Bamboo Pole and Afterimage

In the afternoon, Zhi Zun Bao practiced with his staff under the old locust tree.

He had swapped his bamboo pole for a wooden staff—an old one Patriarch Bodhi had dug out of the woodshed, claiming it was left behind by an old friend.

Carved into the wood in tiny, delicate script were the words: "I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven who wreaked havoc in the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago."

When Zhi Zun Bao first saw the inscription, he had laughed, but then it suddenly dawned on him—this staff probably wasn't something Patriarch Bodhi had just "dug out"; it was something he had been keeping all along.

He gripped the staff tight and began to repeat the simple motion: raise, strike, retract.

He had already struck thousands of times; he had snapped seven bamboo poles, and the wooden staff was now worn and splintered.

Yet, he could feel it—his touch was changing. At the beginning, he was swinging "a stick." Now, he was swinging "a stick that belonged to him." The difference between the two was something only those who had trained could understand.

Somewhere around his thousandth strike, he felt the shadow before his eyes flicker.

It wasn't that he himself had moved; it was that another "him" had appeared in his field of vision—a phantom image performing the same motion, only faster, fiercer, and more precise.

He watched the phantom strike; the arc of the staff sliced through the air and hit a falling leaf three yards away, cleaving it clean in two.

Zhi Zun Bao froze. The leaf had truly been split, yet he hadn't actually swung his staff—the phantom had.

Goten ran over from the other side of the training ground, having seen it too. "What was that just now?"

Zhi Zun Bao looked down at his hands, where a faint, shimmering golden light was fading from his palms. "I don't know."

But Patriarch Bodhi knew.

Standing at the mouth of the cave, he watched from afar. He saw the phantom—it was the combat memory of Sun Wukong, lingering in Zhi Zun Bao's bloodline, manifesting in "physical" form for the first time after an accumulation of rigorous training.

That was the Afterimage Fist—a technique Sun Wukong had created in his youth.

It wasn't a clone technique; it was an "imprint" left in the air when speed reached its absolute limit.

Patriarch Bodhi did not walk over to explain. He knew that some things were meant for Zhi Zun Bao to discover on his own.

At dusk, Zixia found Goten, who was busy adjusting his Origin Energy for the Object Manipulation Art.

"I want to head down the mountain tomorrow." Goten looked up at her. "Are you going to Five Finger Mountain?" Zixia asked.

Goten fell silent for a moment. "The Golden Cudgel is calling me. The sound... it gets louder every day. I feel like if I don't go now, it might just fly here on its own."

Zixia thought for a moment. "Before you go to Five Finger Mountain, you must learn the Star Gate."

"I know. Patriarch Bodhi said he would teach me the Star Gate once I mastered the art of shrinking the earth to an inch, but I don't know how much longer that will take."

Zixia suddenly drew the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword, its blade gleaming in the setting sun. "Strike me with all your might."

Goten was stunned. "What?"

"With all your might—use the Object Manipulation Art you just learned—and strike me."

Goten hesitated, but he trusted that Zixia wouldn't do anything without a reason. He took a deep breath, gathered his Origin Energy into his fist, and lunged forward!

The Violet-Azure Treasure Sword flickered.

In that instant, the blade emitted a crisp hum, as if in response—as if in greeting.

"Just as I thought." Zixia sheathed the sword. "The Violet-Azure Treasure Sword reacted just now—not to me, but to you."

Goten was bewildered. "What does that mean?"

"It acknowledges you," Zixia said softly. "Not as its master, but as its equal. It believes you are worthy of wielding it."

She paused, then said something that took Goten by surprise: "Take it with you when you go down the mountain."

"Isn't this your sword?"

"A sword is a dead object. Only the one who needs it is worthy of carrying it." Zixia looked at him, her gaze holding something indescribable—like a heavy entrustment. "The Golden Cudgel and the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword... they know each other. If you carry it, the Golden Cudgel will be more likely to trust you."

Goten took the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword; the blade was warm. The temperature felt like someone's body heat.

That night, Goten sat alone in the pavilion on the mountaintop. Under the moonlight, he laid the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword across his knees, feeling the lingering warmth of the blade.

Patriarch Bodhi walked up and sat beside him. This time, he didn't speak first; he simply watched the night sky with Goten.

"Old Master."

"Hmm."

"I'm leaving soon."

The corners of Patriarch Bodhi's mouth twitched slightly. He didn't ask "How do you know?" nor did he say "What's the rush?" He knew Goten was right.

"The Golden Cudgel... it gets louder every day," Goten said, head bowed. "I can hear it when I sleep, I can hear it when I train, I can even hear it when I eat."

Patriarch Bodhi was silent for a while, then asked, "Are you ready?"

Goten thought about it. "I don't know. But I feel that if I wait until I'm 'ready,' I might never leave at all."

Patriarch Bodhi looked at the boy. When he said those words, his tone was as calm as if he were stating a simple, self-evident truth.

He suddenly realized that this boy didn't need his protection. He only needed someone to help him open that door.

"We start learning the Star Gate tomorrow."

Goten whipped his head around to look at him.

"If you can learn it, you go down the mountain. If you can't, you stay on the mountain."

Goten stood up and bowed deeply. "Thank you."

Patriarch Bodhi did not reply, but he knew that tomorrow would be the most important morning of this boy's life on Fangcun Mountain. It might also be his last.

In the distance, the Golden Cudgel vibrated gently, as if it had heard some good news.