Malao turned around in a complete circle and realized he had no idea where they were. He shrugged his shoulders and patted the monkey's head again. “Keep an eye out for danger. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.” As Malao climbed down, the white monkey remained where it was, scanning the area.
Malao found Fu sitting on a large rock with his head in his hands.
“Let's go,” Malao said. “I don't know where we are, but there's a river not too far away.”
“Okay,” Fu mumbled, but he didn't move.
“Are you all right?” Malao asked.
Fu pulled his hands slowly off his face and sighed. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine.”
“I said I'm fine, Malao.”
Malao scratched his head. “I wonder what happened to the Drunkard.”
Fu looked up. “Can you do me a favor? Please don't call him the Drunkard anymore, okay?”
“Sure,” Malao said. “What should I call him, then?”
“I don't know.”
“How about if I just call him your father?”
Fu put his face back in his hands. “I don't think so.”
“Why not?” Malao asked.
“Because there's no proof that he's my father, that's why not.”
“Oh, come on, Fu. You can't be serious.”
Fu looked up at Malao. “I'm dead serious.”
“I would be proud if he was my father,” Malao said, “no matter what people call him. He saved us.”
“I know,” Fu said. “I was there, remember?”
“Well, doesn't that mean something?”
“Of course it does. I just feel …” Fu shook his head. “I don't know how I feel.”
“That's all right,” Malao said, patting Fu's shoulder. “I've been thinking a lot about the Monkey King and how he might be … you know … my father. At least we know your father is a nice guy. If I knew my father was a nice guy, I would—”
“That's enough,” Fu said, shrugging off Malao. “I know you're just trying to help, but I want to be alone right now.”
“Fine,” Malao said, standing up. “I guess I'll head over to that river alone and take a nice, long drink of cool, refreshing—”
“Goodbye, Malao.”
“Suit yourself, Pussycat. You better hope I don't get lost on my way back. It would be a shame if you didn't have me around to talk to anymore.” Malao grinned.
“Yeah, that would be a real shame,” Fu said. “Unfortunately, I'm sure your little friend would find you and guide you right back here.”
Malao rolled his eyes.
Fu sighed. “I wish one of the villagers was here to guide us to Shaolin—”
Malao suddenly jumped high into the air and he clapped his hands. “A guide! Of course! Why didn't I think of that sooner?”
“What are you talking about?” Fu asked.
“Watch this,” Malao said. He looked up into the treetops and waved his arms. The white monkey scurried down and over to Malao's side. Malao looked the monkey straight in the eye. “Can you take us to Shaolin Temple?”
The white monkey seemed to smile and grabbed Malao's hand. It squeezed three times, then scurried off. Malao giggled happily.
“How about that!” Malao said. “You wished for a guide, and now we have one! Come on, Fu!” Malao raced after the monkey.
“Hey!” Fu called out as he ran after them. “I wished for a villager!”
One day later, Malao found himself wishing for a few things of his own. First and foremost was a large hat to shield him from the heavy rain. A dry robe would be nice, too. Preferably one without singed holes in the backside.
As they trudged toward Shaolin Temple, the rain came down in buckets, soaking Malao, Fu, and the white monkey to the bone. Malao did his best to look at the bright side. At least the downpour would wash away what few footprints they left, making it all but impossible for Ying and his men to track them.
The following day wasn't much better, nor the day after that. There were enough breaks in the storm to squeeze in a few meals of roasted mushrooms, but for the most part Malao found himself cold, wet, and hungry. He was itchy, too. Black, prickly hair had begun to sprout on his head.
To make matters worse, Fu was acting strange. He was extremely quiet and grumpy. Malao kept his distance.
By the fourth day, the sun finally began to shine again. Malao noticed that the change in the weather brought about a change in Fu. Fu began to talk again. Of course, most of it was complaints about the itchy black hair on his own large head, but Malao would take complaints over silence anytime.