Five Finger Mountain

At dusk, Zixia found Goten.

"You've been training all day—take a break."

Goten lowered his hands—his fingers were trembling slightly—not from exhaustion, but as an aftereffect of compressing his Origin Energy.

"I can't stop—the Golden Cudgel is calling to me."

Zixia said nothing. She sat down beside him and drew the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword, resting it across her knees—the blade shimmering with a faint violet light in the setting sun.

"Do you know why the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword has a spirit?"

Goten shook his head.

"Because it wasn't forged in the traditional sense—it was a piece of meteorite from beyond the heavens. When it fell to earth, it absorbed the spiritual essence of the flora for a hundred miles around. Then, an old blacksmith found it—and it took him three years to hammer it into shape."

Zixia stroked the blade—her gaze growing distant—"Sun Wukong once asked me the same question. I didn't answer him at the time. I was afraid he would mock me for treating a sword as if it had a life of its own."

"Did he mock you?"

The corners of Zixia's mouth lifted slightly. "He said—'My Golden Cudgel can talk too—it's just that you people don't understand the language.'"

Goten was stunned—then he let out a soft laugh.

"So—your sword and the Golden Cudgel—they both speak. They just use a language we don't understand."

"Mm."

Zixia turned to look at him—"You said the Golden Cudgel is calling you—what do you hear?"

Goten closed his eyes, recalling the summons—"It's not a sound—it's a feeling—like someone calling your name from very far away—you can't hear it, but you know it in your heart."

Zixia was silent for a moment—then she asked Goten a question—"Do you think—Sun Wukong, over there—is he doing well?"

"You mean—after he died?"

"Mm."

Goten thought about it seriously—"I don't think—he's the type of person who would lie still in peace. I think—he's waiting for something."

Zixia didn't respond. She knew Goten was right—a man like Sun Wukong—even in death, he wouldn't lie quietly—he must be waiting for something somewhere—waiting for a person—waiting for an event—waiting for a result that should have arrived five hundred years ago.

After the sun sank completely, Fangcun Mountain entered the night. Goten sat under the old locust tree instead of returning to his room—he closed his eyes to feel the rhythm of the two powers flowing through his meridians—he discovered something he hadn't noticed before—the flow path of his Origin Energy and the flow path of his Saiyan ki did not overlap entirely. They shared a portion of the route—but at certain junctions, they chose different directions. This gave him an idea—if he could let the Origin Energy follow its own path and the Saiyan ki follow its own—and then have them converge at his fist—would that be more effective than forcing them to fuse?

He opened his eyes—deciding to try it tomorrow.

## V The Five-Thousand-Year-Old Locust Tree

Late at night. Goten couldn't sleep—he walked out of his room and came to the old locust tree. Then he saw a figure already sitting there—not Patriarch Bodhi—but Zhi Zun Bao.

Zhi Zun Bao leaned against the trunk, looking up at the night sky. He wasn't holding his bamboo pole—he was just sitting quietly. Goten sat down beside him. The two remained silent for a while.

"During the day—Patriarch Bodhi showed me some things," Zhi Zun Bao spoke first, "I am the reincarnation of Sun Wukong—my previous life was the last person Sun Wukong saw before he set off to retrieve the scriptures."

Goten turned to look at him—Zhi Zun Bao continued—"Before he left—he sat by my bed for an entire night."

Zhi Zun Bao's voice was calm, but Goten could sense the weight being suppressed beneath that composure.

"Tell me—how many years does it take for a person—to learn how not to let others down?"

Goten thought for a moment—"My father spent his whole life."

Zhi Zun Bao gave a bitter smile—"And you?"

"I—" Goten gazed at the night sky, "I don't know."

Zhi Zun Bao was silent for a long time.

Then he stood up—and patted Goten on the shoulder—"Thank you—for letting me see that a person can live without running away."

He walked away. Goten sat under the old locust tree—alone.

The night deepened. In the distance—in the direction of Five Finger Mountain—a low, deep hum drifted over—like a man who had slept for five hundred years turning over in his sleep.

Goten heard it. He didn't tell anyone—but he knew—that direction—he would be going there soon.

He closed his eyes.

The call of the Golden Cudgel—was clearer than it had been yesterday.

And that direction—he would be going there soon.

He didn't know what he would discover there—but he knew—no matter what it was—he would face it.

Five Finger Mountain—was waiting for him...