Chapter 2: First Steps in the Celestial Court
911 Words
The gates of heaven shone like the edge of a freshly whetted blade. Sun Wukong landed on the jade-paved entrance platform, his inspector’s torc pulsing in time with the celestial wards guarding the archway. Before him stretched the Ninefold Avenue, its translucent roadbed floating above clouds dyed pink by the eternal sunset of the upper realms. Immortal officials glided past in palanquins carried by phoenix hatchlings, their laughter dripping with the cloying sweetness of overripe peaches.
A gatekeeper materialized from the mist—a towering figure with boar tusks and eyes like smoldering coal. “Credentials.”
Wukong flicked the torc. The flaming seal seared the air, leaving afterimages of dancing dragons. The guard’s sneer melted into panic as he dropped to one knee, forehead touching the jade.
“Apologies, Lord Inspector! The Office of Meridian Winds lies beyond the Seventh Harmonic Bridge! Shall I summon a cloud chariot?”
“I’ll walk.” Wukong strode past trembling sentries, savoring the way his mere presence made constellations embroidered on officials’ robes dim their glow. The scent of corruption grew stronger with each step—a cloying mix of ambrosia and decay that no amount of celestial perfume could mask.
The banquet hall floated above a lake of liquid moonlight, its arched roof supported by pillars carved from frozen thunder. Minister Qiu stood at the entrance, his azure robes stitched with silver threads depicting the celestial bureaucracy’s hierarchy. Three chins quivered as he bowed.
“An honor, Great Sage! We’ve prepared the Phoenix Eye vintage especially for—”
Wukong shoved past him, tail slicing through an offering tray of jeweled dumplings. The hall fell silent as hundreds of immortals turned, their chopsticks hovering over dishes that steamed with the essence of stolen prayers.
He vaulted onto the central dais where a hundred-year-old roast phoenix lay surrounded by crystallized lotus roots. “Lovely party,” Wukong announced, plucking a golden feather from the phoenix’s carcass. “Shame about the guest list.”
Minister Qiu’s laughter sounded like a dying bellows. “All properly vetted through the Celestial Protocol Office! May I present the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, the Keeper of Mortal Lifelines, and—”
“And the Ghost General of the Blood Marsh,” Wukong interrupted, pointing at a figure cloaked in shifting shadows. “Whose name appears on three outstanding warrants for soul trafficking.”
Chaos erupted. Celestial guards materialized with spears crackling with lightning, only to freeze when Wukong’s torc flared. The shadow-cloaked figure dissolved into smoke, but not before Wukong’s third eye—a gift from Buddha’s seal—caught the glint of Minister Qiu’s personal sigil on its dagger.
“How careless,” Wukong murmured, snatching the dagger from the air before it could vanish. The blade pulsed with forbidden yin energy, its edge etched with soul-binding runes. “Minister, your cutlery seems… excessive for a celebration.”
Sweat soaked through Qiu’s collar. “A gift! From the underworld envoys! Merely ceremonial!”
“Ceremonial?” Wukong pricked his finger on the blade. A drop of blood fell, crystallizing mid-air into a screaming face—the trapped soul of a village headman from the mortal realm. “Strange customs you keep.”
Before the minister could respond, Wukong leaped onto the banquet table, scattering dishes that burst into flames where they struck the floor. His tail lashed out, upending a wine jar that spilled not liquid, but swirling gray mist. The torc’s flames turned blue as they illuminated the vapor—countless mortal souls compressed into vintage form.
The Dragon King of the East Sea rose, his coral crown trembling. “This is an outrage! We are celestial beings! You cannot—”
Wukong’s staff materialized with a thunderclap, its shadow pinning the dragon to his seat. “I can.” He dipped the Ruyi Jingu Bang into the soul-wine, watching the metal drink in the trapped spirits. “And I will.”
As the staff absorbed the corrupted essence, glowing cracks appeared on the banquet hall’s walls. Wukong’s enhanced vision pierced through layers of celestial glamour, revealing the truth beneath—chains of cursed gold binding the building’s foundations to a pulsating mass in the underworld far below.
Minister Qiu screamed as Wukong’s claws closed around his throat. “Who authorized the soul anchors?”
“You… don’t understand…” The minister’s form began to blur, celestial robes melting into something insectile and chitinous. “The debts… the balance must be maintained…”
A gong shook the heavens. The air rippled as celestial archers materialized on floating platforms, their arrows tipped with starfire. Wukong grinned, tasting ozone and fear.
“Maintain this.”
He slammed Qiu’s shifting form into the corrupted foundation stone. The banquet hall exploded in a shower of jade shards and screaming souls. As the immortals fled in clouds of panic, Wukong stood amid the wreckage, his torc burning away the lies clinging to the air like spiderwebs.
Far below in the mortal realm, Tang Sanzang winced as his alms bowl cracked. The water within showed fragmented images—a monkey-shaped shadow laughing amid falling stars, and darker shapes stirring in the void between realms.
“The first thread pulled,” the monk whispered. “Now comes the unraveling.”
**Next Chapter: "Whispers in the Wind" – As Sun Wukong pursues fleeing conspirators, he discovers a trail of clues leading to the heart of celestial bureaucracy, where even truth wears masks.**
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