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Wukong is a creature of independence, a creature of unstoppable force, and a creature of impatience. The Buddha has proven himself the opposite; a being of unity, unmovable, and endlessly patient as he watches the primate struggle under his palm for his Heaven mandated imprisonment.
It is hard to not think of it as he persists, Wuxingshan captures and raptures his senses in a way wholly negative to Huaguoshan, he is engulfed by a manifestation of everything he is not- it almost drives him mad. His fur itches as if lice dance along the follicles that dot his skin despite the lack of space for his fur to even twitch under the spring breeze. Is it the spring breeze? The trees are evergreen in the space in which the Buddha slammed his hand to the ground, not far north enough to see snow that indicates Winter and not far south enough to watch the migration of the fish through the Bohai. He is craving Ying Tao and Sang Shen, so it must be Spring- he only ever craves what his mountain home would present to him as the seasons pass.
He hopes his brethren enjoy the mountain’s bounty, the New Year and its abundance would give them enough for everyone to fill their stomachs and more; he hopes his generals keep up their little charades with the newborns and infants where they seemingly swallow the whole fruit in one bite-
“Taxation for our gathering efforts, little saplings, we climb and climb and climb for the fruits most blessed by the sun! A small labour compared to how hard our King works alongside your parents for the Feasts.” Beng or Ba or Ma or Liu dramatise with their chests puffed out and arms swinging them around nearby trees to show them the act, leading the miniature troop to rapidly jump from shock to sadness to acceptance and eventually wise nods, wanting to come off as inspiringly mature as those that tend to them. All for commander in the spotlight to pull of a small sleight of hand, pretending to pull a ‘new’ fruit from behind their capes to a tiny ear from the front row. “Oh my! It seems that His Majesty has worked even harder than we imagined, a fruit extra for you all!” It always ends in a symphony of happy chirps for those not yet familiar to the human tongue brought by Wukong to the mountain, and layered praises from those old enough to tumble words from their mouths and paws.
Wuxingshan cannot deny him the small smile that graces his lips at the memory, wondering how many new faces he will get to pinch the cheeks of and how many matured of those once-pinched faces can now begin to stand toe-to-toe with him. He loves nothing more than his monkeys blossoming to their fullness as time passes, seeing them unburdened by the gazes and expectations of outsiders. They will demand more treasures and stories from him when he rids himself of his current predicament, there’s no way the Great Sage could be gone for this long if not to provide them with a new curio or script. There is most likely enough untrodden ground between here and home for him to ‘borrow’ some little things from local earth gods and dragon kings.
It is almost as if he feels the Buddha’s thumb press down on his spine for planning to act out the moment he is free. The smile is ground down.
He rids himself of his plans for the future as an act of placation, he wants the weight to at least be mentally bearable if he cannot physically toe the line of acceptance. It is at the very least, a somewhat effective tool of reprimand, but not realignment or reeducation. Both he and Those Above know what is expected of him will not sway his decisions or his nature, if that were the case he would’ve been tamed by Puti Zushi long ago.

Time is back to passing both infinitely and not at all as his mind recalls his teachings of the Dao, how his nature was understood by his secret master, never refused but quizzically tested and adapted to as an act of respect. Rewarded for his cleverness and worthy of the time taken to explain why restrictions are asked of him. He thinks he might have granted the Jade emperor the same treatment he himself was once afforded if he was valued for his nature, instead of his form.
He finds he now craves Li Zhi and Yang Mei. He cannot stomach the thought of Tao, he feels sick from his last gorging.

He feels sick, as he smells it.
This puzzles him, as he was not imprisoned in the ground next to any Tao seeds. The smell grows stronger however and he can pinpoint it comes from the West gently through the wind; with a few huffs through his nostrils and a slight opening of his lips to open his senses as much as the mountain permits. The source closes in to his location steadily, with the beat of footsteps, although slower than the gait of a normal traveller and faster than the pace of the elderly or infant. He grows irate at the inconsiderate stranger, he thinks they do it on purpose, perhaps a lackey of the Court surfacing memories of the festival to taunt him.
It takes almost two Shi for him to catch a glance of the goading wanderer emerging from the tree line along the long grass field that surrounds him, he’s even more annoyed at this point, the steadiness of the footsteps he heard showed no limp or signs of exhaustion. If not to stoke his temper, the stranger’s lack of awareness as a stream-sat duck in the wilderness is plainly idiotic he concludes- not even the newborns on the mountain he keeps safe are that naive.
He deems himself owed a period of judgemental staring, to poke and prod about what equally stupid clothes and fur attached to the scalp the stranger adorns themselves with as apt expression of their empty head.
Annoyance wells up for a reason completely separate to what he thought, and wanted, to get annoyed about.
The wanderer is no mortal, that much takes less than a second to figure out, their clothes match no styles found on the earthly realm, dyed with fruits and bugs found only in places to precarious for beings with frail constitution to traverse and gather materials from. And their hair matches no mortal colours, a pale white that teeters on light indigo- or would it be violet? The specifics are unimportant he reminds himself, it’s some tinge of purple that only shows when light through the leaves shine strong enough on it.
A few more steps have been taken, and their face comes into clear view, they stare down in concentration in front of them, face startlingly apathetic. The only difference between them and a statue is the way their face framing hair sways in the breeze, whilst the loose strands from the bun behind his head bob along in synchronisation. It is a style that works for the warm season, keeping the neck free from trapped heat without binding the hair so tight that it feels heavy. Wukong’s gaze holds steady, he maps out strong eyes under single lids, sharp outer corners and even sharper inner ones with full lashes a few shades darker than the eyebrows and hair they sit under. Purple irises with slits down the centre of them, and he decides that this person is too purple- it’s nearing obnoxious in the way the Heavenly handmaidens scramble to curate themselves to the tiniest opinions of Wangmu Niangniang. At least there’s no purple lip paint, he snidely remarks after spending what would be considered an indecently too long of a look at the pair they possess.

They dress themselves in multitudes of fabric so thin it rivals layers of skin, all of them white, with the large Mei draping down to the long grass blending into the visible ends of the deep clothes along the legs. It’s a wonder they don’t trip with their style of straight-cut bottoms and foliage up to their knees, and only now would he justify such a slow pace to avoid embarrassment via tripping. After finally migrating his gaze down to the middle of their tall stature does his nose finally remember its job of honing in on the smell of peaches that disrupted and disturbed his stomach so.
They sit in a bunch of 15 (a greedy amount) separated by pieces of thin paper in smaller groups of 3 to avoid bruising (a wise decision) in a semi-transparent fabric bag attached via a string to the belt of his clothes at the perfect angle in which they do not knock like bells as one walks. Perfectly ripe. His seasoned nose can confirm.
A smile, far more lecherous and ravenous adorns his face, if the Tao are sweet enough and fresh enough the sickness will be conquered, and he can find a moment of joy in this temporary situation of his- call it deserved motivation for his eventual escape. He needs proper nutrition to break free, after all.

All he needs to do is grab the attention of this passer-by, bat his eyelid playing the unfairly imprisoned victim, and ask for one (or a dozen) in the spirit of worldly kindness. He’s done far more complex performances before, this one will be no challenge for a monkey of his renown. As long as he convinces this immortal he is in fact not Sun Wukong, The Great Sage Equal to Heaven that has recently almost overthrown the Jade Emperor and got squashed under a mountain for it- but a different monkey that also happens to be trapped under a mountain, he can pull off the rear of the stunt.
He first sees if the stranger will look his way organically, as whilst he’s ruminated on his course of action, they’ve surprisingly gotten close enough to call out to despite their snail pace. However just as his lips move to make noise, he realises the focus he saw in their eyes is due to his continuous writing, strokes on the page vastly quicker than his feet on the ground. He still can’t see the pages at the angle of his walking, but he’s able to map out the characters in his head. Various words related to the digestive organs and temperature. Some sort of doctor, maybe a healer, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how topical it is for his goals. It’s as if he has been handed his Jingu Bang with poachers lined up in front of him.
A deep breath in, and-
“HEY! ZILUOLAN!” He calls, with as much charisma he can muster.
No reaction.
Still no reaction.
What?
He knows he was heard, there’s no way otherwise. Perhaps the nickname wasn’t terribly obvious, however repeating the same actions will surely provide him with different results. A larger breath is taken in.
“ZILUOLAN! OVER HERE!” He adds a slight upward tilt to the last few syllables, a welcoming tune to stave off any preconceptions of danger.

He is not provided with different results, only with them steadily approaching with their head and gaze unmoved towards a new page, flipping it with ease only using the thumb between the open spread. The lack of attention as he plays such a nice role, almost makes him break character. His tail committing phantom whacks against the ground in frustration. He is reminded of his impatience, and instantly pushes it out of his mind. At least the proximity to his prize gifts him new opportunities.
There’s now approximately 20 meters between to two of them as the wanderer steadily walks along the slight dip in grass that constitutes a road. A new page has been turned, and the characters now add new brothers to their ensemble: ‘Peach’ ‘Unknown’. Wukong knows everything about these fruits, and surely he is the perfect person to solve whatever conundrum has so tightly enraptured this man. For a small fee of a few of his stock, of course.
A third attempt to grab their attention, “I KNOW YOU ARE NOT DEAF, AS YOU DO NOT COMPENSATE FOR YOUR EARS WITH YOUR EYES. A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME, KIND TRAVELLER?” He thinks how much easier this would be if he were not stuck ink left to dry under a stamp, to take the form of a sweet curious child who knows no better, or an elderly man with a sweet tooth for a snack on his walk. He is sure calling them kind will stoke either attention or ego, both work.
He stokes nothing of the stranger, but has succeeded in stocking the flames to his frustration and indignation.

Pace uninterrupted, if he cranes his head he can finally see one of those vexing pages as he turns a small bend in the path. His writing is highly efficient, incredibly small as well. The stranger might be a doctor, but most definitely a scholar. He remembers how the young monks under his first master and the young squires studying court diviners wrote tiny and frantically- both to keep up with the fast minds of their mentors and get the most out of their own. There are diagrams of startlingly realistic vital organs done freehand on the page, so realistic that he can imagine the dozens of open torsos he’s seen in fights as if they’re in front of him. Wukong doesn’t know if it’s impressive or almost scary, both sensations send the same feeling down his spine anyways.

He snaps back to the task at hand with how close the peaches are to his nose with the scholar a few degrees off of directly in front of him. He is quite frankly tired of being ignored- once is passable, three times is intentional. It just means he’ll play this little action off once he can start a conversation.
His largest breath in, although no words slip from his lips. Instead he gathers his mouth and tongue in just the right way to collect some saliva.
And he aims right for the outside cover of that notebook.
His muscle strength and aim means he hits his mark perfectly, right on the thick paper binding on the front cover, not near enough to endanger wetting the pages that hold writing on the inside, but not far enough that the spit is unnoticed.
The stranger halts entirely. Wukong grins like a madman.
A few moments pass, it seems physically distressing the notebooks was the right answer. He quickly schools his face, he can’t play it off looking happy at it, and softens his eyes in a way similar to how he did to the mandrill matriarchs after he nabbed a Li Zhi meant for a lady far higher in the troop then him when he was a cub. He has to hold the expression for a few moments before the person in front of him even blinks.
It’s an incredible sharp head turn rightwards to him, one akin to an owl snapping its neck after hearing a field mouse scuttle along. The completely neutral expression hasn’t shifted an inch from their face, hauntingly calm and unbothered if one didn’t witness the last few seconds. Wukong finally gets strong eye contact with them, before making conversation in case they decide to snap their head back to business and walk off- this time definitely ignoring him if they have the opportunity to.
“Ah, terribly sorry, deepest apologies my friend!” He starts with a twinge of rehearsed remorse, “It seems I’m my eagerness to talk to you I hadn’t watched just how loud I was. I hope I did not damage anything on your person?”
They do not turn their body to face him yet, but there is a small flicker in their eyes as they flash over his expression, he can tell they are naturally perceptive. He hopes it eases the mood to then ask what’s the content safe inside.
Wukong is instead treated with a curt, and cryptic phrase as they remain as still as a statue.
“It must whistle.”
“What?” He truly can’t make sense of this. “What whistles?”
“Your empty head, when the wind blows.” Is what is heard next.
His head in fact whistle, but in the way a kettle would when over a flame. Or the way a falcon does when a lizard tries to snatch up an egg from its nest.

His facade drops from his face, his mouth slightly agape as the phrase knocks the wind out of him more than the mountain’s weight does to his diaphragm. Sure he spat on this strangers book, but that’s uncalled for, even for his standards.

He tries to regain control, he thinks he can bargain all of the peaches the man carries as apology fruits if he plays his cards right. He slowly orchestrates his face again, but before he can shift the tides to his favour, he is (rudely, he thinks) interrupted.

“The speed at which you saliva would’ve flown, if it was released at any point from your third calling, would’ve reached me far sooner than when it did in reality.” The man finally turns his body fully to acknowledge the monkey under the mountain, although not straying from his position on the path. “That, and the wind blows in the opposite direction to the way I proceed, for it to land where it did, you would’ve had to aim further down my path for it to deviate towards me.” The words are spoken incredibly flatly, no hint of anger or belittlement persist in them, but the lack of emotion unnerves Wukong to the point he would’ve preferred an angry response.
He tries to get a word in, and fails. With how ahead this man is with this whole situation, he thinks his next 40 lines are already predicted somehow.
“You are not subtle, however you seem simple enough of a creature to leave me alone once you are entertained. So say it.” Is what he is with promoted with.
It is an easy way in that he doesn’t have to forge, however he is still feeling insulted and decides to take what he thinks he is owed. “Why don’t you come closer? I’d hate to accidentally spit on your book again trying to speak loud enough for you to hear.” He intentionally lets a small bit of spit make a weak flight a single meter in front of him, a small playful threat as his smile returns.
A moment passes again, as the scholar as still as the rock he is imprisoned under considers the entire situation, weighing up his options. They blink, and without breaking eye contact any further, their thumb is used as a bookmark as they close their notes, and approaches the mountain with even steps. Despite it all, the Monkey Kings finds a small voice in his head quite enjoys the view of such an admittedly handsome man prowling towards him, and gains an appreciation for the previously aggravating slow pace they hold that allows him to enjoy it for that little bit of extra time. He also enjoys being able to see them up close, he can confirm a few observations with the new angle he sees them at. There are a few satchels on the side of their belt that was previously blocked from sight as they walked earlier, containing more books and paper, with a water gourd connected to it. As they clear the tall grass, the deep style fabric goes an inch off the ground looking like layered lotus petals in the wind. It seems impractical for a scholar, but it’s not as if all of his outfits are idealised for combat.
After what seems like ages, he tells himself he’s surprised he isn’t craving Gangju, it feels like he should be after all of this.
There’s a mere meter between them at this point, the scholar has interestingly placed himself within spitting distance, but perhaps with how quite they were to insult him, it’s a test to his patience. Even more interestingly, they do not stay standing for long, they lower themselves to his level on their own accord. The act of respect contradicts their harsh habits, but perhaps they feel satiated after his initiation of rudeness. It’s more respect he’s gotten from anyone other than his mountain brethren in years, and he concedes his trickery for the moment in return.
Wukong juts his head our to the direction of the fabric fruit bag once the scholar is settled in front of him. “Peculiar cargo, Ziluolan.” He states, void of the previous goading or charlatan tone to his first three calls. He runs his tongue along his teeth before continuing, “Few people travel with the inventory that you have, and even fewer don’t keep their wits about them.” Allowing the man in front of him to take whichever prompt he prefers.
“Is it peculiar to take only what is necessary?” Is what is said in return.
“Hm.” A theatrical musing to display mulling his words over. “Maybe, if one did not take such an unnecessary path”
“Who says it’s unnecessary”
“Why yours truly says so, but you say it isn't?”“Correct.”
The lack of open ends frustrated the monkey, he is clearly too pragmatic for his own good, but he enjoys the stubbornness to relinquish more than they deem necessary- it makes him want to take a mile from the inch he has been afforded.
“What journey requires only 15 peaches, writing materials, and a gourd?”
“Mine.”
“And what does yours entail?” He presses, trickery would get the scholar to leave, so playing by their rules is the next best option. This is his best shot at any sort of socialisation at Wuxingshan
A small breath is taken in as they mull over the efficiency of answering or just getting up and leaving. Wukong enjoys the slightest of warping of their face as their nose adjusts for the air entering their lungs.

“One where what I want depends on someone eating peaches, and writing down what happens.”
“A story?”
“Data collection.” A small pause, as they know they must give up a few details to stop the cycle of pressing. “On allergens, and how the body rejects stimuli.”
The monkey makes a perturbed face. “You possess peaches to write down how someone might die from a peach?”
“Yes, in the broad sense, I simply know a man who is allergic to them. He is the path of least resistance.”
“Oh…” Wukong crones with a slight rumble to his chest, “So these peaches are meant for very important research, and you wouldn’t be able to spare one for this poor monkey?” A slight flutter to his eyes is added after he finishes speaking, layering honesty with a bit of persuasion.
“Would ingesting these peaches result in your death?”
“I could put on a real good show for you, Ziluolan” He bargains, “Let me see how those other charming men kicked the bucket and I’ll add to your results list, bolster the numbers of how many died the same way.”

“A fair proposal, however even if you allowed me to inspect and collect your innards the mountain prevents me from accessing your body. It would not be wholly acceptable data.”
That gets a good laugh out of him, the scholar is so blunt and pragmatic, it’s morbidly comedic. “Couldn’t get a pretty painting of my guts for your book, huh?” His teeth flash in a non-threatening smile. “Guess this poor monkey will die from a lack of peaches instead.”
“A shame,” they state in response. “You are my most willing case yet. If I ever end up researching how being crushed by a mountain affects the body- I will bring some unimportant fruit as a reward.”
“Oh!!” He perks up immediately, “Well who am I to say no to such a tantalising offer? I do hope that day comes soon.” Both for the promise of fruit, but also for the promise of another conversation. The heavens and courts were so full for secret meanings and standing on ceremony, such simplicity in words reminds him of home.

“Good to hear.” A curt nod is the first decent movement they have made all conversation, and with it they swiftly stand, so efficient in their movements in rising that nothing need be exerted in brushing off strands of grass. It causes a small shift in the air, and Wukong is reminded of his failure to secure a peach off of the stranger with the tiniest feeling that he mourns the loss of conversation over the fruit. They no longer hold eye contact with him, having already started to turn and resume writing in that blasted notebook of theirs and he finds his face falling when they no longer see him.
Everything about the scholar is annoying again. The Tao scent is annoying again. The weight of Wuxingshan is annoying again. The lack of ability to yank him back by the side sleeve or the two thin stands of long hair to his waist free from the rest of his up-do that sit just in front of his ears is annoying.
Wukong decides he has not permitted the conversation to end.
“Scholar! You leave without telling me your name?”
“Yes.” They says without interruption, trekking away from Wukong the exact way he was before. “I only take with me what is necessary.”
“And if I deem it necessary?”
“Then I will bring it with the unimportant fruit.”
He stills, it is a confirmation of a next time. It quells some annoyance, and it’s its place rises more impatient for the next time he craves Li Zhi and Yang Mei. His face settles from the creases his indigence that had made their home there. As he watches the scholar leave with his declaration he swears their pace has slowed even more, it takes them longer to leave his sight.
He ignores how his stomach feels sick far beyond the Tao fading from his nose.
Time passes. He craves Ying Tao and Yang Shen. He craves Li Zhi and Yang Mei. He craves Pingguo and Li. He craves Ganju and Shizi.
He ignores how the sickness only fades when he sees the scholar years later, carrying 16 succulent Tao when walking alongside a Buddhist Monk.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Zhiping does not like the Heavens, he finds it the most artificial realm he has ever travelled to.Since his youth, he has chosen isolation as his environment, favoured it due to its usefulness against his scholarly pursuits and research being interrupted. He scarcely emerges from a painted realm, or an island far away from the continental population and any Gods of the ocean. Erlang fondly refers to him as a Hermit Dragon because of this, one of the few people Zhiping deems worthy of both his time and manners. He does not like the Heavens, but he likes Erlang Shen- and so he finds himself high above on rare occasions.This occasion is brief, not in a good enough mood to linger more than is necessary to collect his companion from his station before making a snippy comment on how he is not the man’s nanny. They both know they share respect for punctuality, and would meet in their frequent Opera spots or a Mahjong parlour with no difficultly due to their senses and divine reach. However Erlang likes applying a thin layer of annoyance to his friend’s face because it means he can then earn the victory of getting a smile from the man later in the night; and remind the dragon that he indeed will forgo isolation for reasons other than his work- for him.Zhiping refuses to speak before he successfully gets His Divinity out of the Southern Gate, holding onto his side of the rope in their tug of war until satisfied he has made his discontent clear. Erlang in turn had learned to only greet him once they can hear the bustle of the mortal night markets and echoing gossip in the streets. Dragons are prone to snapping on a good day, let alone when prodded. However the tomes gifted and promises of extending his station to peruse the archives in Heaven (alone, importantly) means he is forgiven every time he lures his friend upwards.It is a few weeks before the Harvest Festival, and so the streets are not yet flooded with mortals of all sizes and ages as they still work hard to ensure a bountiful celebration. The pair weave smoothly under the village gate towards their second favourite parlour with practiced grace after many centuries treading the land. Both eager to avoid conversations that would detract from the limited time they find free and overlapping with the other (Erlang makes the newest addition to his reminders that if his friend was less territorial over his workspace, he would gladly pop by sip tea next to him). Their statue and visage do not help in this, immortals often catch the eyes of those from the earthly plains, and many a mortal man cannot help themselves in trying to impress a pretty face they are not familiar with.Zhiping considers forcing the two of them to wear thin face veils in moments of transit, but he also enjoys being able to see Erlang’s strong nose and piercing eyes from the corner of his vision. He would lose out on more than he would gain.They speak of recent scholarly pursuits now that the Heavens no longer leave an odd taste in his mouth. Local Earth deities complain of human mingling, introducing quick solutions (as they call it) to what they deem pests, and how their shortsightedness leads to more imbalance that they scramble to fix. The dragon always seems to have a short and clipped solution, his habits of never not pondering and testing means he is often leagues ahead of others on the playing boards. Many would view it arrogant and belittling, however Erlang is far familiarised and comforted by the neutral tone that unnerves all others- and knows he simply speaks of the path of least resistance. He knows how trapped his friend gets in knowledge, so he deftly switches the topic of conversation to his own work life; training new recruits and being sent out more and more against various yaoguai to eliminate, making sure to describe them as ‘dull’ and ‘ordinary for their lot’ to avoid any medical inquisition. His friend asks him on the speed at which he solves his problems, to which he gladly tells the dragon his strikes are consistently getting faster and stronger. He is no stranger to the joys of impressing academics, and no stranger to the delightful pride in being one of the few to retain the attention of such a scarcely sighted mind. He notes he can continue to monopolise his friend’s attention, maybe even receive praise, as they finally arrive at their main hub for the night.Erlang would not say he is overly fond of the Earthly realm, he finds there to be too many unrefined minds his third eye cannot instinctively ignore.This issue is solved as they enter the fabric curtain separating the parlour to the village streets, the walls doing their part to put a screen between him and the residents- he holds no ill will towards them, he knows it is not their fault, but it does remind him to bring the rice wine the dragon favours the most. A common apology for what he (lovingly) makes the dragon experience for brief moments in the outer roads of Heaven. He leads his friend to the table that softens his sense the most after linking their arms, gently nestling their arms the way a couple would, and only releases it once they must arrange themselves to play their game of mahjong. The size of the table allows them to slot opposite arms along it anyways, a few dances of fingers being a tactic to both try win the game by distracting him and keep him close. They both appreciate the game and each other this night as a new member of the court has been a recurring headache for both of them, and they can both take the time to unwind as Nezha is tasked with watching their shared headache tonight.An act of good sportsmanship, Erlang closes his third eye and takes the task of ordering their drinks as Zhiping twitters the sparrows; his divine perception would allow him to know the field beyond how they could both calculate it with their intellect, and he enjoys being given a real challenge. They have the favoured wine in good stock tonight, and once he ensures a good sum of bottles (that dragon seems immune to alcohol) he takes the die and roles. He ends up with the bigger catch and is delegated as the dealer, Zhiping leads the conversation as counterbalance.“Is that headache of yours coming and going still?” He asks.A small chuckle leaves Erlang, “Blunt as always,” his eyes snap up from the tile he picks, a Mei. “Coming more and going less, now that it has rooted itself after fighting tooth and claw. One could describe it more a a migraine nowadays.” Slotting it down in favour or using both hands to pour wine for his elder, always wanting to keep up his good reputation.“Two could.” is evenly replied as a tile he is not privy to is picked up. The split second of hesitation shows it is not a tile of particular value or advantage, bamboo perhaps? Or an ordinary character. “Terribly persistent in the morning, and highly infectious.”“Infectious?” The leading tiles give him the confidence to ask the hermit for more, he knows he’s made an opportunistic strike as he hears a huff of air leave his friend’s nose and they reach for the wine he has been kindly pored. It was a circle tile, a close enough guess. He still has a stronger opening pull.“It has spread to archive workers, pestering them on nonsensical details and ordering of scrolls. Asking for scriptures on Yaogaui to be placed beyond neutral reclassification- it is an extension of ego.”Ah, so it is something that has gotten under his shell. A smile spreads on Erlang’s face- he enjoys seeing his friend’s composure crack, the only other time any immortal can recall it publicly happen was when the the Dragon scholar ended up in a tense debate with Kui Xing on his ‘idiotic’ means of examination amongst the court squires and students. He was able to witness it first hand, having just finished his instructions of heavenly soldiers, and on his way to fill in the guard the Southern Gate. He did not witness the blooming of the debate (he wants to call it an argument, but he would be denied such an emotional classification of what Zhiping defines a strictly academic issue) but he was fortune enough to see a clear sequence of eyebrow twitches that crescendoed to a dragonic tilt of the head on the winning statement. To his credit, his lack of presence in the Heavens is offset by how undeniably thorough and intelligent he is. They might call him asocial, blunt, bordering on rude with how he refuses to coddle or placate failures; but no suggestion of his has ever failed. The Jade emperor has tried to get the Dragon more involved with the scholarly divisions in heaven, but the expectations of the job would fundamentally go against him. He works on what he wishes to work on, not what someone else wishes to produce from the cogs in his head.It is what Erlang admires most about his friend. The refusal to kowtow on his principles no matter the opposition.Zhiping is finished with his sip of wine, the licking of his lips shows he is placated in his annoyance by the company and the wine. If he is in such a mood, he might be willing to relinquish a win to Erlang for the night.“I am not debating his right to challenge classification of scripts written of his kind, I am glad he does so.” Is what is said next, as he lays his drinking hand back across the open table to join Erlang’s hands tapping a rhythm that works well with the distant tune of the Ruan performer in the centre of the parlour. “It is his inability to to see a perspective that is not his own, the exact reason why I do not physically move the scrolls in your possession. And why I instead copy it for my own order and methodology.”This admission stills Erlang, from his enjoyment of this hand holding and picking up his next tile.“You have been copying the texts in our archives, to persist outside of Heaven?” He quietly questions, and is glad his other hand is simply holding a tile instead of his own cup of wine. His eyebrows are slightly raised, and his third eye peaks open. He knows his friend is bold, but worries on the issues of reprimand and punishment for transgressions.A comforting squeeze is felt in his hand. and a quick poke to the skin next to his third eye. (No cheating Jian’er, keep that eye closed for the game.)“Nothing that violates privacy or your laws.” Is easily said to rid any worries, “It is the scriptures that I cannot loan for long periods of time due to how freshly they have been added to your own stock. We both know how long it could be between my research periods, and I would never open the path to my residence for your lot to collect it from me.”He squeezes back, “Apologies friend, our shared headache has made me far too alert for my own good.” He winces internally at the accidental accusation of intent. “I do not doubt you of transgressions, I just-““Think our headache might notice the opportunity? See what information he can ‘borrow’? No offence taken.” A small nod is given, and Erlang remembers to see his tile and make his move. He possesses a character tile, a fresh line. Neither good nor bad. He decides to pick up the mood. “You are aware of the new inventory arriving next moon, yes? The notations from the Star of Venus you asked for regarding placebo medication and the like.”This gives the effect he was looking for, the dragon’s slit eyes widen noticeably, and he abandons the reach for a new tile as he leans forward slightly- Erlang can smell a scented oil made from the Mei flowers he gifted on their last visit to his Painted Mount. It mingles well with the rice wine, and he finds himself slightly parched, and such reaching for his own wine as his friend begins to speak.“So soon? I had assumed a least a solar cycle before anything outside of the Court’s immediate interest.” The Dragon (unfortunately, Erlang thinks) leans back and schools his expression, taking the pleasant florals with him but not his rapt attention. Erlang preens like a peacock under such a gaze, wanting to keep it as long as possible.“You are respected in your ingenuity and deftness in studying before the idea occurs to anyone else.”“I know that.” He says easily, and he places a white dragon tile down, “But objective actions do not translate well Above, they are secondary to the lens in which they are viewed.“Perhaps that is changing?” Erlang offers, a second character tile of a different set is revealed on his side.“No”“No?”“You conflate happenstance to a shift in the system.”
Zhiping picks up a second white dragon. He resumes the light tapping with their joint hands with more grace and complexity as Erlang hums contemplatively.Bamboo tile, Wind Tile, Character Tile, Red Dragon Tile, Circle Tile, Circle tile, Summer Tile, Winter Tile, and more are revealed as wine passes and the music continues. The game favours no player in particular as the tally sticks remain even, with several rounds passing with no distinct difference in score. It is better this way, they both agree, more time spent in good company. It reaches four games before the fifth aligns itself with Erlang. However at this point they are more twiddling each others hands and have moved to both sit where the East Wall would be if they had more players (maybe they can invite Nezha and Xiaotan Quan if they go to a dog-friendly parlour). Zhiping smiles not from the wine, but from the atmosphere that Erlang is brilliant at curating: as they start picking tiles from each other’s side, and he remembers in his tipsy glaze that he is winning because he is being given the game as an act of love. He wonders if he can sabotage the game so that he must be afforded another draw, and keep himself surrounded by Mei flowers. He knows that if he doesn’t play his best, despite his friend’s obvious lead of the game, he will be scolded for being childish.They leave the parlour after ’Erlang’ wins the fifth game, both of them being responsible enough to know one needs to get back before Nezha gives him a new headache due to complaints, and the other wakes up cranky due to his research schedule being disrupted. They do not stumble, their constitutions far to developed for it, especially with how they know to limit themselves near a mortal population. The moment they stand from their table after nearly stacking cups and gourds, Zhiping has mastered his face to neutrality again, not wanting to be seen by staff or passer-by. And Erlang is already planning when he can next lovingly chip away at that porcelain mask, maybe just after the festival soon, when everyone else is home-bound from their cups or too focused on cleaning up. And with the wine still in his system, he makes a bold statement.“I know not which painted realm you inhabit, nor where to access it, however why not take mine of Mount Mei? The Gaze of Heaven is blocked there, and you are free to utilise it as you will.”The offer does not not stop their meander out of the village, but it does momentarily increase the hold on Erlang’s arm that he nestled into his friend’s elbow- a subtle ask for him to steer. He is rewarded with a break in their forward gaze, he can see it when without his third eye that was permitted to open after their game, and he wonders if he has overstepped.“Quite the statement.”“Indeed”“A retracted one?”“Never.”An intentional squeeze on the outside of his palm is awarded to him as they pass the village gate.“You win one game, and you ask me to make myself home in your board?” His words are teasing not by tone but by context, and Erlang let’s out a breath at the realisation he has kept pace well.“I do.” He says, getting playful with it, a small tonal inflection in mimicry of an Opera performer’s line delivery 3 moons ago where a bachelor attempts to swoon a handmaiden. He swings around in front of his friend, standing tall allowing himself one last bit of fun for the night as he finishes the movement by grasping Zhiping’s hands in both of his. “I have been smelling Mei all night, yet I have not been on the Mount or Fields. Surely one would understand wanting to quell such confusion?” His last syllables are punctuated with him slightly leaning in and up, he must if he wishes to reach the stature of a dragon.“One could understand.”“Not two?”“Not tonight, but perhaps after being bested enough times for roots to be plucked up, two could understand.”Perhaps one day the hermit crab will stumble across a shell big enough for two.“A tough fight…” He responds with a pout and drawl, now the bachelorette trying to garner the attention of her steadfast scholar.“But one you could win, with ample preparation and time well spent, Dear General.”He preens for a second time tonight, he has already won a good battle tonight, getting two smiles out of his dear friend.“However, I entirely plan to walk away from our headache tonight, which I cannot do if I follow you.” Gently separating their hands, Zhiping gives an even gentler nod as farewell. Dragons are not known for their warmth, but Erlang’s hands feel shocking cold for the first time tonight. As he starts his walk home, casting him a glance back before he disappears down a trail.Erlang had almost forgotten about it after all of their jovial games, and quite aptly timed, his ears ring as a wild monkey screeches in the direction he must tread back up; considering just spending the night at the Painted Mei instead to curb any pains now, he sighs and resigns himself to his original destination.Perhaps he can convince his Feeble Scholar to consider researching medicines that provide relief to the mind and eyes, it would suit both The Scholar and the Courts. Happenstance will suffice.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Deep down, Sanzang knows that he sits within definitive parameters that ensures his safety. The capabilities of his travelling troop, why they guard him, how they are guaranteed to guard him, and the nature of his task bring rational comfort with every breath that he takes. However the human mind is fond of falling into the hands of fear and anxiety- no matter how devout he is or how much he dedicates himself to his monk ship, he is a creature of worry.It is in the dead of night that his mortal mind creeps up on him.The small cave they take shelter in from the rain in is spacious, holds no hidden crevice in its darkened corners and they do not tensely house-share with any vermin or unfamiliar faces. If he were to lay on his back instead of his side, he would see how the upcoming monsoon season leaves the ceiling rock moist to the point he could mistake if for a clear canvas of stars. The crackle of the fire is gentle and constant. All four of his cardinal directions are protected by an immortal trained in the ways of the fist and blade, with one of them awake at each point in the night. He is swaddled like a newborn babe before it lives it’s hundred and first day; and he should’ve fallen asleep two Shi ago, but he knows how easy it is for the life of a newborn to be snuffed out.He takes small but measured breaths, no doubt that the immortal to his East pays close attention to both him and the outside world, but he thinks if he makes the movement slow enough that the sound of the rain will avoid extra attention. If he brings in his blanket whilst he does so he thinks he can play it off as either a splinter in his sleep cycle or a disruptive dream, avoid the beasts at his sides from snapping their gaze back to him.Sanzang faces the west, he can barely see Bajie’s coarse fur in the deepest end of the cave (Wukong has built up a habit of not-so-subtly herding the pig to the end of any encampment- says he’s too slow to danger and too deep in slumber to be of any use if not on night duty) but is glad at the consistency that is the creatures ability to doze off no matter the circumstance. If he tries hard enough to distract his mind, perhaps he can imagine he is checking in on the livestock of a mortal village, that he is the one fending off threats and maintaining order. That he is capable compared to the lot he has been cast in. It leads him to grip his blanket tighter in his fist, too tight, in attempt to prove his form is not feeble. The fabric crunches slightly, and realising how ‘loud’ he has been, stills instantly.The East watches him, watches him the way a wolf in the trenches of winter watches a sleeping rabbit.He finds he is still weak in his abilities to separate a person from their nature.Moments pass as he takes what feels like an hour in slowly reducing the strength in his grip, ‘this is just a harsh dream reaction’ he tries to convey, ‘I am of no concern to anyone’s watchful eye” through the merciful release of his fingers.The cyclical way he is captured, strung up, told of his position as butchers meat, and returned to the grasp of what should be comforting hands leads him to never sit in a transitory state. His body is tensed to minimise the impact of the next hand at his neck, to maybe change the next events if he refuses entrapment just a slight bit more than normal. However the exhaustion forces his body pliant and heavy, any of the people caging him next to the fire could tire of their benevolence and there would only be one outcome where he could momentarily resist.The monk weighs off the option of continuing his defiant performance of slumber or admitting his faults and meeting the eyes he feels at his back. They have at least given him the mercy of allowing him to make the first move, merciful and patient considering the hour of the morning. Fingers completely release his blanket as a loud breath of air from his nose is made in place of a greeting, and his left arm begins to prop himself up by the bending at the elbow against the rocky floor. Each inch raised from the ground is in time with the sound of his heart in his ears and he wonders if it has already travelled east, or if his fear-filled scent had travelled there along the wind hours ago. His torso twists, turning him so his eyes meet the faux-stars he has imagined to keep his mind occupied. He has conjured up fourteen slightly wonky constellations from the Suzhou chart, however only Dong Fang Qing Long is similar enough for it to feel a respectful comparison.Maybe it is influenced by the other Eastern Dragon in the cave, and a sign from someone to face that one as well.One final deep inhale to steel himself, as he completes the turn from East to West, and finds that the eye contact that follows knocks it out of him beyond preparation.The eyes of immortals are often the most intense ways to experience them through the five senses, sharper pupils and unflinching gazes are routine- however it is when they glow like candle fire that they spark primordial fear. He is lower to the ground than the dragon he now faces, supporting his weight on his right elbow, with the left arm having found itself as an angled support beam following his startle forward. It makes him feel like prey. It makes his hair stand on edge and he knows it is sheer luck that he has not been taken in a set of maws yet. The Dragon is the one with the least to gain and least to loose in his wardenship of the monk, bound loosely by honour and word alone instead of by circlet or dire need that all the others possess. Which means beyond what he hopes the Buddha and Guanyin can enact in post-mortem retribution for any actions taken, he is vulnerable to the shifting moods and desires of predator in a way never truly leaves his mind.There is comfort in the fact that this pair of eyes on him is the most pragmatic and logical of any option around him, the intrinsic rational that keeps him alert is the same rational that staves off any actions that when weighed up do not benefit the other. His heart rate calms somewhat, trying to use this as an opportunity to rise above his biases and faults. There is not much else he can do, so he forces himself to make the first move, swallowing and wetting his lips before deciding on what to say.“Has oneself been disrupting?” He whispers with slowness as to not stutter or be asked to repeat himself, “To the point of obscuring thy surroundings, or noticing irregularities in the others?”. As he finishes his sentence, the monk arranges himself to sit properly to his conversational partner in attempt to politely mirror how he thinks they sit. He is made aware to the difference in perception and alertness they possess in the dark, and sits up straighter to push the meddling thought away.The dragon does not respond immediately, his long and pointed ear twitching slightly as some type of movement the monk is not sensitive enough to discern outside the mouth of the cave is assessed. And Sanzang realises that this is an answer in of itself, if the rain that he could hear was not enough of a blockade to the outside world, then his brooding is of no significance to any of the others on watch for the night. Disliking the lack of conversational fluidity, he swallows again, breaking eye contact to try and think of another question that justifies his technical disruption of the night shift. In this break away, he finds himself looking south, expecting that a glance at where he remembers the Monkey to have taken as his spot got the night to be a plausible topic to spark words anew.But he cannot see Wukong’s fur.The panic arises again, Wukong’s fur is easier to spot in the dark compared to Bajie’s: finer, shinier, lighter, and far more abundant due to his stature. Sanzang attributes no particular efficiency to his eyesight over what is considered regular for humans- but he knows that between where the monkey and pig where resting for the night there should be a fraction more light cast in the monkey. So he knows he should at least see a silhouette. It prompts his body to fully awaken, turning southward and raised into a kneeling position to try and make out any sort of shape, even making out the tip of a monkey tail would be enough. A few moments pass, and after conceding that it is a fruitless task due to the darkness of the cave, he turns back to the dragon with his mouth slightly open in urgency as his mind wishes to speak as soon as possible.The first syllable of his question almost meets the cold air, until his eyes catch up and notice (to the best of their abilities) a slender palm-forward hand raised in the air. The signal to halt is conveyed enough for the monk to still, those glowing eyes acting as grounding points as he is left alone in silence again. The palm remains raised for a little while longer and as Sanzang waits he is granted a slight increase in light as some clouds shift and uncover the full moon. A reward he feels, for heeding the call of one of his elders and not shrinking away from this confrontation. Mind slightly clearer, he sees the dragon’s hand lower once he can stabilise himself with sight becoming more reliable. This provides him the opportunity to reinvestigate his surroundings, maybe he jumped to conclusions, maybe he is covered on the south side. A tentative look to his left proves him wrong, even with the small increase in light there’s no reflections from fur or even on the golden circlet. So Wukong is not where Sanzang last saw him, but he reminds himself that this is rarely the case regardless of time or place, and so turns his gaze back towards the dragon-man in the hope of some kind of revelation.At the very least, the monks thinks to himself, the intense stares from any immortal act as easy beacons on nights as dark as this one.He decides to dip his toes into the water in the apparent lack of urgency regarding the group’s strongest combatant being out of sight, and takes in what he can around the Dragon. He no longer sticks to a form that mimics human appearance if not necessary, his pale horns catching light well, with a portion of his very long scaled tail visible. Zhiping sits politely, knees perfectly straight whilst his hands are perched on top, shoulders even and clothes laying harmoniously with their natural pleats. He has forgone the outer-most layer of his hanfu, he cannot tell the colour of the layer, but the lack of deep style sleeves fanning out keys Sanzang in that it must have been removed- most likely due to the sheer fabric being easy too easy to drench with the rain nearby. I’m all honesty, one would not be faulted for thinking they look at a statue without closer inspection, it’s hard to see the movements of his diaphragm as he breathes evenly and he hardly blinks compared to anyone else present. Perhaps he considers blinks to be far too broad of a moment for his sight to be blocked whilst guarding, or maybe it’s nothing of note- both possibilities work towards enhancing the intensity of his watching eyes.Oddly there are no books, scrolls, or writing materials are laid out; something Sanzang thinks he is witnessing for the first time in any moment of encampment throughout the journey. The scholar introduced himself to the monk as accompanying him for the explicit reason of the road ahead being the most beneficial one for his academic pursuits, and was told that he struck a deal with Guanyin that his addition to the group as healer and doctor would be in exchange for something that was described as ‘not necessary for the monk to know’. Since then every moment in which the dragon was not needed for medical aid or guarding, was spent opening a bound book and either pondering or adding to its content. As the group numbers grew, he found that the dragon was quick to bluntly state that he was both too feeble to undertake any laborious tasks compared to the other 3 Yaoguai, and stuck to masterfully completing maintenance tasks so he could swiftly immerse himself back into his research. If the path offered less resistance to other feet, he would not walk it. Sanzang cannot fault Zhiping for this perspective, as the dragon in fairness will start any task he calculates to be suited for him over the others with no complaint, it is all to assure ease of the task and appropriate usage of everyone’s time and efforts. So, it is very odd for him to not have his notebook out when there is little risk and little of his attention needed elsewhere.“I do not think I have witnessed you let a moment for your scholarly pursuits slip by so far.”“You have not, young monk.” Zhiping replies monotonously and hushed, slitted pupils expanding as he speaks, shifting the amount of light and focused used as he allows himself to participate in a conversation.“But thou do not have any materials on hand, nothing to either write or draw.” Is said with a tilt of confusion.“It is far too wet for that type of recording, do you not agree?”“Well, thou art not sitting in the rain and art protected from stray droplets by the overhanging mouth. One would think it does not cross your preferred line of inhospitality for work.”“The moisture clings, the wetness permeates, my pages and charcoal would smudge the moment I close the page.”“So if it not an environment for recording, what environment doth we all experience?”“Observation.”“Of what?” Sanzang replies innocently, he does not view himself as immune to the base and carnal desires of Yaoguai, but senses nothing of that here. There is no desire to consume or destroy, no immediate action. The flesh of the Tang Monk is what all take note of, not the mind, and such he cannot be the object of observation.This prompts a small clicking noise from the base of Zhiping’s throat, the most ‘animal’ noise Sanzang has heard from him yet. It reminds him of the sounds he hears before he is to be eaten, before fire sparks, before a snake’s maw opens. The monk thinks it is displeasure, it could also be annoyance. Many scholars have little patience for ‘slow’ minds, and Sanzang has provided what could be considered two incorrect answers so far. Sweat starts to join the thin film of dampness from the rain on his skin, as he gulps, conditioned by noise and controlled by paranoia with so little of their journey completed. Zhiping’s eyes no longer signal a safe watchful gaze, too reminiscent in his mind to other Yaoguai and their behaviour. He knows that his small shift away will be seen for what it is, mistrust and close-minded judgement, but it is not a strong enough pull in his mind to discipline his body. He jolts back when the noise occurs again, reverberating in a way that makes it sound like it originates from beyond the dragon in front of him, and Sanzang’s heart rate rising back to heights it had reached moments before.If there were more light in the room, one could see the tiniest uplift of one corner of Zhiping’s mouth, pleased with what he has elicited. The Monk is sheltered and unrefined despite his pious efforts, he provides a particularly rare subject on conditioned and fostered fear. Even the Yaoguai who toy with their food like a cat with its mouse do not care for emotional provocation beyond how it sweetens the meat. They do not provide moments of reprieve and safety to allow the body to regulate, and such waste all of their opportunities to understand their prey. There is a far more harsh monologue on the topic in one of the Dragon’s tightly bound notebooks in one of the large sacks that Wujing so dutifully carries to avoid moisture, one that names particularly ‘base’ individuals on how they lack any sort of curiosity. As much as it would be easy to soothe the monk with blunt words and vague descriptions, divert it in a way that makes it look like it could’ve been Bajie behind the monk that is the important subject- Zhiping knows he won’t have a clear opportunity to push further for a while. He allows Sanzang to sit, allow the fear to ferment under his sweat, before raising a hand to tuck his nighttime braid over his left shoulder. It works as an easy bait to trigger memories of lecherous enemies moving too rapidly for the monk to react. The smell of anxiety and fear is thick in the air, and Zhiping finds it funny how the rain has dampened the nasal capabilities of the other 3 Yaoguai.He takes in how the monk’s eyes cannot truly stay still, quivering slightly in hyper-alertness to any sudden lunges, yet not making a sound due to choice paralysis on how to tackle such ambiguity. Frail mortal hands itch and twitch in harmony to his eyes, and he can see how Sanzang realises his polite position has minimised his mobility, a trap laid by his own morals and pretences. It adds a certain layer of sweetness to the scent of fear.It is not the flesh or how skittish humans are when faced with the unfamiliar beings that prompts intrigue in the scholar, those are found as abundantly as mice by an agricultural town. It is Sanzang’s inability to change that interests Zhiping, how dependent he is on the Buddha’s ways and how his adherence to them is coupled with his rigid anxiety and selflessness manifests. It’s a terribly detrimental state, is his working hypothesis, both idealistic in the directions things should end up and dismissive to practical experience. No matter how much empirical evidence Wukong or Zhiping or Bajie or Wujing could provide about a situation, no matter how reliable they are in connecting threads or predicting problems; Sanzang will forgo it it favour of preconceptions of Yaoguai and how he thinks he himself should act. From the Bone demon, to the Temple burning down, to Red Boy’s deception; the monk is theoretical in his steps forward, and it means he can be twisted around Zhiping’s calculating fingers with easy application of far more refined theories. Play into his expectations, and pull the rug out from under. He’s the only one of the troop with enough patience and desire to pull it off, and such there’s no issue of circumstance being presented before Zhiping can refine it for recordings sake.A dragon’s appetite is large, however it will be satiated with one swift and final provocation to test reaction, and luckily will be swift enough to close this research period before dawn disrupts the dark setting needed to deprive the monk of his senses.Sanzang, to his credit, has not backed down from his shaky eye contact during this tense silence; although wavering each passing moment and petrified in place, has held onto the pinpoints of Zhiping’s glowing eyes in the dark. However the monk is too on edge to notice the split second in which the dragon’s eyes flit rightward for the smallest of moments, and still trapped in place he has been completely ignorant of a certain monkey prowling closer and closer to him. He thinks he is perhaps in the clear, as no more noises beyond the rain emerge to his ears, and he cannot see any movement in front of him.Until a very quick, very sharp breath is blown directly into his ear, and Sanzang jumps up like a cat at least a foot in the air, yowling in fear like one to boot.The human scrambles in his clumsy turn around to the break in his tense stand-off, and hears a maniacal laugh before he spots anything.Wukong.His laughter is shrill and ugly, it could be mistaken for a noise a monkey makes when fighting off someone from a rival troop. It reverberates throughout the cave, echoing in on itself and becoming near painful to hear for one as close to the source as Sanzang. The monk can finally see the light reflect dimly off of his fur, the gold circlet offering a thin yellow reflection to locate how the Monkey King is currently on his knees laughing his stomach out whilst Sanzang is sat on his rear clutching at his heart like he dons expensive jade necklaces. Wukong nearly falls over in how hard he is laughing, and out of sight Zhiping is covering his ears with his hands, waiting for the sounds to halt with a bored expression on his face.Sanzang’s heart is clutched in his hands, pounding in his ears, and stuck in his throat as he stares wide eyed at the monkey in front of him sitting back on his haunches and wiping a tear from his eyes as laugher finally dies down. A wicked smile persists, as he rests his clawed hands on his waist, and all the monk can see are gleaming teeth under bold burnt eyes.“Ya know, Sanzo, I think ya gave Ol’ Sun the best reaction he's had in the last 700 years with that one!” Is what he is greeted with after nearly dying of shock, chuckles breaking up the gleeful statement before Wukong launches himself forward to lean fully over Sanzang’s limp body. “I’ve had little village girls scream with a deeper tone than ya, and they were actually going to be my lunch!”Sanzang unfortunately does not share in Wukong’s humour or jubilations, his mind reciting scriptures at the speed of light to calm himself, at least the strange tension in the room has broke. The dark is far less unsettling. In this clarity he takes a moment under the monkey’s weight to ground himself with his surroundings. He can vaguely make out the silhouette of a horse one way, ear’s flattened down in a manner similar to how Zhiping had shielded his to the best of his abilities, and as he takes a breath in he can just make out Wujing rested in front of Bai Long Ma. The group is all accounted for, albeit grumpy at the way they have been given an early morning.A sharp cough comes from the monk’s throat as he begins to apply resistance in sitting up slowly. “Did thou enjoy thyself?” He asks whilst working hard to conceal any cracks in his tone, finding that once Wukong recognised the proposed movement he made no extra effort to keep him pinned down. “I do hope so, if it satiates thine ambitions for the travelling today.”“Ah, very much so, thank ya’ kindly.” Is returned when the two arrange themselves a foot away from each other- Wukong back in a squatting position with his chin resting on his hand, and Sanzang in a collected criss-cross seating position. “M’ glad you know how to entertain a King after all of his dutiful service for you. Don’t get mad at me if try and get an encore out of ya one day, yeah?” The words are all spoken with a genuine grin on his face, with little monkey chitters emerging from his throat after words of the human tongue.Maybe it is the exhaustion, or the simple knowledge that this scare was meant for momentary laughter compared to previously elaborate ‘pranks’ that the monkey enacted whenever he got bored, that leads Sanzang to drop any extra scolding. It is amicable, friendly almost, and can perhaps be used to ensure Wukong is less resistant to the monk’s asks of mercy and patience when they inevitably end up another trial. A small nod is made to reach kind close to the topic, and Sanzang gets a hearty pat on the shoulder for his good sportsmanship before he is given mercy to Wukong’s want of something to entertain him as a swift 180 turn on the ball of his foot is made. Acrobatic and neat.“That good enough for ya, Doc?” Each syllable sharp and clipped with a little sing-song in tone, as the monkey walks towards Zhiping who’s hands have now lowered neatly back to his lap.Silence for a few seconds, before Zhiping releases an appreciative hum. “Very good, One could say.” Which instantly makes Wukong stand just a bit straighter, preening at the praise. “I was surprised you were able to stay silent for so long, perhaps you can try and outdo yourself in that manner for me some time.”A mock flick of clawed hand is acted out an inch away from the dragon’s forehead, slightly pushing his frontal hair due to the power behind even two of Wukong’s fingers. “And you,” accentuated with a jerk of a furry chin, “Could do to be nicer to the people who oh so generously help you in your research.” There’s no true scolding behind his words, the entire group knows that Wukong enjoys being the one to further Zhiping’s research without reward. “Perhaps ya can see me as a role model, the virtuous and helpful monkey I am.”So it wasn’t Wukong’s idea, Sanzang surprisingly finds out, expecting Wukong to have held the dragon’s materials ‘hostage’ until he gave up and agreed to be dragged up into the whirlwind that is whatever prank the monkey had planned. Or maybe it’s an elaborate dialogue tree Zhiping thought up to squeeze a little bit more out of whatever he was extracting from the Monk. It’s hard to tell with those who hold no human blood. It all ends in Sanzang feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him and the two immortals chattering amongst themselves. Sanzang decides to let it be no longer amongst his concerns, as he can now see enough time has passed for the rain to lighten up and the smallest tones of the red sunrise to enter their cave. He goes to stand, angled towards the bags by Wujing and Bai Long Ma, and continuously regains his focus as he walks away from the goading retelling Wukong is giving of Sanzang’s scream that Zhiping most definitely does not need.The dragon does not need this retelling, nor would the embellishments shoved throughout it mean it would be counted amongst reliable data, however he does enjoy seeing Wukong so animate and energetic in recent days. The frequent use of the tightening spell has been pushing the monkey to a state of being similar to the caged macaques Zhiping once strolled past in a human city; how they sat in constant vigilance to the prodding fingers of children with no sense of respect or adults who swat their hands at them when they try to reach for food in their malnourished state. Always waiting for some foreign perception of their actions to be condemned for, or their instincts being disregarded for primitive reflexes. He never liked the circlet in principle, and Sanzang’s limited world view did not steer the monk towards justifiable use of it. The night provided the monkey with a taste of harmless thrills, as well as an opportunity for the two of them to work together, as such it seems like a few knots have been worked out from Wukong’s shoulders.Zhiping, if asked, would admit he stopped truly paying attention to the exact words being spoken at him and currently is taking in the boastful smile they come from instead. However Wukong is to absorbed in his own storytelling to ever get that answer.“Do ya think we could pull this off again soon?” Wukong asks with the last of his chuckles for the morning, “I think I heard ya say something about needing multiple experiments to make your notes reliable.” He is now leaning his elbow on the dragon’s shoulders, having leaned in close to stage-whisper ‘exactly how’ the monk had screamed at a volume that would ensure he could not get scolded for dragging the topic on.“By no means should your endeavours be limited by me, Warrior. It’s not as if I would be able to intervene.” Nor would he stop Wukong from scaring the human that Zhiping is not-so fond of, it’s cathartic in a slightly cruel way, but deserved (he would deduce).“Already picking up on my lessons of the good natures, I see!” The monkey comments endearingly, curling his furred bicep around the back of Zhiping’s neck, carefully ducking below the large bun of hair that he wears everyday.“What kind of scholar would I be otherwise.”“Still my favourite one, I suppose.”“You must really desire to be granted plausible deniability for your next bout of mischief.”“Agh!” Wukong suddenly dramatises, as he uses the arm not busy keeping the dragon close to clutch at his exposed chest between his loose hanfu top. “So harsh, so harsh!” He mimes having to bend forward under intense chest pains. “Such a verdict after ya so clearly witnessed my acts of good will for your research?” He flutters his eyelids to garner sympathy.Zhiping lays his cold hand over Wukong’s. “Unfortunately so.” A soft pat is made against the back of the monkey’s paw to express similarly dramatised regret. “As I seem to recall a certain assistant promising to relinquish my materials that they accepted as a deposit.”A few moments of silence, as the monkey deliberates on holding up his promise, or holding off on such an act to keep the dragon’s hand over his for just a few moments longer. However he knows better than to push for more with such a blunt personality and low-tolerance for mischief against him specifically. One dramatic sigh follows, purposely slumping his left shoulder so Zhiping knows just how cruel and uptight he is for cutting the fun so early before he moves his left hand from his chest to his trouser pocket. His hand now feels too warm.A tiny notebook is found alone at the bottom of Wukong’s pocket, barely fifteen centimetres across each way, neatly tied at the spine and cleanly bent where needed to avoid curvature when being written in. He handles the thin thing with care, pinched between his thumb and forefinger I’m a way that ensures his claws won’t accidentally scratch any part of it. It is slowly lifted to where Zhiping’s hand has been left in the air, passed to the other man with respect. Once possession is restored proper, Zhiping let’s out another appreciative hum, and places it into his own pocket on the inside of his sleeve.“Thank you, my Warrior.”The blunt comment freezes Wukong in place, it is rare he gets genuine thanks from the monk’s party, without sarcasm or sardonic tone, and he finds his hand is no longer the only part of his body that is too warm. He tries to get a witty comment out, however by the time his face and mouth are relayed to his brain again, Zhiping has already turned away and walked to the group’s bags- attention entirely away from the monkey. He quickly brings his right arm back down from where it was suspended at Zhiping’s taller shoulder level, a quick glance around to ensure no one (and most importantly Bajie) did not see him stuck in place like a lovesick cub.Wukong rolls his shoulders to feign causality as he walks to join the rest of the present party, moving to the left of the crouched scholar rearranging the pack of his that Wujing will dutifully carry yet again, brushing his furry tail against the thick scaled one nearby. A playful shake of the monkey’s head as the proper greeting of the morning, as he plops himself down to put on his shoes for the muddy road they will travel today. He smiles a little bit at the return swipe of a tail much longer and thicker than his, which arcs much wider against his side and leg as a result of its form.The rest of preparations go as expected of the group, with a few extra complaints about a strange screech that woke Bajie up, with no one giving him an answer on what bizarre creature made it. Bai Long ma has had his saddle put on again, Sanzang is fully dressed, Wujing has finished balances all of the supplies across a pole that rests on his shoulders, Bajie has temporarily ceased his grumbling, Zhiping has tied up the deep folds of his clothes to avoid the wet ground, and Wukong gives the signal of a clear path after scouting via sound.They walk without issue that day, no scammers, no beggars to grapple the monk’s attention, and no injured to cause Zhiping to pause. It lets Wukong keep a steady pace at the front of the group with his Jingu Bang tapping against his shoulder in tandem with his footsteps. It’s so uneventful that even with his abilities to keep an eye out with little direct focus, he finds himself bored before noon.Zhiping trails the furthest back today, behind even Wujing, and so the Monkey King knows he is obscured from sight when he reaches into his right pocket. He has to fish a bit deeper this time, his constant gait meaning the billowing fabric twists and turns before he can easily reach the bottom. He finds that he does not stop fishing for a while, only having his rough skin come into contact with the air. Wukong’s eyebrow raises on its own, staring down at his pocket like it’s just called him Bimawen, as he then minimises the Jingu Bang to have his left hand open the pocket to his view.There’s nothing in there.There’s…. There’s nothing in there.That’s bad. That’s really bad.It takes all of his accumulated and cultivated focus to not act suspicious enough for someone to verbally ask him what the hell he’s doing. He’s holding his breath, he realises, nerves not leaving him. He snaps back to looking toward, re-summoning his staff and shoving his right hand back into his pocket to casually keep looking. Maybe he just didn’t see it, his pocket doesn’t have any holes I’m them, so he didn’t lose what he’s looking for on the road. Nor did he hear a wet ‘squelch’ as if the item fell to the ground. Its okay, he tells himself, he’s fast enough and sensitive enough to search every inch of the path they cover today when the group next rests for the night, the pace they walk at for Sanzang is nothing to his somersaults, and he’s not on watch tonight- so he’s got ample time to make an excuse and come through the forest like he does his own fur when grooming himself.The day’s travels end them up at a much more welcoming village, everyone but the monk and horse coated in an illusion to not alert the human population. And after they’ve settled in for the night at the estate of a married family who’s children have all left the nest, two rooms offered to the group (Wujing, Sanzang, and Bajie in the larger one, with Zhiping and Wukong sharing a slightly smaller one), Wukong makes an excuse to leave momentarily. Something about seeing a peach tree in his peripheral vision before they introduced themselves to the couple earlier.He sees Zhiping’s eyes flit to him for a second after he speaks, before they quickly return to the scroll he had indulged himself in from the estate’s small book cabinet. It’s his way of saying what Wukong has learnt to mean ‘I am not your keeper, and you know your duties” before he jumps out the window to search for his lost item whilst Sanzang is under 2 watchful eyes. He drops nearby to the stable within the compound’s boundaries, where Bai Long Ma has found himself a rather cozy roofed stable, plenty of hay to sleep on and plenty of fresh greens to get through for dinner. He doesn’t care to obscure himself from view, quickly taking off along the already trodden path, his senses working overtime to find what he dropped. It stopped raining before they left the cave mouth this morning, so he can trust that it’s not been wicked away by water or submerged in mud since he last had his hands on the little curio.His search bears no fruit, he’s turned the cave they spent the night in upside down, multiple times; and the only thing stopping him from turning it upside down for the nth time is the fact that he’s running out of plausible time that his little fib has afforded him. He rushes back (plucking a strand of fur and turning it into a peach stem to clean his teeth with), landing back on the windowsill of his temporarily shared room, and slinks as nonchalantly as he can to the bedroll he has for the night.Zhiping hasn’t moved an inch from where he was last spotted, only having moved onto his thirteenth scroll of the night, his hair let down from its normal bun to a low pony tail tied down by his tailbone. Another fleeting look is cast towards Wukong, acknowledgment of his return, before he returns to his reading yet again. This grants relief for the Monkey King, he is not asked about his little journey or about his strange behaviour. However he finds his mouth untrustworthy to speak whilst his right pocket remains empty and does not say a work as he goes to lay down on his bedroll facing his roommate.Wukong finds that sleep evades him just as much as the item of his attention, watching diligently on his side as Zhiping goes through four more scrolls. It is when the scholar closes scroll number seventeen that he moves to rearrange every other completed texts scattered on the ground. Layering them neatly on the shelves on the wall opposite the window he came in from, and between their two bedrolls across from each other. The view is nice, Wukong thinks to himself, the moonlight lands elegantly on Zhiping’s pale hair and on the back of his silks. He thinks the dragon shines brighter than Chang’e, and moves gentler than the clouds that dance between the mortal realm and her spot in the sky. The dragon stacks scrolls with militant efficiency, it takes him less than five seconds to have everything where they were before they settled down in the estate. And even less time is taken for Zhiping to finally land his eyes down to Wukong.They lock eyes for a few moments, the wind from the open window blowing the scholars hair in a similar manner to the Monkey’s flicking fingers earlier.“You are uneasy.”“No I’m not.” Wukong retorts far too quickly.“Is that so?”“Yes.” Wukong attempts to assert, lifting the peach stem in his left hand to his teeth in attempt to seem at ease. His efforts are thwarted by the feeling of tiny splinters against the joining divot of his gums and front tooth. The two freeze in spot again, before Wukong scowls and throws his transformed fur strand out the window before using the tip of his claw in replacement.Zhiping waits to speak still, tilting his head just an inch to signal ‘you were crushing the stem of a fruit due to being relaxed?’, that has the monkey breath a sharp burst out of his nostrils, not entirely rejecting the topic being pressed.“What ails you, my Warrior.”Wukong looks back up to the dragon, who had turned to face hum fully, crossing his arms over his chest. The personal title he has been slowly given over the journey is reliable in grabbing his attention. It fluffs up his ego and reaffirms his usefulness despite the bumps in the road. He has found that even when acting in ways that displeases Zhiping, he never receives unwarranted cruelty- and oft respected for broaching topics of his missteps without specifics being mentioned prior.
“Your…” The monkey starts, having to dart away from their established eye contact as discomfort fills him, “Materials.” Returning his gaze after spitting out the lump in his throat that manifested as the truth.“The ones you returned to me this morning?”Wukong’s eyes squint almost imperceptibly as Zhiping speaks of a plural, and it’s more than enough to open the floodgates as he presses on.“The one that…..”“The one that I didn’t return to ya this morning, yeah.”Wukong feels the phantom shrink of his headband, as if the sleeping Sanzang had heard his admission and administered what was seen as ‘justifiable’ consequences. It takes a lot to not flinch away, but he manages it. He knows it is his imagination, Zhiping has always been separate to the crushing feeling of his skull, the only one to comment on it in a negative light.The dragon sees and understands the micro-expressions of the monkey’s face, and drops down to a seated position a foot away from the other. He does not want to tower above an ally in a situation like this. It does a lot to exorcise the phantom pressure, Wukong can properly fragment his waking senses, and he moves to sit up in a mirror position.“It’s not lost.” He starts strongly. “Not really, not something I can’t find.” Full of conviction to convey he intents to right the misstep of his in awareness and accountability. “Wukong will find it.”“Oh?” A bridge for Wukong to continue traversing in the way he wishes to.The monkey has steadied himself, “I wasn’t going to keep it from ya, at most I woulda used it to get ya to spook the monk again.” He leans slightly toward, his right hand pointing to his side. “It was in this pocket right here, kept them in different pockets so that they wouldn’t make noise as I was sneaking up on my Master.”Zhiping gives him a slow blink, appreciation for honesty and a sign of understanding.“I didn’t open it either, promise ya! The strings were all still wrapped around it last I had it, I know ya don’t like people digging through your stuff.”“I assume you figured out it was not in your inventory when you tried to take a peak, am I correct?” Is gently asked, directed towards knowing the truth of the situation rather than accusing him of bad behaviour.“Ya would be correct.”They sit in silence, it drives Wukong mad as he waits for the man who is the judge, jury, and executioner to deliver his sentence on losing an item within the limited scope of importance Zhiping has decided on. The monkey is more anxious for losing the favour of the only un-biased set of eyes upon him than the second little book he snatched up as a deposit for his services. His body is tense again, he feels slightly backed into a corner. However the taut feeling in his muscles are released as he feels a scaled tail brush against his right side.He remembers.Zhiping’s tail did not brush against his own tail earlier, and it does not now. It rests by his leg still, the tip laying suspiciously close to…The pocket on the right trouser leg. His eyes snap down to the fabric, he focuses, he feels a familiar weight and presence that he has been searching for all day. His eyes snap up comedically to Zhiping’s, back down again. Again, and again, and again. Until he locks eyes a final time, and tentatively reaches his right hand into his pocket. His leg is still, the fabric does not obstruct his pinching fingers, and he finds what he wants near instantly.The second book he swiped. It’s back in his pocket.Wukong increases the pressure emitted by his fingers, worried it would somehow disappear again, and whips the books out to right between the two men’s faces just so it blocks. Zhiping’s face below the middle of his nose bridge. The Monkey King releases a breathy laugh as he starts lightly wagging the blasted paper back and forth slightly.“Ya think you’re real funny, don’t cha?”The dragon’s face is unfortunately as rigidly blank as ever, however he raises his hand in the way a mischievous young noble woman would when she ‘accidentally’ tugs on the outer layers of a bachelor’s hanfu. Wukong in turn starts ‘tsk’ing at the other man in rapid succession, completely alleviated in his worries.“You have any idea how far I went to find that little thing for you? I flew all the way back to Huaguoshan, scoured every single step the two of us had taken together.” The monkey’s clawed hand juts out at whichever of them was the focus of the sentence as he speaks, sharp tip a few inches away from Zhiping’s hand. “I think you owe me for the emotional and physical labour you made me go through today.” Wukong goes back to lying on his side, making a show of shuffling down all cozy and unbothered, a small ‘humf’ as his head tucks Zhiping’s book under his singular pillow.“A very dedicated assistant, I am a very fortunate scholar to have you.”“Exactly right! Glad to know you’re smart in the ways that matter.”Wukong takes a greedy glance at Zhiping’s face under the moonlight as a just reward for all of his troubles as the dragon moves his hand down.“I think I’ll keep this with me until we come to an agreement on my next little prank.” Is how Wukong starts loudly proclaiming, “when ya next need the Ol’ Sun to push someone around you know ya already paid the deposit.“Understood.” Zhiping replies as he stands up, internally glee-full that he managed to get the most out of the day. “Just ensure you do not lose it again before then.” He cheekily closes the conversation with as he stands and goes towards his own bedroll, sweeping his tail once more near the pillow Wukong has stashed the notebook under. His hand gently blocks the tip of it getting too close before it draws away.He’s surprised at being on the receiving end of a prank, but not upset at it. Not in the slightest.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bai Long Ma has spent a considerable amount of time sneaking looks at the pilgrim group’s healer, second only to the amount of time he has spent rhythmically placing hooves forward one after the other. It’s not easy to do as he clops and clops onwards, often being in-front of the majority of the group with the monk on his back- but in moments where the healer increases pace to grab someone to inspect flesh or bone his prey-eyes allow him a least a moment of observation.The summer heat means that Zhiping has tied up his pale pink deep-style sleeves, something uncommon in the continent’s clothing habits, but reminiscent of the chest ribbons worn by foreign fishermen as they traverse the local river networks. Ribbons that would in turn traverse his sharp teeth after he swallow those fishermen whole. It gives a rare glance at skin normally hidden under layers of thin silks- pale enough to see blue and purple veins that prominently jut out by boney wrists or elbows, and the dried ink of formulas written on both arms to ensure the fleeting thoughts were not lost to time.These bare hands and arms are currently at work prodding and poking at Bajie’s left ear- gently tapping the short-furred skin next to a gauze wrapped around the inner edge. A muttered ‘inform me of any sensations out of the norm” is barely caught by Long Ma’s angled ears as the healer continues his inspections. Thin, agile fingers tap along the ridge of the pig’s ears, and when they dance an inch away from the small bandage the smallest Yaoguai sets off on a dramatised yowl- although not moving an inch away or stuttering in their joint walking pace.“Pretty lady, pretty lady, how could ya be so ruthless!” Bajie laments whilst clutching his rake to his chest, “What has this charming bachelor done to ya, but be such a well behaved patient.”Each syllable is dragged, each sentence is ended with a pathetic warble, angling for some sort of doting apology or compliment on his behaviour. Bajie shifts his gaze up slightly to the significantly taller individual next to him, a pouting gaze sits like a stranger amongst his rough appearance.All he gets in response is a proper, hard pinch on the base of his other ear, and returns a choked noise. Bai Long Ma understands it to be reprimand for being so loud in such close proximity, and finds that Bajie is the only Yaoguai unappreciative of it. Wukong having let out a shrill “Ha!” whilst jerking his chin in the direction of the noise with Wujing’s shoulders less strained in the quieter environment. The healer ends the confrontation as quick as he started it, lightly rubbing over the adhesive bandage that would need to be replaced as soon as the shaved fur underneath it grew back and instantly slowing his pace to be overtaken by the others. He is completely out of view once again, and the horse centres his gaze forward.There’s nothing in particular that warrants such hyper-vigilance towards the least social member of the group, if anything it’s a welcomed change from all the other bombastic and impulsive people present. The healer talks not unless strictly necessary, takes up a fraction of the food that Sanzang requires, and at most only creates the ambient noise of ink on paper. Is it his newly inhabited prey form that encourages him to soak in as much information as possible should he need to bolt off, or is it something else?Ao Lie thinks it must be the latter, like an itch in his brain that requires a single precise scratch to open the floodgates on what it is he’s missing. With a flat paved road ahead, and Wukong having jumped on his rear to play the monk’s warden, he allows himself a few more moments of pondering.There is a sense of abject familiarity, the weight of his gaze and the stillness of the air that surrounds him. Equally unsettling and comforting in its rigidity, a reliable constant. He steps in perfect 4/4 timing, near-silent feet never skipping a beat; and blinks exactly once every minute. The horse-dragon is reminded of a paternal cousin that was only seen on one day of the year- each year, he knows as little of that cousin as he does the healer.He was held only once by this kin, too fresh out of his egg to remember any face, let alone any features or voice. But it was a warm day (Ao Lie was a prince of summer) and the blurred fragments he can recall were shades of lavender and pale pinks. Similar to the shades he sees the healer in this season.His nose itches as a fly lands on it, and a wild shake of his equine head has it zooming off. The movement acts as an excuse to put the healer back in his peripheral for a flash of a second, and this time he sees slightly more exposed arm by risen sleeves. Just a few more inches of flesh are visible in that split moment, but it’s a shock of what he sees instead of skin.Scales.Semi-coated in illusionary spells to appear like mortal flesh, but clearly waning where Zhiping had calculated a cut-off for any mortal eyes. They’re similar in colour to his hair, slightly pearlescent due to a thin layer of sweat, and are thick enough to act as armour to anything underneath them.Long Ma has no chance to observe them proper, as he would make himself far too obvious and cannot make out specific shapes or patterns in placement. But they are clearly not of any fish or lizard, and most definitely too hard to be of serpentine origin. They resemble what adorns the body of him and his brothers.Dragon. It must be that the healer is a Dragon. Is the conclusion that is reached.With this in mind, it as if the dam has been broken. It seems so dreadfully obvious in hindsight: the long nails that curve like claws, pointed mortal ears, the two of them running equally as cold, and far too high an efficiency in obtaining large aquatic prey.He is not the only veiled dragon of the group, he realises, and finds himself overcome by the primordial urge to scout out this other being. Excusing it as toiling over the monk he carries on his back. He knows of his own enlistment by Guanyin- a chance at redemption for his mischievous deeds, but knows that this other Dragon is the only member of the group not acting towards such a goal. Why is he here then, beyond employment to keep them all study enough to complete their journey?He doesn’t have the freedom to think too much on the topic as his back gets jostled left and right and up and down with the monkey trying to animatedly describe a definitely important tale of his to prove some irrelevant point. And such is forced to focus his efforts on counteracting how he sways like buoy in turbulent waters to keep Sanzang sturdy as they trot onwards to the next camping spot of the night.Multiple hours come and go, counted neatly by his ever constant hooves in front of each other, and the sky’s first signs of dimming gives him the cue to slow down to a stop. The pilgrims prefer to have everything set up before the world is tinted in amber light, and neatly organises himself by a fallen tree trunk once he is relieved of his duty as steed. He hobbles down onto his knees, a small huff as he bends further to a seated position and a flick of his head to move a braid that sat oddly on the wrong side of his neck. It makes him miss the simplicity of soft scales and strong horns, only his whiskers to feel bend to wind and time. It makes keeping clean far easier, even outside of his father’s saltwater domain. He needs someone (with hands, a feature he misses the most) to brush the short fur, and another to braid his pesky mane for the long haul, sometimes one person can do this if skilled enough. Luckily, when goaded and tricked, Ao Lie can experience the expertise of the Monkey King- his skills that were learnt in Heaven put to good use. It provides time for both to wind down in silence over simple movements, a rare calm speck in time and space before Wukong gets antsy and ties the last braid a bit messy- not before he gives a quick once over to ensure he did do a decent job even as he pretends to ache over the terrible labour he commits for the others.He has that pesky braid re-done by Wukong this dusk, said rapid tie being unravelled from today’s trek, and sees that the lack of work to be done to keep Ao Lie looking good means the Monkey is in no particular rush. When he sees this pilgrim companion “hmm” and “ahh” over what colour thread to use, he takes the moment to start a small conversation.“Brother Wu?” The Dragon-horse starts as casually as he can.A croaky and inelegant “Haw?” noise is given in response, and Ao Lie sees that it acts as a pesky break to his aesthetic deliberation, noted by the slight crinkle in his short nose and leaning in to re-examine the 3 coloured options in-between his toes. They both watch them sway from the wiggling of those clawed digits: Cyan, Red, Lavender.“Where did you get these.” He continues, “We did not pass any villages or nomadic merchants today.” Noting how despite Wukong possesses some of the grabbiest hands in the universe, those hands were firmly drumming some beat on his flank for half the day and therefore were not busy pinching materials from some innocent passerby.Another half-focused noise comes from the Monkey, ending when he reaches for the lavender thread after wiggling his fingers around the options he had. After bringing it up to his eyes and giving a real judgemental eyebrow raise, it is quickly used to start wrapping the braid held in the monkey’s remaining hand. His movements are fast, both from his innate skills and practiced habits when decorating the horses in Heaven’s stables, and ties a strong knot around the wound thread. Once he finishes this task, a haughty gust of air leaves his thin lips, and takes the red thread to use to floss his teeth from between his second and third left toes.“Oh these?” Wukong replies, finally looking at Ao Lie with the thread working through the gap between his canine and molar, slurring his already difficult to decipher dialect. “Ziluolan had some extra. Was binding that new notebook of his last night when the rest of ya were snoring louder than an elephant with a blocked trunk.” The admission flows easily from him, hinting at a bond the rest of the group have missed developing as they slumber. Ao Lie recalls how it is more often than not Wukong and Zhiping awake for night-watch, the former saying only he is capable to do a good job protecting the others and the later saying his lack of need for sleep means he can use this time to work. It means the Monkey in front of him is his best option for trying to break the dam that holds the reason as to why the healer is so oddly familiar. After switching the thread to the other side of his mouth, Wukong continues; “He’s got all sorts of things with him, really. Everything but the floorboards of his study I would say.” The words are spoken again with some sort of inside joke that the steed cannot be bothered to focus on right now. “Why, don’t like the colours of em?”“Not at all, I’m thankful for him being open to using it on me, the healer is good at making the most of everything.”“True, True! Hardly wastes anything, huh. He’s probably gonna ask for some of ya mane later for a bowstring. Or maybe he’ll pluck a few from our brush that we use on ya later.”“He desires it that much?”“Desires?” Wukong repeats back, a laugh following it. “Nah, just frugal. Doesn’t like ‘leeching’ he says.”“He seems to say a lot to you.”“Well, yeah. Don’t know how else he’s supposed to get the words out. You suggesting he sneeze them out instead?”“No.” A huff of his horse nose. a bit annoyed with how Wukong seems to be beating around the bush, never speaking of the Healer’s intentions behind what he doesn’t intend. It’s odd for someone as chatty as Wukong- someone who finds it funny to air out dirty laundry to stir up the clothes hamper. “He doesn’t say anything.”A smooth, almost mocking, ‘Owwwww’ flows from the monkey. “You want him to speak, is that it?”“I think he is… Strange.” Ao Lie can only get out, no words seem apt for this description of the healer he has yet to figure out. “What does he gain from this? We all know why most of us are here.” The word ‘most’ is said with a degree of weight, meaning ‘everyone but him’. “Even the Monk cannot say exactly why when I ask him, Is it not…. A signal of something being amiss?”The prompt isn’t accusatory, and luckily Wukong doesn’t take it as that either, still busying himself with a new section of teeth. Ao Lie is a bit sick of the view of his tongue and sharp maw, it’s unrefined and unsettling. He turns his head, shaking the braided mane on his head, happy at how there’s no mislaying braid now.A deep sigh, one similar to one exhaled by Ao Lie’s Lord Father when he would get himself into trouble as a hatchling, is made by Wukong. And the spit drenched thread is thrown to the side as he settles into a crossed-leg position, settling his furry head on a fist before there’s a “slunk” noise is made by the red thread hitting a stone.“You kids ask so much without even asking nowadays.” The monkey says with a roll of his eyes, “The little monkeys back home are so simple. If they want a peach they say it, if they see knotted fur to groom clean they get to work. Here you are trying to get me to spill my soup bowl before you’ve even poured it half full for me.” He’s been acting out all of his examples as he talks, mimicking baby monkeys and miming a soup bowl being thrown the same way the thread just was. “Speak up, Scaley~ What do you want to ask about Ziluolan.” It’s encouraging in tone, one probably used to get a naughty monkey to admit they stole a Li Zhi meant for someone else.“Who is he.”“Who’s who?” Is replied back, apparently it isn’t obvious enough, it makes Ao Lie roll his eyes in return.“The Healer, Zhiping.”“That’s who he is! Well done!” The teasing tone and hand slapping his trouser leg is making Ao Lie roll his eyes again, he forgot how Wukong likes to make people run in circles.“Who is he really, Brother Wu.”“Weeeellllll…. He’s our healer, a mean one at that. Turning Ol’ Pigsy into pulled pork over a silly little scatch. A scholar, as ya also know, never stops writing does he. I think he writes just to get out of the heavy work Wujing n I have to do, how cowardly!” The little description is spoken with obvious fondness, but the Monkey is still skirting around.“What is he really, Brother Wu.” He rephrases, hoping he won’t be running in circles if he enters a long corridor.“Ya need me to tell you that? After yous were gawking at him half the day?”“Not a need, but a want for confirmation. There’s not many like me around.”“Whateva, Whateva.” Wukong waves the youngest pilgrim off. “He’s a dragon all right, got scales all over ‘im. Terribly possessive with his books as well, like yer old man was with his treasure.”“Would you know which one he is?”A bit of an exasperated look crosses the old Monkey’s face. “What, you think one of ya brothers are playing a bit on ya? Want to see you toil for forgiveness to pop in with a “Told ya!” when you get particularly moody?”“I would recognise one of my Father’s sons…” Ao Lie grumbles.“And so I’M supposed to know every dragon to ever swim in these big seas?”“Not all of them, but perhaps you came across him when you were wrecking havoc, when you were going through the East Seas’s armoury and left it a mess.”“An armoury should have weapons of reasonable worth” Wukong cuts in quickly, more pointless opinion he refuses to not voice, “But he wasn’t a palace servant or anything. I met him way later.”“When you were trapped under Wuxingshan?”“Bingo!” The monkey shouts with glee, tapping the horse’s snout like it’s some tiny monkey nose, briefly getting the rest of the group to take a look at whatever the most recent noise coming from Wukong is, hoping it’s not trouble. The healer, Ao Lie notes, did not take his eyes off the fire he is stocking for cooking duties later. “But not this recent, What yer thinking of is the second time I met ‘im.”Oh?Wukong returns to his little monologue after seeing the sudden intrigue on the Horse’s face, lying down with his head on his hands. “Yep, Yep! One hell of a doctor he is, refused to save me twice under that pesky rock. Made me wonder if they all have that oath to help those in need after all.” A small break from talking as his foot lifts, and the Monkey takes in remaining cyan thread dangling from his toes. “He still made himself look mortal the first time he walked past me, so I can’t saw what his horns look like, or his tail. But they’re probably the same colour as those pretty little scales of his.”“He mentioned he was a dragon?”“Nah, he would say it’s ‘unnecessary’ to know, but Ol Sun has been around so long that it’s easy for me to tell.”“So, I assume other information about himself is ‘unnecessary’, and this is all any of us know?”“All any of you know.” He says with a smile, jutting his chin out in pride, terribly happy with himself for being able to tread more ground with that strange scholar than anymore else. “He’s not allergic to small talk or anything like that, just…. Not talkative when people haven’t been able to learn how he likes to talk.”It makes Ao Lie pause, thinking over how it is true he’s done nothing but nod his head and keep a respectful distance from the other dragon, perhaps he in turn needs to be a bit more inquisitive.“I mean, it definitely helps that yours truly can help him get whatever he needs real fast for him.” The monkey muses, thread now released to fall on his exposed chest and foot reversing back down to the floor. “But he’s not that scary, scaly- definitely. Hardly snappy like you, just doesn’t want him or us to waste time in niceties for the sake of it.”“You think he would talk if I asked, then. That he would be open?”“Yeah, yeah probably.” The answer is hummed, “Might as you to do something, nothing big, let him check ya vitals or lend a hoof on something small.”Ao Lie decides to attempt to strike conversation whilst the iron is still hot, and begins to move a leg up to clop over to the fire. however he feels a furry hand pat his lower leg down. A sign to not do so just now.“He’s a bit annoyed at ya to be honest Horsie, give ‘im some time away from ya for tonight.”Ao Lie appreciates the blocking, better than the Monkey’s habit to allow the pot to stir if he gets a good laugh out of it. And settles back down, a bit more comfortable than before with a slight nod of his head. “At me? I have not spoken to him today.”“No ya haven’t, yer right.” Wukong moves his hand back towards himself, placed over his chest, “But yer constant side-eying made him feel on edge, doesn’t appreciate the suspicion when he’s been doing more than what’s necessary to keep ya in trotting shape. He wouldn’t say anything even if ya passed a gift to him as well.”“Ah.” is all that comes our from the horse, he supposed that all his staring wouldn’t have been noticed by a mortal man, but most of his staring was done when he incorrectly assumed Zhiping to be a mortal man. He knows how sharp a Dragon‘s senses are, and he knows he also dislikes overly inquisitive staring. “Not tonight perhaps then, tomorrow then.”“Tomorrow could work, if ye act to put yerself in his good books, Yin and Yang as some say. Get yer hooves on even ground again. He’s not the type to let time be a salve on its own.”The instructive conversation comes naturally to a close, Wukong makes a big show of stretching himself out like a house cat on a plush bed before snapping his body to a standing position through an acrobatic flip. His tail expertly catches a lone floating thread, keeping it tucked safe as he waves a goodbye to the young Dragon as he walks towards other members of the group, taking a long look at the Taos from a basket that Bajie had been grumbling over collecting whilst they talked. The monkey scrutinised them intensely, none of them as spectacular but he finally plucks one and bites it, messily munching on the juicy fruit. Ao Lie sees a small “good enough” nod from his head, as Wukong changes path to Zhiping. The newly understood dragon had just finished cutting up various vegetables for the rest of the group, ready for Wujing to use as needed. He’s already stood up to leave the cooking space, not wanting to take up a spot when he is not contributing to the labour anymore, and gracefully walks back towards his small pile of unpacked materials.Wukong meets him there the moment he settles into a kneeling sit and interrupts the act of smoothing out his trousers by unceremoniously shoving a bitten peach right in front of the Dragon’s face. Once they lock eyes, a nod and a muttered “Thanks to thee” is spoken before Zhiping takes a bite of his own, and Wukong settles with his head in the other man’s lap once he sees the bite swallowed. It’s terribly casual, Ao Lie thinks, not the fact that Wukong decides to make himself at home in everyone else’s personal space. But the practiced routine of it all. Like a Husband arriving home with spoils in hand, and only kissing his wife’s cheek after she accepts a gift from him at the entry of the house. After a few bites Wukong asks to be read to, oh so graciously offering to hold up whatever scientific journal Zhiping is reading so he can eat whilst he dictates. A book is handed over, the spine bound in lavender thread and as Zhiping reads he uses his long claws to slice small bites of Tao, once per page.The sight is comforting, and calming to watch, but remembering how the book stand of a Monkey mentioned that staring may displease the other dragon, Bai Long Ma shakes his head and gets up over to Bajie and Sanzang who work to get his saddle off for the night, and does his part in moving the heavy satchels into a neater pile for the day. It provides him with a softer edge to sleep against layer and decides to get comfortable early, he now cannot get a clear view of the scholar- much like earlier that day. However he can definitely see Wukong, laid out with his tail relaxed at his side, staring up at the scholar as he dutifully holds the book and turns the page whenever Zhiping takes a bite of fruit. He’s sure to miss more of their secluded bonding as the rest of the pilgrims sleep for the night, as he’s been made aware of just recently.Dinner comes and goes, Wujing fills the bellies of everyone present, Shui Jian Bao being eaten with enthusiasm, most of the party around the fire. However he notes the Dragon in the corner, sat working instead of reading aloud, who was provided for by Wukong snatching up food for the two of them and returning it to their self-defined corner. Bajie makes a comment of the two of them being rudely asocial, met only with Wukong sticking his tongue out before turning back around. The two end up in a similar position as before, however this time the Monkey’s head is sat on flat legs instead of knelt ones, and Ao Lie sees a single dragon claw draw symbols over a clothed chest. It’s some sort of diagram, nothing calligraphic or artistic, however the passive movement can’t help but remind him of a vague memory from years prior.He’s on some relative’s lap, inexperienced in holding hatchlings with how textbook their hold is, and he’s crying because of it. The noise is unappreciated, and a hand lowers to draw shapes (constellations perhaps) into his chubby tummy in attempts to soothe- the blurry lavender figure not trusting that “shaking” the baby would help the situation. The room is oddly silent, only being disturbed by hiccups as himself as an infant slowly settles. An unconventional approach to maintaining peace.The dam has yet to break, Ao Lie does not feel closer to figuring out why that stoic dragon feels so familiar and alien all at once. But he cannot shake the feeling of familiarity as Zhiping works to keep the camp quiet in the way he is able to at the moment. If he makes amends on his objectively rude staring earlier and ‘lends a hoof’, perhaps he could ask the other dragon what he has been up to before this grand journey,