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Every time, it takes him back to the rock.
Sun Wukong’s tail flicks with confusion as he again looks to the stone on Flower Fruit Mountain. It’s jagged and small, nothing like the stone he was born from. Incomplete. A clay monkey sits on top of the stone, carved in the image of those who inhabit his mountain, standing vigil on top of the rock. He gets the feeling he knows who made the carving, but he can’t be too sure. It’s not on his priority list right now.
The Monkey King knows he’s not mistaken. He knows the feeling, the aura, his successor gives off. Bright, bubbly and electrically charged MK, whose aura crackled like lightning. The same aura that drew the Monkey King to the child in the first place. He could feel that presence in the scroll, and he continued to tear into memory after memory looking for him, only to keep coming back here.
He looks at the rock in growing confusion. Why? Why does he keep coming back to this place? When did this rock appear at the very same place he was born? Where is his student? He knows MK is here, he can feel it. He knows what MK’s energy feels like, so similar to his own and yet so different at the same time.
What does a jagged and misshapen stone have to do with his successor?
He looks the clay figure in the eye, trying to look for reason in this warped, twisted place. The scroll is a documentation of every memory that is and has happened. He must exercise caution though, any alterations to the story might draw that nasty curse to him again. He wouldn’t want to face another lashing from that thing, and he wouldn’t want to subject MK to it either. The kid has enough issues with his self confidence that Wukong is still trying to work with him already, anyway.
Though as his ire grows, still not finding any sign of the real MK, being dragged back to this stone after many attempts, grumbling under his breath about how time flows differently in the scroll due to the nature of memories itself, he turns his eyes to the heavens to look for an answer. The sky begins to darken, and Wukong’s eyes narrow. He kicks into high alert, just in case the curse begins to leak through the walls of this place once more.
Instead, rain begins to patter down on the mountain. A storm, and a nasty one at that, begins to barrel down on the mountaintop relentlessly, as if the sky itself had opened up to make the monkey king even more miserable. He groans as his fur and clothes are soaked by the oncoming downpour, before a crackle of lightning rips the sky open a new one.
The lightning strikes not far from where the monkey king is standing for shelter. Wukong faintly registers the sound of the earth cracking as the bright bolt makes impact, blinding him a moment while the loud thunder makes his ears ring. It takes him a moment to realize that the lightning had struck the strange rock, the little clay monkey sitting on top thrown to the side from the impact, with a piece of its head missing.
The stone lingers for scarcely a moment before the deluge knocks it off its natural pedestal. It cracks when it hits the ground the first time. It causes Wukong’s heart to leap in his chest, a bad feeling gripping his senses as he tries to go pick up the stone himself to see the damage.
The rain instead pushes it down the mountain, lightning again crackling at the sky as it rolls down the side of a steep cliff. Wukong feels his eyes widen, as the stone gets further away, so too did the aura he’d been chasing for who knows how long. He doesn’t know how or why, but the stone feels like MK itself, and now it’s rolling down the edge of the mountain, growing more cracked, battered and broken as it descends.
“Kid!” Wukong calls after the rock, turning into his eagle form in an attempt to chase after it, stop it from rolling and getting to MK before-
*crack!*
The monkey king is again blinded by lightning and deafened by thunder.
The heavy rainfall makes it impossible to fly, and the monkey king plummets into some of the nearby foliage. His stress and desperation make him want to tear his fur out and send an army of clones after the stone so they can get his successor back, but drumming up that much trouble in the story would only drag the curse to him.
He smacks his forehead, his wet fur making the impact all the more irritating. This is a memory, he can’t save the stone. It would only be trying to change what’s already happened. If Wukong’s learned anything in his hundreds of years living alone on this very mountain, it’s futility. He can’t change what’s happened in the past, can’t bring people back to life, nor could he have been there even if he did know what that stone might have been all this time ago.
Still… he needs to find MK. That stone is his best bet. Hopefully he doesn’t lose it at the bottom of the sea surrounding the mountain or something stupid like that as he gets back up on his feet.
Rushing to the edge of the mountain, the choppy waters clawing at the beach and dragging all kinds of sediment and sand under the waves do not make his mission any easier. Wukong grits his fangs and stares at the choppy waves, golden light illuminating the dark sea as he looks through the water for the fleeting aura of his successor.
The cracked stone rolls along the seafloor, swept up in the undertow as the little stone flickering with a weak energy is dragged out deeper into the ocean and toward the flaming mountains that surround Wukong’s home.
Why does it always come back to water? Rivers, seas, ocean floors… Wukong being a Stone Monkey means he’ll sink like a rock if he goes after the stone now. It’s why his old companions had to keep dragging any water fights to the surface if Wukong was to use his own strength in the fight. Everywhere he goes it feels like there’s another mountain, or another river, or what have you and that the Journey never really finished.
He groans into his paws and summons a small cloud to fly over the river with, using his golden sight to keep tabs on the stone as it rolls along the bottom of the sea, every harsh impact causing it to crumble even more as a thick layer of mud from the seafloor begins to coat it.
Wukong lets out a sigh of relief when the stone moves under the flaming mountains and comes out relatively unharmed due to an underwater cave with a rather strong current. It’s still very much at the bottom of the ocean though, caked with mud and who knows what other sea life.
At least he’s made it far enough away that the storm overhead isn’t soaking his fur and clothes anymore. Mostly the salty sea air now. Marginally less unpleasant by comparison. The distant whirring of a boat has Wukong quickly turning into a seagull to avoid altering the story in any way by the factor of his presence being enough to halt the progress of anyone who’s heard of him from stopping in their tracks to marvel.
He lands on one of the big storage crates on the boat, feather still sopping with rain water as he watches the barge scrape along the ocean floor, again worried for the stone with its still weak pulses of energy being just enough to make it stand out from the rest of the rocks being pushed aside. The muddy pile gets caught in the framework of the barge, and is henceforth dragged along when the boat retreats the same way it came.
Suppose they’ll be heading for shore now.
Wukong takes the time to shake out his soaking feathers and dry himself off a bit. Wind is a pretty effective blow dryer when you’re traveling fast enough against the water. The muddy mass is still lodged against the side of the ship as they pull into the harbor of a very familiar town. The moon is now low in the sky, beginning to rise as the boat unloads its cargo and Wukong is inevitably shooed off the crates it was carrying.
He lands on shore as the boat dislodges its muck covered cargo on the hull, the muddy stone coming to rest on the shore a few feet away from the docks. The workers all turn in for the night, so they do not see what Wukong does as the muddy mass comes ashore fully. An arm, like a mud monster crawling out of the depths, drags the rest of its mucky body onto the plastic lined beach before it settles.
The messy pile shifts ever so slightly as it lies there on the dark beach under the moonlight. The faintest crackle and spark from the energy inside slowly being expelled with each slight movement of the muddy pile. Not bright enough to catch any attention from anyone not looking, but crackling like static electricity.
The mud pile lies on the shore and breathes.
The stone that was once under the pile of mud had all but dissolved over its long journey, leaving something alive in its place.
It takes all of Wukong’s willpower not to go over to his successor. To sweep him into his arms, clean the mud off him and see if he’s alright. This world of memories isn’t meant to be altered. These events have already happened, and Wukong cannot change them. Though he feels his heart ache, for the little boy he’s grown to love like one of his own, left out on a cold night to take his first breaths of life without anyone else around to help him.
Wukong came into existence fully grown, knowing everything he would need to know to live with the other monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain, other beings around to welcome him into their family even if he only just appeared one day and decided to make it everyone else’s problem.
MK came into life on a cold, polluted beach, covered in mud with no one around to welcome him into the world. He’s not even fully grown, just a child, a human-like child who can only lie on the beach and breathe. Whatever had happened, whatever this storm had done as it carried the small, resilient soul miles across the ocean floor, the stone struck by lightning was not ready to hatch. MK was not ready to exist yet. But there he was. Alone and cold in the dark of night.
The squelching sounds of MK shifting under the mud bring Wukong’s attention back to the beach, his expression softening as he watches the kid try to stand and take his first steps. He looked like he was five years old, maybe six, it’s hard to tell the exact age a human is when they always grow and die so quickly in comparison to how many years he’s been alive. A small hand drags itself free from the mud, with a familiar face to follow as the kid tries to pull themselves up.
The kid slowly pulls themself further up shore, to get away from the waves as they shake their head and muddy hair in order to see a bit better through all the gunk they’re coated in. After a bit of dragging themself around by the arms, the kid attempts to pull themselves onto their legs, managing to stand in a rather shaky manner. MK falls over plenty of times on the way to learning to walk, and Wukong shifts into a butterfly to avoid being big enough to go over himself and catch MK in his arms with each failed attempt to move on two legs.
The kid does eventually get the hang of moving around on two legs by the time they get to the docks, though they now sport even more dings and bumps than the ride here from Flower Fruit gave him due to every failed attempt. Now that MK was moving, his nose is in the air, probably because the survival instinct to look for food has kicked in now that he’s existed long enough to know what hunger feels like.
Wukong follows MK’s memory into the city, the kid leaving little muddy footprints behind with each step, some of the more wet gunk sliding off as he walks as whatever’s already dried clings to his body like a second skin. MK must have caught a whiff of something to eat, as he follows a scent trail through the darkened city. Most places are closed this late at night, but the bright, neon sign that had a good smell to boot attracts MK’s attention as he waddles over to investigate, Wukong fluttering after.
MK stands outside a familiar noodle shop, marveling at the bright neon lights coming from the sign. The store’s owner, Pigsy, eventually comes outside to find a mysterious kid standing on his doorstep. Pigsy takes a sweeping glance at the surrounding alleyway, the muddy footprint trail MK had left behind and the little kid, all alone with no one to take care of him, let alone get them cleaned and clothed.
“Hey, kid,” Pigsy kneels down to get to MK's eye level. “Where are your parents?”
MK stares at Pigsy blankly, before slowly tilting his head to one side.
“Do you have a name, kiddo?” Pigsy presses a bit more. He’s met with no response from the small and muddy mystery kid. “How about a home? Where do you live, kid?”
Still nothing. MK keeps staring and blinking, head tilted to one side.
Pigsy’s snout scrunches up before he pinches his brow and sighs. “Look, let's at least get you cleaned up. I’m not just going to leave some kid out here naked as the day he was born covered in mud if no one else wants to step up and look after him. After you’re cleaned up, we’ll figure out where you came from, okay?”
MK doesn’t answer him, so Pigsy can only sigh and lift the kid up by the underarms and drag his muddy and battered frame into the shop. Wukong slips in after them, too intent on making sure MK is alright to go back to his proper priorities.
Pigsy takes MK to the back, putting him on one of the counters while moving all the bowls and cookware out of the dish sink, emptying it and refilling it with warm water and dish soap. It’s the best he’s got for the time being, since he can’t drag a naked and bruised kid back to his and Tang’s apartment without getting the cops called on him.
Speaking of Tang, Pigsy is probably going to have to call him for backup if he can’t get anything out of the kid. Dipping his hooves into the water to make sure it was an adequate temperature, he takes MK by the underarms again and slowly lowers him into the makeshift bath.
“Alright kid, lets get all that mud off-a you,” Pigsy smiles as best he can as he pulls on some plastic gloves to keep the hoof horn on his hands from tangling any hair or scratching the kid while he scrubs the soap through all the thick muck coating the little guy. Yeah, he’s definitely going to need to call Tang about this. He’d know more about human kids than someone from a family of pig-demons.
Pigsy sighs, though his efforts are rewarded as the kid seems to relax into the scrubbing as the gunk is peeled away from his skin and hair bit by bit.
“You like that buddy?” Pigsy asks, and the relief on his face is evident when he finally gets a reaction from MK. The kid nods, leaning into the scrubbing. “Yeah, you bet, you’re gonna feel way better once all this crud is off you, huh?”
MK nods again, a bit more enthusiastically this time. Wukong smiles, the spark of his student is still there. He just needs to grow into the enthusiasm the Monkey King knows his star pupil for.
Pigsy rinses MK off with a hose that’s usually for spraying down dishes, making sure to be wary of the pressure and temperature as he gets all the soap off. He digs around the back for a second work uniform, though unfortunately he doesn’t have anything small enough for someone MK’s size. Instead, he takes one of his old work shirts and drapes it over the little guy once he’s dried off.
MK walks around on shaky legs as he gets used to the strange fabric now draped over him. Pigsy takes his shoulder and ties a headband around his forehead to pull his hair out of his face and let it dry. “There ya go. Bet you can see way better without all-a that fuzz blocking your vision, yeah?”
MK nods again, gripping Pigsy’s shoulders and then climbing over his head. Pigsy stutters as the kid begins clinging to his back much like a baby monkey would. Humans probably don’t do that, but Pigsy’s never really been around many kids before anyway. It can be a bit rough for guys like him in that regard. Besides, there’s something different about this little guy he can’t quite pin down.
Wukong watches MK bury his face in Pigsy’s neck with a small smile. The Zhu Bajie he remembers from his journey was rarely as soft as his descendant. It surprised the Monkey King when the pig demon settled down somewhere after the journey and had kids of his own way back when, leading to Pigsy’s existence in the modern day. He can’t help but miss the snappy banter from way back in the day.
He flutters after the pair as Pigsy helps MK off his back and into a stool at the counter. MK swings his legs as they dangle above the floor, his thousand yard stare taking in the world around him for the first time as Pigsy turns up the lights.
“Alright, I get it if you don’t want to talk, kid,” Pigsy sighs as he pulls out some paper and a few colored pencils from one of the junk drawers. “So uh… why don’t you draw it instead? Write down your name if you can spell it, maybe draw the last thing you can remember?”
Pigsy demonstrates by drawing something small in the corner of the page before handing the pencils to MK. The kid lights up a bit before greedily snatching the tools and dragging the paper closer to himself, fumbling with holding the pencil right before gripping it in a fist and drawing rough lines into the page, staring at Pigsy intently on occasion while continuing to work on the page with a focused determination.
Pigsy himself moves behind the counter, pulling out a clean pot and some fresh noodles from out of the fridge. He boils the water and gets the noodles cooking while MK draws, the smell of the broth getting the kid to stick their nose in the air and take a big whiff of the pleasant smell heading in his direction.
“Smells good, huh? Guess the smell of some good food’s what brought you all the way over here,” Pigsy chuckles, leaning over the counter to see what MK’s drawing while the noodles cook. He’s met with a bit of a scribbly caricature of himself, though MK doesn’t have a pink pencil crayon, so he colored it with the red one instead. The thick and heavy lines from clenching the crayon in his fist makes the drawing of Pigsy look blood red, and MK frowns looking between the drawing and who it was supposed to look like.
“Don’t sweat it kid, you ask me, you got my good side,” Pigsy grins in MK’s direction, “You’ll get better with practice. Do you wanna sign it?”
MK tilts his head again.
“You know, sign it. Write your name in the corner. So that when people see your drawing they’ll know that you made it,” Pigsy presses again, trying to get anything he can out of the kid, to get some kind of indication of his past. MK just keeps staring at him blankly.
“You know what, don’t sweat it. Too late at night to think about that stuff, right?” Pigsy concedes. “We’ll look into where you come from tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some food in your belly and some rest so you can heal up all those scratches.”
He puts a work jacket from one of the hangers on MK’s back as he speaks, not wanting the kid to freeze while he’s still drying off from his bath. He then returns to the kitchen to finish making something for the kid to eat. The pot bubbles and simmers with the comforting aroma of home, fresh made noodles and soup.
Pigsy turns off the heat and scoops the broth and noodles into a bowl. He comes around to sit next to MK, pushing the bowl of noodles toward the kid once it's cooled enough for him to eat without burning themselves, and MK’s eyes glow with wonder as he starts digging into his first meal.
“You stay here for a moment, kid. Pigsy’s gonna go call a friend.”
Pigsy gets up from the stool while MK slurps down the noodles in front of him with increasing excitement, seeing as they taste as good as they smell. Pigsy moves to the back where the dish sink is and dials the first number on his contact list.
Wukong flutters around the corner, a bit too invested in watching the memory reel like a movie now. He knows next to nothing about MK, aside from what he’s learned in the time they’ve been training together, and he doubts the kid would openly tell him anything about his past if prompted anyway. That’s something that seems to stick with MK even after he’s grown up.
Well, that’s the thing about monkeys and curiosity. Wukong wouldn’t be half as literate in modern language or technology if he didn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong every once in a while. Still took forever to learn how to use a laptop, let alone what a lawyer was. Though he earned a lot of money in a defamation case and even gets a portion of copyright laws now that he’s got his own brand.
Now, if only he could figure out what “tax fraud” thing that lawyer keeps emailing him about is. Those emails he keeps ignoring are waaaay too wordy for his tastes.
“You found a what?!” Comes a shrill cry on the other end of Pigsy’s phone.
“I keep telling you, some mystery kid just showed up a few hours ago, in his birthday suit and covered in mud! No self-respecting parent would leave their kid out there like that, Tangy!” Pigsy snaps back into the phone.
“And instead of the police, you called ME first?”
Ah, that must be the Golden Cicada’s latest reincarnation. Wukong can only snicker to himself, thinking about how different this latest mortal form is compared to his old friend. Tang is much more lazy, much less stiff and much more lax than the old master, but if something has carried over, it's how demanding the mortal can be.
It was Tang, right? Quaint. Thinking of the human being his fan this time has Wukong silently preening. He was the master now. Sucker.
He keeps eavesdropping on the memory from above. This should be fun.
“Trust you more than I do those black n’ blue coats,” Pigsy huffs under his breath. “Think you could come over and give me a hand with this? I don’t want to take the kid anywhere until it's broad daylight again.”
“No, no. I get it. Give me a few, I’ll be over as soon as I can,” Tang replies over the phone. “You owe me for this.”
“Sure. But not with any free noodles,” Pigsy snarks into the phone.
Tang stutters a bit, choking on his own words before huffing out a sigh of resignation and hanging up the phone. Wukong snickers hearing the slight “damn it” the receiver barely picked up before the line went dead.
Pigsy returns to the kitchen to watch the kid doodle with his pencil crayons. The bowl of noodles is cleaned out and set off to the side. Pigsy can’t help but smile, doing his best to dig through the drawers and find more art supplies for the kid. He looks out the door to watch for Tang, spotting the muddy footprints leading down the block. An irritated snort finds itself coming from his snout. When he finds this kid’s parents, he’s gonna give them a piece of his mind.
Tang comes around the corner after a good fifteen minutes, wheezing as he heads into the noodle shop with a few books in his arms. “S-sorry I’m late. Weak ankles and all that, you know how it is.”
“Good,” Pigsy hums. “Keep the kid distracted for a bit, would ya? I’m gonna go see if I can find his folks.”
“Hey-!” Tang huffs, but Pigsy is already following the muddy footprints around the corner and well into the night. Tang pushes his glasses up and readies himself before walking into the noodle shop to meet this so-called mystery kid. MK looks up from their drawings and tilts his head at the new person.
Tang shuffles his feet a bit before moving to sit next to MK. In turn, MK watches the newcomer like a hawk, taking in his features and scratching his pencil against the page aimlessly while he watches Tang and his book.
“Nice uh… drawings you got there, kid,” Tang compliments.
The following silence is very awkward. Tang tugs at his scarf because he’s feeling a bit sweaty now, from the nighttime heat and definitely not because he’s nervous about the situation Pigsy just shoved him into. MK keeps staring. You could hear a cricket chirping with the dead air now that Pigsy and his boisterous attitude have vacated the premise for the time being.
“So uh…” Tang coughs into his fist to clear the air a bit. “Do you want to hear a story?”
MK tilts their head the other way.
“I’ve actually got a really good story here, it’s lots of fun,” Tang continues, holding up the book he’d brought with him. “Journey to the West” is written in gold lettering on the cover, and MK gapes in awe at the shiny, new color.
“Ap-” Tang pulls the book away when MK tries to color on it. “Sorry, books aren’t for drawing on. They’ve already got the pictures on them,” he tries to explain as he opens the book to the first page. “Want me to read the pictures to you?”
MK finds himself nodding again. Finally, with a reaction, Tang turns to the first page and begins regaling the tale of the legendary Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven.
Hearing Tang read the story really does bring back memories for Wukong, still sitting in the rafters and watching from above. Memories… wait…
The scroll! He’s still in the scroll! Wukong facepalms again with a butterfly leg. He’s supposed to be looking for a way out, and looking for the real MK! This isn’t the time to be hanging around in someone else’s memories! If that curse catches up to MK, it could-
Wukong doesn’t even want to think about what might happen.
He flutters for the door, almost smacking into a bewildered Pigsy as he returns from looking around outside. The pig demon waves a hoof to get the bug out of his face, still looking a bit miffed.
“So unless this kid is some sea monster that crawled out of the ocean, I don’t know any leads. It’s like they just appeared here somehow,” Pigsy explains to Tang under his breath as the Monkey King turns around to take one last look. MK is now draped over Tang’s arm while he pauses from reading.
“Or you know… we could keep them?” Tang suggests. Oh no, he’s already attached.
“I’m not running a charity here, Tang! We barely make rent as it is, how the hell would we keep a kid on top of that!” Pigsy snaps.
“Well, you have been saying you need some help around the shop? I’m sure the little guy could earn his keep if you show him the ropes,” Tang suggests. “And then we’ll keep the kid in our apartment! I’ve got my college textbooks for my education degree, so I don’t see why we can’t home school him until we hear news about someone looking for their missing kid?”
Pigsy groans, pinching his brow. He looks up to see MK’s empty stare again, though now they look more like puppy dog eyes than anything.
“Fine. If we get in legal trouble about some illegitimate child when the landlord finds out about this, you’re the one who’s gonna pay for it,” Pigsy concedes.
“Alright… but in return I want free noodles for next week. It’s exam time and I need my cram food,” Tang bargens.
“UUughhh, why did I agree to this,” Pigsy groans.
MK giggles when they see Pigsy’s glare soften into a more fond look. Both Tang and Pigsy look over to see MK laughing, the first sound he’s made since he showed up. “Mister Pigsy has a funny face,” he snickers.
“....alright, you win kid,” Pigsy sighs. “Make my heart melt any more and steam’s gonna come out my ears.”
Seems like it’s going to be smiles all around at Pigsy’s Noodles here on out.
The trio jump when a loud crack is heard. Rings that look eerily similar to lightning bolts suddenly crack the sky, floating in midair above the city. A silhouetted figure with a slender tail and two long feathers coming from a headdress retreats through the lightning marks in the sky.
An inky black substance follows the Monkey King through to the next memory, though not before grinning in MK’s direction just before it vanishes.