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In another life, Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven — did things differently.

His beginnings are the same: the stone egg and the Waterfall, the claiming of his place as the King of Huaguoshan; The Taoism and the storming of Ao Guang's Palace after a weapon fit for a King. From Shì Hou to Sun Wukong to The Handsome Monkey King, he did it all again, with no regrets to be had.

Not until Mihou.

He is three hundred and forty years old when it happens.

The macaque — his younger brother, his moon, his little shadow — did have the same beginnings as well. Born from a wild storm and the King’s very own shadow, the little white monkey is his pride and joy from the moment he takes his first breath. There is no hesitation, this time around. No second guessing as he picks up the tiny cub and settles him against the soft fur on his chest, snug and warm as he is meant to be. The small infant is cherished and loved instantly, a deep connection left over from another life flaring to life as soon as the first touches are shared between them.

The King leaves no room for arguing when he comes back from what remains of the storm, carrying a whole new member for their troop. Some of his monkeys offer to care for the new addition, while others openly stare in fear and thinly veiled disgust at the innocent creature, as if the mere sight of him could cause something disastrous to happen. He let it stand, once. Now, Wukong growls and bares his teeth at any of the Suns that dare scorn the little prince before their mistrust can grow out of control.

He stares at the cub as he makes his way to the Palace on Shuilian Cave, his long-standing home. With growing reverence, counts tiny fingers, traces the scarlet mask the infant will still grow into with time, runs fingers over specialized ears; those are still the same as always, colorful and bright even as they twitch nervously at the myriads of new sounds. The baby looks up at him with two golden eyes, whole. His heart swells with joy and pride, already hopelessly attached to this miniscule new existence in his arms. Wukong is as good as the cub’s only parent, he knows that. He has long known it, but chose to stay silent before, unwilling to meddle in a relationship thousands of years in the making.

But this is a blank slate. He can establish himself as whoever he wishes to be. A faint voice on the back of his mind demands it stays as it once was. They never had the usual titles, but his brother and him had made it work once upon a time, knowing what one meant to the other. He saw no reason to change it.

“What do you think, little shadow?” He asks, pressing a kiss against the soft white fur on the baby’s head. In his arms, the infant giggles.

He does not smell like the baby monkeys born on the island. Those little guys smelled of milk and fresh fruit, their parents’ scent irrevocably tied with theirs, whether they like it or not. Celestial primates did not have the same privilege, with no caretakers to speak of. Born of elements, there were no parents to be had for their kind — they did not need it, anyway. A brother would more than suffice.

Wukong reaches his room in the Palace with a spring to his step, launching himself back-first into a big, comfortable nest. The cub remains perched on his chest, little hands clinging to orange fur as he stares up at him with big golden eyes. Last time, his brother remained Liu’er Mihou for his entire life, despite what Wukong promised. This time around, he has a name in mind for the little bundle of warmth in his arms — so small and fragile, enough that he cannot reconcile the image of the baby in his arms with what he could become. What he had, in another lifetime — one he held close to his heart for so long, yet never dared to suggest. As with every member of the troop, this infant is to be named after him; all Suns, the load of them.

“Sun Xiăoyǐngzi,” he whispers with reverence. The baby’s ears twitch at the soft utterance, and his eyes sparkle with what might as well be recognition.

Wukong wonders if his brother remembers it, too.

“It is a little much, is it not?” He asks the little monkey, who chitters right back at him. It has too many syllables for a given name. Wukong could simplify it a little, while not losing the whole thing. Humming, he bops his brother’s little strawberry nose, “Sun Xiăoyìn. How about that?”

His brother chirps in contentment, unfairly smart for a being so young. Wukong is unsure if he truly understands what he is saying, but it is good enough. It is better. He will miss the nickname in all its full exuberance, but this is an just adaptation that holds just enough meaning to be a fair trade off.

Besides, this once, it will not be a mere nickname, adapted or not. No, this will be the Six-Eared Macaque’s true name, one for them only. He will teach the little monkey to cherish it, to know its true meaning — not a name meant to belittle or make him less than the Monkey King. No, never that. Instead, the King’s Shadow will be a title worn with joy, a sign of Brotherhood and respect, the things that somehow lacked in his first attempt.

For Mihou, he will take it all back: the peaches, pills and wine; the furnace and even the Book of Dead. Anything, if he gets to keep his brother safe and with him, as it was always meant to be.

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Mihou — now Xiăoyìn, for anyone who truly matters — grows up more confident. More comfortable and able to quickly settle into who he really is.

There are no troubles with fitful sleep or a fussing baby; Wukong knows of his ears, and the power they hold. He knows the way to calm his xiăoyǐngzi down, glowing ears settled against the King’s own beating heart. Similarly, he knows of the little shadow’s distaste for the one fruit he adores above all. Wukong never attempts to feed him peaches, instead keeping an ever-blooming blackberry bush on a pot right by the big window on his room — magically enchanted, it will not run out of fruit unless he wills it to. Or dies.

Which he knows he must do, soon. It is a punishment he knows he will have to endure, as much as he dislikes the idea of it. Acquiring the Ruyi Jingu Bang had been a necessary deed, which would come with consequences.

The day he is supposed to die, Wukong is well aware of what is about to happen. Xiăoyìn almost slips from his hold in the early hours of the morning, mischievous as usual, and just like that, he knows.

Wukong feels it in his bones, when he is about to put his little brother down for his daily nap. The toddler is tired and fussy, as if aware of something bad encroaching on their safe haven. Maybe he does know something, but his little baby babbles do not let any of that poke through. Rocking the white monkey to sleep, he does not lay with him. No, Wukong calls other monkeys to watch over him — Liu and Ma, future marshals he could already pick out from his other subjects, already inseparable to a fault — as he slinks away as far as possible from the makeshift nest to meet his destiny. He collapses in agony somewhere far, far away, where no one will find him until he has done all the hard work himself and gotten back anyway.

In the Diyu, the Shiwang are as cold as ever, and everything plays out the same. When he is given access to the Book of Life and Death, he once again crosses the names of every monkey he finds. His and his brother’s are the last ones: Sun Wukong and Liu’er Mihou.

Maybe some things cannot be changed. Wukong tries anyway.

He does not wake to chaos and heartbreak. He is alone in the middle of his mountain; strewn on the peak he had once been born on. The same place Xiăoyìn came to life, too. The Monkey King is now reborn, immortal and free from the claws of the Diyu. It is enough for him, this time.

One way or another, he is met with a face full of white fur when he gets to Shuilian Cave. His brother looks delighted to see him, little clawed hands squishing his cheeks like some kind of overly ripe fruit after he jumps from Liu’s shoulder and into his waiting arms. Xiăoyìn looks at him with smart golden eyes as he calls his name and utters a perfectly clear phrase, “I missed you.”

He never tells the little monkey where he has been, although his loyal monkeys are informed of the whole ordeal later. There are things he does not wish for his child to know — now or ever, if he can help it. Wukong knows the latter part is a foolish hope; once Xiăoyìn figures out his ears, no secret will ever be safe again.

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As a small child, Xiăoyìn is even more of a troublemaker than Wukong remembered him being. He has always been prone to pranks and hiding, yet the Monkey King does not remember it ever being… this nerve-wracking.

His brother is a menace. He hides on shadowy corners, tucks himself into unstable caves and cliffs and everything that can provide him minimal cover from prying eyes. Without his Golden Vision, finding the little monkey is a chore in on itself — doubled now that the toddler’s fur has started darkening and this once, he had been helped and taught not to panic. The comparison to a ripening fruit seems to have helped on this case; but it made Xiăoyìn all the sneakier in turn. He knows to make himself dirtier to blend in better with the natural surroundings across the island. He is unstoppable.

Wukong is so proud to see it.

(Except for when his brother actually gets hurt. That always feels like a stab on the chest, no matter how little the injury turns out to be.)

Xiăoyìn is taught by his Generals and advised by Wukong. He does it in return once he figures his ears’ powers with little more than a little nudge from Wukong, who still recalls every single detail about them, from what an older Mihou had taught him somewhere else. He thrives on the mountain, happy and cherished by all. He is known as prince again, but he is, without a doubt, Wukong’s heir from the start. Wukong doubts he will want to assume the mantle once the Monkey King’s time as a hero comes to an end, but he refuses to show the same level of disregard once again.

If he ever meets MK in this life, Wukong will have to talk to him and to his brother very calmly and clearly before even thinking of making the not-quite-human kid his successor again.

When the Azure Lion starts talking to him, Wukong is aware that there are endless possibilities stretching in front of him. His brother speaks of a great number of them, warning him about the sheer chances of something going wrong that many of them reveal to him. When the Golden Star of Venus comes for him, Wukong is ready to refuse.

It's no use. The celestial whisks him away anyways, and Wukong is only able to return after four celestial days, wreaking havoc all the same.

Perhaps some things had to stay the same.

He finds Xiăoyìn first thing. Fresh out of learning the fundamentals of shadow magic, his brother is in the midst of crafting his own shadow theater. He gets no crafty play, even if the complaints from his brother are still present, if diminished. Attaining forgiveness is as easy as acquiring some of the little monkey’s favorite fruit and grooming his silver fur as he presses Xiăoyìn against his chest.

“I’m sorry, yuèsè,” he utters softly, pressing a little kiss to his brother’s forehead. Wukong had to come up with new nicknames once his favorite one had been converted into a name.

“It’s okay,” his brother whispers back in between handfuls of fresh fruit, mouth smeared with purple stains from the endless blackberries he is supplied with once the King returns. “I missed you, but now you’re back so… it’s fine. But don’t ever do that again!” He scolds.

And Wukong thought it had been easy the first time around. His brother deserved to get a lot angrier before letting it go, and yet he offers his forgiveness like it was not that big of a deal.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wukong reassures the little monkey, squeezing him in his hold. He does not promise anything, for he continues to see how there are things that simply cannot be changed, alternate world be damned.

“Good!” Xiăoyìn chirps. All is well with the world.

For a time.

The Celestial Horde descends upon Huaguoshan with a vengeance, much more aggressive than he remembered it once being. In the fighting, his brother learns of death — and of his monkeys’ inability to ever fully pass on once their names have been wiped from the book of life and death. The little shadow is once again stunned into silence for the whole day as he silently processes the events he witnessed. He cries this time, when night falls and they are both settled into Wukong’s nest — sobs and wails against the ironically heart-shaped patch of fur on the older monkey’s chest, grieving after the many members of the Sun family fallen for a noble, yet stupid goal. His little brother is so much more afraid than last time, clinging to him like a lifeline, little claws unable to pierce his stone hide even as the little monkey squeezes with all his might.

Right then and there, Wukong vows to not abandon him to this again. The grief in his brother’s eyes is palpable, his every action weighed down with the new knowledge that entered his heart in a flash. Xiăoyìn should not have seen this, but now that he has, it is Wukong’s job from keeping it from spiraling further.

His plan lasts a day before the Golden Star of Venus takes him away. Again.

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Everything is the same once again. Wukong gets the peaches, and the wine and the pills, but he plans his escape more properly. He manages to hide a few of the Immortality granting items before he is captured and put in the Trigram Furnace for his transgressions — which are not nearly as bad as they could have been.

When he is let out, Wukong thanks… no one in particular for his newly acquired Golden Vision before hightailing it out of Heaven, landing on a ruined crater on Huaguoshan. His brother finds him and brings him home — he looks tired, the grey fur adding that much into his grown appearance. He has not contacted Xiăoyìn or any of the Generals for help this time around.

“What were you thinking?” His brother asks first thing after Wukong wakes up, after the red eyes and burns all over his body have been treated. He hugs the other monkey desperately, missing him more than he would ever know.

“I had no choice,” Wukong explains shamelessly. “I could not involve any of you.”

“Of course you could! What use are we if you refuse to ever get help?”

The way his brother thinks is dangerous. It’s what led to so many disagreements on another life. “Sun Xiăoyìn,” he reprimands. The little shadow does not back down.

Wukong is filled with indescribable pride.

“Will you accept it if I promise to consider getting more help for the next few times?”

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Just like the first time, Xiăoyìn does not like the idea of a demon Brotherhood. He is easier to convince this once, though, in on the scheme from the very beginning.

Instead of having a battle after it all, the first noteworthy fight between the brothers, the first free evening after the feast clean-up is spent baking a pie. A sweet plum-peach mix, with wine and crushed up pills hiding between more innocent ingredients — all the spoils from his venture up in the Celestial Realm mixed in and given on their entirety to the one being he could not lose in this life, no matter what happened.

Seeing as there were inevitable issues even in his second chance, Wukong would rather not risk his little brother’s life ever again.

With that settled, they are free to mess around the realms to their hearts’ content; Sun and Moon, Shadows and Light, united in their goal.

Outside the Mountain’s natural protection, his brother insists on being called Mihou — the Six-Eared Macaque is a sturdy wall built to keep the kid inside hidden as long as possible. He did not understand the need for it, for the heavy illusions and trickery in his previous life. The Wukong then had not seen them as the attempt at recognition they were, a desperate plea to be taken seriously amongst older, more experienced demons. The Monkey wonders how he ever let this slide back in the day. Just as he wonders why he even tolerated some of the so-called brothers. He seriously considers kicking Peng out of the group more than once. Their fighting prowess is the only thing that keeps him from doing so.

It is needed for the times to come.

Storming Heaven is, and always will be, a brainless decision. There is much thought behind it, of course: the Celestial is not as innocent as it appears to be, that Wukong has seen firsthand. It deserves the scare, the attempt at domination that will leave it questioning whether its forces are really that capable. Xiăoyìn does not share the sentiment.

“Look, I get you’re all excited for this, but crossing the Jade Emperor is gonna have consequences,” he warns, his words so alike the ones uttered in his previous lifetime that they leave Wukong reeling. “Even more so for you. You’ve done this bit one too many times: anything goes wrong in there, and…”

Unlike then, he does not dismiss his brother’s worries. “I know. I’m not gonna go into this blind, Xiăoyìn. We are all ready to face the consequences if anything goes wrong… right?”

The other monkey looks uncomfortable. They have discussed this before. Wukong has long wanted nothing but his brother staying behind while the Celestial is stormed — hell, he almost wants to do it alone, even if he is doomed to fail like that. He’s doomed to fail anyway.

“Yes,” Xiăoyìn answers, not as hesitantly as he expected. He looks discouraged either way.

“What is bothering you, yuèsè?”

His heart feels as if it’s frozen on his chest as his little brother explains his anxiety over the block on his future hearing abilities, of how he cannot hear anything past a certain point. It is not supposed to happen — last time, the abrupt ending signified his brother’s near death. It signified his failure to control his temper and talk it out while he still could. There is no way it can happen again. He has long ensured that Xiăoyìn won’t be affected by his reckless actions, that he will be as immortal as it’s feasibly possible if their fated battle ever happens again. It cannot happen again. Wukong will not survive it a second time. The blood and tears and battles from back then are enough to drive anyone mad.

“Oh,” he swallows, tears gathering behind red eyes. He has nothing to offer, no true consolation.

Xiăoyìn expression crumbles as he realizes his brother does not know either, ears pinning back awkwardly. He does not say a thing as Wukong pulls him into a embrace that lasts through the night, just as the older monkey remains silent as he feels hot tears spill down against the crook of his neck for hours on end until his brother finally loses the battle against sleep.

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When he is inevitably captured by Heaven, it is almost impossible to make his brother leave him behind. They argued about it back then, but it was not nearly as bad as this one. Xiăoyìn refuses to portal away, refuses to leave him and the other Brotherhood members to suffer in Heaven’s hands — he is closer to most of been than he has ever been before, and his sense of duty is his own, not a mere obligation owed to an older brother and King who would never forgive him if he abandoned their “other brothers”. Wukong would not mind it if the younger monkey only saved himself now.

After the Brotherhood is gone and his brother is as safe as possible back at the mountain, Wukong is taken to stand before the Celestial Host. Again.

He is ready to accept whatever punishment Heaven deems it acceptable for his transgressions. If there is one thing he will not do, is accept Buddha’s bet again; as much as he learned from the Journey and loved his companions then, the imprisonment under the Five Phases Mountain and later near loss of his little shadow during the latter part of his punishment is not worth it.

His punishment does not change, as brutal as it has once been. The Mountain is thrown over his back and sealed over him and as he’s kept squished and immobile, Wukong is fed molten copper and iron pellets for his troubles.

(Xiăoyìn does not make an appearance, ever. Not as a hallucination, not as himself. It hurts more than he cares to admit.)

Sanzang comes and outfits him with a circlet he will most likely never have to use — Wukong has attained enlightenment before, and he can do it again. He now recognizes the foolishness of his actions during the first Journey. He is kinder to the Pilgrims, less brutal with the Demons and lacks the murderous intent that had been so prominent in his first attempt at this — except when it comes to the Bone Demon. She is not spared this time around, brutally struck with the Ruyi Jingu Bang again and again even as his Master protests his actions until forced to use the circlet. It hurts as much as he remembers it does, and the banishment that comes with it is the final nail in the coffin.

(He wonders why she has shown up so much earlier, this time.)

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Wukong is glad to be back to his home. He misses his subjects, his Generals and most of all, his brother. When he gets there, the paradise is as devastated as it had once been, charred ground slowly recovering from Heaven’s assault. He had left more protections behind, this time around. He sees the effectiveness of it in the bigger number of Suns still alive when he arrives. Sees it on the way not all his Generals have been decimated — only Ba has fallen, and the remaining three have been doing well on keeping his subjects safe and happy in his absence.

(They have not seen the Mountain’s rightful King for little longer than they have lost sight of the Prince, who had gone on a quest to find Wukong himself and simply never returned.)

He is quick to leave in search of his little moon. Desperate, he scours the land for days on end before he is forced to return to the Journey. He is more callous when he returns; Master had never quite managed to tame his warrior spirit in its entirety, never capable of smoothing over what many considered the Monkey King’s greatest flaw. Instead, he just helped him temper it into something more controlled. Now that his little brother is missing?

It is as if all progress is lost.

Still, he manages not to brutally end his sworn brothers once he sees them in the desert city of their own design. All of them — Peng, Yellowtusk and even Azure this time — go stored neatly yet not quietly into the Scroll of Memory provided by the Celestial Realm. The battle is still brutish and bloody, but it mercifully does not end in any more deaths.

All it does is remind him of how much he hates being the Celestial’s errand boy.

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He notices something following their group many months later.

Wukong is adjusting, again. To the whiplash of knowing what he must do but not being able to act on it, of his brother’s disappearance, of the changes that are not supposed to happen, but do either way. When he notices the being trailing him and the Pilgrims, he does not even consider that it could be anything other than a malicious demon attempting to murder his Master as it always is. When he fails to see them for who they are, even with the aid of his Golden Vision, Wukong feels his anger flare up. He has no time to deal with this, right now.

The last time something like this happened…

(Wukong had seen flashes of them moving around, a dark, painfully thin being that snuck from place to place so quickly he could never get a clear view. Their magic was weak, or at least disguised enough that it didn’t offer much in terms of guessing and what little could be felt was… different from any demon they encountered in the Journey. Still, that didn’t mean the monkey let his guard down — he kept an eye on it, even if he didn’t alert his companions about it.

Maybe a month into that charade, it snuck into their camp at night. They were stealthy, he had to admit it — Wukong only realized something amiss when the being was halfway across the set up, springing up to meet them with blazing red eyes for intimidation–

Only to pause, stopping on his tracks as he was met with a face he hadn’t seen in over a hundred years — Mihou, his little brother, his little shadow–)

This could very well be the same situation. He dares not hope, fearful to ruin his one attempt at a do over of his and his brother’s reencounter. History has been doomed to repeat itself over and over again, as far as his re-do of an entire life has taken him. If Wukong fails here, it was all for naught.

When the dark monkey inevitably sneaks into the Pilgrim’s camp, he is ready. Xiăoyìn looks worse than last time. He is grown, that is for sure, but looks even worse for wear — he is somehow thinner and more ruffled, mane a tangled mess that he bets has not been properly groomed in years. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he looks right through Wukong as if he is seeing a ghost. Most eye catching of it all, his six ears are in full display for anyone to see them, something he had not allowed to happen since he was barely a teenager — and the older monkey cannot tell if the illusions are down because Xiăoyìn does not want them anymore or if he simply does not have the power and strength to maintain them. He is almost certain it is the latter.

“…Wukong?” His brother warbles once their eyes meet in the dark, pure celestial gold against corrupted red.

“Yes, yuèsè?” He asks with all the care he can muster without breaking down in front of his baby sibling.

Xiăoyìn starts trembling, taking one or two steps in his direction before promptly collapsing. Wukong is by his side before he can even hit the ground, gathering the dark monkey in his arms and holding him against his chest as he huddles them both against a tree trunk. Like it was when he first found the little shadow on the mountaintop, he takes his time going over his sibling’s features – marveling over the complex swirls of the scarlet red marking on his face, one unmarred by the scar shaped like a star; brushing black fur away from that too-pale face; tracing the three pairs of ears on both sides of his head and angrily noticing the nick on the middle pair on the right side, not unlike the one he had once inflicted. The limp mass in his arms is cold and pliant, unconscious but not beyond salvation. With soft words, Wukong utters the healing incantations he insisted on learning himself this time around, pressing his face against his brother’s dirty, matted mane as they work their magic. In time, color returns to the other monkey’s visage. All that he can do now is rest.

It is how the Pilgrims find them when dawn breaks. There are questions, of course. Wukong does not shy away from telling them his brother’s true identity, he has never kept him a secret from any of his companions. They feel for him, seeing the unconscious form in his arms, but there is not much they can do besides continuing their travel, second monkey in tow.

Xiăoyìn wakes barely a week later. He is understandably confused and miserable. He does not let anyone touch him, not even Wukong, who only manages to coax him out of his hiding spot after hours of soft, pleading words. The Monkey knows that in any other circumstances, the little shadow would have sunk into the shade the first chance he got — whatever happened to him has left him weak, magic unresponsive and almost non-existent. When his brother becomes coherent enough to hold a conversation beyond angry hisses at anyone who dares look at him for too long, Wukong finally understands his sorry state.

It is a trying thing. In his absence, Xiăoyìn has become flighty and evasive, weaving lies as easily as he breathes air. Wukong can ask him as much as he wants to, and still it will not be enough to make the younger monkey confess what is plaguing him. It is almost worse than it was then. At least in his first lifetime, his brother was willing to reason for his return to their home, instead of just looking at him and his companions with distaste and mistrust.

His brother opens up to him, and him only, on a random night. It is a clear attempt at riling him up, directly blame the Monkey King for all the tragedy that came from his own foolish decisions. He sees it in the way Xiăoyìn’s eyes sparkle with malicious intent, digging at him. There is some vulnerability underneath it all, something hopeful at this skewed attempt at being understood. His brother is a fantastic actor, but he can not completely fool him.

Still, the rage he feels at the tales is comparable to what almost got Mihou killed on another lifetime.

His yuèsè has come so close to freeing him, even if he never knew about it. Heaven’s involvement in rerouting Huaguoshan’s Prince away from the Mountain that sealed the Monkey King for over five hundred years is clear. His brother tells him of endless battles against demons and deities that would keep him away from his final destination, always on the verge of it but never quite managing. He tells of how, when he reached Five Phases Mountain, all that remained was a pile of broken rocks and wisps of a familiar energy. Xiăoyìn tells of the torment that came after, dozens of other foes left in the thrall of the Journey that would attack anything that so much as moved.

It’s no wonder he looks like this, Wukong privately thinks as he watches his brother frown with every word that spills out of his mouth. The Monkey King has long learned his lesson when it came to pillaging the Celestial Realm, but for his shadow, he might just try again. And this time, not even Buddha’s interference will be able to save them all.

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After much pleading, Wukong is granted a few days to see his brother back to their home and aid him in settling back into a life he has long grown unaccustomed to. The days where all it took for forgiveness were some of Xiăoyìn’s favorite fruit are long gone.

The Generals receive his brother back with open arms — Liu is particularly emotional about it. In another life, he was the one to sacrifice himself in the Burning of Huaguoshan so his yuèsè lived to see another day. As much as the younger monkey pretends not to care, he can see how touched he is by the warm welcome. Wukong stays as long as he can, but he has to return to the Journey. He plans to leave during the night, leaving his Mountain quietly so he will not be missed until it is too late.

He is perched on a cliff overlooking a pretty stretch of forest when he feels a chill. A particularly cold presence emerges behind him, and Wukong stops on his tracks.

“You are leaving,” it whispers, accusing, “again.”

Wukong closes his eyes, shamed. “I have to, Xiăoyìn. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” the shade hisses.

The monkey sighs, “You are right not to. It’s been a long time since I gave you any indication that you could trust me. But know that if I had a choice, I would much rather stay here with you.”

He is not lying. He misses his brother like a torn limb — the pain of being apart, of no longer having the same connection as they once had hurts physically in its intensity.

“You are a liar, Sun Wukong.”

“So are you, Sun Xiăoyìn.”

His brother looks surprised at the mention of his true, full name, but does not protest it. The cold presence is gone so abruptly that Wukong thinks he is gone, until something presses against his back. He turns his head carefully, like he is dealing with a feral animal — back-to-back, the brothers stand after centuries apart.

Xiăoyìn does not look at him as he makes his demand known. “You better come back this time, Shí Hóu.”

He nods, “I will.”

He is true to his word: whenever there is a break from the Journey, be it idle days or the occasional banishment, he zips right back to his home. His time there is spent mainly on winning his brother and subjects back, although he also does the most he can with the reconstruction efforts whenever he has the time to spare. Every visit, his brother becomes a little more pleasant to be around — healthier, well rested. He is sarcastic and mean as he was on his other life, but his remarks are not as cutting or hurtful. He is actually fun to listen to, the more he settles back into the island and grows reacquainted with the King.

He knows that things are on the mend when Xiăoyìn falls asleep on his arms when he is grooming his long black mane one day. He is proud of the mighty warrior his little shadow has become, but wishes the process wasn’t so bloody. While not as horrifying as the last, this life has too scarred him in ways Wukong does not even know how to begin to mend. It makes his heart ache in solidarity.

The worst part is that Xiăoyìn refuses to let himself be helped. He does not talk of what afflicts him, does not cry or emote when he is overcome by some terrible memory of his own journey. After living a different future, Wukong knows the importance of communicating — what the Pilgrims failed to teach him, a not-quite-human child had begun drilling into him after mere months of knowing one another.

(Wukong misses his successor a lot. MK is not even close to being born, here.)

He sees it now, how much the Pilgrims tried too.

Perhaps his brother can benefit from the Pilgrim’s Journey, that being the case. He has always been quicker to grasp those more ‘hidden’ lessons amongst people’s words.

He suggests it the next time he talks to his brother. Xiăoyìn is leaning against his back, focused on a scroll on his hands. He is getting back to writing and performing his shadow plays, and the sight of it makes his heart swell. Wukong breaks the comfortable silence with a single utterance:

“You should come with me. Join the Journey, I mean. I doubt they’ll grant you enlightenment, but it’s a good opportunity to–“

A sharp, bitter cackle cuts through his ramblings. He almost does not recognize it as his brother’s. “Absolutely not. I’d rather–“ Xiăoyìn cuts himself off. “No. Count me out.”

“Hey, you didn’t even let me finish!”

“I don’t need you to.” His brother sneers. “You might enjoy being friends with those celestial snakes of yours, but I have principles. I won’t associate with them.”

“Come on, yuèsè. Just give them a chance.”

“No.” He flinches away, keeping his distance from Wukong’s back. “Do not ask me again.”

“Alright,” the monkey raises a placating hand. After a long pause, he adds, "I’m sorry.”

Xiăoyìn merely grunts in response.

The next few times he visits, his brother is nowhere to be seen.

Wukong tries to keep a positive outlook about it, but each failed attempt to talk to his brother only brings him down more. By the tenth attempt, he is convinced he has squandered any chances of mending their frail relationship. By the fifteenth, his only option is to hide away at the peak where he and Xiăoyìn had been born in, to cry his sorrows away in peace. He can barely see anything in front of his eyes, so blurry with tears as they are, when something — no, someone — settles against his back. The cold is instantly identifiable, and Wukong rushes to wipe warm water from his face. The shadow has always been know for being aware of his whereabouts at all times — something his brother has explained has to do with his heartbeat, which he can hear even through the roaring waterfall in their home. Of course crying must be even easier to distinguish.

“Sorry–“

Xiăoyìn shushes him, “I should be the one apologizing,” he forces out awkwardly. Then squeezes him tightly, stifling what will no doubt be a complicated conversation before it could even begin.

Wukong’s feelings choose that exact moment to swell again, a fresh round of tears escaping red eyes. It looks pathetic enough that his brother’s decides to provide him comfort. For once, Xiăoyìn is the one holding him and it feels… good. Strange, but good. He sinks into the embrace.

They have an eternity to make it work.

.

.

.

It takes insisting a little bit more until Xiăoyìn caves and accepts accompanying him on the Journey for a while. By his estimates, there are only one or two more years of it before they reach their destination, but it is better than nothing.

His brother is initially rude to the Pilgrims. Wary of the ones that, in his mind, have taken his big brother away from him for no good reason other than a Heavenly Punishment. He warms up slowly, just as it has always been. His hatred mellows into tolerance, then into enjoyment and finally into some semblance of friendship. It is more than he could say his brother ever felt about the Brotherhood, for one. As it goes, they also learn to truly talk to one another, without one of the parties ending up with hurt feelings or any blood being spilled.

They are closer than ever, by the time the Journey ends.

(Xiăoyìn does not obtain enlightenment or any big reward out of his efforts for the past two years. He is merely pardoned for his transgressions against the Celestial Realm — an act he receives gracefully. Wukong can tell he is seething on the inside. Although he might have accepted the Pilgrims, his brother very much hates the Celestial for what it did to them.)

There are, of course, troubles along the way.

They are not infallible. Every once in a while, there are discussions that stubbornly refuse to fizzle out. They manage to make it up, though. Most of the time. There are things they will never agree on, and that’s okay.

The Pilgrims are not exempt from falling out of grace, either. They are dumped back into the Reincarnation Cycle in this lifetime, too. Him and Xiăoyìn watch generations of their descendants come and go, never getting too attached to any of them. It’s saddening, yes, but survivable.

Good things happen as well, like the reawakening of brotherly bonds between the two of them and the Demon Bull King. This time around, he does not withdraw from Wukong, as he has not attacked everything he once held dear. Niú's kid is a delight to be around — his brother teases the little guy relentlessly, but that does not make Red Boy resentful. No, as improbable as it sounds, their clashing personalities compliment each other very well.

(Xiăoyìn would have made a very good older sibling, now that he sees him in action. It’s no wonder his successor loved him nearly as much as he did Wukong, in his original lifetime.)

There is also MK, centuries later. Wukong has been waiting for this moment for nearly as long as his conflict with his little sibling has been avoided.

The same same rumbling explosion announces the kid’s arrival at this world. It ripples into an earthquake so intense it feels like it shakes all realms. Something about it feels… off, though. With Xiăoyìn in tow, he goes to the crash site to investigate — he is retired too, by this point. There haven’t been demons powerful enough to warrant his interference for centuries now, even more so after DBK didn’t go completely nuts and force Wukong to trap him underneath a mountain. He makes his way here anyway, claiming it was his natural curiosity flaring up. His shadow has no reason to doubt his words, so he does not question it.

The earthquakes keep ramping up in intensity as the monkeys make their way to the explosion site. It clues him in with something definitely being wrong — Wukong prays to gods he does not believe in that his successor is spared from whatever madness this might end up being. He cannot stand the idea that he needs to lose him if he is meant to keep his first treasure, the first born of the elements of Flower Fruit Mountain after him: his brother.

He arrives with a flash of gold, jumping down and dispelling his cloud from pretty far up. His brother emerges on the other side of what once was an idyllic clearing, shadows pooling at his feet. He seems to also sense something wrong.

When Wukong looks at ground zero, his eyes cannot make sense of what he sees. The figure in the middle shifts between a little stone figure, a monkey-looking being and the familiar form of his successor.

“MK?” He calls hesitantly when the form seems to mostly settle. The young man in front of him is just as he remembers: messy hair, red bandanna, a bright yellow jacket with a cartoon representation of is supposed to be a somersault cloud and… he is lacking the usual blinding smile. The kid seems concerned, above all else.

“Monkey King!” He chirps back, hands anxiously wringing around the Ruyi Jingu Bang– Wait. How does he have the staff when it’s right…

His ear is empty. What–

The ground splits with another earthquake. Spider webbing cracks can be seen, but instead of being filled with dirt and debris, gold light escapes from them, plain for all to see.

“Wukong?” He hears his brother ask from somewhere behind him. His voice sounds confused as if asking who is this? How do you know this human kid? without uttering a single word.

He ignores it. “Bud, what is going on?” He speaks above the loud crackling of the ground, squinting his eyes against the blinding light. “Why are you here?”

“So, it’s a really funny story,” MK begins, form twisting and flickering for an instant. His next words are lost in the cacophony.

“Wukong!” Xiăoyìn calls him again. His words feel venomous, angry and twisted as he was as Macaque. When the monkey whirls around to try and understand the commotion, he freezes; his brother’s visage flickers between the one he has grown accustomed in this lifetime and one he has known in the past. The star shaped scar on top of a hollow eye socket is a dead giveaway.

“…Mihou?”

The other monkey sneers.

“Monkey King!” MK calls again. “Take my hand, no time to explain.”

He does not argue. Even a fool can see how the world is crumbling beneath their feet at that very instant. He offers a hand to this version of his brother, one he is unsure if its real or not, knowledgeable of their shared past or ignorant to it. The dark monkey eyes it warily before clasping their hands together. Only then, Wukong accepts the kid’s help.

He wonders how they got in this situation in the first place.

.

.

.

Wukong woke up two familiar faces staring at him from above. One was that of his successor, the boy hovering worriedly above him as he waited for him to blink his eyes open and spout some random nonsense disguised as sagely wisdom. The other, surprisingly, was Xiăoyì– Mihou. He stayed a few meters behind, acting perfectly aloof as if he had not been worrying over Wukong mere seconds prior. The interest was clear, though. He could see it in the twitches of unglamoured ears and in the way his tail swayed back and forth like that of an overly curious cat.

“You’re awake!” MK exclaimed, disturbing what seemed to be a cloud of glitter with every move. There were shards of a broken artifact he could not distinguish sitting at the kid’s feet, covered on the stuff.

“ ‘course I am,” he wheezed, hating how his voice sounded like a hoarse whisper. “Takes more than a little whatever this is to take me out– urgh.”

Wukong fell back down to the ground where he had been laying, nauseated body not really agreeing with his attempt to sit upright. He saw his successor panic by his side, hurrying to poke him to see what had happened. All the while, he kept trying to start saying something around a million different ways, but never seemed to settle on a single starter. Stomach churning, Wukong simply accepted the slight manhandling while trying to catch his brother’s eye. Mihou offered no sympathy or even a clue to what was happening, raising a brow at him. At least he offered a bit of a truce, not immediately turning to bullying him from the moment he woke up.

“Hey bud,” he half-protested, making MK pause his overenthusiastic fumbling, “help me up, will you?”

The kid looked apologetic for half a second, but soon hurried to pull him by the shoulders so he was sitting. This time, he didn’t immediately feel like puking when he did get up. MK was silent now, staring at him while wringing his hands anxiously, quite obviously waiting for something. Wukong knew exactly what.

He caved in, “What happened?”

Wukong remembered living a whole other life. Getting a second chance to fix the mistakes he had made with his younger sibling, to avoid he suffered as much with the older monkey’s own mistakes. Having it all simply… poof away like it had never happened surely left him reeling.

“Okay, so,” MK started, sitting cross legged in front of him, “remember Jin and Yin? You probably don’t, but…”

He proceeded to launch into a long-winded explanation about the way the Gold and Silver (or Silver and Gold) demons had somehow managed to trap him into something the kid called a calabash (what was even that?), muttering about how death by these two was not something he would wish to anyone, much less his mentor. When asked about what exactly the artifact they used was, his successor explained how it was something that had already been used against him once but didn’t quite work so well. MK told him of how, when he was the trapped one, all the illusions of his friends were hilariously bad and inaccurate — even though they were supposed to represent the trapped user’s perfect world — which allowed him to see through them and break free himself. The one Wukong got caught in was some kind of new and improved version, by the demon pair’s own words. It didn’t need the Gold and Silver demons’ input to generate the trapped user’s biggest desire on a perfect world.

“I guess that’s why you couldn’t break out on your own.”

Wukong hummed in agreement. It made enough sense.

“What did you see in there, Monkey King?”

Okay. That was definitely dangerous territory. Wukong had seen his ideal world, alright — one where he was not as stupidly reckless, where he had actually valued his brother and subjects and everyone he had so stupidly lost in this lifetime — but he could not tell his successor that. Much less Macaque. He would never live it down if the shadow monkey got to hear what his version of a perfect world was. Either he would be bullied to death, or assaulted with the most hurtful, cutting words he heard in a long time. His brother had long given up on playing nice. Wukong refused to give him more ammo.

“Bud, I’ll be honest… I don’t remember anything.”

MK looked especially disappointed, “Aw, seriously?”

“Yeah…” was his drawn-out answer. “Nothing really comes to mind. It was like taking a long nap. Sorry, kid.”

MK was quick to assure him that it was fine, and he didn’t have to worry about it, animatedly talking about his own experience and coming up with the wildest guesses about Wukong’s. He let him ramble, a fond huff escaping his lips. His successor was not the focus, though. Looking past him, he could see how Macaque looked at him with distrust, not believing a word he said — with his ability to hear the King’s heartbeat and the long time spent together, centuries prior, he knew how to read him very well. His brother knew he had been lying. The other monkey narrowed his eyes at Wukong. He pretended not to see it.

The van’s ceiling was a tall, mostly inaccessible spot for most of the mortals he was travelling with. With nothing but rickety rails, a mostly-broken umbrella and a telescope clearly placed as nothing but an afterthought, it did not have many attractives — yet at the moment, it felt like the best place on Earth for him to be.

He heard mortals talking about something like this before. From young girls to old women, talking about the dreams in which they lived an entire life with a child that had never been real, only to wake up and grieve for something that never was. He had thought it funny, then. Unimaginable. How it was possible to feel so deeply for nothing but an illusion was something that never quite clicked in his head, even when he had his brother for comparison.

Now, he thought he understood.

The longing for someone he had for what felt like a lifetime but no longer existed — and in fact, never did — had torn a hole in his chest. If he focused hard enough, he could still feel the weight of the baby monkey who had once perched safely on his chest, the cub’s soft fur beneath his fingertips. See the way the scarlet marking on a familiar face grew more intricate during the years, growing from a simple butterfly shape to the complex swirls unmarred by the scar that came with the loss of sight.

He could distantly feel his hands crushing the railing he was leaning against, the cracking of metal loud enough for only him to hear, out there.

He felt the chill before hearing or seeing anything.

“Come to gloat?” He asked, voice bitter. Macaque kept quiet.

He whirled around. Turned to demand that he was left alone by the creature that remained of what was once his little brother, now a crazed, vengeful shade whose only purpose was to torment him–

And was left gaping at the monkey in front of him. Macaque didn’t have the power to keep his glamours up for a while now, fighting against the Bone Demon’s control on him, one that became stronger each passing day. His ears had been on full display for a long time now. The scar, he kept a flimsy illusion over. Just enough to dissuade the kid or any of his friends from questioning it.

He forewent all of them to speak to Wukong. The older monkey could see every little scar and little imperfection in their full, gut-wrenching glory.

He could barely contain the urge to look away. This was his work. He had to see what it had done to his brother, as much as he did not wish to.

“You lied to the kid,” he stated, voice neutral. It was not a question. Nothing on Macaque’s expression denounced the simmering rage he knew was there, lurking right beneath the surface.

“Yes,” he answered anyway. There was no point in lying.

“What did you see?”

Wukong took a deep breath. He did not want to go into details. “A perfect world.”

Macaque scoffed. “That much I could have figured out on my own, o Great Sage.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grimaced, dry swallowing. He hated to hear the title coming from the shade’s lips, for he could not help but to still see this demon as Mihou. As the little brother he had so carelessly lost.

Mi– Macaque growled. “I'll do whatever I please.”

“It was a second chance,” Wukong cut in, not offering much else in terms of an explanation. He could almost hear the gears on the shade’s head turning as he came to terms with what that could mean.

“Huh,” was all he uttered.

They fell back into silence. It was not tense, or companionable, or anything of the sort. It just was. He could hear the hum of machines coming from the vehicle they sat on top of, and the dry desert wind.

Unlike his every expectation, Macaque did not start attacking him then. There were many things he could accuse him of, many things he could use to make him hurt. Had he uttered a single phrase about how the Monkey King was undeserving of the retrial, of how it would never happen in this lifetime or any other, Wukong would have crumbled then and there.

But he didn’t.

By his side, his shadow stayed silent, looking out at the horizon as it blurred past the vehicle they were in. The arms crossed over his chest almost blocked off the creeping ice that reflected the light of the setting, dying sun. His face, scar turned away from the older monkey, looked almost peaceful. Like this, Wukong could almost pretend he had not left his second lifetime, his second chance behind. That they were both happy, and close, and whole. He almost wished he could have stayed there forever.

A foolish hope.