I just became the Pirate King, and you're telling me I also time-traveled at the same time.

Chapter 1077 This is not the end

The cockroach didn't cry out. His lips twitched, then he grabbed his crippled left arm with his right hand and ripped it off at the shoulder. Black blood gushed from the severed arm, splattering onto the sand and corroding it into small, steaming pits. He tossed the severed arm to the ground, glanced at it, then looked up at Sun Wukong.

His expression was strange. It wasn't pain, it wasn't anger, it was laughter. His lips, which had split open like a slit, revealed dark red gums and two rows of yellowed teeth. He was laughing, laughing heartily, as if he had finally received something he had been waiting for for a long time.

"Monkey," he said, "your stick is certainly heavy."

Sun Wukong pulled his golden cudgel from the sand pit, its tip stained with black blood and sand. He gripped the cudgel with both hands, holding it horizontally in front of him. His golden eyes looked at the cockroach, his gaze devoid of contempt or anger, only a pure focus on treating it as a worthy opponent.

"Your hand is indeed broken," Sun Wukong said.

The cockroach's laughter deepened. He released his right hand, and new flesh began to grow from the wound on his severed arm. The flesh was black, like countless tiny worms, wriggling and extending from the edge of the cut, intertwining, merging, and slowly, layer by layer, growing into a new shoulder, then an upper arm, then an elbow, then a forearm, then a wrist, then fingers. The whole process took less than ten breaths.

The newly grown left arm was thinner and lighter in color than the original, as if it had not yet fully developed. But the cockroach moved its fingers—all five, each one of which could move and each one was strong.

"Regeneration?" Sun Wukong's tone held a hint of amusement. "Your ability is quite rare."

"There are many rarer things," the cockroach said, flexing its newly grown wrist. "You'll see even more today."

He glanced at the cricket. The cricket received that look and charged from the other side of the battlefield. This time, it didn't charge at Chu Yang; it charged at Su Wanwan. It held a grudge. Last time on the saline-alkali land, Chu Yang had slapped it. It couldn't defeat Chu Yang, but it could attack those around him. That five-tailed fox demon seemed to be the weakest among them. Hitting her would make Chu Yang feel sorry for her, and Chu Yang's pity would make it happy.

The cricket was at least three times faster than before. Its body kept deforming during the sprint, not growing bigger, but flattening out—its body was as if it had been flattened by something, changing from three-dimensional to two-dimensional, from solid to flat, as thin as a piece of paper, as light as a leaf, and as fast as a beam of light.

Su Wanwan saw him, but her body couldn't keep up. Her lunar energy surged forth before she even realized the danger, forming a silvery-white wall in front of her. But the giant cricket was too flat, so flat that it could squeeze through the gaps in the lunar energy wall. The lunar energy wall wasn't a solid sheet; the lunar energy had gaps, those gaps were thinner than a hair, but the giant cricket was now even thinner than a hair.

He squeezed through the gap in the lunar wall, his flat body expanding again in mid-air, regaining its three-dimensional shape. His five fingers spread out, the suction cups at their tips reaching for Su Wanwan's face. At the same time, three spikes in the center of the suction cups sprang out, each tip of which was attached to a drop of transparent, dew-like liquid.

That's poison.

Su Wanwan didn't have time to dodge. She closed her eyes.

But she didn't feel any pain.

She opened her eyes and saw the white wolf standing in front of her. The white wolf used its body to block the claws of the grub, and the thorns of its five fingers pierced the white wolf's shoulder blade, chest, and abdomen. Blood gushed from all five wounds at the same time, the blood being bright red and particularly glaring against its white fur.

The white wolf didn't howl. It bit the grub's wrist.

This wasn't the skillful attack of biting the sand scorpion's tail last time; it was a pure, desperate, all-out bite. Its teeth pierced through the scales on the cicada's wrist, through the muscles beneath, and reached the bone. The cicada's bones were hard, and the white wolf's teeth made a piercing "crunching" sound as they bit into them, like metal scraping against metal. Its gums were bleeding, its teeth were loosening, but it didn't let go.

Su Wanwan's eyes instantly reddened.

She had no time to cry, no time to shout. She forced all the lunar energy in her dantian out at once, not from her fingertips, not from her palms, but from every pore of her body. The moment the lunar energy burst forth from her body, the air around her was ignited—not with flames, but with silvery-white light, like a miniature sun rising in the desert.

The area affected by the explosion was small, only about ten feet. But within that area, everything was enveloped by the moonlight. The moment the giant cricket's body was engulfed by the moonlight, it let out a scream that Su Wanwan would never forget. The sound was so shrill that it exceeded the limits of human hearing. What Su Wanwan heard was not the sound itself, but the vibrations it caused in the air. Those vibrations were like an invisible knife, cutting back and forth in her brain.

The giant cricket released the white wolf and was thrown back as if electrocuted, rolling several times on the sand before crashing into a dune. His body was covered with a layer of silvery-white light film, which was constantly eroding his scales, his skin, and his muscles, like acid corroding layer by layer. With each layer that corroded, he let out a miserable scream.

The cockroach did not go to save him.

The cockroach stood still, watching Su Wanwan shrouded in moonlight, the five still-bleeding teeth marks on her wrist where the white wolf had bitten her, and the crickets writhing and screaming in the sand. His expression was calm, as calm as an old professor reviewing experimental results.

"Five-tailed," he said, "but the explosive power of the moon's energy is close to that of a six-tailed creature."

He nodded, as if confirming something.

"That white wolf." His gaze fell on the white wolf. "It has a very old lineage. It's not a wolf from the Western Regions. It's from the East, the kind that has been sealed away for many years."

He nodded again, as if he were taking notes on something.

"Monkey, monk, that person, fox, wolf," he counted one by one. "Five things together, it's not a coincidence."

He turned around, the hem of his black robe sweeping a semicircle across the sand. He walked into the depths of the desert, his pace neither fast nor slow, leaving no footprints in the sand. His newly grown left arm swayed gently at his side, like something without bones. His silhouette twisted and distorted in the heat, growing increasingly blurry and faint, until finally, like a drop of ink falling into water, it slowly spread, diluted, and disappeared.

The cockroaches are gone.

The cicada continued to writhe and scream in the sand, but the cockroach didn't turn to look at him. The cicada's cries gradually subsided, not because he was better, but because his voice had become hoarse. The silvery-white membrane covering his body finally dissipated slowly from his struggles and the friction of the sand, but most of his scales had been corroded away, revealing pink muscles beneath, as delicate as a newborn's skin. Those muscles quickly reddened, swelled, and blistered under the sunlight, and the cicada let out a new scream, this time not from the moonlight, but from the sun.

Sun Wukong walked over, looked down at the flat face on the sand, half-dead from the sun, and hesitated for a moment whether to deliver another blow. But he glanced at Su Wanwan, then at the white wolf, and put his golden cudgel away.

"Never mind," he said. "Let him suffer the pain himself."

Upon hearing these words, the cicada stopped screaming. It lay prone on the sand, covering its most vulnerable parts with its few remaining intact scales. The dim, yellowish light in its slit eyes was like two light bulbs about to go out. It looked at Sun Wukong, then at Su Wanwan, its mouth opening and closing as if to say something, but no sound came out. Its lips moved a few times, and Su Wanwan read the lip movements: he said, "You wait."

Then he burrowed into the sand, wriggling beneath the surface like an earthworm whose tail had been stepped on, and disappeared. A crooked trail, stained with blood and bodily fluids, was left on the sand, but the trail was quickly filled in by the wind and sand, as if nothing had happened.

The remaining lesser demons on the battlefield scattered like the receding tide after the cockroaches disappeared and the crickets fled. The sand python burrowed back into the sand, the spider climbed the dunes, the black mist drifted westward, and the winged sand fox took to the sky. Sun Wukong didn't chase after them, nor did Chu Yang. They stood there, watching the demons' figures grow smaller and smaller, farther and farther away, until they finally disappeared into the heatwave and sandstorm.

The desert has returned to calm.

The wind picked up again, carrying sand and the smell of blood. The sun was still the same sun, silently burning in the sky, drawing all the moisture from the ground, including the blood. The white wolf's five wounds were already bleeding, bright red blood flowing from its white fur, pooling into five small puddles on the sand, being slowly absorbed by the hot wind and dry sand.

Su Wanwan squatted beside the white wolf, her hands trembling, not from fear, but from anxiety. She tore off her sleeve and pressed it against the white wolf's largest wound—the one on its right shoulder, where the first finger of the grub had pierced it; the wound was the deepest and bled the most. The sleeve was quickly soaked with blood, so Su Wanwan tore off her other sleeve, pressed it down, and dared not let go.

The white wolf lay on her lap, its pale blue eyes half-open, looking at her face. It didn't feel pain, or rather, it felt pain but didn't show it. It just lay there quietly, occasionally licking the back of Su Wanwan's hand with its tongue. Its tongue was rough, with barbs, and it hurt a little when it licked her skin, but Su Wanwan didn't flinch.

"Stop licking." Su Wanwan's voice was a little hoarse and nasal. "Save your energy."

The white wolf ignored him and continued licking.

Chu Yang walked over, squatted down next to the white wolf, reached out and lifted the sleeve that Su Wanwan was holding, and examined the wound. The wound was not shallow, but it did not damage the bone or major blood vessels. The cricket's fingers had already deviated from their original direction before being bitten on the wrist, and the angle when it pierced in was wrong. It only went through the muscle layer and did not pierce the chest cavity.

"It's nothing," Chu Yang said. "It's just a superficial wound; it'll heal in a few days."

Upon hearing these words, Su Wanwan's tears finally fell. Not a loud wail, but silent, drop by drop, like beads from a broken string, rolling from her eyes and dripping onto the white wolf's white fur, spreading out small, transparent circles amidst the bloodstains.

The white wolf watched her cry, tilting its head slightly, its pale blue eyes filled with confusion. It didn't understand why Su Wanwan was crying; it was the one who was hurt, not her. It wasn't even in pain, so why was she crying? It thought for a moment and realized that perhaps its licking technique was wrong, so it changed its approach, gently and slowly licking the back of her hand, its movements much gentler than before, as if to say: Don't cry, I'm alright.

Su Wanwan cried even harder.

Sun Wukong stood to the side, watching the man and the wolf, unusually refraining from making any sarcastic remarks. He shrunk his golden cudgel and tucked it behind his ear, walked to the white donkey, took Tang Sanzang's medicine chest from its back, and placed it beside Chu Yang. This time, the white donkey didn't protest. It stood beside him, head down, looking at the white wolf's wounds, its nostrils flaring as it breathed heavily. It and the white wolf had been vying for a spot next to Su Wanwan, for fodder, and for head pats all the way, but now, looking at the white wolf lying on the ground, it suddenly felt that all those things were pointless.

Tang Sanzang also came over, took out wound medicine and bandages from his medicine box, and placed them next to Chu Yang. He didn't speak, but simply placed his hand on the white wolf's head and gently pressed it for a while. The white wolf closed its eyes as he pressed it, and its breathing gradually became steady, as if a calming incantation had been recited.

Chu Yang began treating the wound. His hands were steady as he parted the fur around the white wolf's wound, cleared away the sand, applied wound medicine, and bandaged it. Each movement was neither fast nor slow, as if he had done it many times before. The white wolf was quiet under his care, only trembling slightly when the medicine was applied. The powder would hurt when it touched the wound, but it didn't flinch or bark; it simply buried its face deeper into Su Wanwan's knees.

Su Wanwan pressed down on the white wolf's head while crying, tears falling drop by drop onto its ears. The white wolf's ears twitched, shaking off the tears, and then pressed back down.

After treating the last wound, Chu Yang stood up, put the blood-stained rags and medicine bottles into the medicine box, and closed the lid.

"Okay," he said. "Don't cry. It's really okay."

Su Wanwan sniffed, wiped her face haphazardly with the back of her hand, and wiped away her tears and snot. She looked down at the white wolf, and the white wolf looked back at her, its pale blue eyes reflecting her face, which was a complete mess from crying, with a red nose and swollen eyes, looking terribly ugly.

The white wolf's tail twitched.

Su Wanwan stopped crying and started laughing, then patted its head again.

Sun Wukong stood on the sand dune and glanced westward. On the western horizon, the yellow line was still there, unchanged from three days ago. The cockroaches had vanished, the grubs had burrowed into the sand, and all the lesser demons had fled, but Sun Wukong knew this was not the end. (End of Chapter)