Simon did not return to his small wooden hut, nor did he continue his cultivation. Instead, he walked on and on, as if without purpose—simply wanting to get farther away from Anna Yang.
Behind him, Belle followed closely, silent and steadfast.
After a long while, Simon finally stopped walking.
"Don’t worry, I’m fine. She was just talking nonsense," Simon said.
Belle bit her lip, wanting to say something but unable to find the words. She simply gripped her whisk tightly and remained silent.
Simon sighed and said, "You should go back first."
With that, he started walking forward again.
"Where are you going?"
"I just want to be alone for a while. Don’t worry, I’m really fine."
Watching Simon’s figure fade into the distance, Belle could only stand there in a daze.
Simon climbed the stone steps all the way up, only stopping when he reached the summit and found there was nowhere left to go.
Hunched over, hands braced on his knees, he gasped for breath. His heart pounded wildly, blood surging through his veins to his brain, leaving him slightly dizzy.
He had never experienced this before. Even two months ago, when he was nowhere near the threshold of the Spirit-Absorption stage, Simon would never have been so out of breath from such exertion.
But now...
Every session of cultivation felt like a life-and-death ordeal, almost draining all his strength.
He looked up—before him stretched a sea of clouds, with mountain peaks piercing the sky.
Behind him towered sheer cliffs.
The steps of Enlightenment Peak ended here. At the very edge stood a rustic pavilion, beside which a massive pine tree, as if sprung from an ink painting, stretched boldly into the air—its age impossible to guess.
Few people ever came here, so much so that the pavilion was overgrown with weeds and left untended.
Sitting quietly in the pavilion, Simon gazed at the fairy-tale landscape before him, yet his mind was in turmoil.
Anna Yang was a dangerous figure—her demands were sky-high. Yet what truly troubled Simon wasn’t that. “Old man, why haven’t you intervened yet? Don’t want to see me break through? Or is it...?”
Simon couldn’t figure it out—he vaguely sensed that Master Sage Subhuti had his own plans, but what those schemes were, he couldn’t grasp.
He still understood far too little about this world, so much so that he couldn’t judge the situation at hand and could only keep his head down.
The thought flashed by, sending a chill through Simon.
He absolutely didn’t want to become like Simon Sun in his memories, but was this really the life he wanted?
He had to break through in cultivation—otherwise, what was the point of all his suffering for the sake of immortality?
But even if he had to break through, no matter the circumstances, Simon didn’t want to get involved with Anna Yang.
Anna Yang was clearly opposed to the Heavenly Court—perhaps even more so than her brother.
But if he didn’t get involved with Anna Yang, then what was he supposed to do?
Simon just sat there, breathing heavily, staring at the distant peaks, his mind in utter chaos.
He thought of Blossom Mountain, of the lonely grave on the hillside ten thousand miles away, and of the ten years he’d spent struggling and fighting.
Even as the sun set in the west, his tangled thoughts remained unresolved. Helplessly, he patted his pants and stood up to head back.
When Simon returned to Swallow Lane, he saw Belle standing on the rocks, gazing into the distance.
Seeing Simon come back, Belle visibly relaxed, running over to greet him.
"I’m much better now, really. It’s nothing."
Simon replied softly, but didn’t meet Belle’s eyes, which made her heart tighten a little.
"Simon, don’t be upset," Belle said, forcing a smile. "I’ll go find my master—he... he’ll surely have a way. Just give it a few more days..."
Simon turned his head and smiled faintly, reaching out to pat Belle on the head. "Don’t worry, I’ll handle it myself. Thank you."
Will Elder Gale really have a way?
Maybe he does, but if even Master Sage Subhuti won’t intervene, would Elder Gale really cross the line to help?
Maybe this was all part of Master Sage Subhuti’s plan. Why did Anna Yang arrive so conveniently, so precisely at the right moment?
Simon felt like he was going crazy. Was that old man really just playing with him like a monkey?
As night fell, Simon curled up in the shadowy corner of the wall, eyes closed—not cultivating or absorbing spiritual energy, but striving to steady his breath and reach the best possible state he could.
......
On the corridor of Soaring Cloud Pavilion, a young man in a red Daoist robe—with eyes as sharp as an eagle’s—leaned on the railing, quietly overlooking the monastery.
Behind him, in the open doorway, Elder Sky sat motionless in the darkness, moonlight streaming through the window onto him, his expression unreadable.
"I haven’t even gone to see Master yet, and I’m here with you," the young man said impatiently. "Why close your door just for this?"
Elder Sky remained motionless in the darkness, silent.
"Bullied by the new junior disciple—aren’t you ashamed?" The young man in red spat fiercely.
After a long silence, a sigh came from behind: "Third Brother, Master’s actions this time are clearly mistaken. Where is the justice in the monastery now? But..."
"Mistaken?" The young man slapped the railing, cutting Elder Sky off, and turned to glare at him in the darkness. "What do you mean, 'mistaken'?"
His emotions flared, making the red of his robe blaze even brighter, like burning flames.
This was none other than Danny Crimson, Master Sage Subhuti’s third disciple!
Confronted by Danny Crimson’s questioning, Elder Sky fell silent again.
Danny Crimson said coldly, "In this world, what’s right and what’s wrong? Justice? The Heavenly Way? Righteousness? Order? I really don’t get what goes on in your head all day! Is right and wrong really that important? The old man’s lived ten thousand years longer than us—if he stirs up trouble, he knows how to clean it up. No need for you and me to sit here and worry ourselves sick!"
A figure in a gray Daoist robe leapt in from outside, landing steadily beside Danny Crimson and kneeling on one knee in salute.
Danny Crimson only nodded at the newcomer, saying nothing, still clearly angry.
The newcomer was burly, with a chiseled, cold face—and a prominent knife scar on his left cheek.
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"Master, the Monkey is out. Mark Quinn is watching him."
Danny Crimson pursed his lips; the anger on his face gradually faded, replaced by a sly smile. With a flick of his sleeve, he said, "Beat him up—make him beg for mercy, and let him remember it for the rest of his life!"
"At your command!" The scar-faced disciple nodded slightly, then leaped straight off the pavilion, vanishing into the night.
In the darkness, Elder Sky parted his lips slightly, hesitating for a moment before asking, "Why go to such lengths?"
"Why bother? Why bother? Hahaha! Because it pleases me!" Danny Crimson clenched his fists, his eagle-like eyes narrowing as he gazed at the distant mountains. "I want to see why a mere monkey should be my junior brother!"
......
The night was pitch-black, the rocky cliff icy cold. The Monkey King gritted his teeth, inching his way down the sheer face.
He chose the most treacherous route, climbing out the window of the wooden hut toward the cliff, scaling the towering precipice, moving sideways until he passed Cloudrise Pavilion, and only then returned to the stone path.
Perhaps it had been quiet for too long—the Daoist disciples had grown lax, and the path was eerily silent, with not a sound to be heard.
Yet for some reason, the Monkey King's heart pounded in his throat, as if danger lurked just around the corner.
Sneaking along, using the greenery beside the stone path for cover, the Monkey King crept forward step by step. He felt a surge of relief, yet his heart remained uneasy.
"The only place I can turn to now is the Scripture Hall. No matter what, I must find a way myself," he thought.
At that moment, high above in the pine branches behind him, a shadowy figure followed like a silent ghost.
As he emerged from the woods and was about to enter a thicket of tall reeds, a dark shape dropped from the sky, landing mere steps from the Monkey King!
Empty-handed, the scar-faced disciple cupped his fists, tilted his head, and glared coldly at the Monkey King. "I am Jingyi, disciple of Danny Crimson, paying respects to Uncle Master."
A menacing aura radiated from him.
Just as the Monkey King turned his head, another figure leapt from the tree.
The newcomer wore the same gray Daoist robe as the scar-faced disciple, his build tall and lean. A curved blade hung at his waist, and when he lifted his face, the Monkey King saw a black eyepatch—this man had only one eye.
"I am Jingxing, disciple of Danny Crimson, paying respects to Uncle Master."
Unlike the scholarly disciples in the monastery, these two looked less like Daoists and more like bandits.
"Danny Crimson..." The Monkey King's eye twitched, a bitter smile on his lips. "So he's back. If I try to run now, I doubt I'd get far."
He clenched his fists unconsciously.
The clouds parted, and the full moon hung high in the sky.
Moonlight spilled across the Monkey King's face, illuminating his fangs and casting a fierce, beast-like expression—like a cornered animal ready to fight to the death.
In the silent night, a commotion arose in the distance—it was clear that more than just these two knew the Monkey King had left the hut.
"Get out of my way—!" he roared, his voice echoing through the cold night, sending flocks of startled birds into the sky.