Golden Cudgel

Zhi Zun Bao's pupils contracted slightly.

"When Sun Wukong was released from beneath Five Finger Mountain, Guanyin told him to protect a monk on his journey to obtain the scriptures. He agreed, but before setting out, he first visited your village."

Patriarch Bodhi paused, then glanced at Zhi Zun Bao. "He wanted to say goodbye to someone."

The stone chamber fell silent for a long time.

"In that life, you were already over eighty. You were lying in bed, unable to speak, but you recognized Sun Wukong. Your eyes could still recognize him."

Zhi Zun Bao sat there, completely still. But his breathing slowed, the rhythm of someone struggling to control his emotions.

"Sun Wukong sat by your bedside all night. He didn't say anything—he just sat there. Near dawn the next day, you passed away. Sun Wukong buried you beneath the locust tree at the village entrance. Then he sat before your grave for the entire day. When he finally stood, he said something."

Patriarch Bodhi's voice lowered slightly. "He said, 'In my next life, I'll come find you for a drink again.'"

Zhi Zun Bao lowered his head. Patriarch Bodhi couldn't see his expression, but his shoulders were trembling slightly.

"I won't drink in this life." Zhi Zun Bao's voice was a little hoarse. "But I think I should learn."

Goten stood on the training ground, with five rocks arranged before him.

Ranging from fist-sized to millstone-sized, the five rocks floated in a line in midair.

He could now keep all five rocks floating at once for the time it took an incense stick to burn. Just yesterday, he had struggled to manage four, but today, five were steady. He lowered them and caught his breath, about to try again, when he felt it.

A kind of... call.

It wasn't coming from within Fangcun Mountain. It was coming from a place very, very far away.

This was the first time since arriving in this world that he had felt such a summons. It wasn't the presence of an enemy in battle, nor a sense of danger, but a deeper connection, like he had been chosen by something.

He didn't know why he had been chosen. But he knew he couldn't ignore it.

Low and resonant, like the beat of a deep drum, some ancient power was awakening. It rose from the depths of the earth, passed through the soles of his feet, and reached straight to his heart.

Goten stopped what he was doing. He closed his eyes and focused on the call. It grew clearer and clearer. It wasn't a sound, but a feeling of... familiarity.

He opened his eyes and looked west. That was where Five Finger Mountain lay.

"It's the Golden Cudgel," he said softly. He didn't know why he was so certain, but he just knew—the Golden Cudgel was calling him.

He began practicing, not to master the Object Manipulation Art, but to make himself stronger.

He compressed his Origin Energy and concentrated it in his fingers. Just as Patriarch Bodhi had carved words into a tree trunk, he traced a line in the air with his fingertip.

A silvery-white mark lingered in the air for a second, then faded. It wasn't enough, but it was better than before.

He kept practicing, again and again, not stopping even when his fingers went numb.

Because he knew the Golden Cudgel was waiting for him. He couldn't keep it waiting too long.

Zhu Bajie came out of the kitchen with a pot of tea and wandered over to the edge of the training ground.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watched for a while as Goten waved his fingers at empty air, then couldn't help laughing. "That kid's gone crazy from training."

Sha Wujing crouched at the kitchen entrance, chopping firewood without looking up. "He's in a hurry."

"In a hurry for what?"

Sha Wujing paused with his axe raised. "To get stronger."

Zhu Bajie took a sip of tea and thought it over. "Who isn't?"

Sha Wujing didn't answer. But he chopped the firewood a little faster than before.

Zhi Zun Bao walked out of the cave.

He moved slowly, as if digesting something. But when he saw Goten on the training ground, he stood there for a while.

Then he sat beneath the Old Locust Tree, picked up his bamboo staff, and began practicing, one strike at a time. There were no moves, just a basic action repeated over and over: raise the staff, bring it down, draw it back.

But each time he brought it down, it struck a little harder than before.

By the fifty-seventh strike, he suddenly felt that what he was holding wasn't a bamboo staff, but an incredibly heavy cudgel. The palm of his hand was growing warm, as if something were awakening in it.

He didn't stop. He kept striking.

On the sixty-third strike, a golden pattern appeared on the back of his hand, then vanished in a flash, like a mark left behind by something.

He stopped to get a closer look, but the pattern had already disappeared.

Patriarch Bodhi stood at the cave entrance, watching from a distance.

He had seen the golden pattern, but he said nothing.

He knew that cudgel had waited long enough.