The Call of Five Finger Mountain

The path down the mountain was far more difficult than the mountain paths of Fangcun Mountain.

It wasn't because the road was bad—it was because Goten had to stop and look back every few steps.

The silhouette of Fangcun Mountain receded further into the morning mist, but he had memorized every path, every tree, every stone's texture here—he had memorized it with Origin Energy, etched into his very bones.

He wore Sun Wukong's old Taoist robe, and in his arms, he held the Violet-Azure Treasure Sword that Zixia had given him.

Zhi Zun Bao walked beside him, carrying the wooden staff carved with "Great Sage Equal to Heaven" on his shoulder.

Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing walked behind them—Zhu Bajie carried a large bundle containing pots, pans, and a big bag of rice.

Sha Wujing carried nothing, but he walked at the very back, ensuring no one fell behind.

Zixia walked on Goten's other side. She wasn't wearing her purple gauze dress—she had changed into a neat, practical outfit, with an empty scabbard hanging from her waist. After walking for a long time, she finally spoke, "What are you thinking about?"

Goten looked ahead—a barren Gobi Desert, with rolling black mountain shadows in the distance. "I'm thinking—what the Golden Cudgel actually looks like."

Zixia didn't answer immediately. She looked at him—that kind of unreserved trust made her fall silent for a long time. "It's like you—it's been waiting for this day for a very long time."

The midday sun baked the gravel on the Gobi Desert floor until it was scorching hot.

Zhu Bajie was the first to give in. He threw his large bundle onto the ground and collapsed behind a large rock, panting as if he had just been pulled out of water. "I can't do it anymore—I can't walk—you guys go on—let me die here—"

"Marshal Tianpeng like you, can't handle this little bit of walking?" Zhi Zun Bao poked his belly with the wooden staff.

"Marshal Tianpeng was in charge of the navy—not walking!" Zhu Bajie slapped away his staff. "Besides, this body I have after being banished to the mortal realm isn't the same as before—the old one could ride the clouds and mist, this one gets hungry, tired, and has back pain!"

Sha Wujing silently poured him a bowl of water and handed it to him. Zhu Bajie drank it all in one gulp. "Old Sha—you're such a good person."

Goten didn't rest. He stood on a high rock, gazing at the black mountain shadows in the distance—his heartbeat was slowly synchronizing with the rhythm of that calling. Zixia walked up to him. "How far has it gone?"

"It's calling my name—as if it's been calling since the moment I was born."

In the evening, they set up camp by a ruined oasis deep in the Gobi Desert.

Zhu Bajie used his rake to clear a space, and Sha Wujing gathered dry Populus euphratica branches to start a fire.

Zhi Zun Bao sat by the fire, stroking the inscription on the wooden staff—"I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven who wreaked havoc in the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago." His heart beat faster with each stroke.

Goten had been sitting on a rock not far away with his eyes closed, facing the direction of Five Finger Mountain, since they set up camp—he was establishing a connection with the Golden Cudgel—this was a legacy spanning five hundred years.

Origin Energy extended from his brow, piercing through the night sky, through the Gobi Desert, towards Five Finger Mountain—then he touched it.

A dense, warm aura, as if it had waited for far too long—the power suppressed by the rules of the world was breaking through—mixed with loneliness, anger, unwillingness—and the lingering warmth of someone's body.

He opened his eyes and found that tears were streaming down his face without him realizing it.

Zixia handed him a bowl of hot water. He took it, cupping it in his hands, but didn't drink.

"Sun Wukong—what kind of person was he?"

Zixia thought for a long time. "He was the best fighter I ever knew—and the worst at expressing himself. He wouldn't say 'I care about you'—but he would be the first to stand in front of you when you were in danger."

Zhi Zun Bao, listening from not far away, gripped the wooden staff tighter in his hand.

"Did he have regrets?"

Zixia was silent for a long time. "Yes. His biggest regret—was not having the chance to say a proper goodbye to someone."

The campfire crackled. Goten finished the water in his bowl and stood up. "Tomorrow—I'll be the first to reach Five Finger Mountain."

At night, Goten lay on his back, propping his head on his arms, gazing at the starry sky—the Milky Way stretched across the heavens like a river of light. He missed home.

Not because he was afraid—but because for the first time, he had a clear goal—to find the Golden Cudgel, a new kind of power was awakening within him, and then to use it to do something Sun Wukong hadn't finished.

Zhi Zun Bao also hadn't slept. He kept thinking about Zixia's words—"His biggest regret—was not having the chance to say a proper goodbye to someone."

That person was his previous life. Sun Wukong's reincarnation had sat by his bedside all night—that should count as a goodbye—but it wasn't enough.

If it were him, he would have definitely said those three words.

Zixia hadn't slept either.

She sat a little distance from the campfire, looking at the black mountain shadows in the distance—five hundred years ago, the last time she saw Sun Wukong, he was standing at the foot of that mountain, Golden Cudgel on his shoulder, and he looked back at her.

That glance was brief—less than a breath. She thought he would return—but he didn't. Five hundred years, and she was back here again.

In the distance—in the direction of Five Finger Mountain—a low hum echoed.

It wasn't the wind—it was the Golden Cudgel sighing in the night.

Goten heard it. He opened his eyes in the darkness, a slight smile curving his lips. It was close.

Zhu Bajie turned over and mumbled something in his dream. Sha Wujing opened one eye, glanced at him, and closed it again.

Zhi Zun Bao was still awake. He sat up and added a dry branch to the campfire—the firelight illuminated the wooden staff in his hand and the blurred inscription on it.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he knew he wouldn't turn back—this was the most resolute choice of his life.

Goten smelled a strange scent in the night wind—not demonic energy, not celestial energy—it was the scent of a person standing in the distance, watching them.

He didn't make a sound, but he knew—ever since they left Fangcun Mountain, someone had been following them.

He hadn't told anyone—because he sensed—that the person's aura held no hostility. Curiosity—like someone wanting to confirm something.

The night wind carried the low hum from the distance again.

The Golden Cudgel was urging him. He closed his eyes and said something to it in his heart—Got it, I'll be there tomorrow.

Then he rolled over, counting stars—one, two, three—tomorrow he would stand before Five Finger Mountain—the place where Sun Wukong had been imprisoned for five hundred years.

A shooting star streaked across the night sky—leaving a long tail—as if someone had drawn a question mark in the heavens.

Zhi Zun Bao lay by the campfire, a wooden stick across his chest.

He was thinking about tomorrow—thinking about Five Finger Mountain, thinking about the Golden Cudgel, thinking about that Sun Wukong he had never met but always felt a strange familiarity with.

He wasn't sure if he could face that mountain—but he was sure he wouldn't run away.

Zhu Bajie's snores stopped, he shifted, and they started again.

Sha Wujing had never fully fallen asleep—a habit from his time in the Flowing Sand River kept him alert even in his dreams.

Zixia sat in the distance, her silhouette a sculpture in the moonlight—she had held that pose for a long time, it was unclear if she was lost in thought or listening to the wind.

And the person following behind—had not approached at all.

He just watched the bonfire from afar—as if confirming—that the youth had truly arrived.