The morning sun had only just begun to climb over the ridges, scattering pale gold across the slopes of the mountain. Inside the small hut, the soft breath of a boy rose and fell in steady rhythm. Ming lay nestled among his five white pillows, his face still carrying the tender calm of sleep. The little monkey, awake far earlier, crouched at the edge of the bed, studying Ming with sharp brown eyes that danced with mischief.
When Ming stirred, rolling and hugging another pillow, the monkey smirked and whispered, "Always clinging to those… even in dreams." He poked Ming's cheek, then poked again, until Ming groaned and cracked one eye open.
"You never stop, do you?" Ming's voice was rough with sleep.
"Of course not," the monkey replied cheerfully, tumbling backward in laughter. "Someone has to keep you from turning into a lazy rock."
Ming sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His hair was wild, his eyes still half-lidded, but his movements carried the gentle neatness that had become second nature. He folded his blanket, placed the pillows carefully back into their places, and stood. Though he was only a boy, there was a quiet steadiness in him—an instinctive patience born from living with the mountain's rhythm.
When he stepped outside, the air greeted him fresh and cold, filled with the scent of dew and pine. Mist rolled lazily across the valley below, and birds called faintly through the forest. It was an ordinary morning, yet something different stirred within him.
Across the distance, on a jagged outcrop of the neighboring mountain, a shape sat unmoving. Its feathers were a dark brown, its outline sharp against the pale sky. An eagle—ordinary at first glance, no aura leaking, no threat carried on the wind.
Ming found his eyes lingering on it. He did not know why. The eagle looked no different from any other bird that soared across the peaks. Yet in his heart, a thread of curiosity tugged, gentle but insistent.
The monkey, perched on his shoulder now, followed his gaze. A grin spread across his small face.
"Oh? So your eyes have found a new neighbor."
"It's just a bird," Ming said softly, almost to convince himself.
"Mm," the monkey hummed, clearly unconvinced. His tone already held a teasing lilt, as though he knew more than Ming could grasp. But instead of pushing, he only leaned lazily against Ming's neck, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
The day unfolded slowly. Ming fetched water from the stream, tended to the small garden outside the hut, and mended a loose piece of wood near the window frame. The monkey darted about, sometimes helping, more often playing—snatching tools, perching on the fence, whistling badly to mimic mountain birds.
But each time Ming glanced upward, his eyes returned to the distant cliff. The eagle remained there, still and patient, as though carved into the stone itself.
By midday, clouds drifted apart, and sunlight poured across the valley. Ming sat outside the hut with a wooden bowl of simple porridge, while the monkey munched noisily on fruit stolen from the basket. The eagle was still watching—or at least, Ming thought it was. Its head turned slightly, the glint of sharp eyes catching the light.
"Why does it stay there?" Ming murmured, half to himself.
The monkey, chewing, answered between bites. "Maybe it likes you."
Ming blinked. "A bird?"
"Why not? You collect strange friends. A lion who sleeps like a mountain king. Me, obviously the cleverest. Maybe now an eagle who stares from far away."
Ming frowned slightly, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the faintest smile. "You make it sound as if the mountain itself is gathering companions for me."
The monkey spread his arms dramatically, nearly dropping his fruit. "Exactly! You're too stubborn to admit it, but you feel it too. That bird isn't just any bird."
Ming shook his head. He wanted to deny it, but the feeling in his chest would not quiet. He finished his porridge and sat silently, watching the eagle.
Afternoon winds rose. The eagle spread its wings once, testing the air, then leapt gracefully from the cliff. Its body cut through the sky with silent precision, riding the currents with effortless control. It circled once over the valley, so high that its shadow barely reached the ground, then returned to the same perch.
Ming's breath caught. There was no roar of aura, no thunder of strength—yet the movement carried a quiet perfection that spoke more deeply than raw power.
The monkey chuckled, low and sly. "See? Even without trying, it's different."
Ming's eyes softened. He did not understand what he was seeing, but he felt something awaken inside him—a recognition beyond words, like two strings of fate brushing against one another.
As the sun began to dip toward the western ridge, shadows stretched long across the mountain path. Ming returned to the hut, carrying a bundle of gathered firewood. The monkey skipped ahead, tossing twigs into the air as if juggling.
When Ming placed the wood neatly by the door, he turned one last time toward the opposite cliff. The eagle was still there, framed by the fiery sky. Its feathers caught the dying light, glowing faintly gold at the edges.
For a moment, the world seemed to still. Ming felt the eagle's gaze meet his across the distance—steady, unblinking, not fierce, but certain. Something unspoken passed between them, a quiet acknowledgment.
Ming lowered his head slightly, almost as if bowing. He did not know why he did it.
The monkey, noticing, tilted his head with a sly smile. "Careful, Ming. You're already making friends without saying a word."
Ming looked at him, then back at the eagle. His lips curved into a faint smile that he did not try to hide.
The fire crackled to life inside the hut, filling it with warmth. Ming sat with the monkey at his side, the soft glow reflecting on their faces. Outside, the mountain wind sang its eternal song, carrying whispers between peaks.
And far across the valley, the eagle stood vigilant, its shadow long against the cliff, watching as if it had already chosen its place in Ming's journey.
The boy closed his eyes, breathing steadily, surrounded by the quiet presence of friends he did not yet fully understand.