The Monkey King stepped out of the Water Curtain Cave, hands clasped behind his back as he strolled toward the distant forest. After a few dozen paces, he came to a sudden halt. Turning his head, he addressed the two dark shadows trailing him.

"I’m just going into the woods to clear my head. You don't need to follow me."

One of the shadows stepped forward with a sycophantic grin, bowing and scraping. "Reporting to the Great King... It was the Great Elder... I mean, Marquis Ma... He ordered us to serve as Your Majesty's personal guard. He said we must never leave your side to ensure your safety."

If I wanted guards, the last people I’d pick are two double-crossing rats like you, the King sneered internally. With a look of pure disdain, he said coldly, "It won’t be necessary. Go back. I’ll settle things with Marquis Ma myself."

The moment the words left his lips, the Monkey King tapped the ground with the toe of his left foot. With a sharp whoosh, he shot forward several yards, then broke into a full sprint toward the heart of the forest. The two shadows were left standing there, mouths agape, watching the King’s silhouette vanish into the night.

"Bro, should we chase him?" one shadow asked timidly.

"Chase him? With what?!" the other snarled through gritted teeth. "Get back there and report to the Great Elder!" He was fuming, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do.

The moon was dark and the wind was high as the night deepened. Alone in the mountain woods, the Monkey King tore through the wilderness—sometimes sprinting at full tilt, sometimes leaping between the canopy and the forest floor. He was as swift as a tiger, as nimble as a hare, his movements a blur of power, his footfalls like rolls of thunder.

There is a verse that captures it well:

Spinning, leaping, the Monkey King keeps his eyes wide; the dust of the world fades, the night turns hazy. Under the full moon of a summer night, he never rests. Years grow blurred; he crushes the hourglass of time beneath his feet. No one sees the King’s joys, and no one sees his grief.

For the Monkey King—having just liberated his soul and inherited this raw power—the most urgent task was to find a secluded spot and put his biological hardware to the test. He needed to measure his strength, speed, stamina, reflexes, and coordination. After all, a monkey is only as good as his self-awareness. If he didn't even know how much "weight" he could pull, how the hell was he supposed to survive in the cutthroat world of the Primordial Era?

After pushing himself to the limit for two hours in the woods, the Monkey King finally gained a comprehensive, firsthand understanding of this body's capabilities. Beyond the standard physical tests, he performed a special thirty-minute breath-holding experiment. The results proved that as a high-level silicon-based lifeform, he didn't even need to breathe. Compared to those low-level carbon-based creatures who can't move an inch without oxygen, the King's toughness was unprecedented—practically illegal. It’s no exaggeration to say that even if you tossed this guy onto the surface of Mars, he’d survive just fine by absorbing the essence of the sun and moon. Heck, he’d probably cultivate his powers even faster out there.

He found a massive bluestone in the woods that stood half a head taller than himself. Planting his feet and centering his core, he raised his right arm and delivered a devastating knife-hand strike. With a sharp crack, the stone split perfectly in two. The whole process was like a hot knife through butter—smooth, effortless, and utterly unimpeded. Yet, looking at the sundered rock, there wasn't a hint of joy in the King's eyes. He knew all too well that he possessed nothing but raw, mountain-shattering strength. He didn't know a lick of actual martial arts. Sure, "brute force conquers all," but a grand Handsome Monkey King couldn't just rely on "brawler swings" and "slap-fights" forever. That would be beyond embarrassing.

After agonizing over it for fifteen minutes, he finally dredged up a "heaven-sent" martial art from the depths of his memory. It was a style he had learned back in his past life as a human, during the mandatory military training in middle school, high school, and college: the legendary Military Combat CQC (Military Physical Training). The set consisted of sixteen forms, and the two moves the Monkey King remembered most vividly were the "Groin Snap with Elbow Strike" and the "Crouch-Step Groin Rip." Back in the day, plenty of his male classmates had learned the hard way just how painful those moves could be.

The King closed his eyes, awakening memories that had been gathering dust for years. In his mind’s eye, a drill sergeant in camouflage appeared, demonstrating the forms move by move. The King stepped back with his right foot, knees slightly bent in an open stance. He balled his fists, leading with the left, his right fist chambered at shoulder height. Chest out, stomach in, he suddenly let out a thunderous roar: "Military Combat CQC Set One—Ready!"

Before the echo died down, his eyes snapped open. He threw a twisting right punch with everything he had while snapping his left fist back to his hip, lunging into a perfect bow-stance. This "Bow-Stance Thrust" was delivered with lethal precision. He immediately followed up, flattening his left hand into a palm strike toward the throat while unleashing a brutal snap-kick with his right leg. The "Throat-Stab Snap-Kick" was executed with the grace of flowing water.

Under the hazy moonlight, a lithe silhouette tirelessly drilled his forms on the forest grass, never pausing, never fatiguing. The King’s freakish strength and speed, combined with the ruthless techniques of Military CQC, transformed this simple, practical martial art into a display of pure "violence as an art form." When the King struck, he showed zero mercy. Eye gouges, throat locks, "bird-snatches," and groin kicks—every single move was aimed squarely at his opponent's vitals. And let’s be honest: at his current height, the Monkey King seemed biologically engineered for "low-blow" warfare. A "Groin Snap" meant instant injury; a "Crouch-Step Groin Rip" meant certain death.

As the saying goes, the moon at its zenith is exceptionally bright, and the forest in its stillness listens to the wind’s song. By the third watch of the night, the Monkey King had drilled that set of Military CQC over a hundred times. The movements had fused into his muscle memory; every nuance of the technique was mastered and etched deep into his core. Executing a flawless "Kidney Strike with Throat Lock," the King snapped back into a neutral stance. He exhaled a thin stream of turbid air, yet his face remained unchanged—his breathing nonexistent. He scanned his surroundings, a flash of white light darting through his eyes. Once certain no prying eyes were within miles, he stepped toward a massive tree, tapped the earth with his toe, and vaulted effortlessly onto a high branch.

With his hands pillowed behind his head and his back against the trunk, he kicked his legs out along the branch, lazily soaking in the moonlight. As for the events of tomorrow, he wasn't worried in the slightest. Dealing with a disorganized mob of monkeys didn't require diplomacy—showing them his fists would be plenty. Management would be simple: the "carrot and the stick." If necessary, he wouldn't mind "killing a monkey to scare the others" right in front of the crowd. With his current power, even if Godzilla showed up tomorrow, he was confident he could rip the beast apart with his bare hands.

The bright moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, dappling his hideous, terrifying face. Lying sprawled on the branch, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, he felt a sudden release of tension. His eyelids grew heavy. Though his body was still brimming with the "vitality of a dragon and tiger," his mind was utterly drained—the classic price of overthinking. Before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep.

But right then, the world shifted. The spiritual energy within a several-mile radius seemed to come alive, surging toward his location. In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the energy swirled into a colorless vortex, cocooning the King within.

His body had become a spiritual vacuum pump. It silently siphoned all the energy from the surroundings, compressed and purified it, and then guided this concentrated essence through his seven orifices and every pore, flowing into his veins. Generally speaking, members of the Yao Clan cultivate in two ways: active breathing of spiritual energy or absorbing the essence of the sun and moon. For creatures of the wild, the time spent "sunbathing" or "moonbathing" is roughly the same for everyone. Setting aside natural talent, the real gap in cultivation comes down to the sheer volume of energy one can absorb.

While ordinary members of the Yao Clan rely on the rhythmic cycle of inhalation and exhalation—where success depends on lung capacity—the Monkey King had found a "cheat code." As a silicon-based lifeform, he didn't need to breathe at all. Who could have guessed that in his sleep, he would unconsciously drain the surrounding energy to nourish himself? One good night's sleep for him was equivalent to two or three months of grueling practice for a normal Yao. In the face of such "broken" innate abilities, all the hard work in the world felt utterly trivial and tedious.

In a hazy, half-awake stupor, the King slowly opened his eyes to find himself in a magnificent, brightly lit palace. He looked around at the golden pillars carved with dragons; the walls were crafted from white marble. Far-off rafters were painted with intricate designs, and nearby, purple incense curled around heavy silk curtains. The air carried the faint, sweet scent of cosmetics.

A flash of suspicion crossed his eyes. He looked down and realized he was dressed in elegant black silk robes, sitting on the edge of a massive, wooden bed. Turning back, he saw a red satin quilt embroidered with mandarin ducks, with two jade pillows shaped like twin fish resting at the head.

Right at that moment, the rhythmic sounds of flutes and strings drifted in from outside. The Monkey King looked up as the palace doors slowly creaked open. A young woman in a vibrant red dress stepped inside. Her face was a perfect oval, her features so delicate they looked as if they were carved from fine jade. Her eyes held a spark of flirtatious charm mixed with a heavy dose of pure, unadulterated seduction. Her beauty was the kind that would make the spring grass wither in shame and pomegranate blossoms fade with envy. But beyond her world-shaking face and hourglass figure, her most striking feature was the nine crimson fox tails swaying gently behind her.

The Monkey King’s eyes blazed. He gulped hard, thinking to himself, "I’d gladly pine away and let my clothes hang loose for her. What kind of man could possibly resist a fox-spirit like that?"

The woman in red shot him a sultry look, her eyes like silk. She approached with a light, graceful step, offered a deep bow, and whispered in a voice as soft as velvet, "Your servant pays her respects. I heard my Lord was resting here, and I have come specifically to attend to your... nightly needs."

The Monkey King felt a wave of numbness wash over his body; his face turned beet-red, and a rush of heat surged uncontrollably toward his groin. Before he could even open his mouth, he heard the sound of more footsteps.

A second beauty entered, dressed in yellow. She was in the flower of her youth, with fingers like tender roots and skin like congealed cream. Her smile was enchanting, her eyes brilliant and full of life—she looked like a celestial fairy descended from the highest heavens. Yet, beneath her peerless beauty, there wasn't a hint of worldly desire. She was like a lotus emerging from clear water, untouched and pure.

The King couldn't quite tell her true form, but the woman in yellow gave him a radiant smile. She walked over to the fox-spirit, gave a formal curtsy, and said with mock-gravity, "My husband has been working so hard lately. Please, allow your wife to serve you at your bedside and ease the exhaustion of your travels."

She shot a look at the fox-spirit, sparks flying between them. Then, with a strange sort of harmony, the two women sat on either side of the Monkey King. They each hugged one of his arms tightly against their chests, staring calmly ahead. The King saw right through their little power struggle, but he didn't care one bit. A sudden realization dawned on him: this was nothing more than a long-overdue "wet dream." If that was the case, why sweat the details? He might as well double his pleasure. What was that old McDonald's slogan? "More choices, more smiles." Fast food really doesn't lie.

Nothing is harder to resist than the touch of soft skin and warm fragrance—especially when you’ve got "double the fun" on your hands. The Monkey King was itching with anticipation; he couldn't wait a second longer. These two girls had laid their cards on the table. He might look like a monkey on the outside, but his heart was that of a red-blooded man. If he didn't make a move now, he’d be a fool.

Just as he was about to pounce, a beautiful woman in white drifted through the door. She looked to be in her early twenties, her face as picturesque as a painting. She had the kind of beauty that could cause fish to sink and birds to fall from the sky. With her tiny waist and long, shapely legs, she moved with the grace of a startled swan. The King’s heart began to race—his inner "monkey" was ready to go wild.

The woman in white gazed at him longingly. Suddenly, her beautiful eyes narrowed into vertical slits—the eyes of a serpent—before returning to normal. She swayed her willow-thin hips as she approached. "Is this a snake spirit?" the King wondered, fascinated. "I might actually get to taste a 'serpent’s tongue' tonight. Just the thought is a thrill."

She bowed low before him. "Your servant greets her benefactor. I have no way to repay your great kindness, other than to offer myself to your bed. I hope you will accept." She gave another graceful bow, glanced at the two women already flanking him, and sensibly walked over to stand behind the fox-spirit, head bowed submissively.

The Monkey King’s face was flushed, his eyes gleaming. He gulped and asked in a trembling voice, "We’ve almost got a full table for Mahjong here. If anyone else shows up, I’m really going to lose control."

No sooner had he spoken than more footsteps echoed. The King fell silent, craning his neck toward the door in high expectation. An incomparable beauty in a blue dress stepped into the hall. She was dignified and elegant, her features as bright as spring flowers. She had brows that seemed permanently furrowed in a delicate pout and eyes that held both joy and deep affection. She was a national treasure, a once-in-a-century beauty—but what added a touch of fierce heroism to her look were the two silver dragon horns protruding from her forehead.

"Holy crap, we even got a Dragon Girl," the King thought wildly. "I’ve always heard that dragons are the most lustful of all. Today is definitely worth the trip. I can’t wait to 'hear the dragon’s roar' later."

The Dragon Girl walked straight up to him. She gave a perfunctory bow, looked him dead in the eye, and let out a soft huff. "Quite the romantic setup you have here, husband—one on each arm. It seems I chose a good time to visit. I look forward to seeing exactly how you 'subdue' these Yao tonight."

With a cold sweep of her eyes across the room, she reached down, hiked up her skirt, and sat directly on the Monkey King's lap.

The Dragon Girl’s bold move sent a jolt through the Monkey King. Though he sat frozen on the edge of the bed, he was already "standing tall"—a lone, majestic pillar rising from his lap. Sensing the shift, the Dragon Girl’s face instantly flushed crimson; her eyes turned misty with desire. She wound her porcelain arms around his neck and pressed her crimson lips against his cheek in a light, lingering kiss. This sent the Fox Spirit in red and the Fairy in yellow into a synchronized fit of rage. Their eyes went wide as they glared at her, and the two pairs of arms entwined around the King’s own pulled tight with newfound possessiveness.

"Alright, listen up, you gorgeous creatures," the Monkey King said, his pulse hammering against his ribs. His mind had already drifted far beyond the clouds. He strained his ears for a moment, and when no more footsteps followed, he adopted a rakish, playboy drawl. "Next time you come through that door, do me a favor and line up all at once. Stop treating it like a fashion show runway where you come out one by one. Skip the formalities, too. From now on, just give me a little bow and say, 'Hello, Handsome—Fox here,' or 'Snake here,' or 'Dragon here,' and so on."

His blood was roaring south now, a torrent he couldn't stop. "Heheh, well... since the guest list seems complete, why don't we just—"

He cut himself off mid-sentence. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a cold, breathtaking silhouette drifting silently into the room. She was a vision of icy skin and jade bones—lips vivid, teeth pearly white, her eyes bright and soul-stirring. She moved with a quiet, ethereal grace, her every gesture exuding a tranquil yet captivating elegance. But what truly set her apart was the faint, chilling aura of Yin energy radiating from her body. She was a beauty that could topple empires.

No wonder I didn't hear any footsteps, the King thought, his eyes glazed with lust. They’ve even arranged a ghost bride for me. Ice-cold beer, herbal tea, and a beautiful ghost—each one is better than the last for "cooling things down." It’s a good thing I’ve been feeling so "feverish" lately; I’ll definitely have to use my "exorcist's club" to help her reach nirvana later.

The stunning specter drifted toward the Monkey King and gave a slight, ethereal bow. In a voice as cold as a winter stream, she whispered timidly, "Greetings, Master. I am the Vengeful Spirit."

The Monkey King gave her a mental thumbs-up, impressed by how quickly she’d caught on to the program. He scanned her up and down before asking with mock-gravity, "Honey, is there anyone else behind you? If there is, tell them to hurry up and get in here. A night like this is worth its weight in gold; wasting my time right now is practically a capital crime."

"Reporting to Master, there are no others," the ghost replied, her eyes flashing with a suggestive light as a chilling, eerie smile played across her lips.

"The autumn wind ripples the waves of the Water Curtain; a night of ecstasy leaves the white fluids flowing. Drunk, I forget we are frolicking in the water; a bed full of spring dreams weighs down the galaxy," the King recited, butchering a poem with his own raunchy twist. He pulled his arms free from the two women, scooped the Dragon Girl into his embrace, and stood up. The Fox Spirit and the Spirit-Maiden scrambled to follow, while the Snake Spirit and the Ghost Girl swarmed in close.

Surrounded by this supernatural harem, the Monkey King stood tall and proud, like a titan among mortals. He threw his head back and let out a roar of unrestrained, boisterous laughter. Filled with swagger and pure satisfaction, he declared, "The night is getting old, the guest list is full, and I am far too wired to sleep. My dear ministers, I happen to have a world-class 'staff technique' of my own, and it seems like the perfect time to give you all a private demonstration. Tonight, we charge into battle together—and we don't stop until we drop!"

With a burst of strength, he tossed the Dragon Girl onto the silken mattress, ripped open his own black robes with a primal war cry, and pounced like a starving tiger. He gathered the beauties in his arms and dove headfirst into the bed.

The maidens welcome the lord’s desire, eagerly playing the purple flute; Spring touches the peach blossoms as the red buds bloom; the wind teases the willow as the green waist bends. In the joy of the union, the heart finds its true companion; The golden bit neighs on the fragrant grass, while the jade tower is drunk under the apricot sky. Two peach blossoms bloom on the cheeks as the true nature of desire is revealed; Even a stagnant pool without a ripple will dance when the spring wind blows.

And as the verse goes:

Lying like a bow, standing like a pine; shaking and rocking, add another hour, a whirlwind of motion. Female fists and male legs, the harmony of the greenwood; the Yin-Yang Continuous Cannon, the Monkey King has divine power! The staff sweeps a wide path, the spear pierces the line; light as a swallow in the clouds, his heroic spirit pierces the sky. Externally training the bone and skin, internally training the breath; strength and softness combined, a world unfolds between his thighs. The Coiled Dragon Staff in hand, watching the twin peaks tremble; once the master’s work begins, you’ll know if he’s the real deal. The hands are two gates, between the legs is the single root; nourished by the essence of Sun and Moon, the soul of the Great Sage on his journey to the West. A dragon in front, the women like heroes; the world is vast, the Monkey King has divine power!

The Monkey King fought by the light of the flickering candles. Though it was one against five, he never lost his edge. He charged in and out of the fray, his "battle robes" stained and messy, yet he wielded his "spear and staff" with tireless ferocity. He fought with the grit of a general who refused to retreat until the city fell, a man who wouldn't stop until the well ran dry—a true fight to the death.

But even the most perfect union is short-lived against the ticking clock. As the saying goes: “Alas, the bones by the River of No Return are still the men in the dreams of the spring boudoir.” The King battled through the night, and before he knew it, the east was turning white with dawn. The red candles in the palace had burned out, and the silhouettes of the beautiful women began to fade into mist.

The vortex of spiritual energy had been completely drained and absorbed. With a look of absolute, transcendent bliss on his face, the Monkey King slowly opened his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the rising sun through the leaves, stretched his limbs, and savored the memory of that absurd, wild "Nanke Dream." He was drunk on the lingering feeling.

"This," the Monkey King sighed from the bottom of his heart, "is how a real man should live." He swung his legs, hopped down from the tree, and began the trek back toward the Water Curtain Cave.

As the saying goes: Spring dreams scatter like clouds, falling petals drift with the stream; indulge in pleasure while you may, for a carefree soul knows no sorrow.

By high noon, the area before the Water Curtain Cave was a chaotic scene of teeming masses and deafening uproars. No fewer than three thousand monkeys, split into over twenty different factions, crowded the meadow in front of the waterfall. The air was thick with a cacophony of screeches and roars. The Monkey King stood with his arms crossed, watching with casual indifference as the three thousand apes across from him acted out their various dramas. Beside him stood the Four Elders, their faces like stagnant water, each harboring their own hidden agendas. Behind him stood his original troop of two hundred, their faces pale with terror.

The Monkey King adopted a solemn, dignified air and projected his voice over the crowd. "Listen up! I am the Handsome Monkey King of Mount Huaguo, and I believe in straight talk. If you all are willing to bow to me as your King, we’ll be one family from this day forward. We’ll share the wealth and face the hardships together. We’ll feast on meat and drink by the bowlful right here in this blessed sanctuary of the Water Curtain Cave. To live for the moment and be free—wouldn't that be a hell of a life? So, what do you say?"

His speech was met with a brief, stunned silence, followed by a sudden explosion of mocking laughter that nearly knocked the monkeys off their feet. A grey-furred macaque sized him up and down before hopping forward, sneering with biting sarcasm, "Hah! With a face like yours, you have the balls to call yourself 'Handsome'? You’re killing me! Bow to you? That’s a joke. On what grounds? Just because you’re exceptionally ugly?"

Before he could finish, a long-armed gibbon stepped out, issuing a flagrant challenge. "You say you’re the King? Well, I say I'm the King! There’s only one way to settle who wears the crown, and that’s a fight. Am I right, boys?" He cocked an eyebrow at his followers, and over a hundred gibbons behind him immediately erupted in cheers.

"Yeah! That’s right! Old rules apply—whoever’s the toughest is the King!" "What 'Handsome Monkey King'? My boss is way better looking than this guy. He’s gonna knock that chump’s teeth out in a second!" "Stop the yapping and let your fists do the talking! My King is taking this cave today!"

The din grew louder as a dozen or so sleek, muscular monkeys stepped forward, baring their teeth and cracking their knuckles, itching for a fight.

Just then, a booming, deep-chested roar silenced the crowd. "Everyone get the hell out of the way! I want to see which bird-brained brat had the balls to call himself King in front of me!"

The crowd parted as a massive black ape with silver fur running down his back crawled forward. He moved with an aura of pure dominance, his face a mask of brutal, scarred muscle. His powerful arms were like stone pillars, and his thick hind legs resembled small tree trunks. Even on all fours, he stood half a head taller than any of the other monkeys standing upright. The Monkey King recognized him instantly; his scientific name was a "Silverback Gorilla," the largest primate on land. This beast had to weigh at least four or five hundred pounds. If this King Kong ever actually cultivates into a Yao, the King thought, he really might be able to rip Godzilla apart with his bare hands.