#suntangweek

He wasn't sure who told them, but before he left, the monks held up a small jar.

"We heard you wished to scatter his ashes on your mountain," the leader said, his voice soft and eyes red. Even if Sanzang's death was expected, was planned, it was still a nasty shock. "We saved a few jars for your group."

"Thank you," Wukong said, taking the jar.

It felt so light in his hands.

Was this all that was left of Sanzang? Just a light jar? He bit back the urge to sob and tightened his grip softly- if he left it too loose, his hands would shake and he would drop the jar. If he left it too tight, he would crack it.

The flight back home felt like a second of eternity.

And then he was there, back on the beach, where Sanzang had first seen his home.

His white funeral clothes gleamed in the setting sun.

He undid the jar and peeked instead.

A sob did escape at the sight of the white ash, all that was left of his master. His teacher. His friend.

His... his heart.

He reached instead, feeling the texture against his fingers, and pulled some out. He whispered a spell and felt a breeze flow.

Without a second, he released the ash.

Happy Suntang week! @suntangworld

White is associated with purity, peace and innocence.

Full color under the cut

The sky was blue.

It was the wrong shade of blue- or, at least, it felt wrong. Shards of bone crystal hung in the air like twisted snowflakes, thrown up by the massive chunks of bone growing everywhere like massive, twisted trees. The entire kingdom was wrapped in it, suffocating the screams of the innocent.

Wukong's hand was a steady anchor on his hip.

"Are you ready?"

"She can't die, Wukong," If Sanzang could save a demon's life, then he would. "No matter what."

The White Bone Spirit was twisted, yes. But her heart was in the right place, even if her plan included killing everyone. She could be saved, he was certain of it.

Wukong sighed. "Fine. You ready?"

"For what-?"

The ring was made of silver.

At first, he thought gold. It was the color that seemed to symbolize his monkey the most. From the sparks of his power to the gleam of his fur to even the blood that welled up when the filet dug in, gold was his color. It was the metal he wore the most, matching his eyes and his staff.

He was Sun Wukong and the sun was his symbol. And gold was the color of the sun.

But, Sanzang mused, there was a thing of too much gold. If Wukong wore a gold ring, it would go unnoticed, fade into the background.

It was wrong of him to feel it, it went against Buddha's teaching, but jealousy reared up at the idea of nobody seeing his ring.

So, silver.

Silver was a cool color. It reminded him of the moon, of her peace and her serenity. It would stand out against Wukong's bright fur, would gleam grey even when surrounded by gold. People would see it, Sanzang would see it…

Day 5 of @suntangworld's Suntang Week and I got an idea for a childhood friends AU!

"Do you remember what we talked about?"

"Be polite," Tang Sanzang said, his foster father's words easily coming to mind. "Don't speak out of turn, or be rude about their beliefs. And don't wander off unless our host gives permission."

The abbot smiled, patting him on the head. "You have a wonderful memory for a seven-year-old," he said. "I don't think I have to worry about you. Patriarch Subodhi, however…" His smile faded at whatever thought about the Daoist came to his mind. Sanzang waited patiently until he came back to himself, smiling. "Well, no worries. Come along, Sanzang." He took his hand and guided him out of the room.

Outside, a glowing array waited. The abbot seemed to show no fear, boldly walking in. Sanzang swallowed back any fear and followed, holding the older man's hand tight.

It only took a few seconds before sunlight broke through, and the two of them stepped out into a courtyard. Sanzang looked down and couldn't help but admire the decor of a crescent moon and stars before big doors opened, revealing what seemed to be an assistant. "Abbot," she said, her voice soft and gentle. "My master waits for you and your…" Her eyes drifted down, and she raised a brow.

"This is Sanzang, my ward," the abbot said. "Apologies for not forewarning you, the disciple who usually watches him got sick."

The assistant's brow lowered. "That is no problem. My master faces a similar issue with his…" She paused, her face scrunching up. "Student."

"Oh?" He felt the abbot's hand loosen slightly. "Maybe you can make a friend, Sanzang."

He gave a polite nod, resisting the urge to make a face. The abbot was always annoyed whenever he found him not playing with the other children. He was a monk, though, and had things to learn! Hopefully, this student would understand.

The assistant turned, and the two of them followed.

The monastery was very pretty, Sanzang had to admit. It was decorated with mostly flowers and plants, allowing a peaceful green serenity as disciples practiced and moved. They reached a set of grand doors, decorated with moons and stars. The assistant opened it, and the abbot gave a polite bow before moving inwards. Sanzang tried his best to do the same, trailing behind the abbot.

And then a bowl was shoved in his face.

"Would you like an orange?!"

Loud was the first thing he processed. And then, that's a demon.

"Wukong!" Master Subodhi said, standing up from the table. "I thought I told you-"

"It's alright, old friend," the abbot laughed, letting go of Sanzang's hand to grab an orange slice from the bowl. "Aren't you a polite thing?"

The bowl lowered, revealing more of the monkey demon.

They looked a little bit younger than him, with curly orange fur that almost resembled a cloud. Their golden eyes sparkled with clear joy, paired with a close-mouthed smile that almost seemed brighter than a full tooth smile.

They were weirdly… cute.

Those eyes landed on him, and Sanzang stiffened. Was he expected to get an orange too?

Before the demon could say anything, Master Subodhi wrapped arms around them and picked them up. "Apologies for Wukong. He got excited when he heard he was allowed to attend this meeting." The Daoist glanced at the monkey. "And I told him to behave."

"Again, it's alright," the abbot said, pushing Sanzang forward. "What's his name?"

"I'm Sun Wukong!" the monkey said, starting to squirm anew. "What's your name!"

"This is Tang Sanzang, your new friend!"

The monkey gasped, and Sanzang felt his heart sink.

Day 4 of @suntangworld's Suntang Week!

Once again, they were sleeping in a dead demon's home.

There should be something fundamentally wrong about sleeping in the home of a person you killed, regardless of whether they were a demon or not. However, Wukong had pointed out that it was comfortable and dry, regardless of the fact it was a cave, and the sun was setting, and that it technically wasn't a tomb. After cleaning up any blood and bodies, Sanzang had to admit Wukong was right.

If he was there.

"I think he's exploring," Ao Lie said, sitting way too close to the fire for comfort. Sanzang could remember his, Wukong, and Lie's first night together, where Ao Lie had accidentally burnt off a chunk of his hair. "He mentioned wanting to see if there were any supplies that we could scavenge."

Once again, that felt wrong. But Sanzang knew Wukong really wasn't going to listen to him about that. "I'll go find him," he said, rising to his feet. "Wujing-"

"Yeah, I gotcha." The river demon, without another word, gently pushed Lie back from the fire a little bit, drawing a squawk from the dragon prince.

Sanzang left before Ao Lie could find his words, walking down the hall.

He didn't have far to search. There was a door open, casting light. Faint humming could be heard. The monk approached the door, pushing it open.

The first thing he saw was gold.

Piles of treasure were everywhere, from jewelry to random nuggets to weapons. It seemed to cast its own light, gold shimmering off the walls. Honestly, that was more beautiful than the gold itself.

The second thing he saw was Wukong, standing in front of him with a grin.

"Hold still."

"Wha- Wukong, I can't-"

"Come on, let me indulge!" Wukong cooed, leaning forward. He gently shoved up Sanzang's sleeves, revealing the expanse of his sun-tanned arm, and pulled on his collar a bit. Such closeness and intimacy made heat flare up in his face, contrasting against the cold gold that was placed on his bared skin. "You're pretty on your own, but I never see you wear anything pretty… there!"

Before Sanzang could process the fact that Wukong called him pretty, he was pulled in front of a mirror.

The jewelry was beautiful, he had to admit. Golden bands, rings, necklaces, even a diadem, sat on his skin. It sparkled in the light and looked rather nice. His father and mother wore such jewelry, but he had never been tempted to actually wear it before.

Art School Wukong wearing some black for Day 3 @suntangworld's Suntang Week. Sanzang is very appreciative of his lovely spouse.

This wasn't the first time Tang Sanzang had been in court.

The first time was when he helped his mother in her case against Liu Hong. The second time was after he met Wukong, when he submitted himself as a witness for Wukong. The third time was after the Incident, where he was a witness and possible unwilling accomplice. He knew a courtroom by now.

He wasn't prepared to be a defendant this time.

The handcuffs pressed against the skin of his wrists. It took so much willpower not to itch or fiddle, leaving his hands in his lap. He had to look calm and put together, his lawyer, Shaoqing, had said. She looked perfectly unbothered at the moment, flipping through pages as if she was reading at the beach.

The doors opened, allowing the prosecution's lawyers to walk in. Behind them trailed Azure, settling into his seat. He flashed Sanzang a sad frown, but he couldn't help but see the gleam of triumph in his eyes.

Rare anger boiled in Sanzang's chest.

How dare he? How dare he try to look so sad, how dare he try to take advantage? If he really thought Wukong would be won over like this, he was mistaken. Sanzang stopped fiddling with his cuffs and allowed a calm, serene expression to form across his face. He looked across and straight at Azure, allowing only a slight smile to form.

Azure's frown deepened, and that smug look in his eyes faded.

People were still trailing in, including what looked like a whole camera crew. The darkness of the camera lens stared at him, and Sanzag tried to ignore the unease that lit up in his chest. Azure glanced away first, in time for one of them to walk up and whisper to him. Of course.

The doors banged open.

All heads turned.

Sanzang felt his head turn, and his jaw drop.

The first man was an old man whom he had never seen before. He seemed to have come off the cover of a historical drama, wearing a fancy white and silver hanfu. He walked with the grace of a king. As he drew closer, Sanzang recognized him. Not his face, but from Wukong's descriptions of his adopted father.

It also helped that Wukong strode right next to him.

His husband looked beautiful.

He rarely wore black. The gala had been an exception, with his lovely gold and black qipao. Yet, now, he wore black.

This time, there was no gold, only black in his form-fitting suit. The only contrasting color was a soft grey ascot, and the strawberry blonde Wukong dyed his hair. Even his bright, colorful makeup was gone, replaced by black makeup that looked more like war paint. Unlike Subodhi, his mouth was set in a snarl, as if he was prepared to rip Azure's throat out with his teeth.

He looked like a king. He looked like a black hole that stole everyone's attention.

Day 2 of @suntangworld's Suntang Week, the color being red!

His only warning was the soft breath, right before the sutra began.

In an instant, the world became a red haze of pain.

Sun Wukong collapsed to his knees, his fingers digging into his fur, into his very skin. He clawed at the filet, desperately trying to pull it off. It was useless, he knew that logically, but in his pain, logic didn't matter.

How could he?

He looked up. The world was a red haze, matching the blood spilled across the ground and the warmth spreading across his fingers, but his vision wasn't impaired.

He didn't look at Zhu Bajie, who looked smug at getting him punished again, not at Sha Wujing, who looked away with clear discomfort, not at Ao Lie, who was staring at Bajie with displeasure. They contributed to this, but they were not the reason the world was red.

Tang Sanzang, who had promised, who had sworn not to use the sutra again, stared down at him.