Chapter Text
Mei gets the keen sense that something is wrong.
Maybe it’s the fact that she’s consistently lying to her parents. She’s known the solace of a lie before, but those were small and white, like hiding her pierced ears or neglecting to inform her family that she’s friends with high profile ex-criminals; a heavy curtain backdrop she believes has always been there, making it easy to be forgetful of their nature as lies in the first place.
This business with the monkey king is not familiar, and as the days pass, they don’t grow any more familiar. She hacks away at walls until his murals fade and chip under the continuous strikes of her mallet. He seems to paint new ones overnight, all as harrowing and bewildering as the first. Drawings of white pebbles in dull plaster white, almost resembling eggs; clouds twisted in the shape of chains; a boy emerging from rock soiled in dirt.
One image has a boy with a yellow jacket sitting on the grass. He almost looks like he’s playing, and the jeweled stones in his hands glint with a dangerous light. She expects to see her reflection in their painted edges. He seems to look at them as ugly pieces of a puzzle he wishes not to assemble, so he simply holds them, the weight of each jewel dragging his arms down in sagging lengths.
There’s nothing about the monkey king she can think of that would conjure such a cryptic work of art. He doesn’t particularly give off the patience necessary to sit and work detail after detail on something so...personal. But maybe it’s because it’s personal that he looks away each time she brings his paintings to their rocky knees. So he doesn’t have to see the aftermath.
She struggles to call him a mentor. He has the makings of one – he’s started training her with her own weapon now (with some degradingness on his part and some stewing on hers) and it’s clear that he has an understanding of how her abilities work, an understanding that far surpasses whatever she could have mustered up on her own – not that she would admit it. He’s of an amiable nature at all times except when he’s eerily quiet and staring off in the distance, like he’s partaking in a dream and she must be the one to awaken him with a startling tap to the shoulder.
He jokes. His smiles don’t reach his eyes. He might have been able to fool someone else, but Mei knows those expressions because she’s worn them for a good fraction of her life. She knows how tiring the weight of a mask is, but discarding it is another challenge altogether, so she doesn’t push. Maybe if she did push, if she showed her concern, they could be closer than just mentor and mentee. Perhaps friends.
But that title feels wrong, too. Her sole presence in the cave feels wrong. When she passes underneath the glittering river curtain, she feels as though she’s trespassing. When she ruins Wukong’s unsettling paintings, she feels like a vandal. And when one day Wukong offers her his own staff to train with, she feels like a thief, despite his express, verbal permission.
Mei can barely lift it on her first try. “It’s...” she manages between breaths, “heavy.”
A wry smile from the monkey king. “Before, you might not have been able to hold it at all.”
“You mean to say,” she says slowly, “that the whole – mallet – demolition – thing was to...build upper body strength?”
“Your own strength wouldn’t be enough. And see!” He points excitedly at her. “You did it!”
“I’m barely holding it.” She sighs and drops the staff. It sinks into the stone, betraying its heavy weight despite a light, deceiving appearance. “Besides, I already have a weapon. My trusty sword.” She lifts it up to the light, beaming.
Wukong pauses, working with his words. “Well, you never know. Maybe you’ll use it one day.”
She shrugs, too distracted by the intricate carvings in her sword’s hilt. “Eh. I doubt it.”
Mei doesn’t catch him frowning, but she’s far more interested in her sword to notice. Energy hums between her weapon and body. It’s the only thing that feels right in a place that grows more alienating by the minute. Especially the staff – maybe it’s because it’s wrapped up in legend, like a precious metal in velvet, but she’s never felt fearful of it until now.
Fearful. Is that what this is?
No, she thinks. Guilt.
Red Son, in fact, does not want to tell this individual more. He recognizes that he’s made a rather precarious slip of the tongue and would like to leave.
This message, which he communicates futilely with his eyes as the cloaked individual forcefully guides him over to a seat, is not received. “I assure you I do not know-”
“But I believe you do,” they say joyfully. “Besides, I may have something you might want, if you’re willing to indulge me.”
Red Son scoffs, wholly unconvinced. “There’s nothing you have that I could possibly ever want.”
“Oh? What a bold statement to make from a boy so lacking in...” They tilt their head, smiling. “Well, nevermind then. It’s a shame. You have so much potential.”
“What?”
“Do you not know?” Their hands trace over the stitched emblem on his coat.
Red Son stiffens, and he shifts away. Memories of endless flame threaten to seize him. “I am well aware.” He stands up, glaring. “But it is not common knowledge. And just how would you know, unless you aren’t some stranger, but rather an enemy of my family?”
They lift their hands. “Not an enemy. In time, I hope you might think of me as a friend.”
“I, friends with cowards who hide in the shadows? Unlikely.”
Their smile widens. “Was it not long ago that you hid beneath the shadow of your parents?”
His fists curl. The rain outside is worse than ever, but if he doesn’t leave now, he risks torching the establishment. He’s tempted to teleport out, which would leave a considerably ashy mess on the carpets, a suitable amount of damage for the irritable conversation he’s had to withstand between this stranger.
Before he can depart, though, the individual sheds their hood. Their features are striking – glossy dark fur, red markings on their face, citrine-colored eyes. For all the signs of a simian, he grins like a feline. “You...”
“Look like him, don’t I?” They let out a sardonic laugh. “I get that a lot. Macaque. Actually, the Six-Eared Macaque is, well, my full name.”
He’s certain he’s heard that title from his father, somehow, but he can’t recall in what context. His mind is scrambling. “Why did you...?”
“You said you wouldn’t be friends with cowards that hide in the shadows, didn’t you?” Macaque arches one thick eyebrow. “Unless you aren’t a man of you word.”
“You want to be... friends.”
“Acquaintances is fine, actually. I’m more interested in helping you.”
Red Son snorts. “For what reason?”
“Nothing - I see you’re resolute on saying nothing about the apprentice situation. That’s alright...I’ve been inspired, after all. You’re a powerful demon yourself, aren’t you?” Macaque wraps a solid arm around his shoulders, cold as a serpent curled against his skin. “I want to help you get out of your parents’ shadow. And the best part is you’re already born with an ability more powerful than your parents’.”
“I know,” Red Son snaps. “But it is not mine any longer...and I do not wish for it.”
“Why not?”
“What good would it do me? I already know what I want to do with myself. That...that power is a tool for world domination.” No good can come from it.
“Wasn’t that your goal?” Macaque asks. His gaze is unwavering, betraying no emotion except for the ones he wants. Flashes of pity, mostly. “You wanted revenge against the monkey king for depriving you of your father all those years. And now what do you have to show for your efforts? A food stand in the city street?”
“You do not- ”
“But I do . Your ambition is dead, and this can revive it.”
“Oh, really?” Red Son’s laugh borders on frenzied. “You talk as if you know anything about the fire. As if you know anything about me, my family. You know nothing.”
“I know that your father will tire of mediocrity soon,” Macaque says, his voice chillingly soft. “I know your mother well enough to be certain that she will, too. Nobody wants you to burn the world alive, Red Son...but to prove you have the capacity to do so...that would be impressive. That would make them proud.”
“I already do them proud.”
“Perhaps.” Macaque looks unconvinced. “But it’s not the sort of pride that will last, I can tell you that.”
“And just what are you proposing?”
“I’m proposing that I train you to properly hone that fire.”
“As I said,” Red Son manages through gritted teeth, “It is not mine anymore.”
“Just because it was pulled from you doesn’t make it someone else’s. The rings are still out there, after all.” At Red Son’s frustrated look, he smiles. “It’s time you take back the power that’s always been rightfully yours.”
I don’t need a power like that, he wants to say. But then he thinks about his parents. They seem content to let him continue with his cooking escapades, and he’s always been happy to be consumed by his personal hobbies, but no doubt they will soon tire of it. They have the mindsets of soldiers, constantly marching forward, always seeking new advantages. At least, his father’s like that. His mother...she’s always gravitated towards strength, and will wait for it to come to her if necessary. But how long will they wait for him? How long will they be satisfied with his small achievements and long for the days they’d shared before, when his inventions had served greater purpose?
Macaque, whomever he may be, is offering too many desirable pieces at no cost. What benefit does he get from training Red Son? Of unlocking this doomsday tool?
When Red Son asks him, his response is another obscure smile that says nothing. He rejects the offer – he would be a fool to retrieve the fire after it was sealed away, and an even bigger fool to work with someone who he knows nothing about.
But, against all inner warnings, he accepts the offer to train. Being a fire-wielder, his parents could only offer knowledge of the martial arts, and pyrokinesis is beyond their capacity. Up until know, he’s had to learn with the written material gathered from other wielders. Macaque assures him that it won’t be an issue, though he makes no mention of what his own abilities may be.
Red Son wishes he had asked. Later on, he would wish he had never stepped foot into the theater at all, that he had let himself soak to death on the sidewalk instead.
“He’s a painter,” Mei says, slurping her broth obnoxiously. The steam fogs against her sunglasses – Red Son tells her it’s absurd to wear disguises like this when the noodle shop is closed, but paparazzi knows know bounds. “A...good painter.”
“How eloquent,” Red Son says dryly.
“I don’t know what else to call it!” she retorts, setting her bowl on the counter with a slam. Pigsy shouts at her to be careful, and she sheepishly apologizes before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You should see them! They’re so...scary. No, haunting . It’s like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to. It feels even worse to destroy them, but that’s what he’s been asking me to do for the last couple of weeks. ‘Step into the strike’ and all that.”
“Are you still doing that?”
“No, we’ve moved on,” she sighs. “I was getting bored. Now he’s teaching me how to channel my powers into even bursts so I don’t destroy everything in one huge blast.”
“A shame for you, since you like leaving everything worse than you found it.”
“I said I was sorry for the garage!”
“You blew it up!”
“I was doing you a favor . I killed that roach before it got to you.”
“Yes, along with everything else in the vicinity."
“Details.”
Red Son mumbles something unintelligible and returns to his pork. They eat in silence for a while, and then she asks, “do you wanna go somewhere with me?”
“That depends. Will it be the Russian doll emporium again?”
“I had so much fun there...” her eyes grow misty and whimsical. “But not that. You can be relieved now.”
“I am, very much so.”
“I was thinking we could go to that new horse-racing track that opened up outside the city. Watch a race or two? Make a bet?” Her grin becomes devilish, the scheming sort that he will never admit he likes. “I’ll build you a new garage if you win.”
He smirks. “You already owe me one, actually. And...I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”
Mei frowns. “Aw. Something come up?”
He places his bowl aside, tucking a napkin into his pocket and checking the time. “Just now, in fact. So...um, enjoy yourself! I need to go.”
“But you drove me here!”
“You can drive, Mei. You’re be-”
His sudden pause makes her grin split even wider. “You were about to say I’m a better driver than you.”
“I was not.”
“Yes you were!” she squeals. “Say it!”
He sighs, trying to stifle a smile that doesn’t need to be there. “You’re a better driver than me, Mei. Happy?”
“You have no idea.” She nudges him with her shoulder, her face aglow with affection. “But don’t worry. You’re pretty good yourself.”
“If you’re the threshold, I suppose that isn’t so bad.” He gives her a nod and leaves the shop, the mat swinging in his wake.
“Okay...steady...just hold the wheel straight and keep to your lane.”
Mei bites her lip. The cars around her seem to squeeze together on such a narrow road. “I don’t...what if I-”
“If you crash, the delivery vehicle will probably survive. I mean, I’ve duck-taped this bad boy together all the time!”
“Not helping,” she glowers.
“Sorry,” he manages. “What I mean to say is...don’t worry so much. Relax. Hold your back straight, look at the road, and drive. If I can do it, you can do it.”
“But you can do a ton of things, MK.” Her voice hitches with panic. She hates the feeling of being out of control, even as they move at a frustrating pace down the road. “You can cook amazing food, and build things, and draw beautiful pictures-”
“Mei,” MK whispers. “Do you really feel like your achievements aren’t yours?”
Her expression attempts to be steely, but it crinkles like used tissue paper, ready to crumble. “I’m happy that my family is happy with me.”
“Is that enough?”
“It has to be.”
He studies her for a bit, and she pretends his eyes aren’t on hers. Then, abruptly, “You’re going too slow.”
“W-what?”
“This road merges onto the highway, Mei. You’ll have to go a little faster.”
“But I’ve never been on the highway...isn’t it too early?”
“Never too early to start. And you’re a quick leaner.” He grins. “Pedal to the metal?”
She takes a deep breath. “Alright.” Her heel digs into the gas pedal, and the added speed sends a flurry of wind through the open sides of the van. They nearly veer off lane, and for a moment, she’s frightened they’ll crash. But it’s only a moment, and as the grey expanse of the road widens, she feels something that surpasses that: awe. Exhilaration. And she yearns to go even faster.
All those cars she wasn’t allowed to drive, rotting in the garage. All you require is a chauffeur, Lady Mei, they’d said. But she prefers this. She prefers sitting on this seat that smells like salt stains and broth, gripping a slightly sticky wheel and leaning towards a cracked window-shield. She prefers a more authentic thrill. And this must only be the beginning.
She’s seventeen, learning to drive for the first time with this noodle delivery boy whom she doesn’t know all that well yet. But she thinks they’ll be really good friends if given the chance.
M-K. Initials, presumably. But what do they stand for? It’s been ages since she’s had such a vivid dream, and if she’s ever dreamed of people, they’ve always been caricatures of her extended family, or something nonsensical. This was a dream that could have been real had she not been certain that she’d never learned to drive that way. She’d started driving in secret when she was seventeen. Nobody had ever taught her. Definitely not an MK, whomever that was.
The intervention in her daydreaming comes not from Wukong, but from an external source that loudly makes their way into the mountain’s interior. Emerging from a golden portal comes a boy in elaborate armor, wheels of pink fire flaring at his heels. A sleek red ribbon floats beneath his arms, and his spear points – for now – at the ground.
“Sun Wukong.” He says the name with distaste.
“Nezha!” Wukong spreads his arms wide for a hug he will not receive. “How’s it been, buddy?”
“Peaceful, until you decided to act up again.”
“Act up? I’ve been out of your hair since...well-”
“Do not lie!” he shouts, pointing his spear at the monkey, who sighs with ire. “Where is it, Wukong?”
“Where is what? ”
“Do you think me for a fool?”
“I will if you don’t answer the question, Nezha.”
“The map ,” the boy seethes. “Where is it?”
The first hint of concern shows up on her mentor’s face. “What map?”
“Last night, the map revealing the location of the Rings of Samadhi was stolen.”
“The rings of what?” Mei echoes.
“The Rings of Samadhi...” Wukong mutters. “This is not good.”
“I am glad we have come to an understanding, then. Hand over the map.”
“Woah, woah. It isn’t me . I wouldn’t do something that stupid.”
“On the contrary, you have done worse ,” Nezha retorts. “You’re to tell me that someone with your likeness came and stole the map to frame you? ”
A body of silence follows. “Yes,” breathes Wukong. His expression tightens. “That’s exactly what I believe. Nezha, confirm one thing for me – you were there, guarding the map, yes? How did the thief escape?”
A sore subject for him, it seems, but he relents. “Through a portal of their own. Not one drawn with magic, though. It seems to be another power I’ve never seen before. As though he climbed into the shadows and vanished.”
“Right,” Wukong says, but his mind is far away now. “I know who it is.”
“You cannot escape court this time, Wukong. If the evidence proves-”
“I know who it is,” he repeats, unwilling to budge. “If you want the thief so badly, I’ll have him at your doorstep by noon. Mei, stay here.”
“What?”
“I need to catch them alone. You’ll be fine here-”
“I am not staying here,” she protests. “I’m coming with you.”
“It’ll be dangerous. I can’t-”
“You’re right,” she replies. “You can’t decide for me. I want to go. I can help!”
His shoulders lower. He rubs the space between his eyes, summoning a cloud. “Please, just...stay. I know you’ll be safe here. Nezha, keep an eye on her, will you? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Monkey king!” Mei shouts, but he’s already gone, a mere dot in the sky. “Monkey king...”
Nezha clears this throat, resting against a boulder. His face is carved in soft lines, hardly befitting of his sharp tone earlier. “Perhaps you wish to...sit down?”
“I’m fine,” she snaps. Then, realizing what she’s said - “Sorry. I’m just-”
“I understand. Sun Wukong is difficult to handle.”
She crosses her arms. “He’s supposed to be training me, but he doesn’t trust me to go with him, so what’s the point?”
“The opponent must be formidable if they were able to get past me,” Nezha offers. “He only wished to keep you out of danger.”
“I’ve already been in danger. I can’t live my whole life only chasing after enemies who I know I can defeat! And that’s not the point of this whole thing anyway. I just want to protect my family.” She hugs her knees, gripping her sword hilt until it burns against her palm. “That was why I agreed in the first place.”
“Was...was he the one who offered to teach you?” When she nods, he turns his face away, troubled. “I was confounded when I heard he had taken an apprentice. It did not occur to me that he would ever find interest in teaching.”
“Well, sometimes it’s an ‘independent study’ day,” she mumbles. “But he’s not so bad. He’s taught me way more than I could’ve ever taught myself, at least.”
“Surprising,” Nezha mutters. “So he has wisdom to impart after all.”
“Yes, super original and vague stuff like ‘smash this wall’ and ‘be patient.’”
Nezha almost laughs. He swallows it down with a cough and grips his spear, tracing a finger over the golden tip. “It’s well that you do not take after him too much. We don’t need a second monkey king. Stubborn,” he remarks with ire. “Arrogant. Reckless. Impulsive.”
Mei shakes her head. “Nah. I’m, like, the other side of the spectrum! Trust me.” She pauses, remembering something. “Er, Nezha, sir? I have a question, if ya don’t mind.”
“About Wukong?”
“No, not him. I was wondering if you recognized these initials.”
Nezha leans forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “I can try. I have met many celestials, mortals, and demons alike in my line of work. I cannot say I might be of any significant help, but I shall do my best.”
“MK,” she recites aloud. The name hangs in the air, a heavy layer of humidity. Nezha’s gaze wavers between recognition and foggy uncertainty.
“I...may recall that name,” he says at last. “But it is not at the forefront of my mind yet. Apologies.”
“No, no, it’s alright.” Her focus strays to the paintings on the walls, and the crumbled remains of the one’s she’s destroyed over the past month. “Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking so much about my dreams, anyways.”
“Dreams reflect our real lives,” Nezha tells her. “I would not be so quick to discard them yet.”
“Yeah, but...it’s all too confusing.” She sinks to the ground, leaning against the wall. “I have dreams about this person, and I feel like he’s important, but I can’t understand why . I’ve never seen him before. How could I forget someone who was so important to me that I have dreams about him?” At Nezha’s silence, she smiles nervously. “Sorry. Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, I was-”
“It’s fine!” she says, hopping to her feet. “My spirts have been a lil’ down lately, but I’ll be fine. Everyone has bad dreams, right?” If I can really call those bad. “It’s perfectly natural...dunno about celestial beings, though. Is it the same for you?”
“Lady Mei, if I might interrupt. I have remembered something about this MK that I believe would be useful to you.”
She perks up. “You have?”
Before he can say a word, the sky lights up pink. They exchange a look of shared panic before scrambling to the carved out window at the top of the mountain, where they can see the city shoreline.
A column of magenta fire, eating up the sky. “No...” Nezha murmurs. “How so soon?”
“What?” Her own voice sounds far away.
“The fire,” he says, his expression devastated. “It’s been released. That is not its full flame, but somehow-”
Mei stumbles back, clutching her chest. Sweat mats her hair to her neck, and her skin crawls with heat. The jade blade falls out of her hands, clattering to the ground. Her heart is beating wildly out of control. Sharp rocks digs into her back, tear at her skin.
“Mei? Mei?” Nezha calls, but he, too, sounds too far away. She registers his arms supporting her as she falls to her knees, and then the world sinks under the water’s surface, drowning with her.
It is very grey – that's what she notices first.
And then she notices the boy, sitting across from her, counting colorful, jeweled stones.
He looks up. His eyes are so tired, but when he sees her, they widen with all the shock of the living.
"Why are you here?"