His cultivation had already broken through, and the spiritual energy within him was no longer turbulent. The scalding bath and the onslaught of boiling medicinal liquid were now things of the past.
Yet, the Monkey King had no time to concern himself with any of this.
A faint sorrow was spreading through his heart.
Everything before his eyes grew hazy. In a daze, scene after scene replayed within his mind.
At times, he was back at Blossom Mountain, being chased by a ferocious tiger that should have died by his hand, fleeing for his life on the edge of death.
At times, he was locked in combat with Danny Crimson’s two disciples, roaring in despair.
At times, he knelt outside the Crescent Star Cave, kowtowing and begging bitterly.
At times, he returned to that night eleven years ago—the night Birdie was killed—a heartache he could never forget.
He climbed snowy mountains, crept through desolate wilds, and drifted down raging rivers clutching a wooden barrel, as if suffocating at any moment...
More than ten years of memories erupted, weaving together in his mind.
He clutched his head, rolling about recklessly, howling and sobbing in agony.
Scene after scene flashed before his eyes—grief, fear, helplessness, pain—all negative emotions entwined and evolving before him.
The once-calm spiritual energy began to rage uncontrollably again, but unlike before, it brought no physical torment to the Monkey King.
In an instant, the spiritual energy surged through every part of his body, causing all his meridians to swell and throb.
His fur stood on end, and the veins beneath his hair became faintly visible.
Grief, fear, anger, and despair collided within his heart.
He slammed his fist into the ground, each strike carving a deep pit. Sand and gravel flew, his knuckles split and bled, the sharp pain unable to mask the agony in his soul.
A terrifying sense of oppression pressed down on the Monkey King's chest. His heart pounded violently, sending hot blood surging through every part of his body.
“This... this... what is happening? Ah—!”
He clutched his head and struggled desperately, smashing his forehead against the ground, blood spurting forth.
Emotions swelled and collided endlessly. At times he cried, at times he laughed, at times he roared, at times he howled, and at times he sank into a deathly silence of despair, letting the tears flow unchecked.
His facial expression had twisted so much it was unrecognizable.
Belle looked on in panic, utterly at a loss.
Anna Yang’s lips curled into a sly smile.
“What’s happening? What’s happening!” Belle struggled to rush toward the Monkey King, but Anna Yang held her back with an iron grip.
“Don’t go over there, trust me—don’t go! He’ll be fine.”
Just as she had for the past thousand years, she possessed a heart as hard as steel.
Even Elder Sky in the loft was moved, his eyes wide as he watched the scene unfold before him.
“What... is happening?”
He had witnessed countless breakthroughs into the Spirit Channeling Stage—even for those walking the Daoist path, it had never been like this.
His agonized howls echoed throughout the entire monastery.
In the Hall of Silent Meditation, Master Sage Subhuti, carving intricate patterns into a block of black wood, felt his ear twitch and quickly began to calculate with his fingers.
A subtle change flickered across his aged face, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“That Anna Yang... hmph!”
As the Monkey King gradually regained control over his emotions—or rather, as the various feelings within him began to coexist—he leapt to his feet, casting a hostile gaze at everything around him.
His back hunched, breath heavy and ragged, his trembling frame slick with sweat, blood, and lingering medicinal liquid that trickled down his forehead to his lips.
He stretched out his tongue to taste it—the tang of blood brought an unbelievable sense of peace.
Yet, the fire burning in his heart could not be extinguished; instead, it only grew fiercer, igniting every emotion within him.
His muscles swelled to their limit, his body trembled, veins bulged on his contorted face, his mouth split to reveal fangs, and an excruciating pain surged from deep within—as if a demon was trying to tear through his body and descend into this world.
A terrifying red light radiated from his eyes.
“Killing intent!” Elder Sky’s hand trembled, and the clay cup slipped from his grasp, spilling tea all over the floor.
Slowly turning his face, those blood-red eyes shifted, fixing on Anna Yang and Belle.
At that moment, even Belle couldn’t help but shiver and shrink back.
Was this still the Monkey King she once knew?
A cold smile appeared on Anna Yang’s face. She raised her hand, pointing toward the nearby grass.
Following Anna Yang’s gesture, the Monkey King’s gaze shifted. The moment his eyes met theirs, every disciple hiding in the grass broke out in goosebumps.
No words were needed—instinct had already told them everything.
A deep sense of terror exploded and spread, shattering everyone’s resolve in an instant.
“Run! He’s going to kill someone!” someone shouted. Everyone bolted, not even bothering to consider their chances if they fought together.
Did they even need to consider it? Between man and beast, there had never been any chance of victory.
Watching the group of disciples stumble and flee, the Monkey King growled and reached out, his eyes burning with a hunger for blood. He stepped forward, but struggled to hold himself back.
His raised hand froze in midair.
Everything before his eyes grew hazy once more—a fierce battle raged within him, a struggle between instinct and reason, so painful it felt as if his soul were being torn apart.
Howling—endless howling—he clutched his head and rolled about wildly, kicking up clouds of dust.
After a long while, he finally released his grip on his head, trembling.
It seemed that instinct and reason had reached some sort of accord.
Panting, he swallowed hard and slowly lifted his head, his dazed gaze settling on Anna Yang.
For a moment, Anna Yang’s expression froze, her wide eyes twitching uncontrollably.
The two locked eyes for a long time. The Monkey King’s face was twisted, his breath ragged, and drops of saliva dripped from his teeth—he was clearly on the edge of losing control.
Yet even Anna Yang, who had reached the third tier of Spirit-Refinement, was suffocating under the pressure of his aura.
If a Daoist cultivator at the peak of the Spirit Channeling Stage suddenly lunged at her without warning, she would stand no chance at all.
She knew better than anyone just how powerful Erik Yang was at the Spirit Channeling Stage.
“You... what did you do... I knew it... you meant no good...” the Monkey King stammered, his lips trembling.
His voice was hoarse and muddled, as if he had exhausted all his strength.
Belle was so shocked she couldn’t speak, instinctively clutching Anna Yang’s sleeve.
Just as Anna Yang was secretly preparing to strike, a bitter smile flashed across the Monkey King’s face. He turned toward the Scripture Pavilion, leapt lightly, and soared more than five zhang, vanishing into the forest atop the cliff—leaving Anna Yang stunned.
“He... actually controlled it.” Anna Yang murmured in disbelief.
Even with ten times the amount of Wolf Fang Grass Erik Yang used, he managed to control it. How did he do it...?
“Something’s happened!” Elder Sky exclaimed from the loft.
“What’s all the fuss about? Isn’t it just a breakthrough to the Spirit Channeling Stage? Don’t we have a few every year?” came Danny Crimson’s lazy voice from inside.
“He’s headed for the Scripture Pavilion!”
“What?!” Danny Crimson rushed out of the room.