Chapter 1: The Quiet Revolution of Marcus

On Maple Heights Ridge, while pursuing enlightenment, Marcus accidentally stumbled into a future-era 'Journey to the West' internet forum. At first, he could hardly believe what he was seeing—was this for real? Marcus rubbed his eyes, half expecting the screen to glitch out. But the spoilers kept coming, each one crazier than the last. Reading countless plot breakdowns and wild theories, his whole worldview flipped: the once brash, spotlight-chasing monkey became low-key, studious, and totally hooked on self-improvement—a master at flying under the radar.

Before, Marcus was all fire and swagger—he had a knack for making a scene, always the center of attention, the sort of guy who’d leap onto the principal’s desk just to prove a point. But now? He kept his head down, worked quietly in the back, and picked up every trick he could. Even the word about town was, 'That Marcus, you barely notice he’s there. But man, he’s got his act together.' Another neighbor would say, 'He’s quieter than a library on a snow day, but you know he’s up to something good.'

From then on, the title of Great Sage Equal to Heaven faded away. In its place emerged Marcus, the king of hiding out, adept in every magical art under the sun.

No more brash posturing; now he was the Houdini of Maple Heights Ridge—always slipping through trouble, learning the ropes, never giving anyone a reason to look twice. Around Silver Hollow, folks would nod and say, 'That Marcus, he’s got a good head on his shoulders.'

Silver Hollow, Maple Heights Ridge.

Professor Bodhi sat atop the dais in the community center, preaching the scriptures. Below, his students gathered in a circle, listening with rapt attention to their teacher’s wisdom.

Sunlight poured through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the worn linoleum floor. The musty smell of old library books mixed with the faint aroma of coffee from the staff room nearby. A battered American flag hung by the door, its colors faded but proud, while a box fan hummed quietly in the corner. The faded motivational posters—GO FOR THE GOLD!—peeled at the corners, and the vending machine’s hum almost drowned out the distant thump of a basketball in the gym. Kids fidgeted on thrifted folding chairs, sneakers squeaking when they shifted. The air buzzed with the anticipation of learning—well, as much as a room full of restless teens could muster.

At that moment, Bodhi’s gaze drifted to a figure in the corner—a monkey whose demeanor was noticeably different from the other students. He fell into deep thought.

Marcus hunched over his notebook, scribbling meticulously. His ears twitched every time Professor Bodhi dropped a nugget of wisdom. Unlike the rest—who whispered, doodled, or surreptitiously checked their phones—Marcus was all in. There was a quiet focus about him now, like he’d grown up overnight, trading mischief for mindfulness. It made Bodhi pause, his brow creasing with a mix of pride and curiosity.

This monkey had once been impatient and unruly, impossible to discipline, always refusing to study anything at the slightest provocation. Bodhi had been so exasperated!

Bodhi still remembered the time Marcus had snuck out during a guest lecture to skateboard in the parking lot, or the day he tried to hack the smartboard just to prank the substitute. The staff had called him a wild card—brilliant, but impossible. Even Bodhi, who prided himself on reaching every kid, had almost thrown in the towel more than once.

But recently, this wild monkey’s temperament had inexplicably calmed. Now, he accepted whatever Bodhi taught—no complaints, no picking and choosing, just a thirst for knowledge.

It was as if something deep inside Marcus had shifted. He’d just grin, take the worksheet, and actually read the directions before starting. Sometimes, Bodhi would spot Marcus in the library late at night, surrounded by stacks of philosophy books and old sci-fi paperbacks, quietly working away. He’d duck his head when the librarian passed by, pretending to be invisible, hoping nobody would ask why he was reading about Taoist alchemy and quantum physics in the same sitting.

Try as he might, even if Bodhi racked his brain for days, he could not fathom the cause of this transformation.

Bodhi found himself puzzling over it during long walks down Maple Heights Trail or in quiet moments over Sunday pancakes. Had Marcus had a run-in with someone from his past? Was there a family crisis he hadn’t heard about? Or maybe, just maybe, the kid had found a purpose of his own. Whatever the reason, it was like watching a storm finally break, revealing blue skies underneath.

Still, Marcus’s newfound eagerness to learn was a blessing. After all, the long-gestating Journey to the West project hinged on Marcus, and even Bodhi himself was reluctant to interfere too much.

Bodhi sometimes wondered if he was witnessing the start of something big. He knew Maple Heights had seen its share of prodigies come and go—kids who left for college, or vanished into city jobs. But Marcus was different. He had the kind of determination you didn’t see every day, the sort that could turn a local legend into something even grander. Bodhi figured: best to let Marcus find his own way, even if it meant letting go of the reins just a bit.

By the original plan, Bodhi was to teach Marcus three major skills: the Supreme Immortal Method (a peerless technique for attaining immortality, so exalted that even the President practiced it), the Seventy-Two Transformations (versatile shape-shifting magic nearly rivaling the Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations), and the Cloud Somersault (a movement technique that could cross the country in a blink—perfect for escaping danger or calling for help if things went south on the journey).

They called them by grand names, but Bodhi always joked, 'Every superhero’s got to have their toolkit.' In reality, the Supreme Immortal Method was like a secret playbook, full of mindfulness techniques and visualization exercises—mind over matter, grit over luck. The Seventy-Two Transformations? Imagine improv theater meets advanced calculus: Marcus could switch from jock to bookworm to chess prodigy at will. And Cloud Somersault? Well, that was every high schooler’s dream—being able to cross the country in a heartbeat, or dodge a pop quiz like it never happened.

Plus, Marcus’s own body, forged from the stone that patched the sky in ancient legend, was already impervious to blades, bullets, water, and fire—his defenses were maxed out.

It was as if he’d been born with a cosmic insurance policy—immune to bullies, accidents, or the occasional food fight gone nuclear. Marcus was the guy who could walk away from a car crash with nothing but a scuffed hoodie. Folks on Maple Heights joked, 'That boy’s tougher than a two-dollar steak.'

By the time Marcus graduated, he would be a super bodyguard with sky-high defense and an enormous health pool.

Some said he’d be the ideal Secret Service recruit, others saw him coaching Little League and teaching kids how to bounce back from life’s curveballs. Either way, everyone knew: Marcus would be the one you wanted in your corner when things went sideways.

If he had any weakness, it was a lack of truly destructive offensive magic.

He could take a punch better than anyone, but when it came to throwing one—well, that was a different story. His power was all defense, all day. Even his friends at the rec center joked, 'If Marcus ever learned to throw a real haymaker, the world better watch out.'

Given his unruly nature, Bodhi dared not teach him any world-shattering attacks—if he went wild, who knew what chaos would ensue?

You don’t give the kid who once tried to light a firework in gym class a nuclear option. Bodhi was careful—better safe than sorry. He’d seen what happened in superhero movies when too much power landed in the wrong hands. No one needed a repeat of The Big Science Fair Meltdown of 2018.

But now, things had clearly gone beyond Bodhi’s expectations.

This quiet Marcus, this low-key version, was soaking up everything. It was like watching a straight-A student emerge from a class clown. Bodhi found himself second-guessing the lesson plans, wondering if he’d underestimated the quiet power of persistence.

Marcus was a natural genius: whatever magic or supernatural art Bodhi dared to teach, he learned—and not just learned, but mastered.

Marcus would pick up on things in record time, then turn around and explain them to classmates in ways Bodhi never even thought of. Sometimes, Bodhi would overhear him helping a struggling kid in the back row, breaking down metaphysics using baseball analogies or Minecraft builds. It was uncanny.

At this moment, Marcus was like the most diligent student in the class, never missing a lecture, absorbing every bit of Bodhi’s wisdom with relentless focus.

He even color-coded his notes, and every post-it flag in his binder marked something he wanted to follow up on. His phone was packed with voice memos from lectures, and he’d text Bodhi late at night with the occasional, 'Hey, have you got a minute? I was thinking about that thing you said about inner strength…'

With Maple Heights Ridge’s abundant spiritual energy, Marcus became a model of hard work: either attending class or meditating in seclusion, never wasting a moment.

Even after hours, when most kids were out shooting hoops or playing video games, Marcus would disappear up the Ridge trails, backpack slung over one shoulder, finding quiet spots beneath the pines to meditate or practice his breathing. Some nights, neighbors spotted a small lantern glowing under the gazebo at the park, and knew Marcus was there, working on his focus until the crickets grew quiet.

At this rate, when he finished his studies and left the mountain, he might just shake the world itself.

Bodhi sometimes wondered if he was witnessing the start of a legend—the kind that would get talked about for generations. 'Remember Marcus from Maple Heights? Yeah, the one who changed everything.'