The Monkey King was overjoyed, carried by a sense of floating, of total power. He reigned undisputed at the top of the mountain.
Ever since he had crossed the waterfall and discovered the stone paradise, his spirit refused to touch the ground. He ran, leapt, ruled, and laughed without the slightest care for what came next.
He wore his fig-branch crown with pride, even when it tilted sideways — he paid it no mind. Sometimes he brandished the stick he had adopted, one of the finest: straight, smooth, polished by waves and time.
Summer lingered at its end, yet the heat did not fade. It clung to the rocks, wrapped around the leaves, savoring the triumph of the young King a little longer. The clear sky stretched out like a great sheet of pale blue silk, and the sun kept returning, day after day.
The Monkey King was celebrated, admired, followed. Perched atop a flat stone, he watched his companions with fresh pride. The Mountain of Flowers and Fruit pulsed with their joy.
It was the season of many firsts. The first storm watched together. The first great fire, which he had learned to make and master beneath the stars.
That fire — the one that warms and keeps the cold away — had been taught to him by an elder.
That evening, the Monkey King was alone in the cool night, his stick resting on a piece of wood. Shifu Houzi approached, noticing the young King rubbing them together.
"Trying to play with fire, little King?" said Houzi, a twinkle in his eye.
"I want to learn! I saw an elder make some yesterday!"
Houzi nodded, sat down, and showed him the motion. He also gave him the missing twigs.
"You'll need to be more patient. It takes time to make."
The Monkey King tried. And failed. Then tried again. The stick flew. He tried once more.
Three full days passed, with old Shifu sitting patiently beside him.
Then, at last, a spark! …snuffed out instantly. He stomped his foot, roared, tried again.
"It doesn't want to come!"
"It comes only to those who persevere, not to those who demand."
Then finally: smoke, a coal, a flame.
The Monkey King shouted.
"Look, Shifu! Look!"
"You did it," Houzi said calmly. "Now keep it going. That's when it gets serious."
The Monkey King stared at the flame, a mix of fear and pride in his eyes.
Then autumn came without warning.
The Monkey King was surprised when the warmth gradually faded, replaced by a drier, sharper wind. He squinted up at the treetops: the leaves were changing. Yellows, oranges, bright reds. Everything looked ablaze without burning.
As days passed, it began to drizzle more and more. This encouraged the monkeys and other animals on the island to find shelter, just to stay a little drier.
He leapt from branch to branch, trying to understand, questioning everything he saw. Why were the trees undressing? Was it a danger?
He saw the elders of the group gathering supplies and piling them inside the stone house for protection.
No one seemed worried. They still laughed, played, gathered fallen nuts. The Monkey King, however, was puzzled.
Then Shifu Houzi approached. As always, he walked slowly and looked up at the reddening canopy.
"This is autumn," he said simply. "It's the great cycle of the seasons. Nothing dies, little King. Everything changes — and everything returns."
The Monkey King frowned, confused.
"But why? Why do the leaves fall? Why do the trees empty? Why does the wind sting so sharply with cold?"
"Ah," replied Houzi, sitting slowly on a knotted root. "Each season is different: summer lives, autumn brings deep rest."
"Then… after this comes winter? Even colder? Even emptier?"
"Yes. Winter is the silence when all things go to sleep. It clears away the colors so they can be born again."
The Monkey King scratched his cheek, thoughtful.
"I don't like when things disappear."
"You'll learn that nothing truly disappears," said Houzi. "The leaves fall, yes… but they feed the roots. Without them, there would be no spring."
The Monkey King fell silent for a moment. Then:
"And me? Will I change too?"
Houzi looked at him for a long while.
"You'll change — but not yet. You are young, Monkey King. Time touches you differently… but it will come all the same."
These words opened something in the Monkey King's mind. He looked again at the leaves, this time with admiration. He saw movement instead of loss. And suddenly, it all seemed to make sense.
He marveled at the warm shades, the whirling winds, the busy squirrels. He feasted on dry fruits, crunchy roots, and spiced mushrooms. Autumn now pleased him.
Then, eventually, winter fell without warning too.
The first snow arrived with its icy breath.
Songs faded slowly. Games stopped before anyone even noticed. They spoke in hushed tones, moved more slowly. The wind, however, howled through the bare branches and snapped the dry wood.
The Monkey King watched the forest freeze.
He watched the once-splendid waterfall go still — crystal clear and suspended in time.
He tried several times to lick icicles, only to end up with his tongue stuck to them. Perhaps it hadn't been the brightest idea.
At first, he thought everything had died. But he still felt hearts beating deep beneath the earth. The seeds slept. The buds waited. The mountain was falling asleep.
Fires were everywhere. The elders told more stories. Everyone huddled around the flames. The cold brought close those whom summer had scattered.
One morning, the Monkey King opened his eyes before dawn. He stepped onto the bridge alone and held out his hand.
The river below cracked and groaned despite its frozen surface. Like a sleeping dragon, the water continued to surge beneath — for some strange reason. Where did it come from, when all was frozen?
A snowflake landed on his hand, light, and melted instantly. Another followed. Then another. The snow began to fall, soundless.
He stood there a long time, spellbound.
He didn't leap as much anymore. He found himself listening, thinking. Sometimes, he wanted to speak… but to whom? The mountain slept.
He alone seemed awake.
But then, as if the world hadn't quite gone to sleep, an unexpected visitor came to join him.
Shifu Houzi, who had trouble sleeping through the night, came close once again.
He lifted his eyes to the gray sky, which he had seen so many times before.
"Well, little King, what are you gazing at like that?"
The Monkey King, still round with his soft fur, faced his boredom.
"I'm watching the sky," he replied. "It's so heavy… always gray. I think it's sad."
"Ah, so it's only boredom then. You'll learn to love boredom in a few years."
The young monkey looked at him, skeptical.
But he wanted to fill the silence, so he stepped forward without a word — and gave the old monkey a hug, for the very first time.
Abel Maria : Royal Road & Webnovel