Between Beast And Buddha: A Drunken Monkey's Journey to Immortality

The cold light of the moon illuminated patches of fur no longer as orange as they had once been.

Orange-crest stood alone beneath the trees. The bloody orange light of Huangsongyu was a mere glimmer on the horizon, steadily dimming. The uncontrolled flames had woken a flash of instinctive fear in orange-crest, before he realized that even without a Monkey King, humans would have ways of dealing with it. It was good that the town would not burn. He repeated those words in his head, but he could not truly bring himself to care. They were ghosts to him already, Uncle Fu with his dozen horses, the nameless mendicant with his three persimmons.

Orange-crest was tired. So very tired. He'd awoken from sleep every time hoping that today the world would be right. But it never was. His master was still gone. Li Xun was still—

He'd never let himself think it. Only now did orange-crest realize that burying the thought had not cast it from his mind. His master might be dead. The injured did not lay as still and insensate as Li Xun did. The injured did not leave the Monkey King without words of assurance. His plans, his skeleton of a plan, might be just as dead. The thought had been there the entire time, its shadow dimming everything the monkey saw, everything he might do.

He should have felt good after his victory. Even if it was a small one. The pouch of talismans clutched in his paws would have aroused his interest furiously two years ago. Fire— Fire offered so many possibilities. Especially when combined with some good wine and the Drunken Phoenix's breath. Orange-crest might finally have a reliable ranged attack, outside of throwing things. And if there were any more of those powerful Jade Ball Talismans, they would fetch a hefty handful of spirit stones at a market, or let him protect the people he cared about.

Not that he had many of those where his arms could reach them. He wondered what foolishness Yang Wei and Wu Yingjie were up to. Wondered if he would ever see them again. If their eyes would be hard, when he did.

He could just walk away.

That was what cultivators did in stories, wasn't it? He hadn't understood then, when Li Xun and Han Jian spoke of the mortals they'd met exclusively in the past tense, ended the stories of their acquaintance with abrupt finality. He saw now how easy it would be, to wash his paws of it all. He didn't owe Hong Bo anything. They had made no promises. Nobody would believe Worm-Scarred Fu, if he spoke of a monkey. He could become just a story, a distant memory of the one time their lives had intersected with a cultivator's.

He could cultivate alone. Become a pack of one, with sticky fingers, cautious ears, and ruthless eyes. Many were said to walk that road. How hard could it be to walk it better?

Or he could follow in Xiao Shulan's footsteps. Grand Elder Shen's footsteps. Return to Mount Yuelu. Accept his master for fallen, make his final parting, and walk off the edge of the map. Find a land where men would only disdain his furry face, and not his master's reputation as the slayer of an orthodox elder.

Or he could stay. And hope. And hurt.

Orange-crest stood for a long time beneath the trees. The mortals were waiting for him.

It was all so weak. His foes. His attachments. His prize. His passions. His fears. No reason to stay. No reason to go.

He'd known he could not go back. That the only way was forward. It'd been true the moment his master fed him that second Mind-Opening Pill. Yet never had orange-crest felt it so keenly.

He did not wish to be anywhere. Yet he had to be somewhere.

Sudden as the cracking of ice, orange-crest spun. His fist froze into stone as he drove it into a nearby tree, the full weight of his body behind the punch.

A large section of bark hung like a flap of skin. The monkey felt nothing. Stone did not suffer.

In the end, that was what shaped his choice.

Alone, wandering the wilds or fighting nameless cultivators, he'd felt nothing.

But with Hong Bo, with the transient company of other humans, with all the confusion and rejection and inadequacy, with the shape of what he'd lost hovering behind every interaction, there at least he hurt.

"Honorable daoist, if we could stop for a moment—"

"Brother Ruo! Do not bother our benefactor!" A second man hissed. "Please excuse this lowly peasant for speaking out of turn, immortal elder."

"But the boss has been gagged for—"

"Shut. Up." A pause. "If the..." The second bandit to speak trailed off, apparently thinking the better of yet another apology.

One moment, eight walked the narrow path. The next, there were nine.

"Ah."

The procession drew to a stop.

"Venerable immortal—"

"What is it?"

"He's here." False-crest said. "Rather, I'm here."

"What?"

The illusory orange-crest grinned at the real one. The seven men turned, several of them jumping in surprise.

"My labor is done." The illusion said with a glibness his creator did not feel at the moment. "Farewell."

A rush of awed whispers followed as he vanished into a stream of fiery sparks, briefly illuminating the night.

"Venerable immortal, this small one thanks you—"

"Honorable benefactor, you've saved us from a—"

"Wise immortal, if you just free Fu Daxian from his gag, he can explain—"

"Quiet." Orange-crest commanded. A pulse of his qi, tight but furious, ensured he was obeyed.

The monkey walked the line of men, uncertain what he was looking for. He was still unsure if these men were members of the Road-Clearing Society that boasted cultivators among its number. But they were clearly criminals. Once they had stolen, and a second time they had poached an obviously domesticated animal. Orange-crest did not judge their sticky fingers, he was no scrupulous adherent to man's law. But their theft from Hong Bo, the almost thoughtless nature of it, did not exactly recommend them to him either.

The monkey stopped before the worm-scarred man. Fu Daxian? He grabbed the cangue from both sides, his fingers worming their way between wood and the man's neck, and with a great heave, snapped it in twain.

Fu Daxian flinched at the violence of it, but kept his eyes locked upon the monkey's.

Orange-crest stepped closer. Gently, he untied the gag around their leader's mouth. He left the tightly knotted rope around his wrists. That would take a knife, and he did not care enough to pull his out.

"Thank you." Fu Daxian said quietly.

"Boss?"

"Forgive our boss's lacking courtesies, mighty immortal."

"Brother Sun, shut your mouth."

"Yes boss."

"Thank you." Fu Daxian repeated. "You saved us from an unfortunate fate. What little we still have is yours."

"I don't want what you have." Orange-crest said honestly. Not anymore, at least.

Fu Daxian shrugged.

"It's still yours."

Orange-crest stepped past Fu Daxian, and began walking. The bandits followed him like a parade of ducklings. The monkey allowed it. He knew Hong Bo had made arrangements to assist them, but if they had decided to wander off in that moment, orange-crest wouldn't have cared to stop them.

Stolen from NovelFire, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Four hours later, they came upon Hong Bo. Orange-crest made several mistakes following Hong Bo's directions, missing landmarks when wandering unfamiliar territory in the dark. If any of the bandits noticed the meandering path they'd taken, none of them spoke up to complain.

"We will stop here, for the night." Orange-crest didn't think it should need to be said. He wasn't moving, obviously the men could rest if they wished, for what little of the night remained. But these men had followed him without order or question. It was the least he could do to clarify.

"We hear and obey, honored cultivator." Brother Sun said, bowing. Several of the bandits immediately collapsed, exhausted.

"Brother Chengse." Hong Bo greeted. "I see your errand was fruitful."

"Wait, isn't he—"

"Brother Ruo, shut your mouth."

Fu Daxian stepped forward.

"Grandfather."

"Stout fellows." Hong Bo returned.

Fu Daxian winced.

"I owe you a debt, grandfather."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Orange-crest's eyebrow rose as Fu Daxian squatted down upon the cool earth. He wiggled his hips, tilting from side to side. His hands were still bound behind his back. Once he'd worked the knot as close to his wrists as it would go, he leaned back, falling into a posture like an overturned turtle.

Despite his foul mood, orange-crest felt the corners of his lips begin to curl into a grin as Fu Daxian began grunting and swaying on his back.

"Uh, boss?" Brother Ruo asked. "What are you doing?"

"Quiet."

"Hah!" Fu Daxian cried, finally fitting his rear through the arc of his bound arms. His legs soon followed. The bandit's leader rose, triumphant, his hands now bound together in front of him.

And then he stuck them down his pants. Still bound together, palms facing each other, like the beak of some bird of prey.

The grunting and wiggling resumed.

Orange-crest found himself thankful for his itchy face covering. A weak and distant amusement struggled to pierce the heavy darkness of his mood.

"Boss. Not in front of the cultivator." Brother Sun pleaded.

Eventually, the wiggling reached a climax, and Fu Daxian's clasped hands emerged, something glimmering between them.

Like a mother bird feeding her chicks, he presented the paper-thin piece of trouser-silver to Hong Bo.

"I don't have five coppers." He said by way of explanation. "They took our purses."

Hong Bo looked down at the flat piece of metal.

"I don't have my bowl out."

"Please senior, accept this small token."

"It is unnecessary. There is no debt between us."

"I insist."

"No." Hong Bo said flatly.

Fu Daxian cast his eyes about. They fell upon orange-crest. He closed them, then shook his head.

"Very well. Then I will bestow this small trinket upon the first mendicant we come across, and pay my debt forward."

"I maintain there is no debt between us." Hong Bo's voice was icy. "I am not a merchant. You did not borrow from me."

Fu Daxian sighed, then bowed low, hands clasped above his head.

"Even a thief has their way." He said quietly. "Then I owe you a favor I cannot pay back. I shall remember it."

Orange-crest left them to their dickering, vanishing to find a good tree to be sad in.

"There you are."

Orange-crest said nothing, pretending to be asleep on the branch.

"Was it worthwhile?" Hong Bo continued, undissuaded.

Orange-crest remained silent.

Hong Bo sat down beneath him, back to the tree. For a time, he was silent.

"They are not bad people." Hong Bo eventually said, speaking with the air of a man about to tell a story. "I was young once. As the one who calls himself Brother Ruo noted, one does not lose the finger I have lost by keeping their hands to themselves."

"Did you deserve it?" Orange-crest's curiosity got the better of him.

"For what I did? No. For all the things I'd done? Probably. That is often the way of punishment."

"It's still wrong."

"I don't disagree. But I don't go around fighting yamen runners either. I heard the beginning of it, from a distance. That was no small scuffle."

"What should I have done then?"

Hong Bo snorted out a half-laugh.

"You found the wrong beggar, if answers to questions like that are what you're looking for."

Orange-crest fell back into silence.

"What are you going to do with them?" Hong Bo eventually asked.

"Nothing. I don't want a gang. Your people, they can find a place for them, can't they?"

"They can. But they'll want to meet you. And perhaps ask a favor."

"And they can't go their own way?"

Hong Bo sighed. "They could. But I don't think they would make it far. They are small men, for how big a story they've been caught up in."

Orange-crest sighed. How large a story? He supposed to them, it must have felt like a great occasion. To him, the smallness of it all felt almost exhausting.

"I don't like this."

"I know. But you chose it. You chose it when you decided those pigs deserved to be free. You chose it when you decided that those men ought not be blamed for your choices. You asked me to teach you how to act like a human. Understand, this is what it means to live among men. To take responsibility for your actions. Perhaps a cultivator can live so free and unrestrained that they fight with all their might over every small injustice they witness. But for the rest of us, there is only compromise."

"I'll keep my head low. We can go to the city. I got some talismans. You can sell them, buy me a hat with a veil, a good one, with formations to conceal my identity. Can't you?"

It was no small request for a mortal. Orange-crest himself wasn't certain he could distinguish a treasure that would conceal his nature from a useless counterfeit. And even normally amiable cultivators could be nasty when they saw treasures in the hands of one too weak to protect them.

"I can." Hong Bo agreed easily. "But can you restrain yourself enough to be a human daoist?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Orange-crest took in a breath to answer, and smelled something on the air.

"Come out." The monkey commanded. His qi roiled under his skin like a serpent, ready to bind and draw in the interloper.

Fu Daxian emerged from the pre-dawn shadows, head bowed, presenting that unsightly scar.

"Grandfather. Honored daoist."

"What?" Orange-crest demanded.

Hong Bo frowned. "How much did you overhear?"

"I—"

"That's not important." Orange-crest knew it wasn't much, and didn't care how much besides. "What do you want."

"You aren't from the Road-Clearing Society." It wasn't a question. "I thought you were, until I recognized that jacket."

Orange-crest didn't need to see Hong Bo's face to know he'd have put it all together now. Where the money had come from.

"Are you?" The monkey asked.

"No. We borrowed their name sometimes. Easier to get men to give up their purses without a fight with the right name behind you. But that didn't matter to the assistant magistrate. He probably thought they'd come anyway. Even if they knew we aren't their men, it might cost them face, if the common folk believed it."

Orange-crest sat up. That was finally a clear answer. He rolled over, falling out of the tree like a liquid, pouring himself into a standing position. Fu Daxian swallowed loudly.

"What a stupid mess." Orange-crest muttered.

To the monkey's surprise, the bandit laughed at that, straight from the belly.

"It is, isn't it?"

Fu Daxian's laughter was infectious. Orange-crest found that he almost liked the man who had stolen from Hong Bo. He was brave and straightforward and hadn't said a word to betray what he knew about orange-crest. He'd hoped to find simplicity here in the mortal world. A place that didn't make him second-guess his every step.

He'd met most of the players in this mess now. But if he spoke with Assistant Magistrate He and the cultivator who had set fire to those buildings, would he find them pleasant company? Would their reasons for acting as they had make sense? What about the Road-Clearing Society? Hong Bo had said they actually did do some road clearing. That between slaying spirit beasts and strictly prohibiting rape and murder, their reputation was not entirely negative.

"It seems the roads out here are not as peaceful as I remember them." Hong Bo murmured.

"Huangshi isn't the capital. And the Qianlong's long wars have got everyone a little more flexible than they used to be."

The three of them lapsed into silence, each of them occupied by very different thoughts. It was Fu Daxian who eventually broke the lull.

"You're not like us. Not just because you're a cultivator."

"He knows." Orange-crest added by way of explanation. It was equally true to both men's ears.

"The seven of us owe you our lives. We're not the sort of men that survive a place like the south. If we were, we'd have joined the army. Or at least the real Road-Clearing Society. A part of me wants to call you a bastard, and blame you for toying with our lives. A stupid part of me. We're far from blameless."

Orange-crest reached over and patted Fu Daxian's head. He only flinched a little at the contact, having seen what havoc those paws could wreak.

"You can be a little stupid here, if you want." The monkey offered.

Fu Daxian coughed violently.

"A man should stand by what he believes in. I said earlier even a thief has their way. You have something you're trying to do here, to act as you do. To act as a man does."

"I do."

"Well, you have our support. In whatever way it helps. For whatever little it is worth."

Orange-crest smiled beneath his mask. That was something simple, wasn't it? Be shown a kindness, repay it.

Hong Bo opened his mouth to say something, no doubt to add muddying context. Orange-crest forestalled it with a raised hand. He knew that Fu Daxian was trying to clutch at his thigh. But tonight he would let this be simple.

The monkey looked up.

"It's almost dawn. You should sleep, if you're going to. Better to travel by day. You humans stumble too much in the dark."

Hong Bo shot his companion a look. "It's not the humanity that's the issue. I'm too old for this much excitement."

"And I'm too young for this much worrying." Orange-crest added, drawing questioning looks from both his companions.

"If you're too old, and he's too young, what does that make me?" Fu Daxian asked, grasping at any chance to feel included in the strange company he'd found himself.

Orange-crest thought about it.

"Too ugly?"

Orange-crest considered making the announcement himself. That he was travelling to Huangshi, and they could accompany him if they wished, to perhaps find some fortune in the city.

Then he realized he could have Hong Bo do the talking instead.

So he did that.

By shortly before noon, the seven of them were off, two of Fu Daxian's men having decided to go their own way. They eschewed the roads, trading slow progress for almost total isolation. Orange-crest kept his qi tightly leashed, roaming afield to ensure the slower mortals did not run into any cultivators that might be searching for them.

Despite all this, they made as good of time as could be expected. Fu Daxian pushed his men hard, and Hong Bo always complained of aching bones, but always seemed to have just a little more to give, never any slower than the weakest of the bandits.

By the time dark began to gather anew, they were well beyond civilized lands, trusting in Hong Bo's navigation to eventually bring them to Huangshi.

A shout rang out from the six mortals. Orange-crest was at their side in an instant, drawing more cries from the speed of his arrival.

"There!" Ruo Ping cried, pointing. "Through those bushes, a massive beast. A great white bear!"

"We are sorry to trouble you, Senior Chengse." Sun Guiying added with a bow.

Staff in hand, the monkey waded into the dense vegetation. Something moved in the distance. Orange-crest blindly cast out a weak Immobilizing Spell, one intended more to scout, than to restrain.

He felt it latch, and hold fast, binding some creature tight.

And then a familiar cry rang out.

"Brother!"