but there’s no way MK would know anything about sealing spells.
“So, uh,” Wukong finally speaks up, rubbing his left arm with his right hand, “this was fun! Do…you wanna come back sometime…?”
Strange. He’ll have to ask about the spell another time. Macaque gives Wukong the privilege of his attention and pretends to consider the question. He makes a show to look around as if he’s thinking, but after a minute of torturous silence, he returns his gaze to Wukong and gives a very small smile. “Sure.”
Wukong brightens like a sunrise, his tail wagging behind him. “Really? I mean, great! That’s—” he interrupts himself with a laugh, clasping his hands behind his back “—that’s great.”
Having nothing to say about that display, Macaque just rolls his eyes. He’s never one to wait for a formal goodbye or anything like that. It’s much easier to say a few parting words and leave before things drag on too long. That’s how he’s always been.
A portal opens behind him, born from his own shadow. Macaque takes a step back toward it. He notices Wukong placing a hand on his chest, no doubt feeling the shadow magic at work. But before he can say anything — perhaps suggesting a certain time or place for them to reconvene — Macaque shoots him a grin.
“See you soon,” he says, keeping it simple. He vanishes into the portal without another word.