radicalducati Chapter 1081 Rejecting All External Forces
Chapter 1081 Rejecting All External Forces
He looked at the thing, narrowed his eyes, and the burning light in his golden eyes was gone, replaced by something heavier, colder, like something that had been quenched in fire.
He smiled.
When Su Wanwan saw him smile, a sudden, overwhelming fear gripped her. It wasn't fear of the thing itself, but fear of Sun Wukong's smile. She had seen him smile many times—a happy smile, a triumphant smile, a disdainful smile, a mocking smile, a cold laugh, a loud laugh, a gentle smile—she had seen every kind. But this smile was different. This smile contained no emotion, no feeling, nothing she could discern. It was an empty smile, like a hollowed-out gourd, only the shell remained, the inside gone.
Sun Wukong raised his golden cudgel, and the golden light on it suddenly exploded—not just lit up, but burst open—like a star exploding, all the light released in a single instant, so bright that Su Wanwan had to close her eyes. In that instant, she heard a sound. Not a crash, not a shattering sound, but a cracking sound. Like a piece of cloth being torn in two, like a piece of paper being crumpled into a ball, like a bone being broken—all those sounds combined, amplified a hundredfold, a thousandfold, ten thousandfold.
Then it fell silent.
Su Wanwan opened her eyes. Sun Wukong stood there, his golden cudgel raised above his head, its tip pointing to the sky. The cudgel was no longer glowing; it had turned grayish-white, like a piece of wood burned to ash. Sun Wukong's body was also devoid of light; his golden fur had become ordinary monkey fur, grayish and stained with dirt and blood. His eyes were still open, but the gold was gone, replaced by the brown of an ordinary monkey.
The thing was still there. One of its arms was severed. Not broken, but torn apart. From the upper arm to the elbow, a long, jagged gash stretched out, from which dark red liquid gushed—not blood, but light. Dark red light leaked from the gash, like water gushing from a broken dam. The light fell to the ground, not seeping into the soil, but condensing into tiny beads, like red raindrops, rolling, colliding, merging, and then splitting again on the yellow earth.
The thing lowered its head, looking at its severed arm. Its fissure—its vertical mouth—did not move, but Su Wanwan felt it was speaking. Not with sound, but with will. Its will was like a hammer, striking Su Wanwan's mind again and again, hammering out three words: "Interesting."
It raised its remaining three arms and reached towards Sun Wukong. Not to attack, but to grab. Its claws opened, the angle between the tips perfectly enveloping Sun Wukong's entire body, like a human hand trying to catch a butterfly. Sun Wukong stood still, not dodging. Not because he didn't want to dodge, but because he couldn't. His body was glowing—not from his own light, but from the thing's dark red light corroding his body, forming a dark red membrane on his skin. That membrane was contracting, tightening, like an invisible snake coiling around his body, tightening round and round until his bones began to make a faint cracking sound, like a branch about to break.
Su Wanwan rushed forward. Her moonlight condensed into a wall before her, a silvery-white wall that pushed towards the thing, its edges as sharp as blades. The wall struck the thing's body, cutting a shallow, fingernail-like white mark on its dark red skin. The white mark existed for less than a breath before being swallowed by the dark red light, disappearing with a hiss like a drop of water falling onto a red-hot iron plate.
The creature tilted its head slightly—it noticed Su Wanwan. The crack—the vertical mouth—opened slightly, its teeth moving towards Su Wanwan, as if sniffing her. It smelled the moonlight on her, the scent of moon radiance, the aura of the old fox it had fought long ago. Its three arms paused, the severed limb twitched in the air, and dark red light surged from the break, forming the outline of a new claw—transparent, only its outline visible, like a claw blown from dark red glass.
But before the claw could fully form, it shifted its attention away from Su Wanwan. Because Chu Yang moved.
Chu Yang moved very little, taking only one step forward. But as he did, Su Wanwan felt the ground beneath her feet tremble—not from the other thing's footsteps, but from Chu Yang's. As his foot touched the ground, a ring of fine cracks spread outwards from his foot, like a spiderweb extending from the sole. There was no light, no sound from those cracks, only a heavy, mountain-like pressure rising from them and pressing down on the other thing.
The creature's three arms simultaneously turned towards Chu Yang. Its fissure—its vertical mouth—opened even wider, all its teeth pointing towards Chu Yang, like rows of cannons aimed at a single target. The dark red light on its body surface flowed wildly, changing from orange-red to bright red, then to a blinding white-red, like a star about to explode.
Chu Yang stood motionless in the blinding light. His robes fluttered in the wind, and his hair was scattered in the light, but his body remained perfectly still, like a stone statue that had been battered by storms for thousands of years; the storm had passed, and it was still there.
He said something to that thing. Su Wanwan didn't hear what he said, not because of noise, but because his voice was absorbed by the light of that thing. The light was too strong, so strong that it swallowed up all the surrounding sounds. But she saw his lips moving, moving very slowly, speaking one word at a time, as if he were explaining something very important.
The light from that thing suddenly contracted.
It wasn't weakening, it was contracting—like a heart contracting, drawing back all the light that had spread out, concentrating it within a radius of less than a foot around its body. Its body changed from white-red back to dark red, from dark red back to deep red, and from deep red back to black. Black covered its entire body, leaving only the severed arm, which was regenerating, emitting a faint dark red light, like the last lamp about to go out in the darkness.
It glanced at Chu Yang. If its faceless form could "see." Then it turned and left. Not fleeing, but retreating. Its retreat was as unhurried as its arrival, each step leaving a shimmering mark on the ground, as if something deep within the earth responded to its footsteps. The dark gray cloud followed it, retreating from overhead to the horizon, from the horizon to below the horizon, like a giant door slowly closing, pushing back the boundary between darkness and light inch by inch.
The sun came out. Not the real sun, but the sky's original color revealed after that thing's dark red light completely disappeared. It was a grayish-blue, tinged with a pale white, like a bed sheet that had been washed too many times, all the color washed away, leaving only a thin layer of fibers that looked like they could tear at any moment.
Sun Wukong stood on the wasteland, his golden cudgel planted firmly on the ground. He supported himself with his hands, barely managing to stand. Golden blood clung to the corner of his mouth, and the blood from his tiger's mouth had congealed, leaving two dark golden marks on his body. His fur was a dull gray, as if covered in a layer of ash. The light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a murky, rusty brown. He stared in the direction where the thing had disappeared, his lips moved slightly, and Su Wanwan thought he was about to say something, but he said nothing. His head tilted to the side, his body went limp, and he slid off the golden cudgel.
Su Wanwan caught him. She didn't run to catch him; she was already beside him. Her moonlight hadn't yet dissipated, a silvery glow covering her arms. Holding Sun Wukong in her arms, she felt his body was unbelievably light, like holding a bundle of dry firewood. His fur prickled her face, but without the previous sharpness; it was soft and fluffy, like withered autumn grass.
"Monkey King?" she called out.
Sun Wukong did not react.
"Monkey King!" she called out again, her voice much louder, carrying a panic she herself hadn't even realized she possessed before she uttered it.
Sun Wukong opened his eyes a crack. His brown pupils darted beneath his eyelids, found Su Wanwan's face, glanced at her, and then closed again. Before closing them, Su Wanwan saw his lips move, as if uttering a single word. She didn't hear the sound, but she read the shape of his lips.
"run."
Chu Yang walked over, squatted down in front of her, and took Sun Wukong from her arms. He carried Sun Wukong on his shoulder, his movements so gentle it was as if he were carrying a fragile piece of porcelain. Sun Wukong's head drooped behind Chu Yang, his arms hanging limply at his sides, the golden cudgel still in his hand, now shrunk to the size of a short stick, like an ordinary wooden stick, showing no trace of any divine weapon.
Chu Yang stood up and glanced at Su Wanwan. His eyes held no fear, no panic, not even any other emotion; only one meaning: Go.
Su Wanwan picked up the white wolf—its leg was twisted in the impact and it couldn't run—and turned to run. The white donkey, without her needing to bray, was already in the lead, running faster than it had ever done in its life, its four legs kicking up dust on the yellow earth like a wild horse driven mad by fear. Tang Sanzang rode on the white dragon horse, which ran fast and steadily alongside Su Wanwan. Tang Sanzang reached out his hand to her, but Su Wanwan shook her head, hugging the white wolf tightly. Moonlight flowed into her legs, and she ran even faster than the white dragon horse. The white wolf, held in her arms, rested its head on her shoulder, its pale blue eyes watching the increasingly distant wilderness behind it, watching the direction where the dark red dot disappeared. Its lips curled up, revealing its teeth, and it silently bared its teeth in that direction.
They ran for a long time. So long that Su Wanwan's legs went from sore to numb, from numb to completely numb, and from numb to starting to hurt again. So long that the white wolf fell asleep in her arms, then woke up, then fell asleep again. So long that the white donkey went from running to walking, from walking to dragging, and from dragging to being pushed along by the white dragon horse with its head against its rump.
Chu Yang never stopped. He carried Sun Wukong at the front, his pace steady and measured, each step firm and steady, like a tireless machine. Su Wanwan wanted to tell him to stop and rest several times, but each time she saw Sun Wukong's limp arm hanging down his back, she swallowed her words.
Night was falling. A final sliver of light lingered in the western sky, like a thin golden thread inlaid on the horizon, separating heaven and earth. Above this golden thread was a deep blue sky, already beginning to twinkle with stars; below lay a dark, desolate wasteland where nothing could be seen. Chu Yang finally stopped. He stood atop a low hill, lowered Sun Wukong from his shoulder, and laid him flat on the ground. Sun Wukong lay there, his breathing light and slow, his chest rising and falling gently, like an oil lamp about to burn out, its flame flickering in the wind.
Chu Yang squatted down beside him and reached out to check his pulse. The pulse was still there, weak, but still there. Chu Yang's hand lingered on Sun Wukong's pulse for a moment, then he withdrew it, took off his outer robe, and covered Sun Wukong with it. The robe was gray, and against Sun Wukong's dusty gray fur, the color was almost indistinguishable.
Su Wanwan placed the white wolf on the ground, walked to Sun Wukong's side, squatted down, and transferred her lunar energy to him. Silvery light flowed from her palm into Sun Wukong's chest; his chest brightened briefly, then dimmed again, like a dried-up sponge that couldn't absorb water, letting it all flow away. Su Wanwan's tears fell, dripping onto Sun Wukong's fur, leaving a small, dark watermark on his dusty coat.
"He doesn't want your menstrual blood." Chu Yang's voice came from behind her, low and flat, without comfort or blame, just stating the facts, "His body is currently rejecting all external forces. Let him recover on his own."
Su Wanwan withdrew her hand, tears still falling. She wiped them with the back of her hand, but they wouldn't stop. She wiped them again, but still not completely. She gave up and let the tears flow. Tang Sanzang dismounted from his white dragon horse, took a clean handkerchief from his robes, and handed it to Su Wanwan. Su Wanwan took it, covered her face with it, and sobbed quietly for a while. Her cries weren't loud, but they still carried far across the vast wilderness.
The white donkey stood at the foot of the low hill, head down, nibbling at the few remaining blades of withered grass. It took a couple of bites, then raised its head and glanced west. There was nothing to the west, only darkness and further darkness. It snorted, lowered its head, and continued grazing. The white dragon horse stood beside the donkey, neither eating nor resting. It stood atop the low hill, facing west, like a statue. Its eyes were deep brown, gleaming faintly in the darkness—not the reflection of a horse's pupils, but the spontaneous light of a dragon's eyes in the darkness. It was keeping watch.
The white wolf lay at Su Wanwan's feet, resting its head on her shoe, its eyes closed, its ears perked up, occasionally turning to catch every subtle sound in the darkness.