Chapter Text
Nezha found him kneeling next to the body.
He’d tried to follow the Monkeys at King Yama’s palace, as per Jinzha’s obvious instruction, but they were too fast; he only made it outside in time to see Macaque’s portal close. It had then taken him the better part of four hours to first make sure the monk was safe, then clear Flower Fruit Mountain and the Celestial Realm, and finally start scouring the earth with the help of the Host. It was something of a miracle that he’d found Wukong at all - but Nezha had learned to stop questioning miracles long ago.
He silently ordered the Host with him to stay back as he approached the Monkey King. When he got close, he couldn’t help but glance at Macaque as well. The darker Monkey had Wukong’s staff, the diameter shrunken to the width of about two fingers, sticking up out of his right eye. The dirt underneath his head was dark with blood. It was an efficient, relatively clean, and certainly intentional blow.
“He would have killed Tripitaka,” Wukong said, without turning around.
Nezha stopped, still a good meter away. He didn’t quite know the history between Wukong and Macaque, but he wasn’t blind. This had not been the same for Wukong as killing those bandits.
Gods, had that really been just this morning?
“There wasn’t time to figure something else out.”
Slowly, Nezha came to stand next to the Monkey King - on his right side, away from Macaque’s head. Wukong turned toward him, and it was only Nezha’s years of battle experience that kept him from flinching at the red glow of his eyes. They looked haunted in more ways than one.
“Why don’t I feel good about this?”
Nezha held his gaze for a moment, then took in a deep breath of dusty air through the nose and looked out over the rocky landscape. The sun was almost below the horizon. “You cared about him.”
“But what he did…What he was going to do–”
“Doesn’t change that truth,” Nezha said.
“This is why the old man didn’t want me to kill his son,” Wukong said after a moment.
It took Nezha a couple seconds to figure out what Wukong was referring to. “Yes.”
“It’s stupid.”
Nezha glanced back at Wukong in time to see him wipe his arm across his face. “It’s never stupid to care,” he said. He hesitated, then added, “Though crying does make you look stupid.”
Wukong barked a laugh, which turned into a gasp, and then a sob. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Nezha sighed. He averted his gaze as Wukong cried over Macaque’s body and the sun fully set. “Fuck.”
Tripitaka didn’t get much sleep that night. The shallow cave where he, Pigsy, Sandy, and Ao Lie had found shelter was cold and formed in such a way that the wind constantly whistled. His companions arguably had it worse, though; since they had no idea if Macaque would come back or if there were any other demons nearby, they had to take turns keeping watch all through the long night, and a fire would have been more of a risk than a comfort.
It was in those dark, chilling hours that Tripitaka caught himself wondering when Wukong would come back - and he realized that when he banished the Monkey King, he hadn’t actually expected him to stay away for long. He’d barely even questioned it when Macaque showed up.
But perhaps he should have.
Because the more he thought about it, the more Tripitaka realized that Macaque’s accusations against him were not inaccurate. What he’d done to Wukong before banishing him was torture. He had treated Wukong like a slave rather than a student, expecting him to obey Tripitaka without question despite knowing the Monkey King’s nature. He was a hypocrite and a fool for thinking, even for a moment, that it was his power and position over Wukong that gave him the right to hurt him. In light of all that, he shouldn’t have expected then and shouldn’t expect now for Wukong to come back of his own volition.
Except, he already had. Wukong had saved Tripitaka’s life again despite everything. As the sun rose and Tripitaka and his companions cleaned up their humble camp - their belongings were still missing - he allowed himself to hope, however tentatively, that it meant Wukong would eventually give him a chance to at least apologize.
‘Eventually’ turned out to be sooner than anticipated.
“We’ve got company,” Sandy said from the back of their group, about an hour into their daily westward trek. Tripitaka looked back, squinting against the rising sun, to see two flying figures coming toward them. He couldn’t make out any details, but thankfully Sandy had better eyes. “It’s Prince Nezha and Wukong,” he said.
“How do we know they aren’t imposters?” Pigsy asked, leaving his place at the front to stand next to Sandy.
“You think Macaque won against Wukong, Prince Nezha, and the entire Celestial Host?”
Pigsy paused. “Yeah okay, that’s a good point.”
That was good enough for Tripitaka, and he turned Ao Lie around to face the Lotus Prince and the Monkey King as they landed. However, his heart sank as while Nezha stepped forward with all the authority and grace owed to him, Wukong hung back with crossed arms and averted eyes.
“Great Monk,” Nezha greeted, drawing Tripitaka’s attention away from the Monkey King. “I feel I must apologize for contacting you the way I did yesterday. Though it was an emergency, telepathic communication can be a shock to those unfamiliar with it.”
“Please don’t worry about it, Prince Nezha,” Tripitaka said. “I completely under–”
“Wait, telepathic communication?” Wukong said, snapping his head up - and revealing alarmingly red eyes. “That’s a thing?”
Nezha closed his eyes and sighed. “No, I made it up and lied to the Great Monk to mess with you.”
“Wow, you really are a sarcastic jerk when you want to be, huh?”
“I’m sorry, but,” Tripitaka interrupted, drawing the attention of both of them, “what happened to your eyes?”
Everyone suddenly became very still, and Tripitaka had the distinct feeling that he’d said something wrong.
Sandy, ever the savior of awkward situations, cleared his throat. “Master, why don’t you catch up with Wukong while we and Prince Nezha talk further ahead,” he suggested.
“I…Yes,” Tripitaka said gratefully. He dismounted Ao Lie and handed the reins to Sandy.
Nezha and Wukong exchanged a glance that seemed to contain a conversation before the prince twirled his lance and went to join Tripitaka’s companions.
And then he and Wukong were alone.
“Got trapped in a furnace,” Wukong said after a moment. He had averted his gaze again. “Happened long time ago, though. I usually hide my eyes under a glamour but my illusion magic isn’t working right now so–”
“Are you in pain?” Tripitaka asked.
“Psh, no,” Wukong said - but he still didn’t look at Tripitaka. “Like I said, it happened a long time ago.”
He was forcing himself to be casual, Tripitaka realized, and he sighed. Not for the first time, wished Wukong would open up to him. But he supposed he’d squandered that right. “I’m sor–”
“I killed Macaque.”
Tripitaka blinked. “What?”
“I get it now, why you were so upset,” Wukong continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I was–I didn’t care. Or maybe I did, but I just…didn’t want to listen to that part of me. To you. Because it didn’t feel good.” Wukong clutched his right arm. “You were right to call me a demon.”
“No ,” Tripitaka said, taking a step forward. “No, Wukong, I was wrong. I never should have called you that, I never should have banished you, I never should have used the spell–”
“You were right,” Wukong said, finally looking up at him. “I didn’t understand, and I killed so many people and I–”
“You are not a demon, Sun Wukong,” Tripitaka declared, planting his staff on the ground and punctuating his words with the clink of its rings. “You are selfish, rowdy, violent, lazy, annoying, and obscenely powerful, but that is not all that you are. You are also caring, loyal, and fun. You use your power to protect others even when it’s difficult. You value life the most out of anyone I’ve ever met, in your own way. I forgot these things when I banished you, and it wasn’t right. Neither is it right for you to forget them now.”
He paused for breath. Wukong was staring at him with wide, red eyes.
“We are both far from perfect,” Tripitaka continued, more softly. “I am sorry for what I did to you, and while you do not have to forgive me, please know that I do forgive you.”
Wukong was speechless for a moment. Then, as if he was surprised to say it, “I forgive you.”
Tripitaka felt tears in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, disciple.”
Wukong stepped forward, hesitated, and then the all-powerful Monkey King was hugging the Great Monk, arms wrapped around him tightly and his face buried in Tripitaka’s robes like a child. Tripitaka froze for a moment before lightly placing his arms around him in return.
Wukong pulled away. “Anyone asks, that didn’t happen,” he said.
“I’m not lying again,” Tripitaka chuckled. “Besides, do you really think they didn’t see that?”
Wukong’s growing smile suddenly vanished, and then Sandy was there, wrapping Wukong in another hug. “Welcome back, brother!” he bellowed as he squeezed the life out of the Monkey King.
“Great, less food to go around,” Pigsy grumbled as he stepped into sight.
“You don’t need it,” Wukong said, strangled, from Sandy’s embrace.
“I’ll remember that when you ‘don’t need’ help in five minutes.”
“Missed you too, bud.”
Pigsy huffed. Then there was a flash of green light, and Ao Lie - in human form - jumped onto Sandy. He said something to Wukong, too soft for Tripitaka to make out, but Wukong rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said.
Tripitaka felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Nezha. Despite the joy of the scene in front of him, the prince’s expression was stern.
“You are not to banish him,” he said, “nor use Tight-Fillet Spell again, except in the most dire of emergencies. Heaven did not give you such power over him so that you could abuse it.”
“I swear upon heaven itself,” Tripitaka said immediately.
Nezha nodded, and then both their attentions were drawn to the Monkey King’s laughter.
“If I may ask,” Tripitaka said after a moment, when he was sure nothing was on fire, “what happened, out there? Who was Macaque?”
Nezha hesitated, then said, “Someone from Wukong’s past, much like Azure was. You’ll have to ask him for the full story - though I suspect it may be some time before he’s willing to share it,” he warned.
“We will be there for him when he is.”
Earlier:
The moon rose with the sunset.
At first Macaque didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. Then he remembered Wukong’s staff hitting him in the chin - hard to not feel that - and rolling over to see Wukong falling towards him. He’d lifted a hand out of instinct–
And now he was watching Wukong cry over his corpse, Nezha standing next to him.
He’d failed.
Macaque fell to his knees, across from Wukong. He’d failed. Wukong would be trapped for eternity, and Macaque…
Macaque was dead.
“What do you want to do?” the prince asked, and Macaque almost laughed. Want to do?
He couldn’t do anything.
In death as in life…wasn’t that some kind of saying?
“I need to bury him.”
Macaque looked up sharply at Wukong’s broken voice, but…that was the proper thing to do, wasn’t it?
Nezha nodded and gave some kind of signal behind him. A couple members of the Celestial Host appeared, and Nezha spoke softly with them before they left. The prince returned to Wukong’s side. “We’ll have the materials soon.”
Wukong took a deep breath, then stood, apparently having run out of tears. Macaque wasn’t sure if he should be insulted by that or not. “I’m going to start…start digging.”
“Do you want help?”
“No.”
All Macaque could do was watch - and wonder, as Wukong used his hands to shovel dirt, how it had all gone so wrong. If Wukong had just listened to him, if Macaque had just stayed away, if, if, if… But what had he expected, really? Wukong didn’t care about him, not as much as Macaque cared about Wukong. Even if he was burying him now, he was still the one who killed him.
“Gods, why did I try so hard?”
The full moon was creeping over the eastern mountains when the Host members returned, and by then the grave was finished - albeit a bit shallow, but it was serviceable. The moonlight allowed Wukong to make the final preparations, including pulling his staff out of Macaque’s eye with a wet sound that made both of them gag, and then he started wrapping Macaque’s body.
To Macaque’s surprise, each strip of cloth they placed appeared on his spiritual body as an ethereal, deep purple counterpart. Macaque looked down on himself as they appeared, fascinated despite himself - and that was when he noticed that he was sinking.
“Wait.” Macaque tried to step up and out of where he was disappearing into the earth. He couldn’t. “Wait!”
He tried to call upon his power, any he had left, but the dark shadows that rose out of the ground next to him turned gray-green. They grabbed the loose end of the ethereal cloths and started to pull down.
Macaque yelled.
He pulled and pushed, trying with every ounce of himself to keep his head above the ground, but it was no use. Taking a gulp of breath he didn’t need, Macaque sank into the earth…
…and opened his eyes to a void.
“Tell me,” a deep voice said, “did he weep for you?”
Macaque whipped his head around, trying to see King Yama in the darkness, but there was nothing. Then the king's words hit him.
“You knew this would happen.”
“I only knew when you would die, not how,” Yama corrected. “Though given the situation I could make a few…predictions.”
Macaque bared his teeth. “Fuck you.”
“That is no way to speak to your king, spirit. You have not yet faced judgment, but do not doubt that I can make your time here hell .” As he spoke, cerulean chains appeared and closed over Macaque’s wrists and neck. He struggled against them as they pulled him to his knees. Yama hummed. “Perhaps, considering how much you have helped the Monkey King, it would be proper to give you a taste of what awaits him.”
Pain lanced through Macaque’s entire spirit, and he screamed.
He wasn’t sure how long he suffered at the hand of King Yama, though it felt like an eternity. He found that with no lungs or throat, he could scream for as long as there was pain, and with no ears he could listen to the sound until he forgot he was the one making it. He couldn’t think or move; he knew only agony.
Until the chains broke.
“What is this?” Yama asked, and it was the last thing Macaque heard before he was reaching up and out of his own grave - and towards a shining figure in a white dress.
“Liu’er Mihou,” she said, and it was so smooth and gentle compared to his cries Macaque could have wept. “Rise.”
At the word, Macaque was lifted out of his grave - body and clothes restored. The mountains were radiant in the morning light, the air cool and clear. He dropped involuntarily to his knees and gasped .
“Liu’er Mihou,” the woman said again. There was an echo to her voice. “Sun Wukong has wronged you. In cold blood, he murdered you here in this very place, and he left you to rot. Do you remember?”
Macaque could hardly focus on her words; he was busy remembering to breathe . After a few seconds, however: “Yes.”
“Wukong cares not for the interests of mortals,” the woman continued. “He is selfish, and both he and those he calls his friends do nothing but bring chaos to the world. I seek to rid the world of selfishness and chaos. I seek to make this world perfect. I seek an end to Sun Wukong and his companions. Do you understand?”
His head was clearing now, and with clarity came suspicion. Still, he said: “Yes.”
“Good.” She glided down until she stood face to face with Macaque. “Then I have a task for you.”
After the Lady Bone Demon had disappeared, Macaque took the key and inspected it. It was a strange thing that barely resembled a key at all, with a skull on the end of the handle.
A perfect world, she’d said. One without chaos or selfishness.
A world without Sun Wukong.
Macaque scoffed; she was trying too hard.
He dropped the key and didn’t look back.