The boy awoke in a vast, golden world where clouds swirled like oceans. A figure stood before him—half-man, half-monkey, his fur blazing like molten gold. His presence was overwhelming, wild, unrestrained, yet sharp like a spear piercing the heavens.
The boy's breathing stopped.
The figure's eyes locked onto him. "So, a nameless brat's blood stirs me from slumber?"
The boy trembled, but he forced himself to stand upright. "Who… are you?"
The figure chuckled, spinning the spear in his hand. Space itself bent with each motion. "Your world has long forgotten me. But once, they called me Sun Wukong."
The boy's eyes widened. Every child had heard fragments of the legend—of the warrior who challenged heaven itself, undefeated in spearmanship, unrivaled in cunning. But those were bedtime tales. To see him here…
"Why me?" the boy asked, his voice hoarse but steady.
Sun Wukong studied him for a long moment. "Your body is broken. Your fate, discarded. Yet your eyes… sharp as blades, cold as frost. You refuse to kneel, even at death's door. Heh. That's reason enough."
The boy lowered his gaze, not in submission, but in thought.
Sun Wukong grinned. "Good. You're cunning. Calm. Ruthless if needed. Just like me in my youth. Then listen well, brat: I'll pass you what remains of my spear, my footwork, my cunning arts. Not so you can follow me—but so you can surpass me."
The golden world shuddered. Light surged into the boy's body, healing wounds, reforging bones, expanding meridians. His cultivation roared forward until it stabilized at the 6th Stage of Qi Refining.
Deep within him, something ancient awakened. His bloodline screamed, his bones glowed faintly with golden runes, and his eyes burned with starlight.
He staggered, clutching his head. His vision shifted—he could see faint lines of weakness in the air, hidden paths beneath the ground, pulses of life in the distance.
Sun Wukong's eyes gleamed. "So even the heavens favored you, huh? That is no ordinary gaze… those are the Astral Eyes. With them, nothing remains hidden."
The spear in his hand trembled before planting itself in the ground. "Take it. From this day, you're its master. Forge your own name with it."
The boy wrapped his hands around the weapon. Its weight was immense, yet it felt like it belonged.
Sun Wukong's body began to fade. His voice echoed one last time:
"Remember, boy—don't live as a pawn. Be the one who moves the board."
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