For 500 years the mountain pressed down upon him, only his head free from the crushing weight of the stonewrought prison the elder gods had summoned to halt his childish rebellion. Moss grew along the lines of his exposed face, tufts of grass sprouted from his ears; his vision was framed in wildflowers reaching from the soil around his cheeks. Most thought him long dead, tormented by the gods for waging war against the heavens until naught but his legend survived. But, as the stories go, the Monkey King cannot die.
So he waited. Until the gods came to offer a chance at absolution, he endured. And when they did come to name the price, Sun Wukong accepted their charge: