Descending the Mountain

The morning at Fangcun Mountain was blanketed in a thin mist, with sunlight filtering through to dye the training grounds in a hazy gold.

Goten stood in the center of the field, nine stones suspended in a row before him. He had been practicing the Object Manipulation Art for twelve days, and his progress—from levitating a single leaf to nine stones simultaneously—was fast enough to surprise even himself.

Yet, he knew he was still some distance away from mastering the Star Gate, and the call of the Golden Cudgel grew clearer with each passing day. He had to pick up the pace.

He closed his eyes, and the nine stones fell to the ground in unison.

He then extended his right hand, Origin Energy flowing from his palm to lock onto the old locust tree twenty paces away.

He searched for the textures of space—those areas where the flow of Origin Energy was swifter and easier to fold. Today, he found four. He pressed down on all four folding points with force, and the scenery before him twisted. He appeared beneath the old locust tree, faster and steadier than yesterday.

Just as he prepared to try again, he saw Patriarch Bodhi standing at the mountain gate, holding a parcel in his hands.

Inside the parcel was a neatly folded orange Daoist robe; the fabric was plain, with slight wear at the collar.

Goten recognized the signs of wear—they were marks left by wearing the same garment for a long time. "This was left behind by Sun Wukong," Patriarch Bodhi said. "He did not take it with him when he left."

Goten unfolded the robe and draped it over his shoulders; it fit perfectly, as if someone had taken his measurements.

He looked down at the robe on his body and suddenly understood—this robe was not left as a memento.

It was left for the next person to wear it.

He looked up and saw a faint light in Patriarch Bodhi's eyes—not tears, but the relief of someone who had waited a very long time for this moment to finally arrive.

At breakfast, Zhu Bajie brought out a large pot of porridge infused with medicinal herbs.

This was his fixed duty at Fangcun Mountain—boiling a pot of medicinal porridge every morning.

It was a skill he had honed during his years as a son-in-law in Gao Village.

Goten took a sip, and a wave of warmth rose from his stomach, rapidly spreading to his limbs. Under the influence of the porridge, the somewhat obstructed meridians in his body became much clearer.

Zhi Zun Bao took a bite of a scallion pancake, then paused.

He chewed for a long time without speaking. It wasn't that it tasted bad—it was too delicious.

Having eaten dry rations and roasted scorpion meat for so many years in the Axe Gang, he had never known that a breakfast could make one feel like crying.

Sha Wujing sat in the corner, silently eating a piece of pancake as well. He chewed slowly, as if savoring something hidden within the bite—things he could not put into words but understood in his heart.

Zixia sat next to Goten with her bowl. She had changed into plain cloth clothes today, her hair tied loosely behind her head. She no longer looked like a celestial being, but rather a traveler who had finally sat down to rest after a long journey.

Patriarch Bodhi had changed into a clean blue Daoist robe and was waiting for him on the training ground.

His white hair was tied up, and he held neither tea nor a horsetail whisk. He had prepared himself like a master about to impart his final secret technique. "You already know the principles of the Star Gate, but do you know why it is called a 'Star Gate'?"

Goten shook his head.

"Because the other side of the gate is not necessarily in this world."

Patriarch Bodhi extended a finger and traced a line through the void. Golden light flowed from his fingertip, drawing the outline of a door in the air.

The edges of the gate trembled slightly in the air, as if it were a living thing. "The highest realm of the Star Gate is not to open a door on the ground, but to open a door anywhere that leads to anywhere else. However, there is a prerequisite: you must have seen that place with your own eyes. Your Origin Energy will remember the coordinates of every place you have seen, and only then can you open a gate there."

Goten was stunned. "So, places I haven't been to... I can't open a gate to?"

"Correct."

He was silent for a moment, then asked a question that made everyone go quiet: "Five Finger Mountain—have you seen it?"

"I have."

"Then you—"

"Coordinates cannot be borrowed," Patriarch Bodhi's voice was low. "This old one can take you there, but the gate must be opened by you yourself."

Goten clenched his fists, then relaxed them.

He walked back to the old locust tree, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes. Since he couldn't open a gate now, he would start by memorizing Fangcun Mountain.

His Origin Energy extended from his body, covering the entire mountain like a spiderweb. Every tree, every stone, every small path—he memorized them all.

He sat for the entire morning.

When he opened his eyes, he discovered that the two forces within his body had solidified into a true breakthrough due to the focus of the entire morning. It wasn't a quantitative change, but a fusion that had entered a new stage. A new power was awakening within him.

Zhi Zun Bao spent the entire afternoon practicing with his staff.

He gripped the wooden staff engraved with "Great Sage Equal to Heaven" and repeated the simple movement over and over: raise the staff, strike down, retract.

He had done it thousands of times, each time more focused than the last.

He was searching for the feeling he had when that afterimage appeared yesterday—not by relying on strength, but by relying on relaxation. A true, physical relaxation, the kind where even the will was set aside.

His wrists relaxed. The way he held the wooden staff changed—not with a palm grip, but pinched between his fingertips.

The wooden staff spun in his hand, and then he swung it out.

A golden arc remained in the air—not an afterimage, but a golden trail of light clearer than yesterday's. It lingered in the air for the duration of two breaths before dissipating. He had done it.

He looked down at his hand; a faint golden glow was fading from his palm.

He didn't know how he had managed it, but that light was his own.

It wasn't something Sun Wukong had left for him; it was something he had practiced step-by-step through thousands of repetitions. At that moment, he suddenly understood one thing: he didn't need to become Sun Wukong. He only needed to become the best version of himself.

And that best version of himself was beginning to emerge, bit by bit.

The evening sunset dyed Fangcun Mountain a warm shade of red.

Goten stood under the old locust tree wearing that orange Daoist robe—Zixia watched him from not far away. She suddenly felt that what she had waited five hundred years for was not one person returning—but another person setting out.

Goten walked over and sat down beside Patriarch Bodhi. The two of them watched the sunset together, remaining silent for a long time. "Old Master—I want to go down the mountain tomorrow."

Patriarch Bodhi did not try to keep him. He remained silent for a long, long time, so long that Goten thought he would not answer.

Then he spoke—his voice very soft—"That Daoist robe was meant for you from the start. It wasn't kept for him—it was kept for you. When he left back then—this old man knew—the one who would wear it would come again."

Goten did not turn his head to look at him—but he heard him.

In the white-haired old man's voice, there was something he had never heard before—not sadness, but a deeper emotion, like someone who had waited five hundred years and could finally hand over the shift.

The sun sank completely, and the sky shifted from red to deep blue. The first star began to twinkle.

"Tomorrow morning—this old man will see you off."

Goten stood up and nodded. He did not say thank you—but Patriarch Bodhi knew he had said it in his heart.

Zhu Bajie squatted at the kitchen doorway, finishing the porridge in his bowl.

He licked the bottom of the bowl clean—a habit he had developed during his years as a wanderer; nothing could be left in the bowl.

He stood up to wash the bowl, then paused.

He saw everyone in the courtyard—Goten sitting under the old locust tree in that Daoist robe, Zhi Zun Bao practicing with his staff, Zixia polishing her sword, and Sha Wujing chopping wood—the moonlight shone on everyone, and everyone was doing their own thing, no one speaking.

But there was something flowing through the quiet air—not immortal energy, not demonic energy—but the warmth of humanity.

He lowered his head, looking at the clean, empty bowl in his hand—and suddenly felt that this might be even better than when he was a Marshal at the Heavenly River.

And in the direction of Five Finger Mountain—the Golden Cudgel vibrated gently. As if to say—I see you.

Goten changed into that old Daoist robe. Tomorrow—he would head down the mountain. And Five Finger Mountain—was waiting for him...