He removed the bandages, revealing his fur—and the scars beneath.
Anna Yang examined the body in front of her, a look of surprise on her face.
This body possessed an extraordinary vitality and resilience, recovering from injuries that would be fatal to ordinary people.
Yet, for some reason, every scar was remembered, as if unwilling to forget, etched into memory.
After ten years, scars of all sizes already covered his entire body.
There were knife wounds, arrow marks, burns, and bite marks.
Usually, these were hidden beneath his fur and went unnoticed, but now they lay exposed before her...
The moment she saw these scars, Anna Yang instinctively covered her mouth, her bright eyes filled with indescribable shock.
Yet the Monkey King seemed utterly unconcerned.
All this was already routine for him. The gates of death were a familiar place.
Perhaps, as he said, his fate was so cheap that even the King of Hell refused to take him.
Otherwise, what kind of tenacious vitality would it take to survive so many close brushes with death?
Anna Yang felt a pang of sympathy. She pulled out a vial of medicine, wanting to help the Monkey King heal, but he refused.
"No need. Remember the lesson—it’s not a bad thing," the Monkey King replied calmly.
In his eyes, Anna saw a profound indifference toward life and death.
A monkey who fought desperately to cultivate and live better, yet harbored a cold detachment from life and death. The contrast left her secretly astonished.
Anna sighed softly. "Fine, the scars aren’t on me anyway. The medicine is ready—we can start whenever you want."
"Let’s start now," said the Monkey King.
It was early morning.
They placed a large wooden tub on the open ground outside. The three of them fetched buckets of water, pouring them in one after another.