The silence after the chaos was louder than the noise itself.
The boy stood at the doorway of his hut, barefoot, hair messy from sleep, hugging one of his beloved white pillows against his chest. Just moments ago the mountain had been ringing with squeaks and flaps, with teasing so loud it pierced through even the thickest dream. Now… nothing.
The little monkey crouched on the grass, his tail twitching like a whip that had just missed its target. His playful grin had not faded, but his eyes no longer danced with mischief—they were fixed squarely on Ming.
Beside him, the swan stood tall, her long neck arched gracefully, feathers too white for a creature that called this rugged mountain home. She looked ordinary at a glance, like any bird one might find near a quiet lake. Yet when Ming's sleepy eyes met hers, he felt something coil inside his chest. Her gaze was too direct, too sharp, as if she had seen through his dreams and into the boy who clung to pillows as if they were shields.
Both of them stared at him in unison.
Ming swallowed, throat dry. He was used to the monkey's antics—shameless pranks that left him sighing and half-smiling in defeat. He was used to the eagle, who watched silently from the sky like an old master, distant and unreadable.
But this swan?
When had she arrived?
Why was she standing so close to his home?
And why, above all, was she looking at him as if he were the intruder here?
Ming's lips parted, but no words came out.
The boy took a hesitant step backward, his pillow tightening in his arms. His voice, when it finally came, was small and uncertain.
"Uh… good morning?"
The words floated awkwardly in the still air, thin as smoke.
The monkey tilted his head, ears flicking as if to mock Ming's attempt at peace. His lips curled into a grin that Ming had seen too many times before—the grin that meant trouble was about to begin.
The swan blinked slowly, then let out a sharp laugh that was nothing like the gentle call of a bird. It was too human, too knowing.
"You call that a greeting?" she said, her voice clear and firm, carrying the chill of mountain wind. "Pathetic."
Ming's mouth opened slightly. She… spoke? Not like the monkey, whose squeaks he had grown used to understanding, not like the eagle who almost never wasted words—her voice was sharp, precise, undeniable.
The monkey squeaked loudly in support, slapping the ground with his palm. "Hah! Did you hear that? Even the swan thinks you sound like you bit your tongue!"
Ming's face heated, part irritation, part disbelief. They're ganging up on me…
Ming rubbed his temple, fighting the urge to argue. With the monkey, arguing was useless—he always twisted words until victory was his. But this swan? Her words didn't just tease, they cut. It felt like she had looked into his heart, found the place where he was softest, and pressed down hard.
Before Ming could gather his breath, chaos flared again.
The monkey leapt to his feet, spinning around the swan, squealing and waving his arms. "See, Swan? He's scared of us! Look at his face—like a rabbit caught in the rain!"
"Of course he is," the swan declared proudly, her wings spreading wide, scattering loose feathers that gleamed in the sunlight. "A boy who clings to pillows like treasures? What courage could he possibly have?"
Ming nearly choked. "You—! These are not—!"
"Not what?" the swan pressed forward, stepping closer with deliberate arrogance. "Not toys? Not blankets? Or not the only things that let you sleep at night?"
Her words pierced like arrows. Ming's chest tightened as if she had ripped open the quiet part of his life—the part no one was supposed to see.
The monkey rolled on the ground, clutching his belly as he laughed. "Pillows! Pillows! Even the swan knows!"
Ming's hand twitched, his fingers curling into the pillow he held. Why am I always the one losing? He had survived stubborn battles with the monkey. He had faced days of pranks, nights of endless squeaks. Yet somehow, standing between this shameless monkey and this bold swan, he felt completely cornered.
Every step he took forward, they blocked with flaps and squeals. Every word he tried to defend himself with was drowned by their shameless noise.
The quiet mountain morning had become a storm.
But the storm did not rage in harmony.
The swan leaned close to the monkey, her sharp beak nearly brushing his furry cheek. "Your squeaks are annoying. Like a rusty flute."
The monkey's ears shot up, his tail stiffening. "What? At least my squeaks make sense. You sound like a crow trying to sing."
"Better a crow than a rat," the swan replied smoothly, puffing her chest with elegant pride.
The monkey's face turned red, his tiny fists shaking. "Rat? I am a monkey! A glorious monkey!"
"Glorious?" The swan tilted her head, her eyes glittering. "More like ridiculous."
Their voices clashed like blades, sharp and relentless. The monkey squeaked louder, his arms flailing. The swan raised her wings higher, her words sharper, her steps bolder. Neither would yield.
Ming stood frozen, watching the impossible battle unfold. He had always thought the monkey was unbeatable in shamelessness. No matter how Ming scolded, argued, or fought back, the monkey always won in the end. But now, for the first time, he saw the little monkey sweating, stumbling, his confidence cracking under the swan's unyielding boldness.
"You can't handle me," the swan said smugly, snapping her beak.
"You—don't get too proud!" the monkey shouted, cheeks puffed, tail whipping angrily.
Ming's lips twitched, torn between laughter and disbelief. The mountain, which had always echoed with the monkey's mischief, now trembled with the swan's cutting words.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The monkey froze mid-squeak, chest heaving. The swan folded her wings with a crisp snap. Both turned at the exact same time, their gazes fixing once more on Ming.
The boy's breath caught. He felt the weight of two different storms pressing against him—the playful shamelessness of the monkey and the sharp boldness of the swan.
"What… what are you two doing here?" Ming finally asked, his voice lower than he wanted, almost trembling.
The swan blinked once, her eyes unreadable. "What does it look like? We're living here now."
The monkey grinned, his silence somehow more dangerous than his noise.
Ming's heart skipped. For the first time, he realized something important. The swan's arrival was not chance. She wasn't ordinary. Just like the monkey, who hid impossible strength beneath his playful face. Just like the eagle, whose silent eyes pierced through heaven and earth.
But the swan… she was different. Unlike the eagle, she didn't control her presence. Unlike the monkey, her shamelessness wasn't softened by warmth.
She was bold. Direct. Impossible to ignore.
And as her feathers gleamed in the sunlight, Ming felt his chest tighten with a mix of dread and curiosity.
This swan was no ordinary bird.
And his mountain, once quiet and his own, would never be the same again.