Sun Wukong's Reincarnation

In the afternoon, when Zhi Zun Bao found Patriarch Bodhi, the Patriarch was brewing tea inside a cave.

Zhi Zun Bao stood at the cave entrance without going in—he felt his relationship with Patriarch Bodhi hadn't reached the point where he could just wander in to cadge a cup of tea.

"Come in." Patriarch Bodhi didn't even lift his head.

Zhi Zun Bao walked in and sat down across from the tea table. He rubbed his hands together, unsure of how to broach the subject.

"You want to ask—who exactly you are?"

Zhi Zun Bao froze for a moment, then nodded.

Patriarch Bodhi poured a cup of tea and pushed it toward Zhi Zun Bao. Zhi Zun Bao picked it up and took a sip—it scalded the tip of his tongue, but he didn't put the cup down.

"Have you heard of the reincarnation of Sun Wukong?"

Zhi Zun Bao was stunned. "Reincarnation?"

"Sun Wukong was pinned under Five Finger Mountain by Tathagata for five hundred years. After he emerged, he protected Tang Seng on his pilgrimage for the scriptures. When the journey ended, he became a Buddha, but he made a choice that no one expected."

"What choice?"

"He renounced his status as a Buddha. He chose to re-enter the cycle of reincarnation—to be reborn as an ordinary person."

Zhi Zun Bao's hand paused.

"He wanted to know if he could still live a good life if he weren't the Great Sage Equal to Heaven." Patriarch Bodhi picked up his tea and took a sip. "He wanted to know if, without the Golden Cudgel, without the Seventy-Two Transformations, and without those supernatural powers, there would still be anyone willing to be his friend."

He set down his teacup and looked at Zhi Zun Bao.

"He was reincarnated as a bandit leader—unable to use Immortal Art, unable to fight—he was even afraid of a sand scorpion. His name is Zhi Zun Bao."

Zhi Zun Bao's pupils contracted violently.

"You—you are Sun Wukong."

"But—you said I had a past life—"

"You have two past lives." Patriarch Bodhi's gaze grew profound. "In your first life, you were Sun Wukong—the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. But that wasn't a reincarnation; that was your origin. As for your previous life—the one during the time you protected Tang Seng after emerging from Five Finger Mountain—you once had a friend in the mortal realm. He was also a human. That person's name was also Zhi Zun Bao."

Zhi Zun Bao was completely dumbfounded.

"When you passed through his village on your pilgrimage, he was already over eighty years old. You sat by his bedside for an entire night. The next day, he passed away. You buried him with your own hands. Then, you continued on your way. Later, after becoming a Buddha, you chose to be reincarnated—to be reborn as a new Zhi Zun Bao, a free bandit leader."

Zhi Zun Bao remained silent for a long time. Then he spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse but steady. "Then—am I still Sun Wukong?"

"Yes—but also no." Patriarch Bodhi looked him straight in the eyes. "You possess the strength and memories of Sun Wukong, but you are no longer the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. You are the version of himself that Sun Wukong wanted to be most—a free man. You can choose when to remember, and you can choose when to let go."

Zhi Zun Bao sat there. The light in the cave was dim, but he felt something ignite within his heart—not a candle flame, but a sun.

A power that had long existed but had been forgotten was, at this moment, awakening.

He stood up and bowed to Patriarch Bodhi—not the gesture of a disciple to a master, but one person expressing heartfelt gratitude to another.

Then he turned and walked out of the cave. The sunlight outside shone on his face, and he did not squint.

By evening, Zhi Zun Bao sat alone under the old locust tree.

He thought through his life from beginning to end: a bandit leader, being possessed by himself, using a bamboo pole to shatter the Immortal-Trapping Array, and now, the realization that he was the reincarnation of Sun Wukong.

He looked down at his hands—had these hands once held the Golden Cudgel?

He didn't remember. But these hands were currently holding a bamboo pole.

He suddenly felt the weight of the bamboo pole had changed—not that it had become heavier, but it had changed. It felt like something an old friend had lent him.

"Hey—" Goten's voice came from behind him.

Zhi Zun Bao turned his head. Goten walked over, covered in dirt, and sat down beside him. He held two steamed buns and handed one to Zhi Zun Bao.

"Zixia said you were looking for me."

Zhi Zun Bao took the bun and took a bite. He chewed for a long time before speaking. "Today—Patriarch Bodhi told me. I am the reincarnation of Sun Wukong."

Goten wasn't very surprised. He took a bite of his bun and asked while chewing, "Then, in this life—what do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

Goten took two more bites of his bun, then said, "Don't let your past life decide this one."

Zhi Zun Bao was stunned, then couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't because the words were funny, but because he had learned a truth from a twelve-year-old boy that he hadn't been able to figure out in however many years he had lived. "Your dad—is truly an amazing person."

"Yeah." Goten nodded earnestly. "He is."

Zhi Zun Bao finished his bun, stood up, and brushed the dust off his backside. He took two steps, then stopped without turning back. "Thanks."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"For letting me know why I came to this world in this reincarnation."

Zhi Zun Bao walked away.

Goten sat under the tree and stuffed the remaining half of the bun into his mouth. As he chewed, the corners of his mouth curled upward.

He had never felt it since arriving in this world, but at this moment, he suddenly felt that perhaps he hadn't come here just to learn Immortal Art and find a way home.

Perhaps he had come here to let the people on this mountain see another way of living.

That night, when Goten returned to his room, he found a pot of tea and a note on the table.

The handwriting on the note was vigorous and forceful: "Tomorrow, I shall teach you the true Object Manipulation Art. Sleep early. —Patriarch Bodhi."

He picked up the teapot and poured a cup, taking a sip. It wasn't scalding; the temperature was just right.

Patriarch Bodhi had calculated the time of his return. This silent, unhurried trust felt heavier to Goten than any words of encouragement.

He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Today, he had managed to make a stone larger than his head float ten feet into the air.

This was the first Immortal Art he had learned—not for fighting, but for communicating with the world.

He closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would learn the true Object Manipulation Art—not to make stones float, but to make the teapot pour tea by itself.

And then, he would be one step closer to the Star Gate.

Yet he did not know that only after mastering the Object Manipulation Art would his true cultivation begin...