Monkey - the legend of the mountain

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PART I:

THE SOUL OF THE FOREST

Since the time when the mountains and forests were still the domain of ancient spirits, people had passed down stories about a strange creature – born from the blood moon and the sighs of the great forest. That was Monkey – a moldy monkey carrying within itself an omen of a great change in the mountains and forests.

Monkey is unlike other monkeys. Its fur is ash-yellow, shining silver when the sunlight hits it, as if coated with stardust from the sky. Its arms are long and strong, able to break ancient tree branches with just one jerk. And most special of all is the tuft of fur on the top of its head, spreading out in two symmetrical streams - like the crown of the monkey in ancient mythology.

He was born under the sacred K'Thu tree, by the Da Ru stream - a sacred stream that ancient people said was created by a small forest fairy crying. Monkey's ancestors once said: "You are a child of the forest moon. On the night of the red moon, your fate will change."

Monkey’s childhood passed amidst the chirping of birds and the scent of wild honey, where all living creatures lived in harmony as part of the great spirit of the old forest. He was mischievous, intelligent, but also kind. Many times, Monkey broke branches and pulled them low for the baby monkeys to pick fruit, and covered the baby squirrels from the rain. Therefore, all creatures in the forest loved and respected him as a “little king”.

PART II:

HUMAN SHADOW IN THE FOREST

Then one day, in the middle of the blooming season – when the valley was ablaze with colour – three figures appeared for the first time. They camped under the sacred Lazy Tree – where Monkey’s ancestors used to dance every full moon night to pray for a good harvest. The monkeys panicked and fled up the slope. But Monkey was different, he felt… curious.

Every day, he would peek from the top of the tree and see men lighting fires, cooking, talking in strange sounds. A man with gray hair would leave fruit on a large rock. Once, he left a banana on the rock and backed away. Monkey approached, wary. He took the banana—and in a flash—disappeared into the foliage.

From then on, something changed. The encounters became more frequent, more friendly. People brought rice, corn, dragon fruit – things Monkey had never known before. With his keen sense of smell and taste, Monkey knew clearly: this was a world of miracles. The food from the hands of people tasted different – ​​like a mixture of sunlight and sea salt.

Monkey told Nut De – a graceful female monkey with chestnut-colored fur and round eyes that sparkled like dewdrops – about the world outside. The two often left the group, wandering across the high mountainsides, learning about new life. Monkey began to dream of a harmonious future – where monkeys and humans lived together as friends.

But it did not know that any light that shone into the forest left a shadow.

PART III:

WHEN THE MASK FALLS DOWN

On a peaceful morning like any other, when the dew was still on the grass and the baby monkeys were still playing under the Bodhi tree, Monkey felt something strange in his heart – like a premonition from his flesh and blood. That day, humans brought food again. Sweet ripe corn and red dragon fruit were spread out on the edge of the forest. The monkeys chattered and came like children receiving gifts. Laughter and dancing echoed throughout the forest.

Suddenly, “CRACK!” – a sharp sound like a knife tearing through the sky.

Before anyone could understand what was happening, a giant net was released from the sky, covering the entire group of monkeys. From the edge of the forest, three figures appeared – no longer the ones carrying corn and dragon fruit, but strangers with faces as cold as rocks, holding iron rods, and eyes blazing like wild animals.

The sound of sticks swinging. Heart-rending screams. Monkeys struggling in vain. Blood and tears mixed on the ground once considered sacred.

Monkey and Chestnut, who were playing in the treetops, heard the screams. They both jumped down, but it was too late. They were all tied up and thrown into sacks. Monkey stood there, dumbfounded. His eyes were wide open, as if he couldn't believe that the people who had given him bananas were now the ones who had robbed his family.

Chestnut trembled, clinging to Monkey. The two survivors quietly retreated into the forest, leaving behind a trail of red blood on the dry leaves – like the first slash across Monkey's young heart.

PART IV:

HOWL IN THE SKY

From that day on, Monkey was no longer himself. No more afternoons lying on the rock, no more clear laughter when playing with Nut De. His eyes were deep and silent like two pits of coal burning in the night. He wandered through the old forest, searching for traces of his beloved monkeys. There was only the sound of the wind, and echoes from the deep abyss as if the forest was crying with him. But the pain did not stop there.

One morning, the sky was pouring down a dark rain like a funeral of heaven and earth, and Chestnut was trapped. A tree branch sprang up, pulling the steel wire that was tightly holding her hind leg. Chestnut's panicked scream pierced through the thick rain, echoing all the way to the canyon. Monkey rushed over. His mate was hanging in the air, moaning weakly, her eyes red with tears, begging for help. Blood dripped from her leg like holy water from a natural wound.

Monkey screamed, jumped, pulled the rope, broke the branches... to no avail. The monkey's claws could not untie the human's trap rope.

That night, the rain poured down. Chestnut hung suspended all night, each time it moaned softly as if to say: "I'm still alive... don't leave..." Monkey could only sit there, holding his head, his heart broken.

On the morning of the third day, two men came to remove the trap. They carried Chestnut away, as gently as if he were a broken object. Monkey hid in a tree, his hands clenched until they bled. There were no more tears. Only anger.

From that day on, Monkey disappeared.

PART V:

GHOST OF REVENGE

Since the day Hat De was taken away, Monkey seemed to have transformed into a different entity – he was no longer the moldy monkey who loved life, but became a vengeful ghost, appearing and disappearing in the mist of Ong Mountain. The farmers told each other: “There is a monkey with eyes as red as fire, standing on the hill and howling every afternoon – whoever hears it shivers down their spines”.

At first, it was just corn being stripped bare and thrown around. Then sweet potatoes were uprooted, cassava was crushed. Animal traps were suddenly bent, some were even dismantled as if someone knew how they worked. Every night, Monkey's howl rang out, long and heartbreaking like someone screaming from the depths of the forest.

“It is no longer a monkey,” they said. “It is the spirit of the mountain, the evil spirit that we have awakened.”

Experienced hunters were hired. They set traps everywhere, nooses, snap traps, even traps baited with bananas and dragon fruit. But strangely, not a single trap hit Monkey. On the contrary, one day people found the trap broken, the bait gone, and only a tree branch standing straight up – like a challenge from a mocking intellect.

Monkey does not kill or harm people, but it instills in them a nameless fear. Its appearance is an omen – an approaching storm, a sign of silent death. Even the most experienced woodmen dare not stay after dusk.

But behind that revenge, is a broken heart.

Every afternoon, Monkey would return to the rock by the Da Ru stream where he and Hat De used to play with the fish. He would sit there for hours, his hands gently patting the water, his eyes looking towards the deep forest, as if waiting for a familiar figure to return. But there was no one. There was only the sound of the stream babbling, and the red dragonflies hovering over the water like the souls of dead dreams.

PART VI:

Farewell in the rain of bullets

One misty morning, the shrill cry of a weasel echoed from the edge of the field. Monkey immediately rushed towards it. It was an old-fashioned trap – a rope tied around its hind legs, just like the one that had taken Nut De from it. The weasel struggled, its eyes panicked and calling for help.

Monkey tried everything – pulling the branch, biting the vine, pushing the ground – but to no avail. In that moment of helplessness, the past came rushing back like a waterfall. The image of Chestnut, the small drops of blood, the weak cry of the past… everything seemed to stab his heart again.

A gunshot rang out.

Pain, cold, piercing – like a bolt of lightning straight to the chest. Monkey staggered. From afar, a man approached, gun in hand, face as cold as stone.

Blood soaked through its ash-blond fur. Monkey collapsed. Before his eyes closed, he saw something strange…

From afar, Chestnut was standing under the tree, smiling, her hand reaching out to it. Behind her were the monkeys – familiar faces, gentle eyes, arms outstretched in welcome. No more pain. No more resentment.

Monkey felt himself flying, light as smoke. The mountains and forests below gradually faded away… only the sound of the wind and the lullaby of the mountains and forests remained.

PART VII: LEGEND

STILL ALIVE

Monkey's body was not found. Only blood stains remained on the rock, and a dry leaf with a monkey's handprint drawn in blood.

Since then, every time the new moon rises in the mountains, people hear the howling sound – not angry, not painful, but like a distant call, peaceful and filled with nostalgia. The old people in the village say: “Monkey is not dead. It has become the spirit that guards the forest, the last warning: Do not insult life.”

Children in the village were taught: “If you see a monkey with ash-yellow fur and sad eyes, bow your head. Because it is not a monkey – it is the King of the Jungle.”

Source: https://baobinhthuan.com.vn/monkey-huyen-thoai-cua-nui-ong-130989.html