Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It isn’t the end of the world when Liù’ěr tells Wùkōng that he’s leaving Flower Fruit Mountain but it might as well be. Maybe it’s the way Wùkōng can’t fathom his companion not being beside him or how it’s been years since Liù’ěr started staying at the small hut Wùkōng lives in. It feels like an entire galaxy collapsing on itself all contained in the Monkey King’s mind.

Suddenly, Wùkōng wants to sit up, get up, run a mile or one hundred around the entire shoreline or perhaps rush to the summit and scream until a celestial being files a complaint with the Jade Emperor. Instead, he blinks up at Liù’ěr. “You’re leaving?” The other simian hums an affirmative. His fingers haven’t wavered at all from their position in Wùkōng’s hair. They comb through the strands, stopping every so often to detangle the knots that Wùkōng always tore through.

“You lack patience,” Liù’ěr had told him the first time he saw Wùkōng groom himself, a look of horror clear on his face. He’d gentled Wùkōng into sitting, hesitant and shy before moving to stand behind him. He began running his fingers through his friend’s hair, taking care to pause whenever his claws caught on something so he could work through it with a determination Wùkōng found fascinating.

“Only for a week or two,” Liù’ěr says, pulling Wùkōng back to the present. “A month at most,” he continues.

“A month.” And Wùkōng can’t help the incredulous tone seeping into his words. An entire month without embraces, easy touches and soft-spoken tales that went well into the night. Weeks bereft of any and all worldly pleasures Wùkōng realizes he’s taken for granted.

Claws scratch at his scalp, eliciting a pleased sound completely unbidden. He’s trying to appear upset, damn it! Liù’ěr chuckles. “I’ll be back before you know it, you big baby.” Then, hushed like he’s embarrassed to admit it, he says, “I’ll miss you too.”

The day Liù’ěr leaves for the Celestial Realm, he’s gone before sunup–Wùkōng swore and cursed as Liù’ěr pulled away from him that morning, it’s a miracle he got any sleep after that–and Wùkōng aimlessly walks the mountain at dusk. He has things to do, tasks he always performs, but he finds it difficult to stay focused knowing that his best friend is not on the mountain, still asleep in the nest they share. He plucks fruit from the trees without much thought and, it’s as he arrives back at the hut that he remembers he has a meeting with his generals and marshals.

They usually meet further down the mountain in a temple carved into a cliff face around midday. They’ll probably be hungry… Wùkōng decides then to do something he hasn’t done in ages. He cooks. His companion is usually the one to prepare their meals but–the house is eerily empty–he can make do. Plus, it’s a kind gesture from their king, his generals and marshals will surely be grateful.

Liù’ěr uses a tome that he keeps in the kitchen, one he brought with him when he first came to the mountain. He cites its usefulness while making unfamiliar foods. As such, and since he always insists on cooking whenever they do have a proper meal, it’s kept on the table where he can reach it at any point during the process. Wùkōng decides to use it in his absence. The Monkey King cracks it open, flipping past a blank page marked only by beautiful calligraphy–it reads, ‘To my sweet Yuè,’–and finding a page dogeared and annotated with too many shorthand notes for anyone other than the original user to understand but he recognizes it as what Liù’ěr normally makes for the army.

It’s only at the meeting, after Wùkōng has offered his generals and marshals some food and served them that he begins to doubt his culinary prowess. Marshal Ma, Marshal Liu, General Beng, and General Ba stare at their bowls as if it’s two seconds away from coming alive and eating them. Beng pokes at his food. It jiggles. Huh. Wùkōng doesn’t think it’s meant to do that. Liu, not one to tolerate foolishness, looks at her king before asking, “Is this a test of deciphering poison for you?”

Ma, the more lenient of the two marshals, covers her mouth as she whispers, “Liu!”

“What? It can’t be far from what any of you were thinking.”

Wùkōng looks between his most trusted advisors. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad!” He scoots forward to reach the pot he’d lugged in earlier, scooping up a ladleful of stew–he thinks it’s supposed to be stew. It doesn’t get to sit in his mouth for too long before his body reacts and he spits it back into the pot. The gag seems dramatic, is his immediate thought, he could’ve played it off better but the instinct was too strong to ignore. He frowns down at his hands. “I don’t get it. I followed the recipe to a T.”

Liu levels Wùkōng with a stern expression. “You can’t possibly expect to make something well by just following a recipe. You need practice and someone who knows what they’re doing to ensure you don’t mess up–” Suddenly, she chirps, a high-pitched, irritable sound, not unlike when a monkey’s tail is stepped on. She turns to glare at Ba who looks unphased.

“What Marshal Liu is trying to ask is, wasn’t Liù’ěr with you?” Ba asks, their quiet voice curious yet gentle.

It causes Wùkōng to deflate. He tries not to but, again, his body seems to be working against him. “He’s visiting the Celestial Realm.”

“I wasn’t aware Liù’ěr knew anyone in the Celestial Court,” Ma says. She reaches for the fruit Wùkōng had the foresight to place alongside the food. It’s most likely going to be the only thing anyone willingly consumes here.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t talk about it a lot but I think his family is up there.” It comes out sounding like a question more than an affirmative statement. Wùkōng grabs a bottle of wine and uncorks it.

Liu is the first to raise her cup because, despite her lashing tongue, she has come to always have ample drink whenever the topic of a certain macaque comes up. The others follow behind as the Monkey King makes his way around so that they can have their fill of peach wine. Still, she hardly holds back as she tells him, “You mean our esteemed guest has things he won’t tell even you, our king?”

“I’m not his king,” Wùkōng replies instantly, although his grumbled tone leaves something to be desired. He drinks from his cup. “And Liù’ěr can tell anyone what he wants. Or, uh, not tell them. It’s his life. I’m no different.” In his peripheral vision, he notices Liu open her mouth to continue. She pauses when Ma places a hand atop hers before shaking her head. Wùkōng’s face flushes with embarrassment. He blames it on the alcohol.

The group spends the rest of the afternoon drinking wine and eating fruits, their spirits lifting the more inebriated they become until it gets too late. Ma shoulders Liu’s weight, ready to drag her wife to dinner to sober up. They’re followed by Beng who carries the extra bottles and fruit across his shoulders to share with the rest of the island. Wùkōng sets about cleaning up the meeting room, only a bit tipsy. He hadn’t wanted to drink too much since he’s a cuddly drunk and, well–

He startles at the sound of bowls clacking together. Beside him, Ba gathers the uneaten food. They walk to the kitchens in respective silence. All around them, the island comes to life as the yāo guài prepare for dinner. Distantly, he can hear the raucous cheers in the dining hall. Beng must’ve shown all the wine he brought. Ba sets the bowls to soak in a large pot of water, sleeves pulled up to work the hardened food from each one. Wùkōng fills the pot he cooked in the same way, hoping to dislodge what stuck to the sides and bottom.

“You know,” Ba says out of nowhere, nearly startling him out of his skin. They have their eyes set forward on their task but their brow furrows as if in deep thought. “I think it’s adorable how flustered you are without him.” He looks up at his general but they’ve turned to set a clean bowl aside. “A king without his shadow.” They chuckle, mostly to themself since Wùkōng doesn’t understand the humor in what they’re saying. “And to think I believed him to be a lovestruck fool. You two were truly made for each other.”

The king in question stares at Ba for a long time. He watches them work as if he can possibly decipher what the hell they mean by that. Liù’ěr in love with Wùkōng? He laughs, a sudden sound that startles him and his general who stops to stare at him in surprise, then gut-racking peals of laughter that leave him writhing on the ground at the absurdity of it all. Until–

Liù’ěr ran his fingers through Wùkōng’s hair that morning, hushing him when he stirred and cursed Liù’ěr’s name. There’s a spot that burns from a chaste kiss Liù’ěr placed upon his forehead to temper Wùkōng’s drowsy protests.

Until–

A plate of food was left on their tiny kitchen table. It warmed Wùkōng through despite how it had long since gone cold.

Okay. Maybe he is more drunk than he initially realized.

Ba looks at him, brows pinched with concern. “Are you alright, my king?”

Wùkōng opens his mouth to assure his general that he is perfectly fine–

“I’ll miss you too.”

His head knocks against the pot he still needs to finish cleaning. “I need to go to bed.”

So, Liù’ěr is in love with him.

So what?

That doesn’t mean anything has to change. All Wùkōng needs to do is tell Liù’ěr that he knows and they can… do whatever it is that couples do. That sounds about right. But as Wùkōng mulls it over, he’s struck by how his best friend deserves better than the Monkey King bowling into him to begin their status as a couple. Liù’ěr deserves grandeur! He deserves anything and everything.

Wùkōng thinks about it while training. His punches are careless, strikes sloppy. Liu barks at him to fix his form enough times that he’s sure his head is ringing with it. Or maybe it’s from the several hits to the temple he’s taken. He lands on his back after another missed block, dazed and staring up at the sky. Distantly, he’s aware of Ma and Liu arguing and Beng asking him if he’s alright. All he can do is look up, watching the heavens like he can spot a certain playmaster before he’s even made his presence known.

Cooking is out of the question considering the gelatinous dubious food he prepared the day prior. A shiver travels down his spine. No. Nope. That’s out of the question. Beng comments to the others that he isn’t dead. His general pulls him to sit, pulling his eyelids apart to check his pupils. He can see Liu whispering to Ma something only they can hear, her fingers combing through her wife’s fur. Can he groom Liù’ěr?

“You lack patience.”

Yeah. No. Try again.

Gift him a peach? But Wùkōng brings a peach to Liù’ěr every day. Jumps up and plucks it from a tree just so his companion can have a stone fruit all to himself. Wùkōng groans, pushing himself to stand. He needs to get blood flowing to his brain. That must be why he’s having such a hard time figuring out this confessing thing. Because Sūn Wùkōng, Monkey King, Intelligent Stone Monkey, is a pretty smart cookie. Surely, he can figure this out like a difficult puzzle. He just has to be active, get his neurons firing on all cylinders. He gestures for Ba to attack him. They look at Beng, hesitant. Beng simply tosses his arms in the air as if in defeat and Ba settles into their fighting stance. The moment they start sparring, Wùkōng scrambles his brain for any ideas. Then, it hits him. Literally.

Ba’s fist connects with his cheek, firm and solid. They’ve always been a skilled fighter. That’s why Wùkōng chose them, but, damn, they can really pack a punch. Had he not had layers of immortality at this point, his eye might’ve burst from the strike. His cheek stings where a bruise must already be forming. A flash of Liù’ěr’s face crosses his mind.

He had been performing a play for Wùkōng the night before he left, using the roof of their house as his stage, when he stumbled and fell. Wùkōng caught him, of course, but the damage was already done; a bruise blossomed quickly, turning his cheek a ruddy mess. “You should be more careful,” Wùkōng said, tone light once he found that his companion wasn’t injured further. He asked Liù’ěr how he managed to trip but Liù’ěr refused to respond.

Then nightfall came. As Wùkōng was falling asleep, face pressed against Liù’ěr’s shoulder blade, he felt his best friend shift in his arms before muttering a simple, “Wanted to impress you.” Caught off guard and unsure how to respond, Wùkōng hugged him closer.

Now, Wùkōng stands, touching his own bruised cheek as Beng checks him. Ba apologizes, Liu snapping at them that he should’ve been paying more attention to what was in front of him. All the while, the image of Liù’ěr’s rosy face fills his head with too many thoughts. Of late nights tangled together, warm food paired with proud smiles, a constant presence beside him always–

“And to think I believed him to be a lovestruck fool.”

Blood pools in his mouth, sweet like the peaches he stole from heaven. An unfamiliar emotion consumes him as he smiles, crimson coating his teeth and freezing his generals and marshals in place. “That settles it,” he says, much to everyone else’s confusion, “I’ll make a play for my best bud.” Because surely Liù’ěr will be impressed by a grand performance. If there’s something the six-eared macaque loves, it’s a good drama. How hard can it possibly be?

Okay.

Writing a show is way more difficult than Wùkōng initially thought. Liù’ěr makes it seem so easy, weaving a story together in the moment just to make Wùkōng happy– He shakes his head. Liù’ěr is the whole reason he’s doing this. To profess his undying love for his best friend.

So, swallowing his pride, Wùkōng finds himself at a door he’s familiar with. Although, this time, he’s not here to deliver a noise complaint. Liu answers after the third knock, eyebrow cocked like she knows why her king is visiting her shared bedroom in the middle of the day.

“Who sent you this time?”

He coughs. “Actually, I’m here for a favor.”

Her gaze remains the same but he can see her tail sweeping low behind her, curiosity piqued. “Oh? My king needs something from his dutiful, loyal, most cunning–”

Wùkōng interrupts her. “Isn’t Marshal Ma here?” The back of his neck burns from the prospective embarrassment he can see Liu geering up to deliver.

“Nope,” she tells him, a smug grin on her face. “Just me. Take it or leave it.”

“Can we at least talk inside?”

The marshals and generals are situated in a hall further down than the soldiers’ quarters, a highly trafficked area. Liu huffs a near-silent laugh before dipping inside. Wùkōng follows after her, shutting the door behind them. She’s already taken a seat at the small low-lying table. Her hands work to light a pipe and she tips her head to the window. “Open that up, yeah? I don’t have any wine to get me through whatever nonsense you’ve brought to me.”

“I was hoping to talk to your wife,” Wùkōng mutters, but does as he’s told anyway.

“Yeah, well, she’s too nice for her own good.” Two columns of smoke escape from her nostrils with practiced ease. “You need a cudgel’s delicacy to see reason. I can deliver. Now, tell auntie Liu what’s wrong,” she coos the last sentence, saccharine like a doting mother. The tone is cut easily by the smoke from her pipe.

Wùkōng swipes at the air in front of his face. “I want to write a play.”

“Never took you for a poet.”

“That’s why I wanted Ma’s help.”

Liu took another drag. “Tough. Got me. What’s the genre?”

He opened his mouth only to draw a blank. “I don’t know.”

“Plot?” He shakes his head. “Do you even know your characters?”

Wùkōng groans, rising from his seat. “This is pointless. I’ll find someone who can actually help me–”

“Sit down,” Liu orders, her no-nonsense tone striking youthful fear in his stone heart. He drops like a pebble in water. “Now, you’re not gonna get anywhere if you don’t figure these things out first. Plot, setting, characters, themes; this is all stuff you need to know to get started.” Wùkōng watches dumbfounded as the marshal yanks a strand of hair from his head. “Blank scroll.” He grasps the hair and summons it. When he tries to offer it to her, she pushes it to the table. “The reason you’re writing this thing, it’ll influence your creation process, right? You wanna tell a story that delivers your message. Is it entertaining, tear-jerking, a comedy–” She pauses to glare at him, her pipe tapping against the scroll. “Are you writing this down?”

Wùkōng scrambles to summon something to jot the notes onto the paper. Liu barely takes breaths as she continues to give him rapid-fire information, suggesting books from his library as research. He doesn’t realize how long they’ve been trapped in the haze of the marshals’ bedroom until the door opens and Ma coughs.

“Damn woman,” she curses through her fit. “Have you been smoking since I left?”

Liu offers a sheepish smile, easily cowed by her wife. The pipe is extinguished and set aside. “Forgive me, my love. I was advising our king on social affairs. You understand.”

Wùkōng huffs at being spoken about like a child. Ma looks at him then, her scrutinizing gaze piercing straight through him. She spots his scroll, the barest bones of a draft visible. “Never took you for a poet.” Her hands barely glance the words before she coos, “A romance? My king–”

He rolls the paper up quickly, tucking it in his hanfu to make a hasty escape. His bright red cheeks become the subject of the marshals’ amusement so he slams the door behind him to cut off their laughter. Enough of that. He can figure it out from here.

Wùkōng works on the play whenever he gets the chance. He finds solace in the library often enough that the scribe he appointed there stops being surprised whenever he bustles in with an armful of scrolls. It takes him a while to figure it out on his own, pacing the furthest corners of the library as he mutters the lines to himself, but he refuses to bother Liu or Ma again despite their insistence that he can stop by anytime. Their wide smiles and flared nostrils are not the welcoming visage he wants and he is plenty aware of the teasing those two can dish when together. Especially at his expense.

He finishes it late one night. Or, at least, he decides he’s finished with it before passing out at his usual table. He awakens at dawn with the startling realization that he’s not in his nest. It’s disorientating to leave the library with the sun barely on the horizon. The path to Shuilian Cave is a winding one. He stumbles along it, stopping at a river to wash up in the hopes that the cold water will wake him up enough to continue. He only stops by his hut to drop off the latest copy of the play before he goes about his kingly duties.

It’s as he’s walking the shoreline that he spots him. Liù’ěr. The one he’s been waiting for. Suddenly, all the exhaustion that still clings to him slips away like a river over stone. The moment he sees his best friend, it’s on sight. He runs at the other simian, jumping to hug him. It turns out to be more like a tackle since it causes Liù’ěr to lose balance and fall. Wùkōng doesn’t let this deter him. He hasn’t seen his companion in almost a month! It’s been torture. He tells Liù’ěr as much.

“You’re ridiculous.” It should be an insult but Liù’ěr says it with such fondness, a quiet laugh leaving him. It sounds like, “I missed you too.”

Wùkōng gets off of Liù’ěr and pulls his friend to stand. They continue along the path as if they’d been walking together this entire time. Liù’ěr tells the king about the shadowplays he saw on his visit. How he wants to add them to his rotation. A couple subjects stop them on their trek to greet the playmaster, excitedly inquiring about his trip and how he was. Wùkōng cuts in to assure them that Liù’ěr will tell them all about his time away at dinner to which they concede. As the two continue their walk, Liù’ěr chuckles, shooting Wùkōng a look that makes his cheeks burn.

Once they arrive at Shuilian Cave, the conversation peters out as Wùkōng takes his companion’s hand in his. The hut is in disarray when they get there and Wùkōng is quick to fly around on his nimbus to set everything straight. Even going so far as to set Liù’ěr on the couch. The macaque stares at him, both amused and dumbfounded to which he offers a smile. Behind his back, he holds the scroll he worked on last night. He coughs into his free hand. “So, I have a gift for you.” Liù’ěr watches him curiously as he shows the rolled up script. “I wrote you a play,” he says, beaming.

Liù’ěr shakes his head in disbelief. “What has gotten into you?” A fond smile brightens his features. It reminds Wùkōng of the mooncakes Liù’ěr had made a year ago to enjoy during a festival commonly celebrated in the Mortal Realm. A sweet taste coats his tongue at the same time that his mouth goes dry.

A timid laugh leaves him like a punch to the gut. He tries to play it off by smiling and turns his attention to the script. Huh. His vision blurs when he tries to read the words on the paper. He glances back at Liù’ěr who’s leaning forward on the couch, expression open and curious and–

There’s a pit growing in the center of Wùkōng’s chest. It weighs heavily on him, threatening to take him down. His palms begin to perspire. They risk his script’s integrity so he tightens his grip on it to keep it from slipping. “Uh,” he squeaks out. Liù’ěr’s gaze remains unwavering on him. The pit transforms into a burning warmth. His pulse quickens. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Wùkōng?” Liù’ěr stands, moving toward his friend with a knowing smile on his face. “Have stage fright, bud?” He places his hand on Wùkōng’s back, rubbing circles as if to soothe him. “It’s alright. I get it.”

Their gazes meet, Liù’ěr’s tender expression filling Wùkōng’s vision. It makes his head swim. He might actually be sick. His palms are so sweaty it’s disgusting, his ribcage feels as if it’s threatening to crack open from how his heart hammers against it, and he’s overwhelmingly warm. He tries to say something to warn Liù’ěr to stay back but his breath catches in his throat at the patient tilt of Liù’ěr’s eyebrows, the steady hand pressed against the small of his back, how all he can think about is Liù’ěr, Liù’ěr, Liù’ěr–

Oh.

Oh.

Wùkōng is in love with Liù’ěr.

It isn’t just a deep-seated affection he has for his best friend, willing to stay with him through anything. He wants to doze under their tree on the beach, watch the stars at night, cuddle close together on the nest he made–theirs. The true meaning behind that statement finally hits him like the weight of a mountain to his poor thundering heart. He pulls away from his best friend. “Never mind,” he shouts. His volume control is compromised and Liù’ěr flinches, putting enough space between them. Wùkōng feels like he can breathe again. “I,” he tries again, quieter this time. “The play sucks. I shouldn’t– You shouldn’t–”

“I’m sure it’s perfectly fine, Wùkōng,” Liù’ěr says. “Here, I can read it.” He manages to grab the scroll from Wùkōng’s weak grip before he can protest. “There once was a Hero and a Warrior,” he starts, using the voice he reserves for when he’s performing.

If there’s any time for the Jade Emperor to smite Wùkōng, it’s now. His face is on fire. “Wait! Bud, seriously don’t–”

Liù’ěr ignores him. “The Hero lived as a king on Earth, devoted to his subjects, but he grew lonely. Until one day when a being from the celestial realms descended from the heavens–the Warrior.” He looks up at Wùkōng and, if he wasn’t such an amazing actor, he might’ve commented on the word choice.

Wùkōng decides at that moment that his best friend cannot read the rest of the script. No. Matter. What. “Liù’ěr, stop.” He tries to grab the papers out of the other’s hands but Liù’ěr grins in a teasing way that only makes an appearance when they wrestle. Desperate, Wùkōng leaps at him. Liù’ěr dodges it, totally in his element. When he starts a performance, he sure as hell is going to finish it.

He walks through their house, pace swiftly changing to a sprint the second he hears Wùkōng running behind him. They end up in Wùkōng’s bedroom–Liù’ěr stopped using the guest room offered to him years ago–and Liù’ěr shapeshifts himself taller to put some space between them so he can read, “As time passed, the Hero and the Warrior grew inseparable. They were like the sun and the moon, one could not exist without the other.”

Wùkōng jumps to tackle Liù’ěr, hoping that the simian will drop the damned script but he remains steadfast. They fall to the ground. Wùkōng sits atop him, swiping at the scroll with a much more urgent desperation. He doesn’t have much time–

“It was then that the Hero knew he couldn’t simply continue as he was. To the Warrior, he swore his life, his–”

Liù’ěr stills beneath him. It’s the chance Wùkōng needs to snatch the script away, sitting back as he presses it to his chest. He prays to a thousand deities he never bothered to learn the names of that Liù’ěr didn’t finish reading. One glance at his face, however, proves Wùkōng’s fears.

Despite this feeling like it’s some kind of cosmically cataclysmic event, Wùkōng can’t help but look at Liù’ěr, eyes wide and shining with an emotion he’s unable to name. It’s like Liù’ěr is just now seeing him for the first time–really sees him–his mouth parted before the words tumble out of him breathless. “–his love.” Wùkōng looks away. “Always.”

Chapter Text

It isn’t like lifting a mountain when Liù’ěr awakens to find Wùkōng resting atop him, body heavy with sleep, but it might as well be. Sūn Wùkōng isn’t a stone monkey simply because of his unconventional birth; he weighs as much as the pillars lining the south wing of the palace, if not more than them. Thankfully, Liù’ěr has the strength–both physical and mental–to release himself from his best friend’s grip. That doesn’t mean it’s an easy feat whatsoever.

The Monkey King has the might of a celestial army and the petulant whines that escape him can disarm any creature. A kiss has to be pressed to his forehead to cease his muttered curses, his arms grasping at the numerous furs he had built his nest with long before Liù’ěr even knew of his existence. A sigh escapes the puppeteer’s lips as his companion continues to sleep, silently begging for Liù’ěr to join.

However, there are things to be done so he leaves the small room. A shadow portal easily transports his clothes in the blink of an eye. All that’s left is himself. Yet Liù’ěr can’t help but falter. Six glamoured ears flick and flutter to the same rhythm as a steady heartbeat, a sound he can find amidst chaos itself.

Even now, it beckons him. Return, it coos, sweet as the peaches offered to him at every meal, stay and rest. His sister would surely poke fun at the weaknesses he’s garnered, softening his belly and making for an easier kill. He groans but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips hardly reflects any presumed agitation.

All the ingredients he needs appear through several portals as he sets about making breakfast. The process is second nature to him by now after spending so long in Wùkōng’s company. Fire eats away at the tinder Liù’ěr sets beneath the stoneware, heating the large bowl slowly as he moves the vegetables inside. With the flick of his wrist, he mimics what he’d been taught before he ventured to find the reclusive Monkey King. His eyes only dart to his cookbook out of habit. He’s already memorized the contents. All he can improve on is his technique. Setting the plate on the small table, he traces a sigil along the rim. It won’t last but hopefully it will be enough to keep the food warm for the king’s awakening.

There’s nothing left for him to do here. No subjects to greet or marshals guiding him or generals instructing him. Liù’ěr is a guest. One whose stay has been extended far past its due date. The truth stings at his heart, tender from the king’s care, but he knew why he came all those years ago. An overeager puppet master seeking fresh and interesting ideas for his shadow plays and a gracious king who offered a place beside him, a perfectly reasonable price to pay for all the fascinating stories in his repertoire.

Except Sūn Wùkōng hasn’t left Flower Fruit Mountain in quite some time. His charm has been replaced by a fumbling cautiousness that endears him to Liù’ěr. But he’s traveled the world with a motto that keeps his plays in high regard. “As soon as it’s boring, leave.” A cruel notion yet, to an aspiring thespian, it’s crucial to his success.

Shadows coalesce in front of him, near-silent murmurs beckoning him forward as they always do. They know where he belongs. He walks through the portal without hesitation. He’s going home.

Old wood creaks beneath his feet as Liù’ěr steps onto the landing. It’s clear that no one has entered the temple through this way since he left. For good reason, too. He knows the main entrance boasts a grand staircase of marble curving around a delicate silver fountain. At night, the moon reflects its light off the rippling surface and it lights up the roof tiles like shimmering fish scales. Right now, though, without either the sun or the moon to set the temple alight, it appears like a cold, lonely speck of white amidst the forest surrounding the structure.

A small wooden door is tucked away where Liù’ěr sits and waits. His ears, hidden beneath countless layers of glamours, flick at the sound of servants bustling about. They’re scrambling like ants about to go under foot. It makes him chuckle. Slipping through the cracks, he travels through the shadows writhing in excitement at his return. Once he finds what he’s searching for, he pulls himself out and takes a look at his chambers.

It’s just the same as how he left it. Even the general housekeeping like dusting the surfaces and changing the sheets. The canopy bed takes up the majority of the room, small as it is, tucked in the corner to make space for the tomes, scrolls, and tablets he’s collected on his travels. His clothes sit in the wardrobe alongside his temple robes. Wùkōng gave him plenty of hanfu to wear while staying on the island. Light, flowing garments that the king sewed expertly.

Liù’ěr pushes them aside the moment he opens the wooden doors. He strips, tossing them in a basket for the servants to launder. It’s been years since he hasn’t had to worry about washing his own clothes and he’s delighted to spare his hands the labor. The colors of the temple were cool, various greens, blues, pinks, and purples speckled with silver notes. They fit tighter across the breadth of his shoulders and around the small of his waist but it’s nothing he can’t fix by tying the knots looser. It reveals more skin than he’s accustomed to, though he isn’t too worried.

A low-lying dresser contains all the accessories in his collection. Jade bangles, numerous chāi made of silver, wood, mother-of-pearl, long necklaces dotted with countless gemstones, nail sheaths that extended past even his long claws, and too many rings to count. Liù’ěr hadn’t bothered bringing them the last time he left for Flower Fruit Mountain and he can’t help but wonder what Wùkōng would think if he had worn any during his stay. His shadows place everything on him as he walks over to his mirror.

When he looks at his reflection, it isn’t Liù’ěr Míhóu who greets him. No, Yuè Gǒnglì, docile maiden who hears all, looks back at him with her curious gaze and painted face. She’s finally filling out her hanfu like the temple’s seamstress intended centuries ago. Smiling feels odd on her lips, cracking her skin and unsettling her even further, so she settles for a neutral expression. It suits her. Aloof, distant, untouchable.

Yuè leaves her chambers, knowing she’ll arrive just in time for breakfast to be set. It feels like not a day has passed since she’s left. This is her home and it welcomes her back in its unwavering embrace.

The children of the wind gather in a line decided by the length of their apprenticeship so, despite being the first there, Yuè lands a spot in the middle. A young boy stands behind him, cowering and weak. She tries a smile to ease his fear but it startles the child and he drops his gaze immediately. In front of her, the line is ushered into the dining room where their mistress already sits, head held high. Sunlight bleeding in through the open screen doors glint off her silver sheaths. It makes her fingertips appear ablaze.

With everyone at their seats, Yuè feels all eyes on her. She remains unaffected, waiting to be addressed. The silence eats away at the young boy that stood behind her. She can hear his teeth rattling inside his closed mouth. Fine silver dances delicately across the wooden table, a quiet melody that most resembles a snake coiling before a strike.

“Gǒnglì,” the mistress calls, “come here.”

Yuè doesn’t make the lady wait long. She knows better than that. Even after all these years apart, she can fall back into place like the perfect porcelain doll. Her knees ache from the hard floor against her skin.

“You’ve been gone for quite some time, Gǒnglì.”

“Yes, Madame.” The puppeteer dips her head low, forehead pressed to the ground.

“Will you be leaving again?”

For a moment, Yuè swears she can smell the sweetness of fresh fruit in the air, salt on the breeze, damp earth centering her focus, but it’s gone just as fast. She blinks, swallowing past an odd lump in her throat. “No, Madame.” There’s no waver in her voice. She appears as self-assured as the woman who taught her.

“Good,” Fēng Pópo says. Short, simple, absolute. “Get up, Gǒnglì.” And, like an obedient student, Yuè rises to her feet. The mistress smiles, the barest hint of dull teeth. “You’ll have to show us the plays you’ve written up.”

Once again, Yuè nods. “Of course, Madame. Though, they’re best performed at night.”

The lady of the house turns to her breakfast. “Dinner with a show. How exciting.” She doesn’t bother looking at Yuè when she tells her, “You may be seated.”

Yuè walks back to her seat. Not too fast. Not too slow. She keeps her head at an even level, hands clasped together in front. Perfect. In her chair, she’s across from her sister who looks at her, brow furrowed but no one says anything. Nothing really has changed.

Yuè’s first day back at the wind temple isn’t odd or out of place. It’s just as she remembers it being. They train with the mistress in the courtyard. A guest comes by around noon and he’s invited to lunch. He’s sent off after and Yuè is called to Fēng Pópo’s chambers to tell her everything about their visitor. By then, it’s time for dinner. Her shadow plays are a hit as always. Even the mistress seems impressed by what she’s learned while away.

It wasn’t a waste after all, she nearly hears Fēng Pópo think.

When it finally comes time to bathe for the night, Yuè is exhausted. She slumps in the lukewarm water, back against the porcelain tub. It’s difficult to imagine a time when she fit in the basin without curling in on herself, but there had to be because she remembers arriving at the temple as a cub, small and insignificant. She sighs. The water has gone unpleasantly cool. Dragging herself out, she moves to dry herself. An odd figure in the corner startles her.

Minutes pass before she realizes it’s her. White fur clings to her flesh as droplets roll down to join the puddle at her feet. Six ears flare out, dull and still, and Yuè can’t quite recognize herself. Putting on her robe in a rush, she leaves the door wide open for the next person. Then she falls through a portal to land face-first on her bed.

“That’s a bad habit to start.”

The familiar voice of her sister doesn’t even startle her. She just groans. “Jiějie–”

“We didn’t think you were coming back, you know.”

That confuses Yuè. She pushes herself to sit up, turning to look at Gōngzhǔ who sits on the floor next to her bed. “What do you mean? Of course I was coming back.”

Gōngzhǔ hums, clearly unconvinced. “Madame was planning to skin that bastard alive. She had an entire plan,” her sister says without flinching.

“Bastard?” Yuè murmurs, afraid of speaking too loud at the moment.

The maiden moves to join her on the bed. Beady, black eyes stare straight into her soul as Gōngzhǔ smiles wide. “The Monkey King. Oh, Madame was cursing his name. We all knew you were getting your stories from him but when you didn’t return, she was convinced he made you his consort.”

“His… consort?” The words taste weird in Yuè’s mouth. Then, laughter bubbles forth, an ugly sound she can’t possibly stop even as she slaps her hands against her lips. “Oh, Jiějie! Don’t be ridiculous!”

Her giggles do little to deter her sister from prodding further. “Me? What about you? You spend how long on an island paradise, away from your home, only visiting for days at a time, and we’re supposed to believe there was nothing going on between you two? Be so real right now.” Yuè finally settles, catching her breath with a hand on her stomach. That’s a major mistake, though, because just that is enough to give Gōngzhǔ a curious spark in her eye. “No,” she gasps.

Yuè follows her sister’s gaze and feels her heart skip a beat. “No!” She lunges at Gōngzhǔ to silence the absurd conspiracies being twisted into existence. “Absolutely not!”

“But–!”

“But nothing!” She sits atop her sister to hold the damn woman down. “I was his guest. Very cordial, very hands-above-the-table–”

“So there were hands–”

“You’re the worst,” Yuè tells Gōngzhǔ without a hint of remorse. Not that that bothers her sister at all. She falls back onto the bed, the softness distinctly different compared to the nest Wùkōng invited her into time and time again. Her arms wrap around her middle to mimic his warm embrace, the feeling of his chest pressed to her back, heart to heart.

Gōngzhǔ catches her gaze, a smug look on her sister’s face. “You’ve started filling out your figure–”

The pillow Yuè uses to smother Gōngzhǔ muffles her laughter but it’s heard all the same by six ears glowing a deep red.

Fēng Pópo doesn’t travel by herself, always flanked by at least two servants or her students, but today she tells Yuè that they will be going to the Celestial Jade Palace alone. Of course, the playmaster doesn’t argue over this. She’s settled back into her role at the temple with the same ease as hopping on stones across a river. They travel in silence, gliding on the winds as wisps of gossip slip through the gales.

An official is there to greet them once they arrive at the palace. He greets Fēng Pópo politely, dipping to bow which she mirrors. Yuè follows suit, keeping her gaze lowered as they begin to talk. She is to perform a play for the Jade Emperor and his imperial court who’ve heard great things about her shows. Pride blooms in her chest like a flower, rising to the challenge they’ve given her in unspoken terms.

Prove yourself.

And she will. She always has. The number of shadow plays she’s put on can’t be counted–she’s performed for as long as she knew of its practice. The audience will not shake her like she knows the officials are banking on, hungry as a pack of hounds ready to descend upon anyone who enters the den of their master.

Her mistress leaves her to wander the gardens while the court official whisks Fēng Pópo away for whatever business celestials get up to. Yuè can’t be bothered to care. She is too busy thinking of the many plays to choose from. The written versions are all in her bedroom still, the true intention of their trip hidden from her, so she has to choose one she can remember while still being impressive for the emperor.

The heavenly garden soothes her as she goes through her mental catalogue. Trees line the swirling path, providing delightful shade for Yuè. Flowers in bloom fill the air with their sweet scent while the breeze carries a beautiful melody. It reminds her of–

“Excuse me,” someone calls from beside her. Yuè’s eyes snap open–when had they fallen shut?–and she meets the curious gaze of a young man. Blood rushes to her cheeks at the realization that she was caught daydreaming. His handsome face twists in amusement. “Are you well?”

She clears her throat as silently as she can. When she finds herself calm enough to speak, she says, “Yes. Thank you, sir,” and bows with the proper respect to be given a celestial lounging in the Jade Palace of all places.

However, that response makes the man laugh in surprise. “Please, don’t call me ‘sir’. I’m too young for that.”

Her nose twitches in disbelief. “It’s difficult to believe anyone in this place can be considered young,” she murmurs, unable to help herself.

Thankfully, she doesn’t offend the man. He chuckles, a pleasant sound amidst the buzzing of summer insects. “When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right.” His hands come up to undo the ties of his hèchǎng. He pulls it off in a smooth movement before setting it on the ground beside him as he pats the fabric. “Come sit.”

Not one to test her luck in angering a celestial, Yuè moves to kneel beside him. In his lap rests a dízi, the bamboo stained a dark color. “Were you the one playing?” she asks politely.

“I was,” the man tells her, lips curling in a smile, “though I must admit I’m not very good at it.”

Yuè goes to argue that he was wrong but she freezes, all the fur on her body standing on end even before the growl rang clear. Out of the corner of her vision, a hound bares its fangs at her. Drool drips from its maw as the growl grows louder at the same pace as her quickening heartbeat.

A sharp note cuts through the tension like a blade. The hound’s ears flatten to its head much the same as Yuè’s. It dips its snout to the ground then slowly lowers itself. Beside her, the man sighs. “Please, forgive the beast.” He looks at her with that same calm smile though it does little to disarm her now. “Would you like me to play you a song?”

Quite shaken still, all she can do is nod along. He brings the dízi to his lips. The melody he strings together is bright and hopeful, one she feels like she could recognize any other time. To her benefit, it soothes her poor heart. She rests against the tree as her eyes slip shut so she can listen to his song. Six ears hidden beneath glamours flick and flutter only for the music to pause. Yuè opens her eyes, ready to question why the man stopped, but she goes still upon seeing his gaze drawn to the right side of her face. Her palms rush to cover the six lotus petal ears out of instinct. She knows her glamours will hold yet she can’t shake how intensely the man watches her.

“I never caught your name,” he says, words leaving him slowly.

It’s all the warning she needs to drop her hands to her lap, glamours reinforced. “Yuè Gǒnglì, studying under Madame Fēng Pópo.” She bows her head. “Although, I could say the same to you.”

The man looks between her ears–two of them, the others were hidden well–and her eyes before his expression returns to its general pleasantness. “Yáng Jiān.” He returns her bow, a certain mirth in his gaze. His lips part as if to say something else–

“Gǒnglì,” Fēng Pópo hisses, her voice a welcome escape as Yuè rushes to stand. The lady stands a bit away on the path, eyes wide with an emotion her students are familiar seeing. She is furious. “Forgive this indiscretion,” she tells Yáng, bowing low. “The girl, she doesn’t know–”

He raises his hand in a simple gesture. “At ease, Madame Wind. The lady was polite.” Rising to his feet, he grabs his dízi, attaches it to the sash around his waist, and puts on his now stained hèchǎng. “A pleasure,” he tells Yuè. He bows to the two women then turns to leave. A tune is whistled into the air as he walks the path, a sharper note calling the dog to his side. It sounds perfectly in place with the rest of the melody.

There isn’t much time for an argument after Yáng’s departure. Fēng Pópo had come to bring Yuè to her stage for the evening so all she could do was take the puppeteer by the wrist but there was no reprimanding. No, that would come later.

Still, Yuè tries not to focus on that when she has a play to perform. She shuts the doors for privacy and the mistress remains outside so no one can eavesdrop. Running through her options, she finds her confidence in an adventure. The story recounts a mischievous demon who refuses to be tied down. She gets into it, conjuring her shadows for visual aid.

It’s perfect; a fun story with some comedy that should hopefully loosen the collars of the court officials if the wine Fēng Pópo brought doesn’t. She has no time to wonder if this play is the best for her audience or if perhaps one of the scrolls in her bedroom held a more appropriate story. Six glamoured ears flick, signalling the end of dinner.

It’s showtime.

They come down the halls in their court attire, cheeks red from ample drink, demeanors much more pleasant than Yuè knows court officials to be. The seats fill up quickly once the Jade Emperor reclines gracefully surrounded by the bumbling idiots who he employs. His gaze remains forward where Yuè stands, figure shrouded in a dark ensemble meant to obscure her features for the best illusions. She waits until everyone grows silent, drunken giggles hurriedly muffled under their sleeves.

“Welcome, esteemed viewers, to a shadow play the likes of which you’ve never seen,” Yuè tells them. Her voice carries through the room without issue. “It follows the tale of an impetuous chimp and how perseverance can create the most unlikely heroes.”

Lights flood the stage the moment after her shadows form the puppets. Her words hold her audience in place as she strings her story along, accented perfectly by each figure she creates. Sure enough, as she imagined, the court officials find the performance delightful. Their eyes glimmer with joy and laughter after each blunder and subsequent success of the monkey. However, the Jade Emperor remains unphased. His face reveals no emotions, positive or negative, so Yuè ignores him in favor of continuing her play.

It ends with a joke, just as the story began, which causes her audience to leap out of their seats. Their applause is deafening. The only thing saving Yuè are the seals she placed upon her ears earlier but the standing ovation is accepted with grace, a deep bow directed toward people she will never see again. The officials leave the room while talking animatedly to the person beside them, leaving only Fēng Pópo, the Jade Emperor, and–

“Absolutely wonderful!” Yáng tells her as he leaves his seat. She startles at the sight of him, not having noticed him before. “I must say, the rumors are true; you are good.” A throat is cleared, a sign to silence oneself, and Yáng stands up straight, turning to bow to the Jade Emperor. “Forgive me, your Celestial Majesty.”

The looming figure of the emperor does not wilt nor does he rush to let the young man stand straight. Instead, he watches Yuè with curious eyes not unlike how Yáng stared at her in the gardens. “Tell me,” his voice shatters through her seals like a door waiting to be opened, pressing unbearable pressure on her head, “who are you?” His fingers tap against the armrest, a subdued rhythm but even that is enough to feel like a thunderstorm. “Not many make it into the Celestial Jade Palace without first offering all they have so who, pray tell, are you really?”

Yuè has never been one to argue back, especially not against someone who holds more authority on his tongue than she has ever had in her entire life. She drops low to the floor in a groveling bow. The wood creaks beneath her weight as her forehead touches the stage. “Oh, your Celestial Majesty, I am but a humble apprentice to the great Madame Fēng Pópo: Yuè Gǒnglì.”

Whether that is the correct answer to give, she doesn’t know. There isn’t much time to wait and see because Yáng speaks up in a voice that must only be for the Jade Emperor to hear, it’s so silent. “Uncle, have mercy.”

“Mercy,” the emperor murmurs as if testing the word and its weight. “Rise, both of you.” Yuè and Yáng follow the order swiftly, gazes still trained on their feet. Tap, tap. “Yuè Gǒnglì…” His palm rests on the chair, every bit as imposing regardless of his relaxed posture. “I will grant you this mercy.” He turns his stern gaze on Yáng and it's difficult to tell if his frown is aimed at the young man or at Yuè. “Take her to one of our finest rooms. Madame Wind and I must speak in private.”

Despite her better judgment, Yuè follows after Yáng. Perhaps she’s still shaken from the Jade Emperor’s attention or maybe her mind has chosen to ignore all that she’s witnessed today. Although, in truth, she knows the answer. There’s no denying how the weight of all she can hear is affecting her ability to think, make conscious decisions, and listen. Six ears flare beneath glamours as the endless noise of the Celestial Jade Palace bombards her heightened sense. She barely stops when Yáng does, hand reaching out to brace herself on his back.

He looks down at where she’s touched him, expression unreadable yet he doesn’t move to push her away. Instead, his gaze falls on her. “Do you believe in fate?” His voice comes out low, quiet as a whisper, almost completely lost amidst the cacophony.

Still, she catches it. “I don’t,” Yuè mutters. Bitterness turns her tone into something unpleasant but her guide does little to show his ire if he has any.

“Neither do I.” He opens the door to the room and enters. With nothing else to do, she follows. The way they came in slams shut behind her, making her jump and whirl around only to find a blank wall in its place. When she looks at Yáng, he’s frowning, deep in thought. “But my uncle does.”

Her palms go cold as her throat constricts. There’s a lump forming there she can’t get down. “Sir, let me leave.” Yuè’s heartbeat thunders inside her chest, pulse pounding in her ears. “Please.”

Yáng says nothing. He sits down on the bed and it dips beneath his weight. His hands clasped together make him look like he’s praying. As if there’s a deity that can save them here. “I won’t harm you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yuè hisses. Her fur stands on end at her unease. “I don’t trust you.”

Yáng’s eyes open, black as coals long after their flame’s been snuffed, gaze on her. “You don’t need to.” He stands once more and takes a step toward her. “My uncle told me what awaits you. It’s,” he pauses to inhale shakily, “horrid. He’s seen it before, your future, but it doesn’t have to play out that way.” Yuè stares at his offered hand like a cat waiting to bite. “The palace is beautiful in the winter under blankets of snow. It falls like gemstones glittering in the clouds. You could learn to adore it–” Yáng reaches too close and her fangs bare themselves. Yet his focus falls not on them. No, her ears. His expression falters for a moment. Then he steels himself. “I can save you. Just say yes.”

“To what?”

“My proposal.”

The silence between them is deafening. All at once, she can only focus on their breathing; how calm his is and how erratic hers is becoming. She’s gasping for air like she’s been buried deep beneath the earth, left to fester, to rot, and be forgotten. Lost to time. And all she feels is pain. Her heart seizes where it had just thumped to the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. Finally, Yuè’s legs fail her, crumbling under her weight as she stares at the man still offering his hand.

“It won’t be so terrible,” Yáng tells her, though his voice sounds far away. Muffled. “The gardens bloom beautifully in summer. Your face while you were passing through– Why, I can only imagine how you’ll react with them at their peak. All the flowers blossom and there are even some that open up at night.” He kneels in front of her, a gentle smile adorning his lips. “I heard you enjoy stone fruit as well. My uncle… He doesn’t share them with just anyone but I’m sure I could convince him to gift us an immortal peach.”

That seems to be enough to awaken her mind, thoughts firing off at a sudden breakneck speed. She looks at him, watches him like prey, wide-eyed and afraid. “You would keep me here,” she murmurs in disbelief, “trapped as a beast.”

He cups the right side of her face with a gentleness that betrays nothing. Her skin burns where his thumb glides across her cheek. “There are worse things to be.”

A doorknob turns, metal clicking together before Fēng Pópo enters the room. She seems flustered, her expression sour as her gaze falls on the two of them. Still, she bows low. “I didn’t realize you would still be with the girl.” From where Yuè sits, she can’t see the woman’s face. Regardless, she knows her mistress, knows the fury burning inside as she bites her tongue.

Not that any of that matters to Yáng who stands, unbothered. His pleasant smile feels like an omen, a vulture waiting to feast, as he addresses them. “Just to talk, I assure you, Madame Wind.” Then, just to Yuè, “I trust you will think this over.”

The two women are left alone after that. A few moments pass without a word, as if they’re holding their breath. Fēng Pópo, for once, isn’t quick to collect herself. She rises from her bow, face set stern and immovable yet her palms tremble each time she smooths down her qún. That does little to soothe Yuè who feels delirious from the past few hours.

So she asks, “You won’t let them keep me here, will you?” It’s more akin to begging, actually, except her pride stings even at the mere thought of admitting it. Fēng Pópo remains quiet. “Will you?”

The mistress sighs. It might as well signal the world’s end. “One doesn’t exactly say ‘no’ to the Jade Emperor.”

“You can,” Yuè insists. She’s only ever known her mentor as someone strong, unshakeable, but, right now, she might as well be looking in a mirror. “Madame–”

“It will be a simple life, Gǒnglì,” Fēng Pópo says, tone eerily calm, almost hollow. “Perhaps after the first year, they’ll even allow you to visit us. One can only hope.”

The way her mistress dismisses her fight, it’s as if she’s already been signed away to be wed. Yuè Gǒnglì has spent the better part of her life under this woman’s care, always on the move even at a young age. It’s difficult to recall a time where she willingly stayed in one place for longer than a few months. Well, except–

“I don’t want to marry him,” Yuè whispers, breathless from her sudden realization. “I can’t. I– I refuse.”

“Oh, Gǒnglì, don’t be ridiculous.” Fēng Pópo rubs at the crease in her brow. Her shoulders slope like she’s far too tired to stand upright. “It’s been decided–”

“I don’t believe in fate!” She scrambles to her feet. Suddenly, her body is brimming with energy. Yuè wants to run a mile or one hundred or however many it takes to get to… She shakes her head. “Go back to the temple, Madame.” It’s the most disrespectful she’s ever spoken to Fēng Pópo but there’s no way she can stop now. Not when she feels her muscles ache to return someplace familiar. “I have to leave.”

Of course, it’s not that easy. Fēng Pópo grabs her by the wrist, silver digging into thin skin. “Where do you think you’re going?” Her dull teeth peeking out from beneath painted lips should strike fear in Yuè.

Except the puppeteer knows there’s nothing that frightens her more than the prospect of staying in this gilded cage. Any longer and its door will shut with her inside. She can’t allow that. Not when he’s been waiting.

“I’m going home.”

Flower Fruit Mountain is exactly how Yuè left it; bright and gorgeous and teeming with life. The early morning sunlight warms him from the inside out. There isn’t much to greet him when he arrives but he prefers it that way. Even with most of the island asleep, it’s difficult for him to tune out the cacophony filling his ears.

So Liù’ěr walks along the beach as he focuses his hearing on a familiar heartbeat. He finds it in the library of all places. A surprise, honestly. His ears follow the sound, sweet and comforting, while it awakens, quickens with consciousness, and moves along the island’s many paths.

It’s not even a surprise when that steady beat falters in its rhythm, pauses for a moment, then restarts with a new vigor as Wùkōng tackles Liù’ěr to the fine sand. The weight of a stone monkey is enough to kill a normal being, even an immortal one, but the playmaster isn’t just anyone so he loses his breath from his companion landing atop him.

“Liù’ěr!” Wùkōng shouts. Well, as much as he can while keeping his volume down–he’s always been conscious of that. “Haven’t seen you in a month, bud. It’s been torture.”

And Liù’ěr opens his eyes. For a second time, Wùkōng steals his breath away. The king’s head is backlit by the sun beaming bright, casting a halo around him like a heavenly creature. Captivating as always, the great Monkey King does not disappoint. How could Liù’ěr ever get bored of him?

“You’re ridiculous,” he tells the other simian, tone fond after the time they’ve spent apart. It might sound silly, but he missed Wùkōng’s voice. When he left, it was under the cover of darkness, before the morning sun could awaken the king. He hadn’t heard it then and it’s only now that Liù’ěr is struck by the familiarity of it. How it fills his ears like the most pleasant music, joyful and sweet. Happy.

Wùkōng is quick to bring them both to their feet. They fall back into place, walking along the same path as if they had been together this entire time. The king asks Liù’ěr about his trip and he tells his companion what he wishes to remember.

A few yāo guài stop them on their trek to greet him, excitedly inquiring about his trip and how he was. Wùkōng cuts in, says something that Liù’ěr doesn’t bother catching because the way the king fights to keep his attention, all his focus, is fascinating. Despite the time they’ve spent apart, Wùkōng still wants him. He looks at his companion, a chuckle floating on the wind. Blood rushes to Wùkōng’s cheeks for some reason. It endears him.

Conversation naturally trails off once they pass the waterfall. Liù’ěr hears that steady heartbeat stutter before his hand is taken. His companion leads him inside the hut he’s been invited into time and time again. Another sight he’s missed, down to the mess they’ve cleaned together more often than a king should be proud to admit. Perhaps Wùkōng has finally learned shame because he’s quick to fly around on his somersault cloud, picking up after himself.

Liù’ěr watches on in amusement until the king places him on the couch. A smile graces the other’s features as Wùkōng coughs into his fist, his other hand hidden behind his back, and Liù’ěr can’t help but be a bit confused. Then his companion tells him, “So, I have a gift for you.” Wùkōng pulls out a scroll, cheeks dusted with pink. “I wrote you a play.”

His face is bright, beaming like the midday sun. Wùkōng has never been known to have the patience for the performing arts despite how many times Liù’ěr has complimented his storytelling abilities. He can captivate a crowd with tales of his journeys. To think that he had written a play just to perform it for Liù’ěr…

“What has gotten into you?” Liù’ěr asks as he shakes his head, unable to believe it. He can’t help the smile that overtakes him.

A timid laugh escapes Wùkōng. He smiles, though it lacks the same excitement as before. His eyes dart down to the script he holds and the way his fingers tremble make Liù’ěr want to reach out, comfort him. He settles for leaning forward to give his undivided attention. Six ears flick at the sound of that familiar steady heartbeat picking up its pace. Gold eyes meet bronze and Wùkōng seems to freeze on the spot.

“Uh,” the high-pitched noise is sharp enough to surprise Liù’ěr. He’s never heard Wùkōng make a sound like that. Why–? “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Oh. His heart gives a gentle pang at the realization. “Wùkōng?” Liù’ěr stands, moving toward his friend with a knowing smile on his face. “Have stage fright, bud?” He places his hand on Wùkōng’s back, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles there. “It’s alright. I get it.”

Wùkōng looks back at him, wide-eyed expression disarming him in seconds. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Lotus-petal ears flutter on tempo with Wùkōng’s thundering heartbeat. Poor thing might start hyperventilating soon. Liù’ěr tries to remain steadfast beside him, palm pressed firmly against a back he’s traced hundreds of times under the guise of sleepiness.

“Never mind,” Wùkōng suddenly shouts. Liù’ěr flinches away from the sound, ears pinned flat to his head before they unfurl again. They seek out that same hummingbird heartbeat Wùkōng can’t seem to still. “I,” he starts over, much quieter this time. “The play sucks. I shouldn’t– You shouldn’t–”

“I’m sure it’s perfectly fine, Wùkōng,” Liù’ěr assures him. “Here, I can read it.” He manages to grab the scroll from Wùkōng’s weak grasp before his friend can protest. “There once was a Hero and a Warrior–”

Out of his peripheral vision, Liù’ěr can only see Wùkōng as a blot of red. He spares a glance and catches the brightest blush he’s ever seen on his companion. It’s cute. An inky black tail flicks low across the floorboards as he turns his attention back to the script. After all, he always finishes his performances.

“Wait! Bud, seriously don’t–”

“The Hero lived as a king on Earth, devoted to his subjects, but he grew lonely. Until one day when a being from the celestial realms descended from the heavens–the Warrior.” He looks up at Wùkōng and delights in the blush now reaching his round ears. How adorable was he? Getting all flustered over writing a play about them.

“Liù’ěr, stop.” Wùkōng grapples with him then, not unlike how they spar in the courtyard. His palms feel hot even through the hanfu. He leaps at the actor but Liù’ěr has spent too much time being chased by him to let such a simple maneuver to trip him up.

It becomes a game to him, light and playful. A childlike joy unfurls in his chest as he walks then runs at each creak of wood underfoot. Wùkōng has never been good at hiding his tells. The heartbeat, his gasping breaths, the catch of dull claws on furniture. Liù’ěr could evade him blindfolded. However, he has a script to read.

They end up in Wùkōng’s small bedroom and Liù’ěr admires it, a sweet longing tugging at him. He almost forgot how much it smelled of both their scents. Wùkōng nearly crashes into his back so he raises his arms far above his head. For good measure, he shapeshifts. The several inches that he gains in a matter of seconds is more than enough to prevent Wùkōng from reaching his hands.

“As time passed, the Hero and the Warrior grew inseparable. They were like the sun and the moon, one could not exist without the other.” The king still jumps for it. He manages to tackle Liù’ěr to the ground who nearly loses his breath. Heavy stone weight perches upon his lap as Wùkōng tries to grab the scroll. “It was then that the Hero knew he couldn’t simply continue as he was. To the Warrior, he swore his life, his–”

Liù’ěr freezes where he lies beneath Sūn Wùkōng, Monkey King and Intelligent Stone Monkey. He doesn’t even fight it as the script is removed from his hands. His mind is too busy going a mile a minute, overrun with what he read before the words could be spoken aloud. Wùkōng holds the scroll to his chest, brow furrowed. All Liù’ěr wants to do is ease the crease there with his thumb, maybe even a soft press of lips.

Golden eyes glance at him and, just like that, the wind is knocked out of him. In an instant, memories rush to the forefront of his mind. Lazy mornings combing through unruly auburn fur. Midday sun beating down on his back as he lands atop a king. Late nights spent creating new constellations and falling off thatched roofs.

His lips part as he tries to get the words out, feel their weight on his tongue. They tumble out of him, breathless. “–his love.” Wùkōng looks away. “Always.”

Chapter Text

“Did you…” Liù’ěr looks up at Wùkōng with wide eyes. His heart feels so tender, so full of affection it aches. “Did you really mean all that?” His ears must look ridiculous right now–bright and fluttering to the same beat as two thundering heartbeats–but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when his dear friend has written a play for him. Oh, that’s enough to set him ablaze. He reaches up, slow and cautious, cradling Wùkōng’s face in his hands. That startles the king somewhat, round cheeks gone pleasantly pink. “Do you really love me?”

Sūn Wùkōng, Intelligent Stone Monkey and king of Flower Fruit Mountain, appears to have finally found something he fears. He drops his gaze to his own palms where they rest on the puppeteer’s chest. “More than you know,” he finally whispers. By the heat radiating off his face, he seems about ready to combust into an eternal flame no one could ever hope to put out.

And Liù’ěr wants nothing more than to fan it, cause it to overtake them both until they burn together, immortalized in this moment forever. That would make a good play. An amazing show. He would know it; Wùkōng proved it just now–

Wùkōng confessed. He’s still dizzy with it. Wùkōng loves him. How could Liù’ěr ever leave? “I’m so stupid,” he suddenly realizes aloud.

“Bud–?”

The king’s claws dig into his hanfu as he sits upright. He wants so desperately to hold Wùkōng close, to never let him go– “I’ve been searching for as long as I can remember.” His thumb brushes against the softness of Wùkōng’s cheek, revels in the warmth of the blush there. It almost hurts to look at his friend, like staring at the sun, yet Liù’ěr can’t turn away. “Never stopped running, chasing, trying to find something that would make me pause.” In this moment, Liù’ěr is rooted to the ground, basking in the light Wùkōng provides, reaching for him. Except Liù’ěr can touch Wùkōng.

“Liù’ěr,” Wùkōng whispers his name like he’s praying, hesitant and oh, so delightful to six ears. He watches the other simian with hope in his eyes, heart still beating to the same rhythm as before but for a new reason. “Do you–?”

“Yes.” It comes out as an exhale. All Liù’ěr has ever wanted is right in front of him. He’s never been happier than when he’s on the island in Wùkōng’s company. Late night walks, watching the stars, fumbling around in the dark because they just can’t stop laughing together. Lazy early mornings spent holding each other, cussing Wùkōng out when he has to get up to perform his duties, Liù’ěr only settling once a kiss is placed on his cheek, his hands, his forehead. It is so easy to be loved by Sūn Wùkōng. “Oh, Wùkōng,” Liù’ěr pulls him ever closer like he can’t stand even the miniscule distance between them, “I’m home.”

Wùkōng perks up at that. A wobbly smile overtakes his features as that sweet heart settles. “Home? As in–”

“I love you, Wùkōng.” Easy as breathing, simple as taking a half-eaten peach from the king’s hand. Liù’ěr presses their noses together, closing his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Wùkōng echoes, though his voice trembles with it. Liù’ěr looks at him once more and finds his beloved companion shaking. Still, Wùkōng presses forward. “I love you so much, Liù’ěr.” A whisper just for them to hear before the king hugs his friend, dull claws grasping desperately at a two-toned hanfu that he could probably count the stitches on.

No one has ever known Liù’ěr so well and, for once, the thought doesn’t terrify him. Loving Sūn Wùkōng is like falling asleep; inevitable yet soothing in its gentle pull. And he wants nothing more than to fall into the other’s embrace.

Over and over again.

The meeting room for the king of Flower Fruit Mountain and his generals and marshals is situated on a shorter mountain’s summit. It’s a small stone building nestled away in a thicket of trees, a small thing to be overlooked by everyone except the ones who know where to look. Liù’ěr has never seen inside it until now. Tapestries and maps decorate the walls while the only window remains shut. It feels like the perfect place for an interrogation and it takes everything in him not to bolt from his seat at the table.

A hand takes his, hidden away from view. He’s familiar with each callous on the fingers that rub soothing circles into his skin, remembers tracing them until they both fell asleep last night. Liù’ěr feels more at ease with Wùkōng beside him. Less like he’s trapped in a lion’s den and more like they’re simply updating the king’s advisors on his relationship status.

Even so, Wùkōng is the one who clears his throat to tell them, “So, Liù’ěr and I are courting.”

There’s only silence as Liu, Ma, Beng, and Ba stare at them. They aren’t cheering, jumping out of their seats, but they also aren’t shouting which is… good, right? Liu has been working on lighting her pipe since Wùkōng said he needed to make an announcement.

“Uh,” he looks over at Liù’ěr, unsure of how to proceed, “did you not hear me or–?”

“Ah, yes, well.” Beng claps his hands together how he normally does when someone brings up one of his drunken escapades. He spares a glance over at Ba who offers no help. Ma might be worse yet since she gets up to open the window, makes their distance physical. The general exhales, a deep breath like he’s psyching himself up to speak. “Forgive us, my king. It’s just that we thought you two were already courting.”

Liù’ěr can’t help the blood that rushes his cheeks then. His glamoured ears flick and flutter, letting him know that Wùkōng’s face is probably even brighter. It brings a smile to the puppeteer’s face, his thumb rubbing into the crease of the king’s palm. Although the action calms him down, it doesn’t stop Wùkōng from squeaking out an incredulous, “What?”

Beng opens his mouth but Liu cuts him off. “Oh, please. You two have been making eyes at each other since this one,” she gestures at Liù’ěr, “showed up.”

“We have not been–” Liù’ěr can feel the heat radiating from Wùkōng’s ears. “–‘making eyes’ at each other. Before, we were just two friends… hanging out.”

“And I’m a fucking bodhisattva.” Ma returns to her wife’s side carrying a candle, lighting Liu’s pipe. The marshal smiles, lovestruck and stupid. “Thank you, dear.” Then, she turns back to them. The room has already started growing hazy from the smoke. “Honestly, Wùkōng, what were we supposed to think? You two have been sharing a room through the seasons.”

She might as well have said she caught them canoodling in the middle of the pavilion the way Wùkōng goes bright red. Liù’ěr turns to him, concerned that he might burst, and rests his hand on the king’s thigh. Wùkōng jumps in his seat before rushing to stand. “You all are,” he fumbles over his words almost as bad as he does getting up, “the worst.” Liù’ěr follows after him, their hands still linked together. His ears twitch as the king mutters a, “I can’t believe I promoted them.”

Once they’ve made it a good distance away from the meeting room, Liù’ěr stops Wùkōng with a gentle tug. The king turns, cheeks still flushed and gaze downcast. It’s easy to press a chaste kiss to one. Liù’ěr combs his hand through Wùkōng’s hair, scratching behind his ear, and adores how his companion melts. “You don’t really hate them.”

Wùkōng huffs, though his shoulders remain relaxed. “They didn’t have to be so annoying…”

“Can you blame them?” Liù’ěr pulls the king in for a loose embrace. He wants nothing more than to see Wùkōng smile so he knocks their foreheads together, a gentle grab for attention. “We were kinda oblivious, bud.”

“You’ll always be my best bud,” Wùkōng tells Liù’ěr, sincere to a fault. The king takes his friend’s hand and brings it up to his lips for a kiss. His gaze is the damning kind, one to have Liù’ěr turn red to match his celestial marking. “No one could ever replace you.”

Liù’ěr laughs a weak sound even to his own ears. “Laying it on pretty thick there, Wùkōng.”

“I want you to know how much I adore you.” The king turns over the puppeteer’s arm until he can press his lips to a fluttering pulse. “I want everyone to know how much you mean to me.”

Oh, he will be the end of Liù’ěr. Then again, Liù’ěr knew that the moment he decided to stay. He wanted this, all of it. The love and adoration, Wùkōng’s doting affection. Because being here is like the end of a long day and falling into a comforting nest under the silvery rays of moonlight. It’s waking up to the gentle pull of work-worn hands, warm touches, and the morning sun. They’re Sūn Wùkōng and Liù’ěr Míhóu. Sun and the moon. The hero and his warrior. Light and shade.

He bites his lip to stop the foolish grin from completely taking over his features but fails, as he always would, to hide the love he has for his dear companion. “And what do I mean to you?”

“Everything,” Wùkōng replies without hesitation. “You mean everything to me.”

Another laugh escapes him, a sound of pure glee as he closes his eyes. Two strong arms hold him upright while he sways to the sounds of the mountain waking up, its inhabitants unaware of the monumental moments happening between two very silly monkeys.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“I love you, Liù’ěr.” A kiss is placed on his forehead, the skin beneath his eyes, chin, neck. Chaste presses of lips that make him feel light as air. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

Some might call Sūn Wùkōng greedy. He’s king of the monkeys, has a loyal following of mortals, is the strongest person in existence, possesses a couple layers of immortality at this point, and he has a faithful companion who ensures his constant safety alongside a friendship so wonderful it surely rivals enlightenment. Wùkōng has everything he could ever hope to achieve.

Yet, still he seeks more. It angers Liù’ěr, he knows, but he’s doing it for them. Eventually, his best friend will see reason. Liù’ěr will understand the moment the king makes sure no one can touch them. A lazy life getting fat on fruit and doing whatever they wanted. How that statement made Liù’ěr smile when he first told him. Wùkōng’s palms are rough against his skin as he scrubs them across his face to energize himself. Perhaps to permanently imprint that image in his brain like one would dangle a carrot in front of a swine. He’s doing this for them, he reminds himself constantly. For Liù’ěr.

He floats down to the hot springs, dismissing his somersault cloud. His two feet can carry him the rest of the way. Wùkōng desperately needs to soak in the warm waters. His fur is filthy from dealing with some demons encroaching on his territory. If he tried to enter the hut he shares with Liù’ěr, his best friend would surely smack his cudgel atop the sage’s head and refuse entry. At this time of night, all of his subjects are either asleep or tending to their families so Wùkōng strips himself as he walks further into the cave, leaving his clothes like a trail. They’re just made of his hair anyway–stupid demons ruined his real clothes–so they simply poof once he gets far enough away.

The hot springs on Flower Fruit Mountain are plentiful. Being surrounded by volcanoes will do that. It helps considering how many yāo guài inhabit his domain. The one Wùkōng usually goes to is close to his home and parents frequent it with their young. The noise of baby monkeys chittering and splashing as their parents wash them calms him, grounds him. Now, the hot spring is silent. If he strains his hearing, the sage can hear families settling down for the night. He steps closer to the water, ready to sink in and not leave until his skin prunes.

That’s when he sees Liù’ěr. It isn’t uncommon for them to bathe together. The act is communal and it’s easier to groom each other close to the steaming water. Wùkōng has become familiar with his best friend’s body and vice versa. Which is why he pauses upon seeing Liù’ěr standing in the shallows. His body looks… different. Wùkōng knows he’s gained weight. That his frame, once a narrow thing that stubbornly refused to keep any fat, had finally padded out after decades of the king’s coddling. The macaque in front of him doesn’t… not reflect that. But there’s a certain gentle curve Wùkōng doesn’t recognize, a dip in the waist he can’t recognize. Then Liù’ěr turns and–

Alright, Wùkōng may be a very distracted person but he’d definitely notice if his best friend had breasts. They aren’t even that big, just large enough that someone who’s spent a lot of time with him would notice. Like Wùkōng. He steps closer to the hot springs, not bothering to silence his footsteps. It seems like Liù’ěr placed a seal around him to dampen the sounds in the surrounding area. The sage settles down on the edge, kicking his feet in the water and watching the ripples slowly make their way to the only other person there.

Liù’ěr pauses, staring at the water shrouding his lower half, then turns to follow them only to meet Wùkōng’s fierce gaze. He jumps, arms moving to cover his chest. A purple light dissipates through the air as the macaque glares at his king. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to sneak up on people,” he hisses, tail lashing out behind him. The rising flush betrays his embarrassment.

As if they have anything to be shy about around each other. Wùkōng rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen you naked before, Liù’ěr.” He gives his warrior another once over. “Speaking of: when you’d get tits, bud?”

Black fur puffs up. Liù’ěr looks furious. “None of your business, Wùkōng.”

The sage tuts, shaking his head. “That’s just not true.” He slips into the water to make his way over to his best friend. Liù’ěr backs up with every step Wùkōng takes until he’s trapped against one of the rock walls. “Your business is my business.” A wide, confident grin graces his face as he leaned closer. “Being the Monkey King and all.”

“More like the king of being a pain in my ass,” Liù’ěr scoffs, turning his head away so he doesn’t have to look at that gold gaze.

An act that annoys Wùkōng to no end. He takes his friend’s chin in his grip so he can observe his expressions. “C’mon, Liù’ěr,” he coos. He nuzzles the other’s neck, letting out sweet noises that have the warrior going lax. “Talk to me, bud.”

Two arms loop along his shoulders, tugging him until they’re pressed flush. “Would prefer you not call me ‘bud’ while we’re naked, my king,” Liù’ěr grouses. Though the meanness is dampened by the purring bundle of fur clinging to him. He combs a wet hand through Wùkōng’s fur but doesn’t speak for a few minutes. Then he says, “so I’m a woman sometimes.” He tugs his king back to his neck as soon as the other attempts to pull away to look at him. “And I can shapeshift. I use it to my advantage. Not often but…”

Wùkōng hears the unspoken words clearly. “Not when I’m around.” For some reason, that makes his heart ache. He burrows further into Liù’ěr. He wants to be so close, they’ll meld together and have no more secrets between them. Sadly, that’s not possible. “So you’re a woman right now?” Liù’ěr nods. Wùkōng pulls away successfully this time, taking the chance to properly observe his beloved friend, his most precious warrior. When he looks up again, a timid face watches him carefully. “You’re so pretty.” It comes out breathless. A sincere statement that has Liù’ěr blushing bright enough to rival the sun. She laughs to brush off the compliment. That certainly won’t do. Wùkōng kisses her forehead, her cheek, ears, neck–

“Enough!” Liù’ěr pushes at him, not even using a smidge of strength.

“My pretty warrior,” he trills, pressing a kiss to her lips to silence her weak protests. His hands hold her hips in place so she can’t escape his love. She’s going to be smothered in it. “She’s my better half.” Liù’ěr gasps, fingers clasping auburn fur with such a tight grip that a lesser being might have yelped in pain. Not Wùkōng. It encourages him to purr louder, kiss her more. “She’s the most beautiful celestial primate.”

Another laugh, more honest now. “What about you then?” He hums a silent question. She moves his face to look at him. “I’m competing with you, aren’t I? Aren’t you pretty?”

Wùkōng freezes, his entire body going stiff, his heart skipping a beat. An odd ache settles in his chest. Liù’ěr watches him expectantly though he doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. He smiles, wide and bright. “Well, I’m the handsome Monkey King,” he says in lieu of a real answer.

“The handsome Monkey King,” Liù’ěr murmurs thoughtfully, gaze dropping to his lips, “and his beautiful warrior. What a pair.”

They meet each other halfway. It’s natural for them, this intimacy that warms them through until the hollowness Wùkōng felt barely lingers in the back of his mind.

Tucked away in their nest, Liù’ěr cradles Wùkōng close, his head resting on her chest to listen to the fluttering heartbeat beneath his ear. He runs his free hand up and down her side, the other one presses into the small of her back. Inky fur sticks up in every direction at his touch and he can tell his warrior is holding back her laughter. Thankfully, she’s an actress at heart, maintaining her composure as she tells him of the beautiful ghagra choli her sister wore. How the delicate drape of the fabric entranced her, the way her sister confidently tucked the dupatta into her ghagra and tossed it over her shoulder.

“I can make you one,” Wùkōng tells Liù’ěr offhandedly.

She brushes her hand through his hair so she can lean down to kiss his forehead. “It’s alright. Jiějie said she–” Her sentence cuts off abruptly, as if she just remembered something that physically hurt her.

Ever since Liù’ěr came back from her visit to the Celestial Realm, she’s avoided mentioning her family. In fact, she hasn’t gone back since that trip. Wùkōng presses a kiss to her chest in the hopes that it’d ease her pain. “What did she call you?” he finds himself asking to distract her.

At her extended pause, he worries he’s said something wrong, but then she whispers, “Yuè.” Their gazes meet in the darkness of their bedroom. “Yuè Gǒnglì.”

“Yuè Gǒnglì.” He tests the name on his tongue. His warrior watches him carefully, it makes his heart ache. His hand trails up from her side to cradle her face, thumb tracing the delicate skin under her eye. “It’s beautiful. She chose well.”

Gǒnglì huffs, affectionately exasperated at her king’s treatment. Still, she nudges him back to rest against her chest before continuing as if nothing had bothered her in the first place.

Chapter Text

Barely bitten back laughter floats through the hushed nightlife of Flower Fruit Mountain as two figures shrouded in shadows stumble in the grand dining hall. Moonlight filters through the gaps in the wall, dappling silvery light across the idiots causing a ruckus when they surely should be asleep. One of them, the taller one who fumbles like a buffoon, slips onto the table much to the other’s amusement.

“Shí Hóu,” the shorter one says, hiding a giggle behind her hand. “You’re going to fall.”

“Correction,” Wùkōng slurs, “we’re going to fall.” He pauses, brows furrowing as his statement actually lingers in his mind. “Wait. That’s not right.” He shakes his head, his bonnet long since fallen to the ground, revealing his auburn curls. He looks down at his companion, bright gold eyes lighting up the dining hall like two midday suns. “Gǒnglì, c’mon,” he whines.

Gǒnglì huffs. “You’re being ridiculous, my king.” She says it affectionately, her golden eyes reflecting the moon shining above them.

This time, when Wùkōng tugs on her hand, she follows him. Like there would ever be a situation where she wouldn’t. Eventually, the six-eared macaque would always fall in line with the intelligent stone monkey, his ever-present shadow.

He holds her close, something precious, nuzzling the side of her face. “Only for you, my warrior.” Gǒnglì pulls him away, holding him by his cheeks to peer up at him. She looks so beautiful, bathed in moonlight, her ears fluttering at every tiny sound. “Dance with me,” Wùkōng pleads.

She laughs again, a melodious chitter. “That’s what I thought we were doing.”

“Every night,” he tells her, begs her, “and every day. And dawn, afternoon, dusk, evening–”

“Shí Hóu,” she calls. She traces a finger across his cheek to draw his attention back to her. A smile wrinkles her face and he can’t help but think he wants to see that face every single day, if he can help it.

“Marry me?”

They both fall silent. They’re swaying on their feet from the wine they consumed amongst their generals and marshals. A blush warms their cheeks as they continue to stare at each other.

Gǒnglì breaks the silence first, a shy grin lifting the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she whispers, breathless, “okay.”

Wùkōng watches her, wonder brightening his features. “Really?” At Gǒnglì’s small nod, he smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on her to which she squawks indignantly.

“Shí Hóu!”

“I wanna kiss you!”

“We’re gonna fall–”

The next day, a hungover Wùkōng has to explain why some of the dining chairs are broken. He’s not even the least bit embarrassed. Absolutely shameless.

Chapter Text

Flower Fruit Mountain is a perpetual paradise. In tune with its king’s emotions, the island always boasts a pleasant, never-ending summer. Well, most of the time anyway. Because the copious amount of fruits need their seasons to be perfectly ripe. So Wùkōng allows some changes in the weather. Only some, though. He much prefers the hot sun beating down on him, heating up his fur and making the coast favorable during the day. Gǒnglì, on the other hand, has a body built for the cold. Thick fur keeps the heat close to her skin and encourages her to cuddle close to another. A task Wùkōng courageously takes up any time he can.

That’s how they are now, lying beneath their tree while basking in the afternoon sun. It’s a nigh impossible task for Gǒnglì to stay awake, what with her beloved king combing his fingers through her hair, short claws scratching her scalp in a way that made her purr. The sound is so low and quiet, the crashing waves almost block it out. But it makes Wùkōng pause in his story-telling anyway.

“Are you even listening to me?”

She hums. “I am.”

He huffs, poking her cheeks. He’s been prone to doing that ever since she’s gained weight, all thanks to his coddling. She can’t help but smile at his lighthearted annoyance. “Doubt it. You’re practically falling asleep in my lap, bud. But, yeah, can you imagine me as a mentor?” His laughter fills up the open air like a sweet melody, the entire beach a symphony that amplifies his voice.

“I could see it.”

Wùkōng sputters. “Peaches, not you too.”

Gǒnglì sits up, turning so she’s hovering over Wùkōng. Her hair falls forward and acts as a curtain between them and the skies above. Just the two of them in their own world. “Of course, your successor would have to be like you.”

“Of course,” he repeats sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Though, she spots the pink blush high on his cheeks.

Outwardly, she ignores him. She’s quite good at that. A great actress. “A quick learner, agile,” a wicked grin flashes across her face before she attacks Wùkōng’s sides, “cheeky and cute.”

And he should’ve known! Gǒnglì is a warrior at heart and he had exposed his weakness long ago. He’s quite ticklish. The laughter comes out unbidden and he can only push away at his companion weakly until she finally decides he’s had enough. Breathless and tears dotting the corners of his eyes, Wùkōng peers up at Gǒnglì. “Two of me would be a lot to handle. Cosmically, I mean.”

“Cosmically, of course.” She nods. “Well then, they would need a strong will to create their own destiny beside you.” She looks up, as if in thought. “A warrior’s heart,” she says offhandedly. Gǒnglì reaches up with her free hand and plucks a hair from his head. She twists it between her index finger and thumb as she thinks aloud. “More than the sun and the moon.”

“The sky,” Wùkōng says, breathless in a way he can’t really explain. Perhaps it’s the way Gǒnglì describes it, as if a successor wouldn’t just be about one of them but something they would tackle together.

Gǒnglì turns her gaze downward, a pleased smile adorning her face. She lowers her hand until the strand of hair is in front of Wùkōng’s mouth. “A little heaven.”

And his heart stills for a moment. Only for a moment. He’s sure she can hear his blood rushing faster than it ever has. But he still feels it, a conscious effort to purse his lips and blow. It sends the strand of hair flying up, up, up– until he can no longer see it. He feels it though. It seems ridiculous but it’s true. Like a warm pit in his chest, he feels that strand of hair flying to a future unknown to him and his warrior.

Chapter Text

This is it. They’re going against the Celestial Realm. After so long, Wùkōng can finally breathe easy. His home, his people, his wife; all of them will be safe from the Jade Emperor’s capricious rule. He smiles as his marshals show the Brotherhood to their rooms. They’ll rest for the night to attack in the early morning. Liu snaps at them to hurry up, going so far as to grab Peng by their green feather and drag them to the front of the ensemble much to everyone’s amusement.

Wùkōng turns to see the joy on Gǒnglì’s face but she has her gaze trained on her cudgel, a deep crease in her brow. He sighs. His warrior often had that expression as of late. The king approaches his other half, his dearest companion, the shade to his light, his beloved wife, Liù’ěr Míhóu, Yuè Gǒnglì. He drapes himself along her back, purring up a storm.

“Wùkōng.” Her tone leaves no question as to her mood. She is not having it today.

Thankfully, she married Sūn Wùkōng, Intelligent Stone Monkey, and he knows how to get her smiling. “Gǒnglì,” he trills, a sweet note that forces her body to relax. “What’s wrong?”

The silence that greets him should be troubling but he trusts her to speak when she’s ready. Eventually, she sighs, hand covering his where it rests on her stomach. Their fingers tangle together as she brings their joined hands to her lips. She presses a kiss to his palm, eyes closed in thought. He can’t help but marvel at how stunning she looks under the setting sun.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, struck with the love he has for her.

Gǒnglì huffs a laugh, more bitter than he expects. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Sūn Wùkōng.”

“Hey, hey.” He turns her with a gentle hand on her cheek until she moves to face him. His left arm holds her close enough to make their armor clink together. “Talk to me.”

Her eyes remain affixed to his hanfu, right where his stone heart lay beneath. A blanket of magic falls over them before her ears flick, transforming from two to six. They flutter in a rhythm that he recognizes instantly. Her favorite sound as she told him one night, drunk off her gourd and adorably affectionate. “What if we lose?”

The question is whispered between them, quiet and unassuming in all the terror it drives in him. It’s something he’s pushed to the back of his mind since the very beginning. Because this attack on heaven is one that relies on his power, his magic, his everything. Wùkōng can’t lose. He has to be strong enough. For his Brotherhood, his people, his home, his wife, and–

“We won’t,” he says, voice unshakeable.

“You don’t know that,” Gǒnglì insists. Her gaze meets his in a fit of desperation, eyes reflecting the stars that have begun to come out.

“I know that what I’m fighting for,” his thumb brushes the delicate skin beneath her eye, the entire galaxy swirling within it, “is not worth losing. I promise you that.” Her hand grasps at his as she closes her eyes. “Yuè Gǒnglì, I made a promise to you a long time ago. Do you remember what that was?”

The crease in her brow smoothes out and, with her ears glowing in the silvery moonlight, he can almost imagine they’re both young and carefree. That tonight they’re practicing a dance that will surely end up with them breaking something and laughing at their mischief. Her eyes open, endless constellations searching his own for an answer. A promise. “Getting fat on fruit for the rest of forever.”

“That’s right.” He leans in to kiss her and she immediately pulls him closer. Her hands run through his hair as if she’s afraid he’ll run off ahead of them all the moment she lets go. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s right where he wants to be; in his wife’s arms and her in his. “But I know how much you worry,” he whispers against her lips, “so I want you to hold on to something for me.”

“Shí Hóu,” she groans, though her exasperation is tinged in affection.

“Just until we win. Then you can give it right back.” Wùkōng pulls away to look at her with a mischievous smile. “Consider it a token, my brave warrior.”

She rolls her eyes at his antics. “Fine. What is it?”

“Gotta close your eyes first,” he instructs her. Once she does, faux annoyance clouding her expression, he reaches into his scarf to grab his present. Removing one of her hands from his hair, he presses his gift to her palm. Her fingers close around it, brows pinched together as she tries to figure out what it is without looking. “You can open ‘em now.”

Gǒnglì does so slowly. Her lashes flutter against her soft cheeks and his heart gives a weak stutter in its steady beat that makes her smile. She doesn’t comment on it, attention going to her palm where a stone sits. Her smile doesn’t falter, though he can tell she doesn’t understand what he’s given her. “It’s a rock.”

“It’s not a rock.” He rolls his eyes. His index finger dips into the center divot, following the swirls that flow around it. “It’s a stone egg.” Her gaze shoots to his face, shock clear in her expression. “Not the real thing,” he doesn’t think so, anyway, “just…”

“A promise,” she whispers in awe.

“That’s right.” The king swallows the emotions clogging his throat at the way she looks at him. He rubs their noses together, wanting so badly to bring her as close as possible. “I know that whatever the future holds, we can handle it.”

Because it’s them against the world. The king and his warrior. The sun and the moon. Light and shadow. The Intelligent Stone Monkey and the Six-eared Macaque. No matter what, they have each other.

“Oh,” Gǒnglì says and he knows she’s crying. Tears fall down her face like a meteor shower, silvery light making her glow with a joy that has Wùkōng falling in love all over again. She tugs him down into a kiss, a warbling chuckle lightening the weight on his chest. “I’ll stay with you, you idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he tells her, his own laughter remaining in their little bubble. “Always.”