The mountain morning was brighter than usual. Dew clung to every leaf, and the chill of dawn still lingered in the air. Ming sat outside the hut with his legs crossed, a bowl of steaming porridge balanced carefully on his lap. He ate slowly, his eyes shifting between the little monkey, the swan, and the eagle circling far above.
The silence between them was not peaceful. It was sharp, full of leftover sparks from the earlier clash.
The swan stood proudly near the hut, her long neck arched, wings tucked with elegant precision. Every now and then, she glanced toward Ming, her eyes carrying a strange mix of judgment and curiosity.
The monkey, on the other hand, sat on the ground with his arms crossed and tail flicking irritably. He grumbled to himself between bites of fruit, stealing glances at the swan as though she had stolen his favorite toy.
Ming exhaled softly. So this is my life now… a hut full of storms.
He lifted a spoonful of porridge and let it cool before eating. He tried to focus on the simple warmth, the comfort of food filling his belly. But every taste was interrupted by the weight of eyes—both feathered and furred.
Finally, he set the bowl aside and rubbed his temple.
"You two…" he began, voice tired. "Are you planning to glare at each other the whole day? Or at me?"
The monkey immediately leapt to his feet, pointing at the swan.
"She started it! She called me a rat! A rat, Ming! Do I look like a rat to you?"
Ming glanced at him, then at the swan. "…Not exactly."
"Not exactly?!" The monkey's tail shot up like a spear. "That's not a no!"
The swan tilted her head, feathers gleaming in the light. "I only spoke the truth. He squeaks like a rat. He moves like one too."
"I am a monkey!" the little one declared proudly, puffing his chest. "Do you not see my glorious tail?"
"Glorious?" The swan let out a short laugh, sharp as wind through branches. "Ridiculous."
The monkey's face reddened again, and Ming quickly raised both hands.
"Enough! Can't we just… eat in peace?"
The monkey huffed and sat down again, stuffing fruit into his mouth. The swan, still smug, folded her wings tighter.
For a brief while, the mountain settled again. Ming picked up his porridge and ate silently, watching them out of the corner of his eye.
But his thoughts were not calm.
The eagle had accepted him with silent precision. The monkey—mischievous though he was—had always filled Ming's days with laughter and warmth.
But this swan… she was different. She did not soften her words. She did not tease with kindness. She cut straight to the heart of things, exposing truths Ming himself avoided.
Why is she here? he wondered, staring into his bowl. And why does it feel like… she sees too much?
Later in the day, Ming tried to return to his normal rhythm. He fetched water from the stream, stacked firewood, and repaired a loose beam on the hut's wall. The monkey followed at first, chattering about how unfair the swan was.
"Ming, listen! She thinks she's so graceful just because her feathers are white. But white feathers don't make you better! Do they?"
Ming wiped sweat from his brow. "…No."
"See! You agree! She's not better!"
"But she's… not weaker either," Ming added cautiously.
The monkey froze, tail curling like a question mark. "…Whose side are you on?"
Ming smiled faintly. "Neither. I just want peace."
The monkey groaned dramatically, clutching his head. "Peace! Always peace! But Ming, you don't understand—some people, some birds, you can't reason with!"
From behind them, the swan's voice cut through the air. "I can hear you, rat."
The monkey yelped, spinning around. "Stop calling me that!"
Ming sighed, carrying the firewood inside. This will take time.
By evening, the golden sun dipped low, painting the mountain in warm light. Ming cooked a simple meal of rice and vegetables. He placed small portions on leaves, setting them down near the swan and monkey without a word.
The monkey grabbed his share eagerly, but kept glancing at the swan as if daring her to speak. She ate gracefully, not sparing him a glance.
Ming ate slowly, his chopsticks moving without thought. His mind was on the bigger picture. The eagle, the monkey—and now the swan. Each companion was strange, extraordinary in ways he could not fully understand.
Is this fate? Or am I just collecting storms without realizing it?
The swan suddenly looked at him, her eyes sharp even in the soft glow of sunset.
"You cling to those pillows at night," she said calmly. "Why?"
Ming stiffened. The chopsticks froze in his hand.
The monkey perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. "Yes, Ming, why? Why five pillows? Why hug them like they're treasure?"
Ming lowered his gaze, heart tightening. "…Because they remind me of things I don't want to forget."
The swan tilted her head. "Things? Or people?"
His throat closed. He couldn't answer. The memory of his teacher's hands sewing, of quiet nights where warmth was scarce, flickered like a fragile flame in his mind.
The monkey blinked, his grin fading for once. He looked at Ming more carefully but said nothing.
The swan, too, did not push further. She simply ate in silence, her feathers glowing faintly in the dimming light.
Ming forced himself to finish his meal, though the taste was lost to him.
Night fell quietly. The mountain breeze was cool, carrying the sound of rustling leaves. Ming prepared his bed, arranging his five white pillows with practiced care. One under his head, two at his sides, two near his legs. He lay down slowly, hugging one to his chest.
The monkey usually curled somewhere close—sometimes at his feet, sometimes beside his head, sometimes clutching a pillow as if trying to steal it in his sleep.
But tonight, as Ming closed his eyes, he noticed the absence.
The space near his side was empty.
He sat up slightly, blinking into the dark. The swan rested outside, her white form faintly visible under the moonlight. The eagle was nowhere to be seen, likely circling silently in the distance.
And the monkey?
He was sitting alone on the roof of the hut, knees drawn up, tail wrapped tightly around his legs. His small figure was silhouetted against the moon, unusually quiet.
Ming's chest tightened. He whispered to himself, "…Monkey, why aren't you here?"
No answer came.
The boy lay back down slowly, hugging his pillow tighter than before. Sleep came in fragments, uneasy, as the night wrapped around the mountain.
Tomorrow… we meet again. New lessons. New challenges. But tonight… I rest.
The day ended quietly, leaving Ming to his thoughts, his companions' silent presence, and the cool embrace of the mountain night.