Time is Running Out

Goten collapsed onto the ground—the battle had drained every ounce of his strength.

He lifted his right arm, where a burning red welt from the Armillary Sash traced across his skin.

Yet, his heart was filled with a more intense sensation—not fear, but the thrill of having proven himself.

He felt no frustration; instead, a strange sense of satisfaction washed over him. It was like a blacksmith who had spent the entire day hammering iron, exhausted but watching the piece take shape.

Zhi Zun Bao poked his head out from behind the mountain gate. He had been watching the whole time—not out of a lack of desire to help, but because he knew this was a battle he could not participate in.

And for the first time in his life, he wished he possessed greater power.

Zixia walked over and crouched beside Goten, inspecting the injury on his arm. "It's fine—just a surface wound." She looked up toward the direction where Nezha had vanished, her expression complex. "Those things he said..."

"I know."

Goten looked at his own fist, the one that had erupted with golden light. "He said that Sun Wukong was once in that same position—facing someone stronger—getting beaten down—and then standing back up."

Zixia fell silent.

She suddenly realized that ever since Goten arrived in this world, people had been telling him the same thing in various ways: Sun Wukong is you, and you are Sun Wukong.

It wasn't about bloodline—it was something more fundamental—that quality of always standing back up after being knocked down.

Zhu Bajie emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of hot soup. "Finished? Come have some soup now that you're done."

Goten couldn't help but laugh. "You were cooking soup... while I was fighting?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Zhu Bajie asked, his tone righteous. "I wouldn't have been any help out there—at least the soup is useful."

Sha Wujing followed behind him, carrying a large platter of steamed buns.

He said nothing, but silently placed the buns on the table before walking over to Goten and handing him a damp towel.

His movements were brief and direct—his usual style.

Zhi Zun Bao stepped out as well, sitting on the stone steps beside Goten. "That punch just now—it was so fast that Nezha couldn't react in time—what was that?"

Goten looked down at his fist.

He remembered that dusk at the training grounds—when he had thrown that punch into the air, the wind had moved. He had pushed his internal energy out, forming a shockwave.

But just now, he hadn't just pushed it into the air; he had compressed that shockwave onto his fist.

It wasn't just an energy blast—it was an energy blast wrapped in Saiyan ki, compressed onto his fist, and then detonated against Nezha's Universe Ring.

"I think... I invented a new move."

"What's it called?"

Goten thought for a moment. "Haven't thought of one yet."

Patriarch Bodhi sat in the pavilion atop the mountain; he had not come down.

He had watched the entire battle from his seat.

From start to finish—from Nezha's first strike to Goten's final punch—he had witnessed a young man bridge the gap between "learning" and "applying" in the span of a single incense stick.

It wasn't because he was a good teacher—it was because Goten had opened that door himself.

He stood up, brushed off his robes, and turned to walk into the cave.

A faint smile played on his lips.

That night, Goten sat cross-legged beneath the old locust tree.

He wasn't training; he was simply replaying the battle with Nezha in his mind.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how long a road he still had to travel before he could truly "master" it. That punch hadn't been planned; it was the path his body had chosen when pushed to its limit.

If he hadn't endured those seven days of running up the mountain with a stone on his back, if he hadn't learned to sense energy, if he hadn't spent the whole morning struggling with that single leaf—his body wouldn't have been capable of that feat. Nothing had been in vain.

He stood up and walked to the pavilion on the summit, but Patriarch Bodhi was not there.

However, he saw a leaf resting on the stone table.

It wasn't an ordinary leaf—it was from the old locust tree, identical to the first one he had used to practice his Object Manipulation Art. Beneath the leaf lay a note:

"That tree has lived for eight hundred years. It has never been struck by Nezha's Armillary Sash."

Goten looked at the note and grinned. He carefully tucked the leaf into his tunic.

He turned to head down the mountain. He did not notice that at the very moment he turned—at the edge of the eastern horizon in the distance, toward the South Heaven Gate—a golden light faintly flickered.

It was the Heavenly Court, gathering a force far greater than the twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods.

The countdown—a month at the shortest, three at the longest—had already reached its sixteenth day. The time left to him... was running out.

But tonight, he just wanted a good night's sleep.

Tomorrow's problems... could wait until tomorrow.

Yet he knew—the time left to him was running out.