The cuddle puddle, as it turned out, had a very specific ending sequence.
It began with Hóu Wáng waking up first, stretching his grizzled arms above his head with a yawn that showed every one of his remaining teeth. Then, like a slow-motion avalanche in reverse, the monkeys peeled themselves off the pile one by one, scratching, yawning, and immediately launching into cheerful arguments about what to have for the afternoon meal.
Nobody helped Cāng Jì.
He emerged from the bottom of the heap by degrees, first one hand, then a shoulder, then his face, like a man surfacing from a very furry swamp. His sunset hair, which had arrived in the monkey territory perfectly sleek and celestial-grade, was now a spectacular architectural disaster.
There was a small sprig of dried grass behind his left ear. There was moss on his cheek. There was something, and Bai Yue decided, for the sake of her own wellbeing, that she would never investigate whatr, matted into the back of his robes.
