#CW: Implied torture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

digitaldoeslmk · 6 months

Text

recollections of red and blue, or simple truths go oft-forgotten

it's been some time since MK's fateful encounter which changed everything, but Pigsy still won't forgive Wukong for what happened. Red Son is rather tired of this endless distrust and blame, and decides to remind the pigman of the kind of creature Wukong is. and maybe as important, the kind of creature that he used to be.

drabble where Hai'er sits down with Tang and Pigsy for a talk. beware the tags before proceeding. word count: 5.5k - AO3 mirror

"Alright, here we are. What did you want to talk about?"

The pig demon walked over to the other side of the bar with the familiarity of decades doing this. The few times Hai'er had been in the noodle shop, he could sense the love and dedication poured into every scratched bowl, worn balcony and faded tile. This place was the cook's whole life and soul, and he couldn't help but fix his jiasha a bit in respect before sitting down on a stool. It creaked a bit as it spun, and the pig man placed a cup of green tea in front of him. Probably from one of the thermos at one corner of the bar, no doubt, but Hong Hai'er sipped on it.

He had asked for a moment to speak with the old demon, given the past few interactions he saw between him and Wukong. While it was very amusing to see the pig try to get a rise out of a bodhisattva of all beings, it was also very distressing for everyone else involved, and this couldn't continue.

"You're a very stubborn pig." He said, dry and direct as usual. The human from the other corner of the bar choked a cackle into his fist, and Hai'er raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thanks, I work hard on it." Pigsy retorted just as dryly, but Hai'er had other immediate concerns.

"Are you sure he must stay?" Hai'er asked, nodding his head at the human.

"Oh good luck getting him to leave that spot, I've been trying for the past two decades and so far no luck." Pigsy replied, which earned a wide, stupidly cheeky grin from Mr. Tang.

"I see. You've out-stubborned him, that's an achievement." Hai'er said, directed at the human now, who preened at the not-at-all-a-praise.

"I prefer to think of it as perseverance, actually." He said, his grin gleaming in an insufferable way, and Hai'er rolled his eyes.

"I bet you do." He deadpanned. "But no, that one is just stubborn. Do you really insist on refusing to believe my uncle?" He asked, turning to the pig who was neating up the kitchen idly.

"Look kid, -"

"I'm older than you." Hai'er corrected, and the pig snorted, the interruption earning his anger and he rounded up on Hai'er, leaning on the counter.

"Whatever, kid! I don't believe him, and I never will. He can butter up the rest of these chumps, especially this one!"

"Hey!!" Tang whined, mouth half full of a half-empty bowl of noodles.

"But he can't fool me." Pigsy continued, "I know how important Sun Wukong is to the kid, but someone has to make sure MK doesn't fall on his face again cus he's too damn nice for his own good or safety, and if that someone has to be me, then so be it!"

The demon finished in a snarl that was all tusks and fatherly care. Hai'er didn't react, not at first, but he sipped on his tea again as he considered how to begin. Pigsy gathered himself in the meantime, swiping a hand forcefully on his apron with a harumph.

"Mr. Tang?" Hai'er asks, and the scholar blinks. He didn't seem to expect to be included on the conversation again, but he hums in acknowledgment. "MK says you know the Journey to the West from head to toe, yes?"

The actual praise, even if paraphrased from the delivery boy, has the scholar preen again, pushing at his glasses.

"Oh, I do indeed! In fact, I'm in the process of my own independent translation, with quite a few new footnotes that--"

"Then you know the story of how I got these scars, right?"

Hai'er's interruption grinds Mr. Tang's whole rant to a halt, eyes wide as saucers as he seems to catch up to where Hai'er is going. His eyes flick towards said scars dotting his arm and neck, and those are just the ones in plain view.

"I... Yes, I suppose I do." He agrees, shrinking into his scarf like he would like to not have out-persisted Pigsy about his eternal bar spot after all.

"Of course you do. Tell it." Hai'er says, in that quiet yet stern tone that leaves the order implied but very much not up for discussion. Tang sinks even more into himself, and the rakshasa can feel Pigsy glare at him. Mr. Tang clears his throat, uncomfortable.

"Umm... You uh, Wukong and Guanyin both tricked you into... sitting on a fake lotus throne, but it was... made of swords." He says, meek as a turtle holed up in its shell. Hai'er frowns into his teacup; that wouldn't do.

"Oh come on, tell it right. I've seen it, you're a storyteller, born and true. You thrive in it, live for it." Hai'er says, pinning the man down with his brightening eyes, black coals ready to spark alive with indigo fire at any moment. "So tell the story as you should."

The moment of silence is heavy and tense, only the sound of the electric static of the lightbulbs about them to break it. Tang swallows and accepts his fate in the center stage, bracing himself before he begins.

---

"There you are, you wretched primate!! Come to face your demise at last?!" The brazen demon calls from his throne of basalt. His grin is fangs and rebellion, blazing eyes like a volcano's heart. His armor gleams under the glow of his bonfire hair, licking tall and proud into the air. Hong Hai'er calls to the figure in the sky blocking the late morning sun, a sad sight on his pearly cloud.

"Wouldn't count on it, nephew." Sun Wukong replies from on high, barely managing the cocky grin under the angry burns and scorch marks he still bears from last they met in battle. Hong Hai'er roars in rage, flames whipping out of his mouth.

"I've told you already, you're no uncle of mine! I, Red Son, would never call family someone who bows down to his foes like a whimpering fawn!" He bellows, the pines and firs bending at the heatwaves of his rage. Wukong doesn't deign him with a reply, and Hong Hai'er summons his flaming spear to his side.

"Allow me to put you out of your misery!!" He calls and shoots himself into the air, aiming his spear right at the monkey's chest. The sage parried it with his staff, and they sink into glorious battle once again.

The hellion demon is no match for the monkey, but he makes up for his lacking martial skills with his hunger for victory. A tiger smelling the trail of blood of a wounded prey, and stalking forward to a meal in the waiting.

The sage dodges an attack and jumps out of range. Again and again, always out of range!

"Fiendish freak, what are you doing!" Hong Hai'er screeches, frustrated.

"Well can't say I look forward to you using your fire on me again." Wukong replies, and Hong Hai'er snarls.

"You keep up with this and I just might out of spite! You come here to challenge me again, and you can't even do it right, what kind of man are you!"

Wukong cackles, choking on a sore throat in the process.

"More than you, that's for sure, nephew."

His flaming spear tears into the morning sky like a butcher's knife, "What did I tell you, you disgusting simian?!" The monkey dodges the strike easily and sails his cloud into the southern horizon. "You...! Hey, come back and die with some honor!"

Hong Hai'er chases after the fleeing monkey in a scorching blaze, careless of just how far or how fast they are going. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, except getting rid of this pesky beast. To end Wukong is to end this pathetic journey of his and to earn himself his prize. A plentiful feast and immortality!

A halo of auspicious light appears on the horizon, but the fire demon doesn't slow down, hot on the tail of the wretched fiend. A little more, a little closer... Wait, what?!

Wukong is gone, vanished into thin air and hallowed light. No. No! His victory, his prize!! The fire roaring in his belly eats at his sense, consuming his mind as well as his innards as he screams into the empty air.

"FIGHT ME, COWARD!!"

His wrath melts into the cold air and casts circles of waves in the water below him. Wait, water? This is... not a lake, but an ocean. Water as far as the eye can see. Red Son blinks, flames and sparks slithering from the corner of his eyes. How far did he fly?

A sound not unlike a wooden bell rings, and he turns to see the light in the distance dim and coalesce into a shape. A figure in draping silks, veil around black hair, and sacred jewelry that seemed to glow of its own volition. He knew this person, he noticed, and his grin turned almost feral.

"Ah, Guanshiyin. What luck!" He greets brazenly, dripping with ego and bloodthirst. "Tell me where that sad excuse for a sage has scurried off to immediately, and I might just spare you!" He orders, pointing his spear at the bodhisattva, who remains still and unbothered upon the floating lotus.

"Hey! I'm fucking talking to you!!" He roars, all-consuming flames roaring from his hair and eyes and fangs. "I said, where's Wukong?! Answer me!" Again, nothing. The nerve to ignore him, how dare!! With a bellow, he slashes at the enlightened figure. The streak of vicious fire licks at the water's surface and missing completely its target, since the lotus is now empty, as if there was never anyone upon it to begin with.

"Where did you-- Would you vermin cease vanishing and FACE ME!!" Hong Hai'er shrieks, the Samadhi fire eating at his bones and simmering at his skin. His ragged breathing is like blowing into a furnace, clouds of smoke and inflamed qi venting from his gaping mouth.

"Heh. You flee from me so swiftly, could it be the great Avalokiteśvara can't face my fire?" He asks the empty air, voice twisted and crackling from the heat within. "Hehe, hehahaha, AHAHAHA!! Very well then!!" He gloats, landing on the golden lotus. His feet fizzle against the cool seed pod, and he stabs his spear into it with a victorious growl.

"If you won't face me, then I, Red Son, Bull King of the Flaming Mountains, will take over your fancy old lotus throne! HAHAHAHA!!" He says, sitting down on the lotus and adjusting himself to lounge cockily on the feathery soft petals. He might have missed the monkey and the thousand-armed one, but this was satisfaction enough. Or so he thought, not knowing that both Wukong and Guanyin stood right by him, invisible to his un-enlightened eyes. Wukong winces in quiet rage at his disrespectful boasting, but Guanyin simply plucks the sacred branch of willow.

"Foolish rakshasa. Bear now the consequences of your crimes." Red Son startles at the sudden voice, looking about him for the source, but before he can even sit up, the willow beyond his sight waves in the air and the lotus throne vanishes. In its stead, rest the thirty-six celestial swords of Devaraja Li. Sharper than any wind, sharper than sunlight in summer, they all pierced right through his resting body in the span of half a heartbeat.

---

As Tang finished the story, the silence returned. Both men regarded the fire demon carefully, who didn't miss how their eyes flicked to the scars all over him pensively. Hai'er sipped on his tea one last time, the cup now empty.

"That's right. It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before or since. Even so, I tried to remove them, but the bodhisattva simply turned them into hooks so that I couldn't. All I could do was beg for it to stop." He said, knowing that those two needed some sort of reaction. He had none to offer truth be told, it had all been so long ago after all, and whatever he had to say was not for their ears.

Tang fussed with his sleeves, clearly unsure of himself and what to say, while Pigsy simply stood at the kitchen, folding and unfolding a wiping cloth.

"I... I'm so sorry." Mr. Tang said finally, and Hai'er chuckled.

"What for?" He asked, amused at the response he got. "I deserved it."

"No you didn't! Nobody deserves that." Tang said, and oh the sweet guy, he believed it too. Hai'er could just smile with fondness at the sentiment, even if it was misguided. He always forgot that mortals tended to get the wrong message from those stories; no wonder so few have ascended or devoted themselves to cultivation of late. Too many new-fangled morals.

He needed to remind them who exactly he used to be.

"Tang Laoshi, have you ever smelled burning hair?" He asks, and he feels the glare Pigsy throw his way.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me, not Tang." The cook grumbled, but Hai'er ignored him much to the scholar's dismay.

"Please answer the question." He said, and Tang looked between the two of them for a moment before nodding.

"Well, yes. Once, it was this little mishap you see! Me and Pigsy were still young, he had only just started the shop and I was--"

"Turn that smell up by a hundred, and you'll know what the smell was like when Wukong got hit by my Samadhi Fire." He interrupts the man's story again, earning him a flurry of baffled blinks from the human. "A patchy half-charred monkey is actually a pretty funny sight."

Neither of the men shared in his humor, instead looking rather uncomfortable by the sudden somber turn of topic.

"Uh, Shancai Zhuren? Is.... what is this?" Tang asks, looking sincerely spooked and lost in what's happening. Pigsy looks just as lost, but his fear manifests in a tense back and a wide stance. Someone with some fighting experience, at least.

"I was a villain, Tang." Hai'er began, his calm and matter-of-fact tone only seeming to spook the human more. And he's hardly begun. "I burned goats and pigs to watch them suffer and the people lament their lost livestock. I extorted minor gods out of their offerings, because them losing their divinity was funny. I hunted travelers on the road for sport, to eat them at the full moon family dinners." He said, having crossed his arms to lean on the counter, a single finger tracing the edge of his chipped empty cup. He threw a glare at Tang who looked pale as a ghost. "I enjoyed it." He said, slow and deliberate, and Tang flinched. "I tortured my uncle, and I was ready to kill him. I wanted to more than anything. If Wukong hadn't gone to get Guanyin's help, I would have done it too. I was going to take his skin as a gift for my mother, as a coat. I'd have steamed the pig and seared the fish, and I'd have eaten the revered monk with my parents with sour sauce and a glass of rice wine. And I'd not have regretted a single thing."

Tang looked about ready to bolt right out of the service entrance just so he didn't have to get past Hai'er for the door, and Pigsy's tusks poked out of his twisted grimace.

"I did deserve it, every single blade of it." Hai'er said and saw the pig man lean from the corner of his eyes.

"What is this, free moping hours?! Oh, no pal, that ain't on the menu. You had better get to the point, or get out of my shop!" Pigsy burst out, jabbing a finger at the door. Hai'er l lifted a hand to placate the demon.

"I have a point. Well, two actually, but first of. You must have known all this. Doesn't take much to know that you have been overhearing Mr. Tang and MK tell these stories over and over."

"What's it to ya?" Pigsy snapped.

"And yet you trust me. I've only ever been a villain in those stories, and a dangerous one at that, yet I get more goodwill than my Uncle. You blame him for what happened to MK, but I couldn't stop it from happening either. What makes me special?"

"You're not making a great case for yourself, pal." Pigsy warned, but Hai'er waved off his threat.

"Humor me."

Pigsy regarded him for a long moment. With a sigh, the tension from his shoulders abated if only a bit.

"You helped MK. You called us, and you drove him here. That's, something. Certainly more than that immortal furball ever did."

"My uncle was in the Celestial Realm. Time dilation sucks." Hai'er retorted in a deadpan, and he could tell the pig demon was just barely holding back from throwing a spoon at his head.

"So what! He's enlightened or whatever, he should have known! He should have stopped it!" Pigsy said, poking at the counter so hard his large nails left dents on it. Huh, just like the floor of his home with his father's hooves. "If he really cared so much, he would have done something!!"

Red Son rolled his eyes at the response but sighed.

"Alright then. Humor me a bit longer so I get to my next point."

"Make it snappy, would ya?"

"As you wish." He said, and almost as a gesture of peace, the pig plucked the cup from his hand and filled it again.

"Even though that was the worst paint I've ever known, when the blades were gone all I could think about was vengeance." He picked up the story again, and sure enough, Mr. Tang piped in.

"Yes, you struck at Guanyin with your spear." The scholar said, and he nodded.

"I did. Because I knew that if I did, Uncle wouldn't hold back. I knew that if I struck at her, he'd defend her at all costs."

If the story from before had made the atmosphere tense, he was sure that the cook could cut it with one of his knives and use it for cartilage soup. The silence stretched and he could smell the moment the realization set in.

"You... You wanted..." Tang's voice wavered like a plucked string, and Hai'er took pity on the man and said it himself.

"I wanted him to kill me. I refused to be defeated and tamed by them, even if I had to die for it. Rebirth was preferable to captivity." He said, with the ease of someone who had grappled with that aspect of himself for centuries and made peace with it. Or someone reporting on the weather for the day, whichever worked. "And I would have too, but instead I got these."

The golden fillets at his wrist glinted under the fluorescent lights. Polished to a pristine mirror shine, unscratched and undented despite the wear and tear of centuries. Heavenly metal, not made to be tarnished my mortal means. His own gaze met him from the warped reflection on them, a familiar sight to him now.

"Master Guanyin saw this unrepentant, irredeemable creature writhing in rage, and she was going to drag it kicking and screaming into a second chance I did absolutely nothing to deserve." He said in a soft reverent tone, a hand cradling one of the circlets and feeling it warm under the touch.

The pigman snorted, unimpressed. "Is this where you tell me he's going to do that to me, eh?"

"I'm not done. The books don't tell this part of the story, so listen up.

"The first time I saw him again, I was gathering bamboo shoots for dinner. It oddly was the one thing Master let me do away from the groves, even though I had tried to poison her and the other disciples every time I got dinner duty. He showed up in my path, and he fell into a kowtow and begged for forgiveness for what happened. He said that I had left him no choice, but I could always call on him whenever I needed. That he would never shirk his duties to me as family." Hai'er told and huffed a little laugh. "I told him to get lost."

That at least got some amusement from the pig, though the scholar watched him with wide eyes, ever interested in a new tale for his collection.

"The second time we met, he did the same thing. Going on about how sorry he was, how he'd never surrender his duties to me or my family, that he... still cared for us in the only way he could. I was so angry still, so upset over my fate, and seeing him pleading for forgiveness made me so irate. So I kicked him."

Tang sputtered at that, "You did??"

"I did."

"How did he take that?"

"He didn't budge, but I broke my big toe on his forehead."

Tang suddenly spits out a mouthful of broth, caught between a cackle, a cough, and a lot of choking. Hai'er considers patting his back, but the man seems to gather himself more or less while the pig man complains up and down about the gross mess he made of his bar.

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to laugh, I--"

"It's quite alright, it's very funny." Hai'er grants, waving away the man's apologies. It had hurt like a bitch back then, but it was his ego that was more hurt than his toe. He gives the scholar and chef some time to clean up a bit the kitchen and their pride before continuing.

"I cursed him out so much for it, too. I told him I hated him and I'd hate him forever, because he didn't even let me say goodbye to my parents, that I was trapped in those miserable groves and didn't know if I'd ever see them again." There's a knot in his throat at the memory of those uncertain years, but he pushed them aside. "I promised him that if he hurt my parents, I'd tear off my own hands and feet and head to get rid of those fillets, and I'd haunt him to the ends of the world.

"All he said in reply was that it was okay. I could hate him as much as I needed to or wanted to, it didn't matter, but he would always embrace me as his nephew no matter what. I told him to get out of my sight and never show his face in front of me again."

He could feel Mr. Tang's eyes on him, ever kind and pitying and infuriating, but Pigsy just huffed unamused but not unkind. To Hai'er, that was an improvement.

"And? What about the third time?" He asks, and Hai'er chuckles.

"Rushing the story, are we."

"Yeaaaah, he does that all the time, don't mind him." Tang comments, waving a hand dismissively much to the pig's disapproval.

"Well you're clearly on talking terms with the guy, so there must be a third time where that changed. So spill it."

Hai'er smirked at that, amused. The pig was the direct cut and dry type, which he could appreciate.

"The third time was much later on. I had grown a lot already by then, was much calmer and collected. I was past being resigned and just trying to live in this new normal I found myself in. I was making the best of it I suppose. Maybe even started to enjoy it.

"He showed up because he had crossed paths with my parents, which led to quite a conflict. In the end, Nezha had taken my father to the Jade Emperor for judgment. When I heard the news I was so sure my father was dead, executed long before I even heard of his arrest. I... I cracked.

"I was wailing on the ground and tearing at my hair, but then Wukong grew ten times his size and held me. He let me cry, and reassured me that it wasn't what I was thinking. My father was still alive, but serving penance. He had pleaded to Nezha and before the Jade Emperor himself to spare his life. I asked him why, and he looked at me with such open kindness and warmth. He even laughed a bit when he told me that as long as he breathed, he would not have me separate from my parents. He wouldn't break up our family like that. I didn't understand why he still cared for us so much, not when he was supposed to be detached from worldly ties and not when we had caused him so much trouble already. I tried to kill him, I wanted to, and yet he still cared enough to spare my parents. I didn't understand him at all, but it didn't matter, because I knew then that he meant every word of it.

"After I stopped crying, I asked him once he was finished with his Journey, if I should call him Great Sage or Enlightened One, and he said that just Uncle would suffice if I chose to. He's been Uncle Wukong to me ever since."

The ending to his story hung in the air, along with the lingering scent of stew spices and the buzzing of the electric lights. Mr. Tang looked ready to say something, probably of the awkward yet ever kind variety, but the chef beat him to it.

"And the point is?!"

"Pigsy!"

"The point, Zhu Dachu," Hai'er interrupted, "is that you can scream and blame and rage and whine and winge and kick and throw whatever you want at the walls. None of that will change the fact that my uncle cares for MK. And I mean truly, genuinely cares and worries for him, whether you believe him or not. Even if MK for some absurd reason decides to turn his back on him, shun and curse him from the twelfth heaven to the eight hell, Wukong will still, to the Universe's dying breath, care for him."

His gaze bore down on the pig, as if he could someone stare his words into the man's thick skull.

"That's my point. I hope you'll at least consider my words, though what you do with them is entirely up to you." He finished, leaning back in his seat and it creaked with the movement. For what it was worth, Pigsy gave nothing away, but something in the air had shifted somehow, whether for better or worse was too soon to tell. Regardless, he simply cradled his empty cup, now gone lukewarm from his hands.

Their staring contest, or at least heated sparring, was interrupted by Mr. Tang's not-so-subtle thorat clearing.

"That's very kind of you to share this with us, and we'll definitely take it heart, Shancai Zhuren." Mr. Tang said, ignoring Pigsy's grunt of offense on the "we" he tacked on his words.

"I think at this point, we can go with just Shancai, yes?" Hai'er offered with a small smile, not seeing the need for formalities with these two. Not when he's shared such a personal story of his with them.

"Oh! Yes, Shancai, thank you." Tang thanked, looking genuinely flattered and more than a bit close to squeeing for joy. Hai'er rolled his eyes in exasperated fondness.

"Now I gotta ask. Why is it Shancai for us, but MK gets to call you Hai'er?" Pigsy asked, seemingly done stewing on his story. Hai'er shrugged.

"That's just how it is." He deadpanned. No need to tell the man about how his son's glazed eyes lit with recognition once he was able to put a name to the stranger with him, how somehow ranting about the novel's chapter in a parched throat helped him ground himself to some semblance of normal after the horror he was put through.

Shancai wouldn't have done anything for Xiaotian then, but Hai'er did, and he didn't feel like breaking that connection. Not when somehow, Hai'er was someone Xiaotian trusted, and even liked having around. That's just how it is.

"Well, it is late and I think I've taken up enough of both your time. I shall leave you both to it." Hai'er said, sliding off his seat and giving them a bow. When Tang made to follow him to the door, he waved him away. "No need, I know where the exit is. And wouldn't want you relinquishing your hard-earned seat on my account."

Mr. Tang gave him a good-natured laugh at that, and he counted that was a good note to end on.

"Goodnight, sirs. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Pigsy gave him a short nod and Tang waved him goodbye, and with that, he was out of the shop and back into the cool city night air. Not as cool as the deserts, that's for sure, and for a moment he kind of wished it was. Brisk and bracing, enough to make his skin climb into goosebumps.

He did his part. Whether it would go anywhere or not, was out of his hands. But his ears could catch the two men's hushed tones past the walls, though he didn't bother trying to pick their exact words. He had a feeling he's left them with plenty to discuss in the coming days, and he was glad to be left excluded from the specifics.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his car. He couldn't wait to be out in the desert, with the cool dry breeze to wash him clean from the day's affairs. No more broth spices, city smog, engine grease, bamboo sawdust, lotus incense smoke, or stardust metal and sticky copper and bile.

Just the sunbaked breeze of the sands and his thoughts.

At every stop sign, his gaze lingered down to his arms. Bandaged and glamoured, bound by celestial metal, scarred down to his bones. He was long past caring, vanity was a far away thing to him now after, but sometimes looking back at those memories stirred something in him.

Not regret, or bitterness or shame. He had faced those foes long ago and emerged victorious, with no small amount of effort. Not even nostalgia either, he couldn't miss those troubled days if he tried, not with the wisdom he now wielded.

Instead, he missed that feeling of realization. Held in his uncle's massive arms, almost drowning in his own tears, and realizing that he wasn't alone. He never was. He always had his uncle, even when he believed as sure as the sky was blue and the earth was solid, that he had no one.

He missed his family. How could he not? He missed the simple filial love of his childhood when he could reach out to his mother and be held in her arms, or jump on his father's lap and be brought to sit on his shoulders. It was easy as breathing then, for all of them, but those days were long past.

As clockwork, that little voice in his head muttered at him, peaceful and solemn as his Master's voice at lectures.

Let go.

He should listen. It was about time he did, it's been centuries and it's brought him nothing but suffering, and if he just let go then it would go away. He could finally fully commit to his Master's teachings, take the vows, and maybe join his uncle in enlightenment.

Instead, he pressed a few keys on his on-board phone, letting the call come through.

"Zhizi? What's up?"

He couldn't believe he was so damn weak.

"Shushu, do you want to have some tea at my place?" He asks, and there's an amused chittering laughter from the other side.

"It's been a while! I thought you'd never ask." Wukong replied, and Hai'er had to sigh.

"Me too." He agreed, his tone quieter than he had hoped it.

There was a quiet pause that he knew meant his uncle was staring at him across the line, and he took some comfort that he wasn't actually present.

"Meet you there, then. You better not skimp on me like last time, I know you hoard pu'er like a magpie." He teased, and cut the call before Hai'er could even reply.

Ah well, so much for detachment of worldly things. He had time. Yeah, he had time to do better and to finally let go of these illusions. Until then, he had his uncle and he could always call him for tea when the longing was like blades on his ribs. Until then, that was enough.

---

vocabulary

jiasha: mandarin, borrowed term from the sanskrit "kasaya". Piece of patchwork cloth worn by Buddhsit monks over one shoulder, once used to distinguish monastic schools of geographic origins.

wooden fish: a kind of bell used in Chen Buddhism to mark the pace of reciting sutras and prayers, often depicted in the shape of a fish.

Hong Hai'er: "Red Son/Boy".

Guanshiyin: full mandarin name of the bodhisattva Guanyin.

Avalokiteśvara: sanskrit name of Guanyin.

Devaraja Li: also known as Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Li, chinese analog of Vaisravana. Father of Jinzha, Muzha and Nezha.

Tang Laoshi: "teacher Tang", respectful title for anyone who teaches.

Shancai Zhuren: "director Shancai", respectful title for someone in a high management position.

Zhu Dachu: "chef Zhu", mandarin dub name for Pigsy, also serving as a title.

Zhizi: nephew by the male line.

Shushu: uncle, father's younger brother.

#cw implied torture #cw mentioned cannibalism #cw suicidal ideation #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk au #by the book au #lmk red son #hong hai'er #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #pardal writes

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