Chapter 2

Tang Sanzang half-lowered his eyes. His dark gaze rested on Fu Zhenhong’s face for several seconds. “White Tiger Village is just ahead. You may come with us as far as the village.”

“And after we reach the village?” Fu Zhenhong’s lips parted slightly, his voice soft and light. “Once we’re there, Elder, will you tell me it’s time to part ways?”

“You need to calm yourself. Perhaps White Tiger Village will offer the mortal life you’re looking for. You’ll learn that a moment’s temper can’t be allowed to rule you.”

“Elder, you are not the fish—how can you know the fish’s joy?” Fu Zhenhong smiled bitterly. His gentle voice rippled like water. He lowered his damp dark eyes, long thick lashes casting a frail, touching shadow over them.

Zhu Bajie watched from the side. Even knowing the other was a man, he still felt a pang of pity. “Young master, listen to my master. Come to White Tiger Village first, and we’ll talk after.”

Just as he finished, Sha Wujing called out happily, “Eldest Senior Brother is back!”

At that, Fu Zhenhong made to stand with Tang Sanzang. But he had crouched too long under the blazing sun; his head swam. The moment he rose, he pitched forward uncontrollably.

Seeing the youth suddenly fall toward him, Tang Sanzang instinctively raised a hand to catch him.

But just before Fu Zhenhong could fall into Tang Sanzang’s arms, a hand swept him aside with brutal force.

Fu Zhenhong was thrown to the ground. His right ankle twisted. “It hurts…” He clutched his foot, teeth clenched.

Zhu Bajie hurried to help him up. “Young master, are you all right?” Then he glared at Sun Wukong. “Eldest Senior Brother, what are you doing!”

Sun Wukong said nothing. His gaze fixed straight on Fu Zhenhong. His deep black pupils slowly shifted color, becoming a brilliant gold almost like the sun.

Fu Zhenhong let him look, and while he was at it, quietly took in the appearance of the famous Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

A handsome, hard-featured face. He wore monk’s robes of red and black, the Golden Tight-Fillet on his head, his messy hair spiking upward—a clear sign of a sharp, unruly nature.

Soon the gold in Sun Wukong’s eyes faded back to black. His slanted sword-brows drew together. He had come out of the Grand Supreme Elder Lord’s alchemical furnace, and yet his Fiery Golden Eyes still could not tell whether this man was a yokai.

Seeing that expression, Sha Wujing knew the Fiery Golden Eyes had shown the young master in his true form. Otherwise, with their eldest senior brother’s temper, he would already have struck first.

“Eldest Senior Brother, you can’t suspect everyone with a pretty face of being a yokai!” Zhu Bajie pursed his lips in disapproval.

Sun Wukong sneered. “You idiot. I told you to watch over Master, and instead you drag every strange thing you find to his side?”

Though under his Fiery Golden Eyes the youth’s face had not changed and no yokai aura clung to him, Sun Wukong still felt something was off.

“Wukong, mind your manners.” Tang Sanzang gave him a slight shake of the head.

“Eldest Senior Brother, this young master is a pitiful one too.” Sha Wujing drew Sun Wukong aside and told him how it had all happened.

After hearing it, Sun Wukong walked up to Fu Zhenhong and raised an eyebrow. “So you’re coming with us to White Tiger Village?”

Fu Zhenhong gave him a timid glance, nodded, then immediately looked away and edged a little closer to Tang Sanzang, as if afraid of him.

Tang Sanzang said, “Wukong, you went to scout ahead—did you find anywhere to rest?”

“There’s an inn ahead. If we set out now, we’ll reach it before dark.”

Tang Sanzang nodded. “Then let’s go.”

“Elder,” Fu Zhenhong said, tugging lightly at Tang Sanzang’s sleeve. “I twisted my ankle when I fell.”

Tang Sanzang paused. “Can you ride?”

“I… I can’t.” As he spoke, a trace of embarrassment appeared on the youth’s lotus-like face, along with a faint shyness at having caused trouble. He looked as delicate as peach blossoms struck by the first rain.

“Then what do we do?” Sha Wujing frowned in worry.

“What else can we do?” Zhu Bajie shot Sun Wukong a glare, then turned to Fu Zhenhong. “Young master, come. Old Pig will carry you.”

With that, Zhu Bajie walked over and crouched down.

At the sight, Sun Wukong grabbed Zhu Bajie by the ear and, ignoring his yelps of pain, dragged him over to the White Dragon Horse. “You lead the horse. I’ll carry him.”

Zhu Bajie rubbed his reddened ear, shifted back into his big-eared, fat-headed form, and took the reins with an aggrieved air. “Fine, Eldest Senior Brother. You take all the good jobs.”

Sun Wukong ignored him. Once Tang Sanzang was mounted, he crouched slightly and glanced back at Fu Zhenhong. “Get on.” He wanted to see what this youth was really playing at.

Fu Zhenhong lay on Sun Wukong’s back and lightly wrapped his arms around his neck.

Sun Wukong carried him at the front, leading the way. Zhu Bajie followed with the horse, Tang Sanzang rode, and Sha Wujing brought up the rear with the luggage.

“Talk,” Sun Wukong said, in a voice only the two of them could hear. “What kind of yokai are you?”

“Yokai?” Fu Zhenhong sounded confused. His arms tightened a little around Sun Wukong’s neck, and he rested his chin on Sun Wukong’s shoulder. “I’m not a yokai.” His voice carried a note of grievance.

“Drop the act.” Sun Wukong gave a cold scoff. “A normal person’s body wouldn’t be as cold and lifeless as yours.”

“Lifeless…” Fu Zhenhong murmured softly. The fragile look on his face vanished completely.

He turned his head, brought his lips close to Sun Wukong’s ear, and exhaled a sentence. “Young Elder, how exactly did you feel my temperature? With your body?” A faint, almost imperceptible curve tugged at the corner of his mouth. As he breathed, he had already wrapped his legs around Sun Wukong’s firm, warm waist. His voice was soft and clinging. “Like this?”

Sun Wukong’s body went rigid. Then he sneered contemptuously. “You yokai. Don’t tell me you’re trying to seduce old Sun?”

“Not at all.” Fu Zhenhong leaned closer, until his flower-soft lips brushed Sun Wukong’s ear. His eyes curved. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its original tone. “Little mischievous monkey, I’m more interested in your master.” The soft, light voice was lower now—not the clear, delicate sweetness from before, but a teasing, careless, electric sort of allure.

Sun Wukong’s ear tingled. His whole body felt uncomfortable. He wanted to throw the yokai off his back, only to find himself tightly entangled. “You little demon. You know who I am, and you’re not afraid I’ll beat you to death with one blow?”

“In the eyes of the other elders, I’m human right now.” Fu Zhenhong glanced back. “If you kill me now, your master will surely blame you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sun Wukong’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I’m cooperating with you.”

“Oh?” Sun Wukong’s interest stirred. He wanted to hear what twisted scheme this yokai had.

“You were pinned under Five-Finger Mountain for five hundred years. Now you’re finally free. Why keep another shackle?” Fu Zhenhong coaxed. “I know that if that monk recites the incantation, the Golden Tight-Fillet on your head will make your head split with pain. If I eat your master, you’ll naturally be free of it too.”

“So you want to eat my master.” Sun Wukong did not care for the way Guanyin had used the fillet to force him to protect Tang Sanzang on the journey west to seek the scriptures, but he had spent time with Tang Sanzang. Their bond as master and disciple might not be as hard as stone, but it was not something a little yokai who had appeared out of nowhere could shake so easily.

Besides, his master had never once recited the incantation.

“Your master is an eminent monk of the Buddhist Path. Whoever eats his flesh gains immortality.” Fu Zhenhong lowered his voice and laughed softly. “Tell me, in all heaven and earth, what compares to eternal life?”

“Wishful thinking!” Sun Wukong’s voice was cold. He ignored the latter half of Fu Zhenhong’s words and answered only the first.

Fu Zhenhong sighed lightly. “So our negotiation has failed.” He paused, then went on. “Actually, I quite like you. Look—you’re a demon, and I’m a demon. Demons should stay together.”

Sun Wukong lowered his eyes and said nothing.

“You spend every day among humans, letting them order you about. Don’t you find it demeaning to your identity as a Monkey Demon?” A hint of disdain entered Fu Zhenhong’s voice.

Sun Wukong heard it. His face darkened. “Twisted logic!”

“Stubborn and unchangeable.” Fu Zhenhong shook his head, then pressed his cold face against Sun Wukong’s cheek. His tone held a faint chill and tenderness. “In that case, you’d better protect your master well. Otherwise, one day I’ll catch him. I’ll peel his flesh from his bones, little by little, boil it in a roaring fire, and eat him clean—not even a bone left.”

With every word, Sun Wukong’s expression worsened. By the end, a dense coldness and killing intent radiated from him.

Just as Sun Wukong was about to summon the Golden-Banded Staff, the hands around his neck began to change.

The once pale, cream-like arms were dissolving at a speed visible to the eye. It was like a body falling into raging fire—flesh devoured, melting away.

“Eldest Senior Brother!” Sun Wukong heard Sha Wujing’s shocked cry behind him.

In a thin white mist, Sun Wukong looked down at the legs wrapped around his waist. No warmth. No flesh. Only joint after joint of white bone, gleaming coldly in the sunlight—horrifying, eerie, chilling to the bone. The hands around his neck were the same.

In the last second before the mist dispersed, Sun Wukong caught a faint fragrance. The yokai’s cold voice spread through his ear like a blade drawn in the night, its icy gleam sharpened under a pale moon—

“Little mischievous monkey, we’ll meet again very soon.”