Even the Stone Monkey was blindsided by how easily it all went down. A few casually spun lies, and just like that, he was in. He couldn't tell if his "bullshitting" skills were just that elite, if these monkeys were incredibly simple-minded, or if Heaven was actually cutting him a break for once. Regardless, in this strange and alien world, he had finally found a safety net.

　　From then on, he settled into the wild, uninhibited life of the troop. Every day at the crack of dawn, it started with the morning ritual: accompanying the troop to pay respects to Heaven and bow to the Buddhas. Then, they’d head into the nearby woods as a collective, swinging through the branches to forage for melons, fruits, pears, and peaches. Once their bellies were full, the troop would descend upon the river for some downtime. It was a chaotic scene: some would be upstream taking a leak or a dump, others would be in the middle soaking their bodies and washing their feet, while those downstream would be drinking and washing their faces. Most of them, however, were just splashing around and chasing each other, having the absolute time of their lives.

　　When the playing wore them out, they’d split into small groups along the bank to pass the time—weaving vines into grass hats, picking lice, grooming fur, cleaning ears, and trimming nails. Some would skip stones across the water just to watch the ripples. The younger males and females would often vanish into the nearby bushes in pairs, "doing their part" and contributing their meager strength to the expansion of the troop’s population. At nightfall, they would retreat into the riverside forest. Except for a few lookouts left on watch, everyone would find a comfortable branch and sleep soundly until dawn. The next morning, they’d climb down and start the whole cycle over again: pray, forage, play, repeat.

　　Li Lun was, quite frankly, terrible at being a monkey. He was no good at climbing trees and even worse at foraging for fruit. His "core job competencies" were a total disaster, yet he managed to carve out a niche for himself thanks to his innate pupil technique. With the Mind-Ape Pupil Technique acting like a high-powered scanner, not a single louse could escape his gaze. His lice-catching was fast, steady, precise, and ruthless. From the four venerable elders down to the one-month-old infants—males and females alike—everyone raved about his "god-tier" grooming skills.

　　To top it off, Li Lun volunteered for night watch every single evening. Using those yellow eyes with their built-in night vision, he stood as a silent sentry, guarding the safety of the entire troop.

　　Catching lice by day, standing guard by night—after a full month of this, the Stone Monkey finally earned the troop's respect. He was no longer a "temp worker" on a labor dispatch; he had been promoted to a full-time member of the crew. But catching lice for a month had brought him more than just job security. Every time he got to work, he turned into "Tony the Stylist," engaging in casual chitchat with the monkeys to fish for information and piece together the strange logic of this world.

　　As they say, you can judge a leopard by a single spot. By aggregating all the rumors and hearsay, Li Lun finally gained a preliminary grasp of how this reality operated. For starters, every animal here could cultivate itself into a demon or spirit. The process was surprisingly "brute-force." First, you suck in the Qi—the spiritual energy of Heaven and Earth—where your progress depends entirely on the local Qi concentration and your own lung capacity. Second, you absorb the essence of the sun and moon. In plain English: you take lots of sunbaths and moonbaths. Becoming a spirit was basically a game of survival and patience—just breathe deep and tan as much as possible.

　　Fortunately, the area where the troop lived was rich in Qi. After a few decades, you could refine your "transverse bone" to speak like a human. A few more decades, and you'd "open your spiritual wisdom" to begin formal cultivation. If you were lucky and lived long enough—say, several hundred years—and survived a Heavenly Tribulation, you could actually become an Immortal.

　　The cultivation ranks in this world were tiered into major stages: Earth Immortal, Celestial Immortal, True Immortal, Golden Immortal, Taiyi Golden Immortal, Great Daluo Golden Immortal, Primordial Limitless Daluo Golden Immortal, and finally, Saint. Each stage was further split into three sub-levels: Initial, Great, and Consummate. An "Earth Immortal" wasn't even a real god; for an animal, it just meant they were smart enough to think, and for a human, it meant they’d started their "Qi-refining" phase.

　　But here was the catch: once a human or animal hit the Consummate Earth Immortal stage, they had to face the Tribulation. Heaven would drop a massive lightning bolt on your head. If you survived, you ascended in a cloud of light. If you failed, you were erased—turned into ash, soul and all—with zero chance of reincarnation. Even worse, the Universe put you on a timer. From the moment you became an Earth Immortal, Heaven gave you exactly five hundred years. Either you ran out of lifespan and died naturally, or when the five hundred years were up, Heaven would drop the lightning regardless of whether you were ready. Your "career" would end right then and there.

　　The most depressing part? Even if you survived the lightning and became a high-ranking god like a Daluo Golden Immortal, you still weren't truly "eternal." Gods have a shelf life too, known as the "Five Exhaustions of the Celestial." There is a hard cap on an immortal's lifespan.

　　Because cultivation is an "unnatural" path—robbing the essence of the universe and defying the mechanics of the sun and moon—immortality is something the world itself despises. Heaven periodically sends down disasters to prune the ranks. Therefore, anything that can extend an immortal’s life is the most sought-after, top-tier treasure in the Three Realms. Queen Mother’s Peaches of Immortality, Lao Tzu’s Golden Elixirs, the Ginseng Fruit of Great Immortal Zhenyuan, and even the "pork belly" of the Golden Cicada (Tang Sanzang) all fall into this category.

　　Of course, only the tiny elite at the very top of the food chain get to feast on those resources. For the vast majority of gods, the only way to extend their lives is through Incense and Merit—the energy harvested from the prayers of mortals.

　　Incense and Merit are created when the smoke of burnt offerings is infused with the power of sincere human faith. This power doesn't just extend life and boost cultivation; it can also cancel out bad karma and weaken the force of lightning strikes. Even if a god doesn't need it for themselves, they can use it to forge and upgrade their magical artifacts. It’s no exaggeration to say that in the Heavenly Realm, things like "companions, wealth, or secret techniques" are worthless compared to life-extending Merit. It is the only hard currency. In fact, the "salaries" paid to the gods and heavenly soldiers are nothing more than bundles of Incense and Merit.

　　The faith of the mortal world has become the lifeblood that sustains the gods of Heaven. This design by the Great Dao was intended to tie the gods and humans together—they sink or swim as one. Only if the human race thrives and prospers can it provide enough "Incense" to keep the celestial bureaucracy running. As they say, "the tracks of the snake are visible for miles." It was this very mechanism that forced Buddhism to compete with Taoism for the faith of humans in the Southern Continent, which ultimately set the stage for the story we all know: a monk and his disciples traveling to the West.

　　On the surface, the so-called Journey to the West is an inspiring saga of a monk and his three disciples overcoming eighty-one tribulations to bring Mahayana Buddhism to the Tang Dynasty. In reality, it was a cold-blooded corporate takeover. After ten thousand years of quiet accumulation, Buddhism had finally grown strong enough to challenge Taoism's monopoly. Using the pilgrimage as a pretext and backed by raw power, they staged a daylight robbery of "Incense" right from under Taoism’s nose.

　　The fake version of Journey to the West is like that 1986 TV show—from start to finish, if you aren’t watching the monk lead his monkeys around, you’re just there for the pretty demonesses. The real story, however, is an epic masterpiece about two titans, Buddhism and Taoism, engaging in a series of shadow wars and clandestine maneuvers. In the end, they managed to avoid the "Thucydides Trap," successfully constructing a "New Model of Major-Religion Relations." Of course, all of that is just a digression from the mind of that fellow Beigong Boyu; the monkeys on Mount Huaguo certainly weren't thinking about such things.

　　Back to the story. One day, while the troop was frolicking by the river, the Stone Monkey sat on the bank grooming the Great Elder. As he picked through the fur, he asked casually, "Elder, you’ve taught me so much about the ways of cultivation... how do you know all this stuff?"

　　"Hah! A lot of it is over my head, honestly," the old monkey replied. "It was passed down to me by one of our troop’s ancestors."

　　"And where is this ancestor now?" the Stone Monkey pressed. "Did he achieve immortality?"

　　"Eh," the Elder sighed, a flicker of cunning dancing in his eyes. "Our ancestor wasn't tough enough. He couldn't tank the lightning. Fifty years ago, the Heavens turned him into a pile of ash."

　　"Elder," the Stone Monkey asked cautiously, "is it really that hard for us of the demon race to transcend and become immortals?"

　　The Great Elder’s eyes were like a stagnant well, deep and unmoving. "The spiritual energy here is rich," he replied tonelessly. "A demon here can open their wisdom after a few decades of practice. Out in the mundane world, most demons could spend their entire lives and never even master human speech. Generally speaking, the odds of a living soul reaching the peak of the Earth Immortal realm are one in ten thousand. And of those, only one in ten survives the lightning. You tell me—is that hard?"

　　One in a hundred thousand to become a god, the Stone Monkey calculated mentally. Still better than the odds of winning the lottery in my past life. "Only ten percent survive the jump even after all that work?" he muttered aloud. "Our race has it rough."

　　"We are Yao Clan (A collective of animals and beings who have "opened their spiritual wisdom," allowing them to think, reason, and speak like humans）, not humans," the Elder said, his eyes narrowing as he spoke with gravity. "We don't have divine powers, magical artifacts, or elixirs to shield us. When the lightning falls, we have nothing but our flesh and blood to take the hit. To have even ten percent survive is a mercy from Heaven. Is that not enough for you?"

　　"The Elder is right. I misspoke," the Stone Monkey replied obediently. He lowered his head and went back to work, meticulously hunting for lice on the old ape's back.

　　About five minutes later, just as he was finishing up, a loud shout rang out from the riverbank. "I wonder where this stream actually comes from! Since we’ve got nothing but time today, why don't we head upstream? If we find the source and play there, wouldn't that be a blast?"

　　The Stone Monkey looked up. The speaker was the same large monkey who had first brought him into the troop. As soon as the words left his mouth, a chorus of agreement rose from the males and females playing in the water.

　　"Yes! Let's go!" "Count me in!" "Let's move!" "To the source for some real fun!"

　　Without waiting for the elders to speak, the younger monkeys took matters into their own hands. Scrambling onto the bank, they called out to friends and family, herding one another into groups of three or five. With laughter and chatter, they bolted upstream in a flurry of excitement. The Stone Monkey stood frozen, watching their receding backs as they vanished into the distance. He frowned, a gnawing sensation in his gut telling him something was off, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.

　　The Great Elder reached out and patted him gently on the shoulder, his face a mask of grandfatherly kindness. "Don’t just stand here," he said softly. "Go on, accompany them upstream. You don't need to stay with us. These old bones of ours will wander up at our own pace."

　　The Stone Monkey shot a suspicious glance at the Elder, but he simply nodded dumbly and began walking toward the source.

　　After trekking for nearly an hour, he looked up and saw it in the distance. The crystal-clear river stretched from the foot of the mountains all the way to the ocean’s waves, and its source was a magnificent mountain spring. A white rainbow of mist arched through the air; waves of snow-white foam surged like a thousand falling petals. The sea wind could not break its flow; the moonlight clung to its surface in shimmering layers. A chilling mist drifted between the green cliffs, while the overflow nourished the verdant slopes. This was the waterfall—a cascading sheet of water that truly looked like a curtain hanging from the sky.

　　"There wouldn't happen to be a 'Water Curtain Cave' hidden behind that, would there?" the Stone Monkey muttered to himself, his eyes glued to the falls as he kept moving forward.

　　The young males and females were now crowded together on the opposite bank, pointing and whispering in awe. "What beautiful water!" one cried. "This place is paradise!" another shouted. A third monkey clapped its hands in delight, shouting, "Look at the size of that waterfall! What if we made this our permanent home?" The troop was a cacophony of voices, but the Stone Monkey heard none of it. He stood perfectly still, staring at that wall of water, lost in the shadows of his own thoughts.

　　Thirty minutes later, the Four Elders arrived. The troop gradually fell silent as the Great Elder gazed at the falls. Suddenly, he spoke with profound solemnity: "If any of you has the skill to plunge through that waterfall, find the source, and return unharmed, we shall bow to him and name him our King. My fellow elders, do you agree?"

　　Before the words had even settled, the other three elders nodded in unison. "Excellent," they murmured. The Great Elder turned back to the troop, his voice booming: "Well? Do any of you dare to step forward and try?"

　　As he spoke, the corner of his eye remained fixed firmly on the Stone Monkey.

　　The Stone Monkey felt a jolt go through his body, like an electric current snapping through his brain. He suddenly remembered the shards of rock scattered around him when he first woke up; he remembered his innate Mind-Ape Pupil Technique; he looked at the thundering waterfall, and the Elder’s words echoed in his ears: "...find the source and return unharmed, we shall name him our King."

　　His heart began to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird. His blood pressure skyrocketed. This plot... this plot was way too goddamn familiar! Fighting to keep his face a mask of calm, he turned to the Great Elder and asked in a trembling voice, "Elder... may I ask... exactly where are we?"

　　The Great Elder looked at the Stone Monkey with a gaze that held a thousand secrets, speaking as if he were merely mentioning the weather. "This place is called Flower and Fruit Mountain. We are just beyond the southwest border of the Kingdom of Aolai, in the Eastern Divine Continent of Dongsheng—known to all as Dongsheng Shenzhou."

　　The words had barely left the Elder's lips when a spark of light flared in the Stone Monkey's eyes. He stood as if struck by a massive bolt of lightning, his entire body trembling.

　　He remained frozen there like a wooden statue for several long breaths before he finally managed to pull his consciousness back from the brink. In that moment of total realization, his mind and will merged into one. It was a metamorphosis from the inside out; a boundless, surging power flooded his organs, his limbs, and every fiber of his being.

　　Before this moment, the Stone Monkey had believed he was just a common primate—as ordinary as a weed by the road, drifting through life with zero confidence. This fundamental error in his self-perception, rooted in the depths of his soul, had acted like invisible chains, binding his true power. But now, that mental prison was shattered by the Elder's single sentence.

　　As the realization washed over him, he felt as if the verses of a poem were being carved into his soul:

　　"No karmic merit earned in the life before, just a freak accident to end it all. Suddenly, the golden bonds are snapped; the jade locks are torn away. Standing before the thundering falls of the Water Curtain Cave—only today do I truly know that I am Me."

　　By now, the Stone Monkey was seventy percent certain: this was indeed the Water Curtain Cave of Flower and Fruit Mountain, and he was none other than the Great Sage, the Handsome Monkey King. He focused on the raw, primordial power surging through his veins, completely losing himself in his own thoughts.

　　Meanwhile, the Four Elders were exchanging bewildered looks. The Great Elder, in particular, was the picture of helplessness. He couldn't for the life of him understand why the simple mention of "Flower and Fruit Mountain" had caused the Stone Monkey to short-circuit. The guy was standing there like a statue—silent, motionless, totally catatonic.

　　The Elders had spent so much effort setting the stage. Today’s little "performance" by the troop was carefully scripted just so the Stone Monkey would "naturally" discover the Water Curtain Cave. They were supposed to give him a little nudge, then rightfully crown him as the Monkey King. But now, with the stage set, the supporting cast ready, and the extras in position, the lead actor’s brain had seemingly gone on strike. He was dropping the ball at the most critical moment. It was, frankly, a total load of crap.

　　The troop waited with bated breath for a full fifteen minutes. Seeing the Stone Monkey still frozen like a clay figurine, the Four Elders traded sharp glances. Finally, the Great Elder stepped up, approached the Stone Monkey, and tried a heart-to-heart:

　　"Young man, you’re the strongest one here. How about it? Why not head over to the waterfall and try your luck? Who knows—maybe there’s a hidden paradise in there, some grand opportunity waiting for you. And listen, if you come out of that waterfall in one piece, we’ll nominate you as our King. What do you say?"

　　The Elder’s voice snapped Li Lun back to reality. He narrowed his eyes and locked onto the Four Elders for a long moment, a bitter sigh echoing in his mind. So, those two red-rumped horse monkeys are Marshals Ma and Liu, and the long-armed apes are Generals Beng and Ba. These are the "Four Stalwart Generals" I’m supposed to appoint later. I was wondering why these monkeys were so busy praying to the Buddhas every morning. They weren’t paying respects to Heaven—they were "crisis actors" helping the Bodhisattvas keep tabs on me.

　　He scanned his surroundings with cold indifference, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the troop. He gritted his teeth, his inner monologue reaching a boiling point: So this whole troop... they’re all actors. They’re all in on it, ganging up just to hustle me. And that Great Elder is the worst of the lot. He probably knows that the waterway under the cave leads straight to the Dragon Palace of the East Sea, yet here he is, lying through his teeth to trick me into jumping through a waterfall. Calling this "crowning a king" is a nice way of putting it—in reality, they’re just "making a monkey" out of me! This old geezer is rotten to the core. I can't believe I actually fell for his crap.

　　They say "the older the man, the bigger the thief." These four old bastards aren’t elders—they’re a pack of high-level schemers. Total old foxes.

　　The Stone Monkey spent about half an hour taking a cursory tour of the cave, but he was in no rush to head back out and claim his throne as King. Instead, he strolled into a stone chamber where a massive stone bed stood, covered by a simple straw mat. He walked over, blew away the thin layer of dust, gave it a quick dusting with his hand, and lay down. He crossed his legs, tucked his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

　　He lay there in a restless daze, his mind racing. Scenes from the 1986 TV version of Journey to the West flickered through his brain like a high-speed slideshow, keeping any hope of real sleep at bay.

　　When it came to Journey to the West, the Stone Monkey actually shared a strange bit of fate with the book. He remembered back in his past life, when he was still Li Lun. One day, while he was slacking off at his desk and staring at his computer, he stumbled upon an obscure post by an old scoundrel named Beigong Boyu titled Musings on Daming Dynasty 1566. The post itself wasn't exactly a viral hit, but even though the TV show it was about only had 46 episodes, this Beigong fellow had managed to write a 1.15-million-word review. The writing was sharp, the perspectives were unique, and the tone was a mix of witty humor and borderline scandalous insight. It was a shame the piece never got the fame it deserved—a true "pearl cast before swine."

　　That post had deeply moved Li Lun. He thought to himself: If Beigong Boyu can write reviews, why can't I? If he can ramble about Daming Dynasty 1566, why can’t I deconstruct Journey to the West? Even the world-famous The Three Body Problem was written by Mr. Liu Cixin while he was slacking off at the Niangziguan Power Plant. Since Li Lun spent his entire day "slacking off" at the bank anyway, he had plenty of time to dedicate to literary creation. As the saying goes, "Fortune favors the bold—bet a bike, win a Harley." With giants like Dangnian Mingyue and Da Liu as examples, Li Lun’s heart was itching to give it a shot.

　　Li Lun had calculated it all very clearly. If his writing ever went viral and he made enough money, he’d quit that "bird of a job" and go home to live a comfortable life. If the writing remained obscure, well, he hadn't lost anything, had he? No house or land on the line, just a bit of spare time. What the hell was there to be afraid of?

　　Li Lun was a man of action by nature. Once he decided, he did it. He read the original Journey to the West several times from cover to cover and scoured the internet for a mountain of analytical data to study, absorbing the strengths of various schools of thought. "One can use stones from another mountain to polish one's own jade," he figured. He had already written a twenty-thousand-word outline and planned to start the actual writing as soon as the results of the bank's career advancement evaluations were announced.

　　But as they say, man proposes, God disposes. One "intimate encounter" with a muck truck later, and Li Lun had been reincarnated as a Stone Monkey. He could only sigh at the irony: Destiny doesn't just mess with humans; it messes with monkeys, too.