Nezha

Sixteen days after Yang Jian withdrew his troops, Lingtai Square Inch Mountain returned to its original tranquility. But this peace would not last long.

Outside the South Heaven Gate, above the clouds, a figure stood at the edge of the mist.

He appeared to be a child of only seven or eight years old—his face as fair as if dusted with powder, the Universe Ring around his neck, the Red Armillary Sash wrapped around his arms, and Wind Fire Wheels beneath his feet.

His gaze fell upon the rolling mountain range to the west. His expression betrayed neither joy nor anger.

Nezha had been standing there for the duration of an incense stick.

He was thinking about one thing: why Yang Jian had lost. Yang Jian was the calmest person he knew.

The Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear had been used for three thousand years, and it had never once missed its mark.

Yet Yang Jian had been defeated—defeated by a boy from another world who had been here for less than a month.

Moreover, before leaving, Yang Jian had said one thing: "He is the better one."

Nezha did not know Sun Goten. But he knew Sun Wukong.

He wanted to know what kind of person it was that had made Yang Jian say those words—"the better one."

He stepped on his Wind Fire Wheels, transforming into a streak of fire as he sped toward the west.

On the training grounds of Square Inch Mountain, Goten was struggling with four stones.

One the size of a fist, one the size of a watermelon, one the size of a human head, and one added just yesterday—the size of a millstone. The four stones were suspended in a line before him.

He could already keep all four stones afloat simultaneously—though he could only maintain it for a dozen breaths or so.

Ten, nine, eight, seven—the fourth stone began to wobble—five, four, three—beads of sweat seeped from Goten's forehead—two, one—all four stones hit the ground at once with a dull thud.

"Hoo—hoo—" Goten bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, but a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

Yesterday he could only lift three—today it was already four. The speed of his progress surprised even him. He wiped away his sweat and was just about to start again when he suddenly sensed an aura.

It was not Origin Energy—it was a scorching, murderous aura—approaching rapidly from the east.

He straightened his back and looked toward the eastern horizon.

A streak of fire was flying toward Square Inch Mountain—at an incredible speed—not the steady, measured approach of Yang Jian—but an unmasked, head-on charge, filled with provocation.

"Sister Zixia! Zhi Zun Bao!" Goten shouted—not in panic—but with a readiness that bordered on excitement.

Zixia rushed out of the room, and the moment she looked up and saw that streak of fire, her pupils contracted slightly. "Nezha."

The name hit the air like a stone dropped into a pool. Goten had never heard the name, but he could hear the weight of it in Zixia's tone.

"Who is Nezha?"

"The third son of the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King, Li Jing—a disciple of Master Taiyi—the youngest and most troublesome vanguard of the Heavenly Court." Zixia gripped the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword tightly. "He is faster than me—do not underestimate him."

Goten nodded. He stood his ground, not retreating, not assuming a fighting stance—he simply waited for the streak of fire to land in the clearing before him.

The fire landed and dissipated.

A child who looked only seven or eight years old stood before him, the Universe Ring around his neck, the Red Armillary Sash wrapped around his arms, no weapon in his hands—yet his entire being radiated an aura that no one dared to slight.

Nezha did not strike immediately. He looked Goten up and down.

"You are Sun Goten?"

"You are Nezha?"

"I am."

The two stared at each other for three seconds—neither blinked.

Then, Nezha said something that caught everyone off guard: "What are you to Sun Wukong?"

Goten was stunned.

He had expected Nezha to come looking for a fight—but Nezha had asked a question first. He thought for a moment and answered earnestly, "The Sun Wukong from that other world—is my father. I think the Sun Wukong of this world is very much like him."

Nezha's eyebrows twitched slightly. This answer was clearly not what he had expected—it wasn't "he is my master," nor "he is my friend"—it was an answer he had never considered.

"Have you met Sun Wukong?" Goten asked in return.

Nezha did not answer.

But his gaze lowered slightly—in that instant, Goten saw an expression entirely different from the murderous intent he had shown earlier—not anger—but a faint trace of something that looked like regret.

"I have," Nezha's voice dropped. "A long time ago."

"Then you—"

"I am not here to chat." Nezha cut him off. The Red Armillary Sash moved without wind, slowly unfurling in the air. "I am here on behalf of the Heavenly Court to see—what kind of ability you truly possess."

The wind pressure increased sharply. The grass within a ten-zhang radius was pressed into a circular depression by the pressure radiating from Nezha.

Goten did not retreat. He bent his knees slightly, and golden energy flared up—colliding head-on with Nezha's immortal power.

A shockwave exploded between the two, peeling back a layer of turf from the ground.

The air in the entire area froze. Zixia gripped her sword hilt but did not intervene—because she knew this was not a battle she could join.

This was Goten's battle.