Spring returned to the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits.
After long months of winter, where everyone clenched their teeth, shivered around the fire. Suddenly, everything became simple again.
Flowers hung from the branches. Birds sang in the trees. Every morning, the games resumed under the gentle sunlight.
Laughter rang out again. The band of monkeys dared each other to absurd challenges. They rolled in the tall grass like eternal children.
Some tried to catch butterflies, others gorged on fresh shoots. Some ran after drops of dew, just to see who could swallow the most before the sun made them disappear.
It was the season of full bellies and light hearts, when each day stretched on, to everyone's delight. Old Houzi watched all this bustle from his favorite rock, his fur gray, his muzzle wrinkled with age.
At his side, the young Monkey King radiated a peaceful energy. Unlike in past seasons, he was no longer just that bold little ball climbing everywhere.
Since that winter night, an invisible bond had woven itself between him and Houzi: sometimes, just a glance was enough for them to understand each other.
While the other monkeys screamed and ran, these two often shared long, companionable silences, enjoying the sun's warmth, the sparkle of a gust, without a word too many.
The young Monkey King's long, silky fur glowed gold as he stayed close to the old shifu. He watched the other young ones with their parents and was swept by a feeling he couldn't name—not quite jealousy, but something else.
His gaze drifted unconsciously toward Houzi, and he clutched his fur. The old monkey was distracted by the gesture.
"What is it, little Monkey King?" he asked affectionately.
The youngster, not even a year old, hesitated, swallowed. What he wanted to say wasn't simple. Time stretched out.
"Is... is it okay if I call you Dad?"
Houzi didn't answer right away. He froze, his gaze lost in the distance, as if the little one's question had sent him far back in time.
He saw himself, young, strong, with fur shining black, surrounded by females who circled him with hope. He remembered glances, flirting, tender gestures that had never truly touched him. Not that he avoided company, but he had never felt that fire, that urgency that pushed others to pair off, to start families.
He preferred tranquility, calm, long solitary walks. Over time, the females stopped waiting for him. They went to others, more fiery, easier to reach. He remained the friend, the confidant, the reliable but distant shoulder.
He had watched the little ones grow, play, squabble under their parents' eyes.
Sometimes, he'd felt a twinge of regret, a pang in his heart at the idea he'd never hear a little voice call him "Dad." But he'd made his peace with it, settling into his role as the wise one, the one they came to when things got stuck.
Until today. Until this question, simple and pure, thrown with no malice by this little king with no family.
Houzi felt his throat tighten. The quiet emptiness he'd carried for years suddenly filled with an unexpected, gentle warmth.
With a gesture as natural as the spring breeze, Houzi opened his arms and drew the young Monkey King close. His gray fur wrapped around the child with a tenderness he'd never known he had.
He held him for a long time, tight, with no embarrassment. When he finally spoke, his voice didn't tremble:
"You can. In fact… I'd like that, more than anything."
Houzi closed his eyes a moment, savoring that simple word, that late miracle he'd never expected. In that embrace, all he'd missed during his solitary seasons vanished in a flash: he was no longer the wise old one watching from afar, but a father, now.
"From today on, I'll be your father, as long as you want me."
And in his arms, the Monkey King finally felt he'd found his home.
He couldn't have said how long they stayed that way, wrapped together. But outside, life never waited long…
Suddenly, sharp, shrill cries split the air, tearing Houzi and the Monkey King from their peaceful bubble. Not far off, a tight circle of monkeys had gathered, silent and tense, all eyes fixed on something at the center.
Without understanding, the Monkey King felt someone grab his arm—it was the macaque, one of the band's quickest, who led him zigzagging through the crowd. Houzi stayed back for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, then followed them with his gaze.
At the center of the ring, the scene was both ridiculous and serious: two monkeys were screaming, gesturing wildly, nearly tearing apart a sad, shriveled, tasteless walnut, a dried-out remnant of last autumn. Their insults flew, their commotion amused or annoyed the rest of the clan, who took sides or threw in useless arguments.
The Monkey King, pushed into the center, found himself facing this chaos. And, in the confusion, the walnut suddenly slipped from the fighters' hands. It rolled between paws, bounced off a root, and landed right in front of a very young baby monkey. The baby, lost in his own world, picked it up, popped it in his mouth, and crunched it, completely ignoring the collective drama.
A stunned silence swept through the circle, before laughter broke out everywhere. Even Houzi, still standing back, couldn't help but smile.
But as soon as the laughter faded, the two fighters began to protest again, vexed, humiliated, as if some huge injustice had just befallen them. The aggrieved monkeys raised their arms toward the Monkey King:
"That's not fair! He started it!"
"No, it's her! She stole the walnut I'd hidden!"
"We want justice, King! Do something—you're the chief, aren't you?"
The noise grew, all eyes turned to the young king. Trapped, the Monkey King felt panic rising. His hands twisted nervously, his tail tapped the ground in rhythm. He tried to speak, but only a whisper escaped:
"Uh… maybe… if we… I mean… you could… share? Or… um…"
But no one was really listening: everyone talked louder, insisted, demanded a real verdict. Ashamed and anxious, the Monkey King lowered his eyes, desperately searching for a solution, but nothing came. His words were lost in the uproar, and he stayed there, frozen, his tail thumping faster and faster on the ground.
He had always managed to impress without effort—why not now?
Abel Maria : Royal Road & Webnovel