Chapter Text
When Mihou wakes, it is to warmth and softness, a feeling of contentment surrounding him; a stark contrast to when he fell asleep, sick and shivering, all the worst feelings swirling in his chest. There is some lingering anxiety in the air, as there usually is whenever he plays one of his tricks on Wukong. Still, he knows it is something that will not last — the moment he opens his eyes properly and looks at the older monkey, he will melt under the first smile Mihou gives him and be pacified for the next few days. Wukong will be clingy, but this is exactly the effect he had been trying to get.
“Hi,” he chirps after a long, long yawn.
Just like that, Wukong’s defenses are down.
“Hello, xiǎoyǐngzi,” the older monkey rumbles back. He preens when he hears the nickname his brother has made up for him a long time ago.
They do not speak much after that. Gēgē asks about the state of his ankle — which hurts, but not nearly as much as it did when he first twisted it — and if he feels any leftover effects from the illness he is only now recuperating from. He asks if he is hungry (he does not think he can stand the sight of food right now) or thirsty (a little, but he knows an affirmative will make Wukong get up from the nest to retrieve it, so he lies). Gēgē does not deem any of it too concerning if the way he simply relaxes and lazes about the nest with him for the next few hours is any indication.
During that time, Mihou considers what happened while he had been asleep. He does not remember much from the times he woke up, only panic and confusion. The dreams — or nightmares — are a little clearer in his mind. The exact themes are lost to him, but he does remember a cacophony of words that he could not place where exactly came from, just that what they said made sense. They directed his terrors through a tortuous path, not unlike the instinctive whispers that he has heard, well… since forever; the ones he allowed to guide his actions from a young age. Only now it occurred to him that it might not be such a normal thing, that maybe it is another of his ears’ abilities. If that is the case, he probably should train them more, to see the extent of it, but he does not feel the slightest inclination. He has already done a lot of training just to exist within his home; the sounds of Flower Fruit Mountain are a lot.
All in all, it sounds like a problem for future him.
Mihou is nearly dozing off again when Wukong makes it as if he will get up from the nest. Absent-mindedly, he clutches any fur he can get his hands on, even when his brother raises his arms to encircle him and make sure he will not fall. Gēgē makes his way to the wardrobe in the corner to yank the first ru he finds in his line of sight, a yellow and black one that Mihou actually really likes. He hesitates to pull his hands away so he can shrug the sleeves on, but lets out a rumbling laugh when the little monkey remains stubbornly attached to his fur. The sides are unceremoniously folded over him, letting only the little monkey’s head exposed to the open air. He lays his head against gēgē’s chest and closes his eyes, relaxing. Wukong starts purring very, very softly, in a way only his ears will be able to hear as they make their way through the palace.
“Ready?” His brother asks, resting a hand on his back through the layers of fabric.
“Mhm,” he hums, basking in the comfortable warmth the closeness provides.
Wukong walks to the door, pushing it open easily. Then they are off, no doubt headed for the kitchens, where the king will gorge himself with anything he finds on his way while Mihou himself nibbles on something or another just so there will be no more worrying for him after it. It is a simple routine, that happens without fail every time he gets sick.
It repeats down to the smallest details, he finds out over the next few days. Even the generals get roped into it, each expressing concern in their own way. Ma dotes on him like she is some rich, generous aunt, bringing him little trinkets whenever she sees him being toted around by Wukong like he is a cub again. Beng, straight to the point as always, asks him how he is doing every single day. Ba strikes up soft conversation whenever Mihou looks a little too bored, grooming the worst of the mussed fur he gets as a result of always being attached at the hip of a certain overprotective older brother of his. The only change is Liu.
Before, he would come with Ma whenever she checked on Mihou and linger awkwardly at the edge of the conversation, only listening in. Now, he comes to talk to Mihou himself. He is still missing his cape — the little monkey knows exactly where it is: at his brother’s nest, serving as a blanket for himself for the past week or so. His unwillingness to part with it only adds to the pit of embarrassment he feels at the bottom of his stomach whenever he hides behind Wukong during one of the marshal’s attempts to converse with him.
So far it has been of no consequence, but he feels bad regardless. Mihou tries not to think of it as he lounges belly down on his brother’s forearm as he runs blunt claws through the pearly white fur on the back of his head. They are in the war room where the generals and king gather to discuss important matters when there is no fighting. He has not been paying any attention — if asked, the little monkey would not be able to tell what they have been talking about for so long.
They are soon done, and (nearly) one by one, the generals and marshals leave the room. Only he and Wukong remain, for a reason unknown to him. He stirs. His brother does not move.
Mihou lets out an inquisitive chirp, turning to face Wukong. His brother’s expression is one he has never seen before; not quite angry, but serious in a way that leaves no room for joking or deflecting. It is like whatever he is going to say, he means business.
“Mihou,” he begins, voice even, “can I ask you something?”
He swallows, “Is this about the trick?”
Wukong sighs, closing his eyes, “Yes.”
“Sorry.” His ears flop down, denouncing actual regret. He knows he has gone too far this once, but he really believed Wukong would let it go after a while, as it usually went.
“That’s not it,” Wukong scrambles to say, a hand coming up to cradle his cheek. Mihou sees himself reflected in golden eyes identical to his. “I just… I was scared, xiǎoyǐngzi.”
The guilty feeling grips his heart again. He squirms on the secure hold his brother has on him but is not released.
“I know,” he says. “ ‘m sorry.”
Wukong sighs again, looking unbelievably tired. His brother is not that old for a yaoguai. That plus the ageless immortality he has makes sure that he will never quite age in the same way as many other beings, that he will retain youth and health for many years, if not forever.
He looks very old now.
The thing is, it is not Mihou’s fault. His brother had only been reacting to an unwanted bout of separation the only way he knew how, the one way that has not had any consequences before; except this time, it did. Serious ones. His little shadow could have ended up seriously injured, or worse, had the circumstances been even a little different. Truly, he cannot blame anyone for what happened, as it is a series of little mistakes and slights from various people that ended up spiraling out of control. Wukong can barely bring himself to finish the conversation, with that in mind.
“It’s not your fault, Mihou.” He settles on saying. “You were the one who ended up hurt, either way.”
The rest was not as bad. Sure, at some point Wukong truly thought his heart would beat out of his chest with worry, but that had been just his protective instincts acting up. Some stress never killed anybody, anyway.
“I made you worry,” his brother mumbled, “and the generals, too. You told me not to do this, already.”
“But there were never any consequences. Of course you didn’t take it seriously.” He runs a thumb under one golden eye, over a warm little cheek. It fills him with relief to note it is well within the normal temperature, “It really is not your fault, xiǎoyǐngzi.”
If anyone is to blame, that is Wukong himself. He can be traced to the problem’s origin; He is the one who insisted on pushing his brother away, making him turn to drastic measures time and time again, the one who downplayed the vanishing act before, when he thought it was just another one of these days. Wukong is responsible for startling Mihou and making him slip off the edge.
He is the one that failed to catch him when he fell.
Worse yet, he had been useless after the fact, unable to get his body to move, to do something. If it weren’t for the generals…
“…Wukong?” Mihou stares up at him with owlish eyes, concerned by his lack of talking.
He clears his throat. “I’m alright, xiǎoyǐngzi.” He smooths back some white hair, watching his brother lean into the touch. “I should be the one apologizing.”
Mihou chirps inquisitively, head turned to the side, questioning. It’s adorable. Does it make any more sense at a forty-five-degree angle, bud? He wants to ask, but the lump in his throat won’t let him. The moment is too fragile to be spoiled with silly jokes like that, either way. Instead, he shifts his hand so it’s cupping Mihou’s head — a single one suffices, and he can even poke that little nose with a thumb if he so wishes. That consideration almost makes him want to weep at the thought of what he could have lost — and waits until the little monkey leans on it, still curious.
After a failed attempt at swallowing the lump in his throat, Wukong continues. “You did it to get my attention, didn’t you? And I didn’t look for you until it was almost too late and… I let you fall, Mihou. You could have–“
He does not dare say it.
“Hey,” Mihou hisses, scolding. “It’s not your fault either!”
He grimaces, “Mihou–“
“If it’s your fault, then it’s mine too!” He protests, looking far too angry for a being that small.
“No!”
“Why? Why are you guilty and I am not? I am the one who ran. I am the one who didn’t listen.”
Wukong splutters. He does not have a good reason besides the guilty feeling simmering in his gut. The Monkey King does not want to burden his little brother with that knowledge.
“Because I’m the older brother,” he huffs, “and I say so.”
“That is not a good reason!” Mihou exclaims, fur puffy with irritation.
“Well, it's the one you get!” He retorts, unwilling to back down.
Mihou starts growling, tail ricocheting as his aggravation grows. It slaps him quite fiercely as it swings from side to side in his lap. Grabbing it only makes his brother’s scowl grow deeper, and he flashes tiny white fangs, going for intimidation. It’s cute, but Wukong knows that if he says so, or worse, insists on his earlier point, it will not end well. The little shadow has a mean bite, and is more than willing to wait to enact petty revenge — he has learned it the worst way.
“Alright. Alright. Let’s make a deal, then.”
His xiăoyǐngzi stops growling, but the angry gleam in his narrowed eyes does not abate. Little eyebrows furrow over golden eyes, making that tiny nose crinkle. The Monkey King barely resists the urge to coo.
“What?” The macaque growls, clearly still displeased but willing to hear him out.
“I think it’s my fault, you think it’s your fault…” He reasons, counting on his fingers. “Let’s say we’re even and it is no one’s fault. Deal?”
Mihou scrunches his nose, thinking… Then reaches out a small hand, which he clasps with some hilarity.
“Deal!” his brother chirps.
Privately, Wukong will still think it is his fault, but his little brother does not have to know that.
“You’re not allowed to think it either!” Mihou protests.
Busted.
“I’m not!” Wukong raises a placating hand. “Promise!”
“Mhm.”
He does not enjoy the sassiness. Without warning, he sinks fingers into the child’s sides, tickling him mercilessly, robes not a match for his determination. Mihou laughs a light, airy laugh that makes his heart swell and pulls a laugh out of him, too. When it finally patters out, his brother stares directly into his eyes, serious.
“You should not get a big head about this, too. Your ego is already big enough,” he scolds lightly. “You are not the only reason I ran,” he mutters too, offhandedly.
“Oh?” Wukong prods. “What else was bothering you, then?”
“Nothing!” He chirps when he notices the slip.
“Mihou~” The monkey says, sing-song.
“Forget it.” It comes out muffled as the little shadow hides his face in Wukong’s chest.
“Alright,” he chuckles, and Mihou’s ears flutter in contentment. “Keep your secrets, then. But I need you to promise me something.”
“Hmm?” His brother looks up to him with a single golden eye.
“Promise me you will not play any more tricks like this. If you want to see me, just say so, alright? I’ll get to you first thing.”
“ ‘kay.” Mihou mutters. “Promise.”
“Thank you,” he says, and he is completely genuine as he does.
“…how about when you are in a meeting?” His brother asks meekly. “Or strolling around in your Nimbus? What then?”
That is a good point. Wukong hums thoughtfully. There is a spell he can show the little monkey, although he is a little… young to effectively wield magic. He can’t quite even hold a glamour for longer than half an hour, which is indicative of how much the little shadow’s powers have yet to mature. It is simple enough that it should work, though.
“I can show you a magic trick that you can use to talk to me when I’m away. How about that?”
Mihou nods, giving him that sharp little grin of his before standing up to squish Wukong’s cheeks like he is some kind of overly ripe fruit. “Yes please.”
The Monkey King laughs, prying blunt-clawed hands away by the wrists. “Calm down, xiǎoyǐngzi. Sit first.”
Mihou sits back down between his now-crossed legs, copying Wukong’s stance. The Monkey King cannot resist the urge to plant a kiss on the top of the child’s head — a gesture answered by a giggle before the macaque makes a show of appearing serious again.
Wukong smiles. “So first, you’re going to want to…”
It is Liu’s turn to watch over him once again.
Once again, Mihou does not want to meet the snow monkey, although this time his reasons are different. He cannot stall this once — he promised he would not run anymore.
So, here he is, slowly making his way up to the hill where Liu usually takes him to basic training. In his arms, the marshal’s folded cape sits heavily. Mihou does not quite want to return it, but it feels wrong not to do so, considering how attached the older monkey has always been to the garment. Really, there is no need to do so; After a few weeks of roaming around looking naked without it, the other generals came together to get him a perfect-looking copy of it. It was handed over during the dinner party thrown after Mihou fully recovered from the… incident, and Wukong decided he could be let out of his sight again.
The old cape remains in Mihou’s possession to this day. Liu has not asked for it back, but it is the least he could do. With his brother’s help, Mihou has washed and dried the garment after the tumble with the river, and even fixed a rip in the lower part of it to the best of his abilities — which was not that much, really… perhaps he should forgo returning it for now, only do it when he was more confident his work was not completely ridiculous–
The trail ends. Mihou stands on the clifftop, squeezing the thick bundle of fabric against his chest nervously. There is not a lot to be seen around, since he cannot quite see the scenic view of the valley below from where he stands; the clifftop is barren excluding the area used as training grounds and a little setup with a hole for a fire pit and a few stones that can be used as stools. Liu is sitting in one of them, a kettle of water boiling over a freshly lit fire. The monkey’s eyes are closed, and the bottom of his face sinks into the collar of the new cape as if he is dozing off as he waits. Mihou can understand — he would be feeling the same if it wasn’t for the anxiety that currently irradiated from every pore in his body.
Unwilling to prolong his suffering for too much longer, Mihou marches to Liu’s side, hopping to a stone that was a respectable distance away from the older monkey. Clutching the red fabric against his chest, he patiently waits for the marshal to notice his presence…
Which he does not seem to do, still seemingly lightly dozing by the little monkey’s side. He frowns; there is no way Liu failed to notice him. He has not made any effort to go unnoticed, and the snow monkey’s senses are too sharp to be fooled by a little sleepiness. He would not be one of Wukong’s most trusted monkeys if he did. Then again, it is possible he has not reacted because Mihou is not considered a real threat — which he isn’t, of course, but could pretend to be if the marshal got too lax with him. Again, he likes to bite, and Liu is not exempt from that treatment.
Instead of waiting for an answer he is not sure will be forthcoming, Mihou takes it upon himself to initiate any sort of conversation — although he really does not want to.
“Hello?” He chirps, questioning.
Liu blinks an eye open to regard him. “Hello, little Prince,” he says before going back to his previous, relaxed state. He does not say anything else.
Okay, that was not great. Just the few sparse words are not enough to confirm if he is right to be embarrassed about the whole thing, or how exactly to act near the older monkey. If things continue like this, Mihou will not be sure what to do anymore.
The kettle whistles, halting his line of thought.
Mihou is not sure where all the utensils come from, but in no time, there is a full tea seat sitting in a rock between the two of them. Liu goes through the motions of brewing and serving the tea efficiently, as if he has done such a thing hundreds of times before. Perhaps he had; truthfully, besides the outer layer of his personality, there is very little he knows about the marshal.
“Careful," Liu says as he hands him a teacup, the sweet, slightly earthy smell of white tea wafting from it, "it's hot."
"Uh," he fumbles with the cape, ending up dropping it clumsily in his lap as he hurries to reach for the cup, "thanks."
They drink in silence for a while. It is neither companionable nor uncomfortable; it just is. The cliff they are on overlooks a field that blooms full of delicate gypsophila flowers and lilies as far as the eye can see, and the sound of rustling grass and tiny critters moving through it is almost soothing in its plentifulness. Mihou makes it through maybe half the cup before setting it on the rock between his crossed legs, swiping the cape out of the way as he did. He does not understand what the purpose of this is, really, but knows he has already stalled enough.
"Liu?" He asks, angling his body so he is turned to the older monkey, the red fabric in his hands extended in his direction, just barely out of reach considering the way he is sitting now. "I believe this is yours."
The marshal contemplates the offering for a long moment, looking between the cape and Mihou, until he finally turns back to his cup with something that can almost be classified as a grimace. It vanishes mere moments later as if it was never there.
"I gave it to you, did I not?" It is not much of a question, Liu speaking it with such conviction that he does not dare to say it felt more like he had only been allowed to borrow it for an uncertain period of time. "A new one was gifted to me, either way."
"You should still take it back," Mihou insists. He knows this is one of Liu's most prized possessions, after all. Wukong said something about it being a gift from people important to the marshal as he helped him fix the cape to hand it back but never specified where it came from, saying it was up to Liu if he wanted to share the story. Mihou sincerely doubted he would. "It’s important to you, right?"
"You could say so." He acquiesces, stoic as always. Instead of the underlying annoyance he always exhibited whenever he talked to Mihou, Liu looks serene under the afternoon sun. "This old thing was a gift from my family."
Mihou feels his eyes widen. He does not know a lot about Liu's past other than he was not born on the island and arrived alone many years before the little monkey was even born. If someone has the details on his past, that's only the marshal himself — and Ma, most likely.
He rushes to stand up and deposit the cape on Liu’s lap, shaking his head vehemently, "I can't take this from you."
The older monkey raises a brow at him, "You are not taking anything. I am giving this to you willingly. Take it as a gift–"
"No!" He exclaims, still refusing to take back the cape. "If it's from your family, you have to keep it. Gods know how I would feel if all I had of Wukong was some clothes... I wouldn’t want to give it to some random kid."
“You are not just some random kid.”
Mihou huffs. He is aware that he is so much more than that, but that does not mean he wants to be the culprit for taking away what might as well be Liu’s single most prized possession just like that. He frowns and looks away, down at the blooming valley below. Liu sighs, and the sound is so much more familiar to him than whatever this is that he almost feels more relaxed on the spot.
“It was not supposed to be mine, either.” The marshal begins after a time. “This was made for my father — and supposed to be worn as more of a scarf, if I remember correctly.”
Mihou feels his face scrunch up in disbelief. He has spent many days with the garment in his possession and had time to see just how big it is. There is no way it is anything other than a cape. He tacks on a: “I don’t believe it.”
Liu chuckles. Chuckles. Mihou’s eyes feel like they will bulge out of their sockets with the sheer surprise of it.
“I assumed you would not,” the snow monkey shakes his head, almost fondly. “Would you consider it if I told you I take after my mother?”
The little monkey securitizes Liu from head to toe, as if he had never seen him before. He has no frame of reference when it comes to the older monkey’s family, but he can believe it; Liu sounds earnest enough.
“Hm. Maybe,” he rumbles.
Liu laughs again, the sound soft like bamboo in the wind. When he looks back at Mihou, his expression teeters between fond and solemn — the little monkey feels his own sharp grin fall away, sobering as well.
“My point is,” Liu says, claws fiddling with the still slightly frayed edge of the cape, “it was once passed down to me when I needed it. You needed it more than I did, back at the waterfall — so I am passing it onto you, now.”
Mihou looks down, ears drooping with the movement, “I dunno…”
“Come here.”
He makes his way to Liu hesitantly, barely raising his eyes from the ground. The little monkey sees the marshal scoot back in his rocky perch, awkwardly patting the spot he had just made in front of him. Mihou has an idea of what the older monkey wants to do, and he is unsure if he should allow it; he still does not feel as if it is his right to take the garment, as much as he has always coveted it. In the end, he precariously perches at the edge of the rock, ears flicking as he hears every minuscule movement Liu makes — which includes the rustling of fabric as he retrieves the cape from where it has been sitting on his lap.
“Here.”
He is met with the sight of thick red fabric right in front of his nose. His fingers twitch with the urge to snatch it up, and when Liu makes absolutely no move to take it away, Mihou takes it with little regret. An involuntary happy trill escapes him as he takes the cape, and the little monkey is embarrassed enough that he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Earlier doubts aside, this is all he ever wanted. The fact that Liu held him in high enough regard to freely give it away almost baffles him, but he will not complain now. The marshal’s cape has always been a subject of his admiration — it looks so cool — and now that he has it, Mihou does not hesitate to throw it over his shoulders in the way he assumes it is supposed to be worn. One set of ears twitches irritability when Liu tsks behind him.
“What?” He asks hesitantly as he twirls around to face the older monkey.
Liu looks at him, gaze scrutinizing. Then, “Scoot.”
Mihou frowns. He is seated at the very edge of the stone they are using as a chair. He cannot scoot over unless it is to fall right off of it. Before he can protest — or do anything, really — the snow monkey lightly grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him backwards until he is sitting between splayed legs. Liu’s hands move up to rifle through the messy cape around his neck; Mihou turns his head around to see what exactly he is fixing. The marshal frowns as he pokes at the lumpy mess of fabric around his neck.
Liu hums. He does not sound particularly satisfied.
“Is it that bad?” Mihou asks, feeling luminous ears droop.
Instead of answering, the older monkey gently untangles it from around his neck, taking it away to smooth a specific part before holding the fabric close to his neck again.
“Let me fix that for you, little Prince.”
Mihou lets him do so without complaint, paying close attention to the way Liu does it; he will need to learn if he wants to be able to put it on the next few times. However, the little monkey is steadily growing more assured that the marshal will help him a few more times if he requests it. When he is done, Liu gives him an appraising look before nodding to himself in satisfaction. Mihou wishes he could see it as well, but unlike Wukong, he could not make a mirror out of a few strands of hair whenever he felt like it, so he has to wait.
At least he thinks so, until Liu pulls a little dagger out of a hidden pocket, instructing him to hold it a certain way. The reflection in the blade is a little distorted and has an obvious metallic sheen to it, but it works well enough — Mihou can see the cape over his neck and shoulders, still too large for him. Despite that, it goes really well with the scarlet marking on his face. He beams.
“Thank you!” He grabs one of the marshal’s forearms in a hug. Liu freezes, and Mihou almost pulls away.
Liu does not let him. After plucking the dagger away and setting it to the side he rests a hand on his back lightly, pushing it so the little monkey was pressed against his side. With the marshal’s armor against his cheek, it is not nearly as soft as receiving a hug from Ma, or even Wukong. It is definitely different… but good. His tail wags — he can hear Liu’s do the same behind them, and cannot help but grin against rough, leathery material. They stay like that for longer than Mihou expected, until the older monkey breaks it off with a couple of pats on his back.
“You are welcome, little Prince.” He finally says with a soft smile.
Mihou smiles right back and then bounces off the stone to retrieve the teacup in his earlier perch. What remains in it has long grown cold, but he pays it no mind as he begs the marshal for a little more — without the anxiety from earlier, he can admit: it is good. Liu fills his cup without complaint, and soon they are having a whole, proper conversation.
…Well, not quite proper. They are, in fact, gossiping. Between Mihou’s ears and Liu’s propensity for quietness that allows him into places he maybe should not be, there is a lot to discuss. He gets the context behind the snippets of strange conversations he hears from across the island, and Liu gets extra details that he had never heard of before as they pick through what they both know. The whole afternoon passes by, and they do not get any real training done. Neither seems to mind, and there is some sort of unspoken agreement that neither Liu nor him are going to blab about their little detour on the usual activities.
When the first signs of twilight show themselves, they get up to leave; Mihou’s new cape drags on the dirt floor, so Liu kindly lets him climb onto his shoulder for the time being. They both get cooed over once they arrive back at the palace, the “matching” outfits an instant hit among the Monkey King’s court.
It is even worse when Ma gets ahold of them. She fusses over him and Liu for what feels like hours until she finally decides they should be paraded around the palace instead of hiding out with her. A whole round of monkeys — yaoguai and otherwise — fawning over him later, and Mihou is really considering biting off a few fingers that stray too close to him. Liu, ever perceptive, notices his discomfort and finally, finally convinces Ma to drag them to where Wukong is so Mihou can be dropped off with the King.
His brother is not exempt from being swayed by the little duo act. He coos over the matching capes, plucks Mihou off the marshal’s shoulder, and nuzzles into the little monkey, who is almost compacted into a little ball in the Monkey King’s arms. He really considers biting him then, but when Wukong blows a raspberry against his belly, all is forgotten amongst the fit of giggling that ensues. He curls up contently against gēgē’s chest as the older monkey thanks Liu again on his behalf and says something about getting an even better matching outfit for them to wear as King and Prince, as if it is some sort of competition. Mihou watches a minute twist on the marshal’s expression, a little more used to the intricacies of it; Liu always looks pretty stoic, but now that he knows where to look, he sees the other monkey’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at the King with tired disappointment… but also fondness. Their eyes meet for a second, and he sees the mix of amusement and something that he can only describe as “please get me out of here” in the marshal’s gaze.
With a snort, Mihou turns to the King.
“Wukong,” he whines, a little clawed hand reaching to pat the other monkey’s face, “ ‘m tired.”
The King looks down at him quickly, a dopey grin on his face. Mihou almost feels bad for tricking him into allowing Liu and Ma to leave when he sees it, but he convinces himself it is for a good cause. He is going to be smothered with attention one way or another — it is still very soon after his last trick, after all. Wukong hugs him against his chest as he dismisses the marshals, and the little monkey settles quickly, resting his chin on the other’s left shoulder.
Wukong starts pacing soon after, possibly in an attempt to quickly lull him to sleep. Mihou waits until Liu looks back though, sending him a covert, yet cheeky wave behind the King’s back. The corner of the other monkey’s mouth twitches up in the smallest of smiles, and then he is off, following Ma closely. Mihou, on his part, lays a cheek on his brother’s shoulder, nuzzling into a soft, yellow ru.
Yeah, they will be fine. All of them.