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No matter how many times Wukong tries to reassure him about it, the reality simply won’t change.
No matter how many times his mind replays the memories of Wukong saying “Don’t worry bud! I’m immortal, remember? I don’t die!” it doesn’t change the battered body that’s lying in front of him.
Even immortals can die, and second by second, as Wukong continues to bleed nonstop, he believes it more and more. Remembering the Jade Emperor’s death is enough for him to believe it completely.
He tries, oh so desperately, to stop the bleeding, but red never stops flowing.
Macaque only sits there and watches, never saying a single word. Though his eyes are more than telling. Despite his effort to put on a calm face, the pale of his face screams dread. The wetness in his eyes says of a shattered heart.
MK cries. Sheds tears as he repeats over and over that he can fix this. That Wukong’s going to stay alive. That they are going home, together, all of them.
It doesn’t help when his mentor smiles. It hurts more when he raises his bloody hands to cup his face, tired, glassy eyes looking up at him. MK looks at his face. It’s the palest he’s ever seen. There’s blood all over his features. His once golden fur is now painted in scarlet, like a horrible art that took his life to be made.
He turns his head. He doesn’t want to see more.
“MK look at me.” He does, despite his screaming heart. “It’s going to be alright buddy.”
He wants to whale.
Because no, it’s not going to be. Wukong keeps talking, saying hopeful things. That he’ll be alright. “You’ll do great; whether I'm there or not.” But it doesn’t matter if he’ll do great in the end or not. What should he do with the pain? How will he survive the excruciating suffering of losing him? Who will look after him? Who will be Wukong for him?
Macaque has now come closer, barely a meter away. Lips still pressed in a thin line. MK thought he’d never see him in a state he wouldn’t be able to talk. He always looked like someone who had something to say in any situation, even at the end of the world. But now he keeps quiet, as if making the smallest sound would break things more than they already are.
Mei, Pigsy and others reach them one by one. All of them were wounded, just like the three of them. It’s surprising that they still have the energy to walk. The villain they fought had stolen their power cores. He even took the Samadhi Fire out of Mei.
Having stolen all their powers was the only reason he was able to put up a fight with the monkey king and injure him so grievously. If only MK wasn’t so stupid, if only he’d dealt with the villain before he took his core, none of this would’ve happened. MK’s tears fall with new strength. All of this could’ve been prevented.
At some point, his crying gets so out of control that Pigsy sees the need to take him away, away from the pile of blood that has plastered the ground. MK cries in his hold and Pigsy calmly leads him away. A little bit further than hearing the sound of his mentor’s wheezing breath.
Macaque finally overcomes the dread, or maybe he thinks he has. He comes closer. Seated right above his old friend's head, he makes his legs a pillow for Wukong and holds his face in his shaking hands. With careful, gentle thumbs, he caresses his cheeks. “… Macaque?”
It feels like his throat is being squeezed shut. The words come out chocked. “yeah, bud?”
“Can you… calm the kid down? Tell him it’ll be ok, will ya?” Macaque looks into his eyes. They're unfocused and watery. It feels like Wukong can’t actually see him. Well, that’s for the better. He won’t see if he fumbles. He won’t witness if a tear slips.
He could do with that.
“The pig has beat me into it. Don’t worry about him.”
“ok.” Is all he answers. Then he smiles again. Macaque wants to hit him so badly, because death was not something you smile at. It was to be feared. He knew that better than anyone.
With much effort, wukong looks around him. All of his friends are here. Even the demon bull king and his sister-in-law. They all look sad. Even Mei. MK’s voice is still present in the background, crying and yelling and asking for a solution.
He laughs. “Come on guys, you’re making it depressing. It’s no big deal. Believe me.”
He can feel Macaque’s hand twitch. When he looks at him, he sees anguish plastering his face.
Why is he so upset?
“Come on Mac, what is this? You should be the happy one! Isn’t it what you wanted?!”
He doesn’t understand. What is wrong with everyone?
“Shut up Wukong. Please…” Macaque’s hands shake. “Please…”
No, this isn’t right.
His hands are cold. His body feels numb. It’s amazing he can still speak. Though he can feel his consciousness fading, so he’d better use the little time that’s left for him.
“Guys, please stop. I don’t understand. Why the sad face? If anything, you should be happy!”
“That’s enough simian.” His brother, no, ex-brother, says with so much sorrow it almost hurts.
“No! Because none of you are making sense.” He tries to get up and face them better, but his body is too tired to do so. He raises his head with macaque's help.
“MK’s sadness I understand. But you?! No. Why would you be sad when you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore? No more fuck ups from me. No more horrible mista-“
Before he can even finish, Mei shouts: “stop!” anger and sadness radiating from her.
“Stop being so stupid, Monkey king! Yes, you made some bad mistakes. Yes, we got angry at you. Yes, sometimes you can be hard to get along with, BUT! That doesn’t make us hate you! Or want you to go away! That doesn’t…” she comes to a halt. Her hands have become fists and shake. Finally, the tears she’s been holding fall. “That doesn’t make us want you dead.”
A part of him, a part that he’s long buried with his unbearable emotions, suddenly comes to life and makes his heart ache. MK is by his side again. He doesn’t know when he’s come back. He hugs his upper body, mindful of the deep gash in his stomach. “Mei is right! Why would you even think like that, Monkey King!” his voice is hoarse from all the crying. “We want you to stay. Please. Please stay.” He begs.
“Oh god.” He brings his forearm to cover his eyes and hide the tears that fall like rain. “You guys,” he sobs. “Had to make it so much harder...”
So he cries his heart out and it further breaks everyone around him. It hurts more to know, despite all his glory, he’s oh so painfully human.
The sound of his cries gets drowned between MK’s wailing and others’ weeping.
Macaque holds his face through it all. Not saying a single word. Bottling everything up. He tells himself that he’ll cry later. He’ll pour his heart out in the comfort of the shadows. He’ll scream his sorrow in the name of the loneliness that will come in the mountains Wukong used to live in. But now, he will only hold him. He’ll stay and watch it all, as Wukong’s eyelids get heavier, and as his pouring blood changes color from red to immortal gold.
The hands that held MK’s loosen in time. And soon there’s no sound coming from their fallen king. All eyes turn to Macaque, quietly, with hopeful eyes, they’re waiting for him to say his heart is still beating, all too afraid to check his pulse themselves.
Macaque looks at the unmoving form of his old friend, lying down so still and calmly. The calmest he’s ever seen him. He does hear the heartbeat, but he knows, it soon will be gone like a small candlelight. He prepares himself for the grieving delivery of the inevitable news.
But when the heartbeat finally stops, when the quiet sound that kept him whole fades into nothingness, he finds himself unable to utter a single word, so his eyes bear to tell them with the tears that fall relentlessly.
As if their minds have been in denial till now, their crying spikes. MK’s voice fills his ears as he yells “no, no, no nononono!!!!” though he can’t do a thing but cry.
Macaque leans and hugs Wukong, and doesn’t let go for hours to come. Gone is his decision to cry away from everyone as he weeps on the shoulder of the dead man he once called his best friend.
*
*
*
The world doesn’t end when Wukong leaves. Days continue coming and going, and after each, the night falls just like every other time.
Nearly a year after the death of the king, Macaque sits in front of Wukong’s shrine, holding some flowers and peaches to offer to the grave that holds his sun.
The shrine that once was the king’s home, stays quiet under the light of the sun.
He puts the gifts on the ground and keeps quiet for a while.
There are only three weeks left to his anniversary. It still feels unreal.
“The kid really misses you, you know.” A pause and then a sigh. “We all miss you.” There’s no need for insincerity anymore.
He comes here every two days. Sometimes, when he’s feeling more down than usual, he’d visit every day.
Despite having spent all this time talking to the grave wukong, he still finds himself with more things to say. The words that want to come out of his heart and be heard by his king seem endless.
So, as always, he starts talking to the silence of the shrine, about memories, the weather, the monkeys and every little change in the mountains.
Hours go by, and he finds the sun setting, making the sky drown in a honey color that bleeds to red.
It’s time for him to go, but he still wants to stay. He wants to sit there and close his eyes, so maybe, maybe his dreams would be kind to give him a vision of the person lying in the coffin near him.
There’s this cry in his heart that demands him to persist.
So he does. Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into an hour.
The sun is now at its dying breath, leaving the world in the dark, to prepare and once again, rise as powerful and beautiful as the time it left it behind.
What he wouldn’t give for his sun to rise as well. There’s no remedy for his broken heart because his sun is gone, to rest forever in a coffin seated in a lonely shrine.
He decides his mind has broken his heart enough, so he finally stands up, turning to leave.
But as he takes steps, suddenly comes the familiar voice of a heart beat, and his own skips one.
He freezes in place. The heartbeat once again reaches his eardrums, and it feels like it’s the loudest voice in the universe.
He must be asleep, he thinks, but the voice is so reassuringly steady that he doubts.
With trembling body, he turns his head to look at the shrine. His six ears focus on the small sound that has shaken his world.
It’s there. The heartbeat is there, alive and stable.
Once again, it feels like he's dreaming.
He must be. How can this be possible?
Tears run down his cheeks as he lets himself hope.
With shaking breath and shaking legs, he brings himself to the door of the shrine.
Rising his hands to open the door, he realizes it’s the hardest thing he's ever done.
Slowly, in agonizing fear that it might all be just a cruel dream, he opens the door.
In a second, he’s near the coffin.
The heartbeat is now louder, its rhythm like a promising mantra to his ears.
Then, with a squeak, the sound of breathing starts to rise from the coffin. His tears double as the breathing continues, calm and soothing, as if the person it belongs to is merely asleep.
The sound of his chocked breathing blends with the other’s steady one as he reaches for the coffin.
He finally opens it.
And there, lies the body of his king slowly breathing. There’s no sign of the wounds he got from the fight that killed him, everything's healed and working.
Macaque sobs when he actually sees the rise and fall of the king’s chest. He falls beside his sun to look at him as he breathes, in and out.
It feels like a dream.
He reaches his hand to the sleeping man’s cheek. Hand shaking more than ever, hovers above it, afraid that if he touches, everything will shatter.
But he does eventually, and his skin is warm, another sign to prove that Wukong is alive.
He caresses his cheek and basks in the feeling of hope it brings him. His tears continue to fall, traveling his face to land on the sun’s sleeping form.
With it, the king stirs. His eyelids flutter before opening gently.
The world comes to a stop as their eyes meet. With shivering lips, Macaque puts on a smile, his tears never stopping from falling.
“Hey peaches.”
The king smiles.
“Hi Macaque.”