When the Morning Chant is Recited

The Eastern Victory Divine Continent.

Donggua stared blankly at the slowly rising sun ahead.

Now she truly understood what it meant for fate to be unpredictable.

Two whole years in this Eastern Victory Divine Continent, and she still hadn’t managed to leave.

She was supposed to be part of an organization, yet now she was drifting like a stray.

The only thing remotely touching was a top-tier pig-masked lunatic who kept trying to drag her into mutual destruction.

She thought living with this pig in the Eastern Victory Divine Continent—constantly on edge, fearing their superiors might revoke their status at any moment—was already maddening enough.

In Donggua’s eyes, things had reached the worst possible state. So bad that even Xigua’s clean death now seemed like true liberation.

The desire to survive and the terror of impending death tangled endlessly in her heart.

This alone was torment enough, but who could’ve imagined it wasn’t even the worst?

Then, out of nowhere, a monk showed up, claiming he’d been sent from above.

Don’t ask who sent him. Don’t ask why. Just one line: "I’m here to help you!"

Then, like they were old friends, he started prying left and right.

After the incident with Cui Hao, and even with Chen Baiqing’s half-hearted attempts at deception, Donggua had zero trust in this monk.

And why not just kill the annoying bastard?

Simple—the monk was ridiculously strong.

His cultivation was solidly at the Unity Realm, and even with the pig spirit’s help, Donggua couldn’t last more than a few moves against him.

When the monk was in a good mood, his strikes were lighter. In a bad mood? Brutal.

The worst part? When he went all out, he’d chant scriptures mid-beating!

Actual Buddhist sutras, recited with enthusiasm.

The monk’s eyes would flash, golden light flaring around him as he declared:

Your hearts are too restless! Let this humble monk recite sutras to cleanse your restlessness—only then can you accomplish great deeds!

And so he’d fight while chanting.

Sometimes the howling wind from his punches drowned out the scriptures.

Then, once they were too injured to move, he’d start healing them.

Donggua couldn’t fathom it. How had the world come to this? Why was it like this?

She’d pieced together one truth: Ever since meeting Cui Hao, nothing had been right.

They couldn’t fight him, couldn’t escape. Poison? Schemes? Useless.

If anything did work and the monk caught them, it meant another thrashing.

In that regard, the monk had a touch of demonic flair.

At least judging by his complete lack of mercy when striking.

Every few days, the monk would ask Donggua and the pig spirit about their plans. But what plans could a disbanded organization’s leftover have?

Once, she snapped: "No plans. Waiting to die, that’s it."

The monk first tried persuasion—rambling about how true demons should strive for glory, how giving up wouldn’t restore their kind’s prestige.

Donggua scoffed.

When words failed, fists often followed.

His logic? A stubborn ox won’t move unless whipped.

A beating here and there was tolerable, but not every day.

Even the pig spirit eventually gave up resisting, resorting to rambling nonsense just to avoid another pummeling.

In a way, they’d learned how to coexist with the monk.

Donggua watched the sunrise with grief, still lost in sorrow when the voice she loathed most rang out behind her.

"Any plans today? You’ve been slacking too much lately."

She didn’t turn, afraid her expression might betray her and give the damned monk an excuse to pin her down for another beating. Keeping her voice steady, she replied:

"Ask the pig. He’s in charge now."

"He told me to ask you."

"He’s in charge."

Wukong didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he strolled to Donggua’s side, gazing at the sunrise. Mist curled over the landscape, painting the mountains and rivers like an ink-wash scroll.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then said:

"I’d hate to ruin such beauty by reciting sutras at you."

Donggua clenched her fists, fury in her eyes.

"What, am I your morning scripture now?!"

"Not just you." Wukong’s gaze slid to her. "Both of you. Since you’re a woman, I’ll let you choose—be the wooden fish or the mallet."

Donggua took two deep breaths, fighting the urge to punch him. Through gritted teeth:

"After following us this long, haven’t you realized we genuinely know nothing? If you’ve got ideas, we’ll listen, alright?"

Wukong’s tone was calm. "There’s no such thing as ‘knowing nothing.’ Only willingness to act or learn. My task is to assist, not command."

"My role is to… enlighten you when ignorance persists."

Donggua stood, her pent-up rage boiling over. "Even if you beat me like a morning gong today, I—"

BOOM!

Wukong retracted the golden light around his fist, watching as Donggua smashed through two trees before embedding herself in a third.

"The Buddha’s mercy cannot abide such laziness."

Stuck in the trunk, Donggua groaned in pain. The punch itself wasn’t heavy—her Nascent Soul cultivation could handle it—but the golden light targeted pain points like a vengeful spirit.

Wukong approached slowly.

"No trials, no resolve."

"The higher-ups saw potential in you. That’s why I’m here. Yet all you’ve done is idle."

"You think I don’t know your excuses? I’ve been lenient, hoping you’d repent."

"Can you truly not see the mercy in my heart?"

As he spoke, he reached for Donggua’s face.

"If you’re useless, you’re just a pretty skeleton."

"And the Buddha’s mercy makes no exceptions for skeletons."

Golden light gathered at his fingertips, drilling toward Donggua’s skull.

She screamed, then blurted:

"We’ll do something today! Let me discuss it with the pig first!"

Wukong paused, yanked her from the tree, and slammed her onto the ground. Then he looked into the distance.

"Will you come willingly, or must I fetch you?"

The pig-masked man trudged over reluctantly.

Donggua pushed herself up, gasping, and glared at Wukong.

He stood with the rising sun at his back, its glow like a Buddha’s halo. Hands clasped, his gaze was almost pitying.

A statue of mercy incarnate.

"Discuss properly. It’s my day off—don’t make me conduct morning rites."

The benevolent statue’s tone was plain.

It made Donggua and the pig spirit’s souls tremble.