The mountain morning was quiet, painted in soft gold by the rising sun. Dew clung to the grass, birds chirped gently in the distance, and for a while, everything seemed peaceful.
Inside the small hut, Ming was lost in the deepest comfort of his life. He hugged his five white pillows tightly, his arms wrapped around one, his legs resting over another, while the rest formed a small fortress around him. His breathing was steady, warm, and calm, his young face softened into a rare innocence only sleep could bring.
But the mountain was never quiet for long.
From the ridge came a sudden burst of noise—a squeak, a flap, then a shrill giggle that echoed across the rocks. A little monkey darted through the trees, his brown eyes glittering with mischief. Close behind him swooped a little swan, her snowy wings flashing as she chased him with sharp determination.
"Too slow!" the monkey squeaked, swinging from a branch.
"Shameless thing! Come back here!" the swan honked back, snapping her beak.
They collided, they tumbled, they teased, neither willing to back down. The mountain ridge shook with their tiny battlefield of mischief, and step by step, their chaotic quarrel brought them closer and closer to Ming's hut.
Inside, Ming stirred. A faint sound slipped into his dream, pulling him halfway awake. He squeezed his pillow tighter, stubbornly refusing to let go of the warmth. But then—
Thump!
Something hit the side of the hut. Ming groaned and rolled over. A second later, a squeak rang out right by his window.
"Get up, get up, you lazy human!" The monkey's voice was bright and full of triumph.
"Still sleeping? Hah! How disgraceful." The swan's voice followed, sharp and bold.
Ming's eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, his hair a mess, his face dark with irritation. "Who dares wake me up like this…" he muttered.
From the windowsill, the monkey squealed, waving his little arms. The swan flapped her wings with satisfaction, peering inside as if inspecting him.
Ming rubbed his eyes with both hands. I was sleeping so well… He sighed. To be forcefully dragged from his pillows—it felt like the heavens themselves had betrayed him.
Still half-dazed, Ming pushed open the door and stepped outside. The cool morning breeze brushed against his face, chasing away the last of his drowsiness. He intended to scold the troublemakers, but what he saw stopped him cold.
The little swan was speaking. Not chirping, not honking—speaking actual words.
"Ha! Look at him, eyes all puffy. Like a baby woken from his nap," the swan teased, strutting proudly.
The monkey barked back, "Tch, don't steal my lines! I woke him up first!"
Ming's jaw dropped. He blinked once, then again. His mind struggled to process it. The swan… is talking?
And then he noticed the eagle, perched silently on a branch above them. For a wild second, Ming's heart skipped—Is he about to speak too? His imagination spun in chaos.
Meanwhile, the monkey and swan bickered endlessly, their voices overlapping in a storm of squeaks, flaps, and laughter. Ming's head felt heavy, like the world had suddenly turned upside down.
Ming rubbed his temples, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Yet what unfolded before his eyes left him even more shaken.
The swan was not only speaking, but she was speaking in a tone he recognized all too well—shameless, bold, and impossible to shut down.
"Your arms are short, your squeaks are silly, you call this teasing? Hah!" she jeered at the monkey.
The monkey puffed up, furious. "You think flapping your wings makes you clever? Don't copy me!"
Back and forth they went, their words sharper than their movements. And to Ming's shock, the swan was actually winning. The monkey, the untouchable prankster who always triumphed in shameless battles, was now stumbling to keep up.
Ming's lips parted slightly in disbelief. It was like watching fire and fire collide, each refusing to burn out. The battlefield of words grew fiercer with every breath.
Ming had fought countless small battles against the monkey's shamelessness and lost every single one. No matter how hard he argued, the monkey always twisted his words and laughed until Ming admitted defeat.
But now… now he was seeing something he thought impossible. The monkey, his undefeatable trickster, was being pushed back. The swan's bold tongue cut through his antics like a blade, and he struggled to keep up, his squeaks growing more desperate.
Ming almost laughed at the sight. So even he can lose.
But before the smile could form, the chaos ended abruptly.
Both the swan and the monkey stopped moving. Their quarrel vanished like it had never existed. Slowly, deliberately, they turned their heads toward Ming.
The boy stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. Their eyes locked on him, gleaming with a mix of curiosity, challenge, and something deeper he couldn't name.
Ming swallowed. For the first time that morning, he felt he was no longer just an observer—he was their target.
Somehow, he knew: this was not just ordinary mischief. The little swan's arrival meant something. The mountain was no longer the same.