I just became the Pirate King, and you're telling me I also time-traveled at the same time.

Behind the stone gate was a wide, flat area. At the end of the flat area was a cave. Above the cave were three large characters, the writing blurred by wind erosion, but still legible—

Huaguoshan.

Sun Wukong looked at those words, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed.

The sound of swallowing saliva was loud, as if something had been swallowed into the stomach.

He stepped out with his left foot and walked towards the stone gate.

When taking the first step, the pace was slow, as if measuring the ground.

When you take the second step, it will be quick.

When taking the third step, it was even faster.

By the seventh step, he was no longer walking, but running.

He ran through the stone gate, across the flat ground, to the cave entrance, and then stopped.

The cave was very dark; from the outside, you couldn't see anything inside, just a dark, bottomless expanse.

A sound came from the darkness—the sound of breathing.

Many breaths overlapped, fine, rapid, and slightly trembling.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

The footsteps were very light and soft, like many tiny feet pattering on stones.

The sound grew closer and closer, and then—

A monkey ran out of the darkness.

No, not just one, but a whole group.

A group of monkeys emerged from the cave, some big, some small, some old, some young, with different fur colors—some brownish-yellow, some grayish-white, some as black as charcoal, and some as white as snow.

They surged to the cave entrance, stopping at the boundary between light and shadow, crowding together, dozens of pairs of eyes staring at Sun Wukong.

The eyes come in all sorts of colors—brown, black, amber, and one old monkey even has pale blue eyes, somewhat like the eyes of a white wolf.

No one speaks.

It's not that no one speaks, it's that monkeys can't speak human language.

But they made a sound—a very low, guttural whimper from deep in their throats, like a group of small animals that had been frozen for a long time suddenly seeing a fire.

Sun Wukong stood there, at the intersection of light and shadow at the cave entrance, the sunlight behind him casting him a golden silhouette.

He looked at the monkeys, and the monkeys looked at him; the air was silent for three breaths.

Then a little monkey squeezed out from the troop.

It was very small, only about as tall as Sun Wukong's knee, with light brown fur and two large ears that stood upright on either side of its head, like two leaves.

Its eyes are black, round, and bright, reflecting the golden silhouette of Sun Wukong.

It walked to Sun Wukong's feet, looked up at him, and after a while, stretched out its front paw and touched Sun Wukong's foot.

The moment its claws touched Sun Wukong's feet, Sun Wukong's body trembled.

The tremor wasn't a shaking; it was a tremor that came from the inside out, as if something was surging in from the soles of his feet, through his leg bones, through his spine, and all the way to the top of his head.

He looked down at the little monkey, and the little monkey looked up at him.

"Squeak!" the little monkey cried out.

Sun Wukong's lips twitched, his expression somewhere between crying and laughing, but ultimately settling on laughter.

He bent down, reached out, scooped up the little monkey, and placed it on his shoulder.

The little monkey sat on his shoulder, its two paws gripping his hair tightly, as if afraid he would run away.

It tugged at his hair, brought its mouth close to his ear, and made another "squeak" sound, this time a little higher and sharper than before, as if asking a question.

Sun Wukong did not answer.

He reached out and touched the little monkey's head; its fur was very soft, as soft as a ball of cotton.

He touched it twice, then looked up at the monkeys at the entrance of the cave.

"I, Old Sun, am back," he said.

The voice was so soft that Chu Yang, who was standing next to him, almost didn't hear it.

But the monkeys heard it.

Their whimpers turned into screams, the screams rising and falling, echoing through the cave and shaking the dust off the ceiling.

They surged up and surrounded Sun Wukong's legs. The old monkey touched his knees, and the little monkeys climbed onto him. One particularly bold one jumped directly onto his shoulder and squeezed together with the little monkey on his shoulder. The two little monkeys jostled each other and eventually each occupied one shoulder, like two guardians.

Chu Yang stood a few steps away, watching this scene unfold.

His face was expressionless, but he tucked the dagger into his sleeve—a small, light movement, as if giving the monkeys a quiet space and not wanting any weapon to disturb them.

Sun Wukong squatted down among the monkeys and reached out to touch the head of each monkey.

Some have very thick hair on their heads, some have sparse hair, some have a scar on their scalp, and some have a missing piece of their ear.

He touched each one one by one, and with each touch, the monkeys quieted down a little more.

After he touched the heads of all the monkeys, the troop fell completely silent. Even the two little monkeys stopped making noise and just sat quietly on his shoulders, tugging at his hair with their paws.

"How long have I been gone?" Sun Wukong asked.

The old blue-eyed monkey emerged from the troop.

It walked slowly, its hind legs were slightly lame, and it took each step very carefully, as if afraid of falling.

It walked up to Sun Wukong, squatted down, and drew several lines on the ground with its front paws.

One line, two lines, three lines—it drew many lines, which Chu Yang couldn't count, but Sun Wukong did.

"More than four hundred years," Sun Wukong said.

His voice was flat, as if he were talking about a number that had nothing to do with him.

But after he finished speaking, his hand stopped on the old monkey's head and didn't remove it; it just remained there, on that sparsely haired old head.

The old monkey lowered its head, retracted its front paws, and placed them on its knees. The posture was very quiet, like a person praying.

After a while, Sun Wukong removed his hand from the old monkey's head and stood up.

After he stood up, he carefully looked around at his surroundings.

The cave entrance is still the same cave entrance, the stone gate is still the same stone gate, and the peach grove is still the same peach grove, but everything is different now.

Although the peach tree was sturdy, wild grass grew under it, and some of the trunks had marks from wild animals. Large pieces of bark had been torn off, revealing the white wood underneath.

The crossbeam above the stone gate had a crack, which was filled with weathered pebbles and dead moss.

It was even worse inside the cave—he knew this without even going in; the smell emanating from the entrance told him so.

It wasn't a foul smell, but a musty, rotten odor, like the sour and stuffy smell that comes from wood that's been soaked in water for too long and has rotted.

Sun Wukong stood at the entrance of the cave, looking into the darkness inside.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness—not the light of moonlight, but the light of piercing eyes.

Golden light shone through his pupils, illuminating the entire cave.

He saw that the stone wall was full of cracks, and water was seeping into the cracks. The water flowed down the stone wall and left dark watermarks on it.

Several stalactites on the cave ceiling were broken off, and the broken parts fell to the ground and shattered into pieces, half-covered by monkey droppings and withered leaves.

At the very back there is a stone chair, carved from a single piece of stone. The chair back is very high and is decorated with patterns. The patterns have been blurred by water vapor, but you can still make out that it is the totem of the Water Curtain Cave of Huaguo Mountain—a waterfall flowing down from the top of the mountain, and a monkey standing at the foot of the mountain, holding a stick in its hand.

The stone chair is empty.

It was covered in dust, so thick that the color of the stone was no longer visible.

Sun Wukong withdrew his gaze, the golden light disappeared, and his eyes returned to their original brown color.

He turned his head and looked at the monkeys around him.

The number of monkeys was much smaller than when he left—he could only see forty or fifty in total now, whereas when he left there were three or four hundred monkeys running all over the mountain, chattering everywhere in the peach grove, and the pool below the waterfall was full of baby monkeys bathing.

The waterfall is still flowing, but there are no monkeys in the pool now.

"What about the others?" he asked.

The old monkey understood what he meant.

It lowered its head, drew a circle on the ground with its front paws, and then drew a horizontal line in the middle of the circle, dividing it into two halves.

It drew an X on one half and left the other half blank.

Then it raised its head and looked at Sun Wukong with its pale blue old eyes.

Half of them are dead.

Half remains.

Sun Wukong stared at the circle on the ground that had been split in two, without saying a word.

His hands hung at his sides, his fingers slowly clenching into fists, so tightly that his knuckles made a soft "crackling" sound.

After clenching his fist for a while, he loosened it, unfolding his fingers one by one, flattening them, palm down, as if pressing something into the ground.

"How did he die?" he asked.

The old monkey started drawing on the ground again.

This time it drew very slowly, its claws drawing crooked lines on the stone ground.

It depicted a mountain with trees on it, and next to the trees was a four-legged animal—probably a wild beast.

Then it drew many monkeys, lying on the ground with their four legs outstretched and motionless.

Then it drew a circle with some jagged edges around it, presumably the sun, and below the sun, it drew a monkey that was trembling.

Finally, it drew a snowflake, which landed on the shivering monkey.

Wild beasts.

Exposed to direct sunlight.

snow.

The old monkey couldn't write, but its drawings were very clear.

These monkeys didn't die of old age; they were killed by wild animals, by the scorching sun, or by freezing in the snow.

They cannot cultivate, have no magical power, no demonic power, and no ability to protect themselves.

They are just ordinary monkeys, a little smarter than the monkeys down the mountain, but nothing more.

Sun Wukong looked at the paintings on the ground, looking at them once and then again.

He memorized every single line—the four-legged beast, the serrated sun, the light, drifting snowflake.

These thoughts ignited in his mind, burning like a sea of ​​fire, and within that fire were the words he had heard beneath the Five Elements Mountain—"When are you coming out?"

He came out late.

It was more than four hundred years too late.

Chu Yang walked over and stood next to Sun Wukong.

He looked down at the paintings on the ground, then looked up at Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong's face was half bright and half dark at the boundary between sunlight and shadow. His expression was unclear on the bright half and the dark half as well. All that could be seen was his eyeballs moving, looking at the monkeys one by one from left to right and from right to left, as if he were counting them or recognizing their faces.

"They don't cultivate?" Chu Yang asked.

Sun Wukong did not answer.

He gently lifted the two baby monkeys off his shoulders and placed them on the ground. Then he walked into the monkey troop and approached a young monkey that looked to be about ten years old.

This monkey has dark brown fur, is more robust than the other monkeys, has long limbs, sharp claws, and a wild, untamed glint in its eyes.

Sun Wukong stood in front of it and reached out to press down on its head.

The young monkey tried to dodge, but Sun Wukong's hand moved quickly and held on tightly.

He closed his eyes, and gently pressed his fingers on the young monkey's head. A faint golden light emanated from his fingertips, which pierced through the monkey's head like a tiny snake, entering its meridians.

The young monkey's body suddenly stiffened, its eyes widened, its limbs stretched out, and its tail curled up straight.

After three breaths, Sun Wukong released his hand, and the golden light disappeared from his fingertips.

The young monkey lay sprawled on the ground, panting heavily. Its body was still trembling, but something new had appeared in its eyes—not golden light, but something brighter than before, like a small, but very hot, spark that had been ignited.

Sun Wukong opened his eyes, looked at the young monkey, and stared at him for three breaths.

Then he turned around and said something to Chu Yang.

His voice was flat, so flat it sounded like he was reading a list.

"There aren't many with demon bones," he said. "Of these dozens, only five are capable of cultivation."

The others haven't had their demon bones opened.

Chu Yang looked at the monkeys.

They squatted on the ground, looking up at Sun Wukong with eyes full of trust and expectation.

They don't know what demon bones are, they don't know what cultivation is, and they don't know that their ancestors are examining their innate qualities.

All they knew was that the legendary Monkey King, the one their elders had told stories about, had returned. He was surrounded by golden light, he could fly, his staff could grow bigger and smaller, he had once wreaked havoc in the Heavenly Palace, and his name was the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

They have waited for this moment for over four hundred years.

An old monkey—not the blue-eyed one, but another one with gray and white fur, blind in its right eye, with only a sunken scar in its eye socket—came out of the monkey troop, walked up to Sun Wukong, put its two front paws together, and bowed to Sun Wukong.

Its movements were clumsy, and it was clear that it had never done this before and had learned it from its elders. It didn't quite imitate the movements, but it did every detail very carefully.

After bowing, it took something out from behind its back, held it in its two front paws, and handed it to Sun Wukong.

It is a peach.

The peach skin was dry and wrinkled, its color had changed from pink to dark brown, and it was as hard as a stone.

But it is still a peach, probably the last peach on Flower Fruit Mountain. It has been kept since last autumn, and no one has been willing to eat it, saving it for their Monkey King to return.

Sun Wukong stared at the shriveled peach for a long time.

Then he reached out and took it, holding it in both hands, and bent down to take a bite out of the peach's dry skin.

I bit very lightly, leaving only a shallow tooth mark on the dry, hard peach flesh.