Lingtai Square Inch Mountain, Unwelcoming of Noise

Goten listened quietly.

"He didn't wreak havoc in the Heavenly Court out of hatred—it was because he didn't know how to express himself. Everyone feared him, everyone wanted to use him—Tathagata wanted him to protect the pilgrim, the Heavenly Court wanted him to be an official, and the Jade Emperor wanted him to be a thug. No one ever asked him what he actually wanted."

"Then have you asked him?"

Zixia smiled, though there was a hint of bitterness in it. "I did. He said, 'Old Sun wants someone who can beat me.'"

Goten was stunned. "Isn't he incredibly strong?"

"He is strong. But he was too lonely. Everyone feared him—no one could stand beside him as an equal. He wanted a friend—a friend who could truly fight side by side with him."

Zixia turned her head to look at Goten. "You said you wanted to become stronger—what for?"

"To protect people. To protect the people around me."

"Including Sun Wukong?"

Goten froze. He had never thought of it from this perspective—not defeating Sun Wukong, not surpassing Sun Wukong—but protecting him. "Does he... does he need someone to protect him?"

"He is dead," Zixia said softly. "Regardless of how he died—he is dead. He waited for five hundred years—waiting for someone who could help him."

Zixia reached out and gently patted Goten on the head. "You have come."

In the afternoon, Goten went to find Patriarch Bodhi.

"I have already delayed for three days," Goten said, standing before Patriarch Bodhi with a serious expression. "Please, begin teaching me."

Patriarch Bodhi was brewing tea. His movements were unhurried, as if he hadn't heard Goten at all.

"Old sir—"

"What is the rush?"

"I am not in a rush—but the Heavenly Court is. Zixia has awakened, and I fear they—"

"The Heavenly Court will not come." Patriarch Bodhi poured a cup of tea and pushed it toward Goten. "At least within these seven days—they will not come."

Goten was stunned. "How can you be so sure?"

Patriarch Bodhi picked up his own teacup and gently blew away the steam. "Because I told them—" He took a sip of tea, "—Lingtai Square Inch Mountain does not welcome noise."

Goten fell silent for a moment, then picked up the teacup and took a sip, mimicking his movements—it was so hot he nearly spat it out.

"Slow down." A hint of a smile touched the corners of Patriarch Bodhi's mouth.

Goten set the cup down and took a deep breath—and then he felt something. It wasn't strength, nor was it qi—it was something like water, flowing slowly through his body.

"What is this...?"

"The tea you drank. Three-hundred-year-old Spirit Mist Tea." Patriarch Bodhi set his cup down. "Did you think I was giving you ordinary tea?"

Goten looked down at the cup, which was still steaming—the water-like sensation inside him was flowing faster and growing warmer.

"Now—sit cross-legged and close your eyes."

Goten followed the instructions immediately.

"Do you feel that warm current?"

"Yes."

"That is primordial qi. The most fundamental power between heaven and earth—all immortal arts are built upon its foundation. What you must do now is not to use it—but to memorize how it feels."

Goten closed his eyes, focusing on the warm current within. It traveled slowly through his meridians like a gentle river. Wherever it passed, that part of his body became light and relaxed.

"From today on, come to see me every morning—to drink tea. After you finish the tea, go and sit under the waterfall. You don't need to do anything—just feel the sensation of the water flowing over your body."

"Just sit there?"

"Just sit there. When you can sit under the waterfall for the duration of an incense stick without being washed away—then you can learn immortal arts."

Goten opened his eyes. "How long will that take?"

Patriarch Bodhi stood up, walked to the door, and said with his back to him, "Sun Wukong took three months."

Goten clenched his fists. Three months—he couldn't wait that long. But the next second—he thought of Zixia's words: You have come. He relaxed his grip. "Fine. Three months."

Patriarch Bodhi did not turn around, but Goten heard him chuckle softly.

At dusk, Goten sat under the waterfall.

The water crashed down from a height of ten zhang, making his shoulders ache. He gritted his teeth and remained motionless.

Under the impact of the water, the warm current within him did not dissipate—instead, it became even more active.

He closed his eyes, feeling those two forces—the external water and the internal primordial qi—meeting, colliding, and merging within him.

He began to understand—the way of cultivation in this world was not about training or meditation—it was about learning to communicate with the world.

The time for one incense stick passed. He stood up, soaked to the bone, but his eyes were shining.

Zixia sat on a rock in the distance, watching him emerge, and smiled. "How does it feel?"

Goten shook his wet hair and answered earnestly, "I feel like—I have only just begun to know this world."

In the distance, Patriarch Bodhi stood at the mountain gate, watching their retreating figures.

He gently flicked his horsetail whisk, a faint, imperceptible smile on his lips—five hundred years ago, someone else had sat here, also soaked to the bone, and had said something similar.

Only, that person had left and never returned. This one—he hoped it would be different.

Tomorrow—would be a new day.

And he—was only just beginning...