The mountain woke in silver light, the first glow of dawn spilling softly over the ridge. Mist curled through the trees, drifting like a thousand hidden breaths, and the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. Ming stirred in his bed, arms locked around his familiar white pillow, his breath steady, his face softened into innocence that sleep always gave him. Around him, the five pillows were neatly arranged, his fortress of warmth and comfort.
Beside the bed, the little monkey had already risen. His sharp brown eyes glittered mischievously as he hopped down from his own handmade bed — the small wooden frame Ming had built with his own hands, now dressed with five plump pillows sewn together by the boy and monkey alike. The monkey yawned loudly, stretching, then deliberately rolled across the floor as if to wake the mountain itself.
"Lazy human!" he squeaked, his voice full of shameless cheer.
Ming groaned, hugging his pillow tighter, muffling his face into it as though to deny the world entry. But the moment of resistance didn't last. His eyes blinked open slowly, gazing up at the dim wooden roof of the hut. With a sigh, he sat up, hair falling wildly over his eyes, and began the small ritual of his morning.
The blanket was folded with care. His five pillows were returned to their precise arrangement. Then, with quiet footsteps, he rose and began preparing breakfast.
The fire crackled to life as Ming set a small pot over it, filling it with water and rice. Vegetables, carefully washed from yesterday's stream gathering, were cut neatly and added. As the warm smell rose through the hut, the monkey bounced impatiently near the pot, tail flicking.
The swan entered shortly after, striding elegantly through the doorway. Her feathers caught the light of dawn, glowing faintly silver. She shook her wings once, then perched gracefully in the corner of the hut as if it were her rightful place. Her sharp violet eyes scanned the room, first landing on Ming, then on the monkey, her expression somewhere between judgment and faint amusement.
Outside, the eagle perched silently on a tall pine, its shadow long in the morning mist. Ming glanced at it once and, without hesitation, placed an extra bowl of steaming porridge near the doorway, close to the spot he had noticed the eagle favored. It was his quiet ritual now: one bowl for himself, one for the monkey, one for the swan, and always one extra, placed gently, respectfully, for the eagle.
Whether the egle ate or not was irrelevant. The act itself mattered.
When all was ready, Ming sat cross-legged with his bowl, and the companions gathered around. The monkey squeaked happily, stuffing food into his mouth without decorum. The swan, in contrast, lowered her head gracefully and ate with slow precision, feathers never ruffled.
The eagle remained on its perch, watching. The untouched bowl steamed softly by the doorway, waiting.
For a time, the morning was filled with the simple sounds of eating. The crackle of the fire, the scrape of bowls, the occasional squeak or faint laugh. It was almost peaceful, until Ming — in his steady, thoughtful way — broke the silence.
"Monkey. Swan." His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of his curiosity. "Where… do you come from? Who were you before you came here?"
The monkey froze mid-bite, a piece of vegetable sticking out of his mouth comically. He blinked at Ming, then burst into loud, shameless laughter. "Hah! Me? My origins? Why would you need to know that, Ming? I am me! A glorious, clever, unbeatable monkey!" He thumped his little chest dramatically.
The swan, however, was sharper. She tilted her head, violet eyes gleaming. "Origins are dangerous things, boy. Once you start seeking them, you may not like what you find."
Ming frowned, chopsticks pausing over his bowl. "But… you're here with me. We live together. Shouldn't family know each other's pasts?"
The monkey leaned close, whispering with a mischievous grin, "Or maybe we know more about you than you know about us…"
Ming's heart skipped, his face tightening. "What… what do you mean?"
But the monkey only laughed louder, rolling across the floor and waving his arms. The swan spread her wings slightly, smiling with that bold, knowing sharpness that always pierced Ming's calm.
"Some answers aren't meant to be asked over breakfast," she said simply, then returned to her food as if nothing more needed to be said.
Ming sat in silence, staring at them both, but no further words came. They had shut the door on his question, as they always seemed to do when truth brushed too close.
The monkey, shameless as ever, stuffed another bite into his mouth and chattered happily, ignoring Ming entirely. The swan continued eating, her elegance unshaken.
And above them all, the eagle remained motionless on its branch, silent, observing.
The day passed in fragments of simple life.
Ming carried water from the stream in wooden buckets, his small arms straining with effort. The monkey followed, bouncing from rock to rock, making faces at his reflection in the water. The swan trailed behind, her feathers shimmering, her eyes always sharp, always watching.
The eagle circled above, a shadow moving silently against the sky.
When Ming stacked firewood by the hut, the monkey darted between the logs, pretending to be crushed, squeaking dramatically until Ming sighed and scolded him. When Ming repaired a crack in the hut's wall, the swan commented critically, "Your angle is crooked," even as Ming worked carefully. He adjusted it anyway, hiding a small smile.
As the sun climbed, the mountain filled with laughter, squeaks, feathers, and quiet footsteps.
By afternoon, Ming sat with the monkey on the grass, watching clouds drift across the sky. The swan perched nearby, her feathers rustling faintly in the breeze, while the eagle rested on a high cliff, its presence steady.
It was ordinary, simple — yet Ming's heart felt full.
Evening came, and the mountain glowed in hues of gold and red. Ming cooked again, rice and vegetables steaming in the pot, the smell carrying far across the valley. The monkey sat cross-legged beside him, tail flicking impatiently. The swan stood tall, feathers gleaming in the firelight.
As always, Ming set out bowls carefully: one for himself, one for the monkey, one for the swan, and one more, quietly placed by the doorway, waiting for the eagle.
They ate together, the sound of their small family filling the hut with warmth. The monkey joked, the swan teased, Ming sighed and smiled, and the eagle, though silent, remained ever-watchful from its perch.
Night fell slowly. The stars shimmered in the dark sky, countless and endless. The hut grew quiet, the fire dimmed, and Ming prepared his bed. He arranged his five pillows in their perfect formation, hugging one close, placing the others around him in their special order.
Beside him, the monkey arranged his own five pillows with playful precision, tossing them into place, then curling atop them proudly. "See, Ming? My fortress is better than yours!" he declared before promptly collapsing into snores.
The swan settled just outside the hut, her body a pale silhouette under the moonlight. Her feathers shone faintly, her form calm and unmoving.
The eagle perched silently on the highest branch nearby, its shadow long against the night.
Ming lay in bed, hugging his pillow, staring at the wooden roof above. His chest felt tight, but not with sadness. With something else.
Today… today I felt it.
He thought of the monkey's shameless laughter, the swan's sharp words, the eagle's silent presence. He thought of the meals they had shared, the chores done together, the quiet moments in the afternoon sun.
A warmth spread through him, deeper than the fire, gentler than the mountain breeze.
I… I have a family.
The thought startled him, yet it rang true. He had always watched others — children with parents, neighbors with siblings, families who laughed together. He had envied them quietly, wishing but never saying.
And now, here… with monkey, swan, eagle… I finally have my own.
Tears welled in his eyes, though his lips curved into a faint smile. He hugged his pillow tighter, burying his face against it as if to hide from his own emotions.
"I don't want to leave this," he whispered to the dark. "Not ever. I want to stay… like this… with them."
The monkey snored softly, twitching in his sleep. The swan shifted her wings outside, feathers rustling in the wind. The eagle blinked once, its sharp gaze sweeping over the hut, silent, protective.
Ming closed his eyes, letting the warmth of belonging cradle him. For the first time in his life, his heart felt whole.
He had a family. His own family.
And as the night deepened, the boy drifted into dreams with a smile on his face, pillows wrapped close, his companions near, the mountain alive with quiet love.
"Family is straight you never get any in the world like your family"