The frost of early dawn still clung to the courtyard stones. Ming stood in the center, sweat already dripping down his brow as his fists hammered into the training post. Each strike echoed across the empty mountain, sharp and steady.
It had been a year since his teacher vanished. A year since silence became his companion.
And yet, Ming endured. His frame was leaner now, shoulders broadened from daily training, but his eyes—those bright blue eyes—still carried both longing and determination.
He exhaled, steadying his stance, and whispered as he always did:
"Teacher… today I will train twice as hard."
The air stirred faintly, carrying the scent of pine and something else—something unfamiliar. Ming paused, his hand hovering mid-strike. The mist curling over the courtyard seemed heavier than usual, as though holding its breath.
Then, a sound.
A rustle, light and quick, like leaves disturbed by tiny hands. From the corner of the courtyard wall, a small shadow darted into view. At first glance it looked like nothing more than a mischievous forest monkey—brown eyes wide, tail flicking, lips curled in a playful grin.
But Ming felt it instantly.
This was no ordinary monkey.
The boy's chest tightened as the creature hopped onto the training post, mimicking Ming's stance in exaggerated fashion—arms raised, fists wobbling comically. Its eyes gleamed with a strange intelligence, sharp and knowing, as though mocking yet testing him at the same time.
Ming's lips parted in shock. "What… are you?"
The monkey only tilted its head, then tapped its chest proudly. With a mischievous squeak, it struck the post with surprising force—wood shuddered under its small fist.
The boy blinked. His heart stirred, caught between amusement and awe.
For the first time in a long while, the empty courtyard no longer felt empty.
The morning sun had only just crept over the mountains when Ming awoke to an odd sensation on his face.
Something warm, soft, and annoyingly persistent.
He blinked, only to find two round brown eyes staring into his own.
The little monkey had perched itself on Ming's chest, tail flicking back and forth like a playful banner. With tiny hands, it poked Ming's cheeks, then tugged at his hair as if testing how long it could annoy him before he snapped.
Ming groaned.
"Hey… what do you think you're doing?"
The monkey didn't answer, of course. Instead, it let out a sharp chitter, hopped to Ming's shoulder, and then leapt off, landing nimbly on the courtyard fence.
Before Ming could sit up fully, the creature was already grabbing one of his training sticks and dragging it clumsily across the ground. The stick was far too big for its small frame, but the monkey puffed its chest proudly, swinging it around as though it were performing martial arts.
Ming couldn't help it—he laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh he had released in months, maybe longer. The sound startled even him.
The monkey froze, then tilted its head, eyes sparkling as if pleased with itself. With another playful squeak, it dropped the stick, bounded back to Ming, and climbed onto his shoulder.
Ming sighed but didn't push it away. For once, the courtyard didn't feel so empty.
As the sun rose higher, he returned to his training. Running, striking the wooden post, practicing stances—everything as usual. But today was different.
Every time Ming stumbled, the monkey copied his mistakes, flopping dramatically onto the ground. Every time Ming pushed through exhaustion, the monkey would clap its tiny hands together as though cheering him on.
At first it was annoying. Then it was distracting.
But slowly, Ming realized… it was also comforting.
When he paused for breath beneath the old pine tree, sweat dripping down his chin, the monkey sat beside him, munching on a pine cone it had scavenged. Its small frame pressed lightly against his arm, as if reminding him he wasn't entirely alone anymore.
Ming stared at it for a long time before whispering softly, almost to himself:
"Maybe… you're not such bad company."
The monkey looked up, crumbs stuck to its fur, and answered with a squeaky chatter.
Ming almost imagined it was laughing with him.
By the next morning, Ming noticed something unusual.
The little monkey didn't leave.
It slept curled up at the foot of his bedroll like a stubborn guest, and when dawn came, it followed him without hesitation into the forest path.
At first Ming ignored it. He had no time for strays—his training demanded all of his focus. But no matter how far he ran, the monkey scampered along, leaping from branch to branch, chattering proudly each time it landed.
When Ming stopped to drink from the stream, the monkey dipped its tiny hands into the water, splashing wildly until Ming's face was soaked.
Ming frowned, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He hadn't felt this tug of lightness in a long while.
Later, while practicing his stances in a clearing, the monkey decided to imitate him. It stood upright, arms stretched awkwardly, tail sticking straight out for balance. Every time Ming punched forward, the monkey hopped and swung its little arms in some distorted version of the same move.
At first it was ridiculous. Ming tried to keep his composure, but when the monkey lost balance and toppled into the grass with a loud squeak, Ming burst out laughing.
The sound startled even the forest birds into flight.
The monkey rolled to its feet, clearly proud of itself, and bounded onto Ming's shoulder, tugging his ear as though demanding recognition.
"All right, all right," Ming said, smiling faintly. "You're not bad at copying."
The monkey responded with a sharp chitter, almost as if mocking his tone.
Ming shook his head, exhaling. For so long, the mountain had been filled only with silence—his footsteps, his breath, the wind through the trees. Now, with the monkey tagging along, there was noise, movement, mischief.
For the first time in a year, Ming realized he didn't feel as alone.
Days passed, and the little monkey refused to leave.
It followed Ming into every corner of the mountain—whether he was running laps along the trail, striking the wooden post in the courtyard, or sitting cross-legged by the stream in meditation. Sometimes it behaved like a shadow, watching quietly with its round eyes. Other times it was a nuisance, tugging at Ming's robes, throwing pinecones, or chattering loudly during his training.
At first Ming tried to shoo it away. But each night, when he returned to the silent house, the monkey curled itself near the doorway as if guarding the entrance. Each morning, when he woke, the little creature was already waiting for him outside, tail twitching eagerly.
One evening, after training until his fists ached, Ming sat on the courtyard steps, staring at the darkening sky. The monkey clambered onto his lap without hesitation, settling there as if it had belonged all along.
Ming hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment, then finally rested gently on the monkey's soft fur.
"I don't know why you came here," Ming whispered, voice low. "But… it feels less lonely with you around."
The monkey tilted its head, letting out a soft sound—half chirp, half sigh.
Ming gave a faint smile. It had been a long time since he'd spoken such words aloud. For over a year, his only company had been silence. Now, this small creature had entered his world without asking permission—and somehow, it felt right.
That night, when Ming lit the lantern in his room, he placed a second cushion by his mat. The monkey curled up instantly, tail wrapping around itself.
For the first time in many nights, Ming slept without waking to the weight of emptiness.
From that night onward, the little monkey became part of Ming's world.
When he swept the courtyard at dawn, the monkey grabbed a fallen twig and clumsily copied him, scattering dust everywhere. When Ming practiced his strikes against the wooden post, the monkey hopped up and smacked it with tiny fists, baring its teeth as though challenging the mountain itself.
At first, Ming laughed. Then he found himself correcting the monkey's stance, half-serious, half-amused.
"You'll hurt your hands like that," he muttered, gently adjusting its tiny arms. The monkey only blinked at him, then copied again, more earnestly this time.
Meals were no longer silent either. Ming set out a small bowl, filling it with fruit or greens he gathered, and the monkey would sit cross-legged beside him, eating noisily. Sometimes it stole food from Ming's share, and he scolded it—but never truly angrily.
Slowly, the rhythm of his days changed. The silence of the mountain remained, but it was no longer heavy. It was filled with soft chattering, playful mischief, and the warmth of another presence.
Ming often caught himself speaking aloud without thinking.
"Today I'll try running farther."
"Don't sit there—you'll fall into the stream."
"If Teacher comes back and sees this mess, he'll scold us both."
The monkey never answered with words. But its eyes—bright, mischievous, yet strangely deep—always seemed to understand.
One evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Ming sat on the steps of the courtyard with the monkey resting against his shoulder. His gaze lingered on the mountain path below.
"Teacher… I'm still waiting." His voice was soft, steady. "But until then… I'm not alone anymore."
The wind stirred, carrying his words into the distance.
The boy and the monkey sat together in silence—two figures against the vastness of the mountain.
And though the elder did not return, the courtyard no longer felt empty.
" After a year of silence since his teacher's disappearance, Ming continues his relentless training in the lonely courtyard. One dawn, a mischievous little monkey appears, copying his stances and breaking his solitude.
At first, Ming treats it as a nuisance, but the monkey's playful antics slowly bring laughter back into his life—the first he's felt in months. The creature refuses to leave, following him everywhere: to the forest, the stream, his training, and even sleeping near him at night.
Though Ming tries to resist, the monkey gradually becomes part of his daily rhythm—sharing meals, training beside him, and filling the mountain with noise and warmth instead of silence.
Finally, Ming accepts it as his companion. With the monkey by his side, he no longer feels entirely alone. Though his teacher has not yet returned, the empty courtyard begins to feel alive once again ".