Mar 23
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they're so silly
Bimawen # 5 : the orchard
Wukong and Mengai pick peaches and go fishing. It's bonding time!! Those two monkeys are acting like friends but Mengai is soo deep in denial 😔. Love writing their dynamic, it's so fun. Really, I don't know how long I plan this story to be buuut my stories always ends up longer than intended so I'm expecting a long ride here too. Anyway, hopes you like it.
Mengai was hit by the rays of moonlight. The pale light poured on his face and drowned him. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. Gods. He had the worst headache on earth. It was like someone was crushing his very skull. He sat up and looked around. He was on the mansion doorsteps with one empty bottle of wine clutched in his hands and the bimawen snoring on his right side. It didn't take a genius to know what happened. He remembered bits of his conversation with Sun Wukong once they left the festival, but most was unclear, imprisoned in a shape-shifting blur. The macaque wiped away the sweat clinging to his fur and massaged his temples. It was still quite late. He should come home- (Mengai cursed himself for the slip of thought)... he should come inside and find something to ease his headache. He stood up and stretched, his hanfu was all ruffled and covered with red stains, he hoped the clones would be able to clean it.
The macaque turned towards the door but stopped once he heard the loud snore of his boss. Mengai looked down at the sleeping monkey and hesitated. He raked his hand in his hair and clicked his tongue in annoyance. He crouched down before Sun Wukong and hoasted him on his shoulders. Mengai huffed and stumbled, gods, this mogwai was very heavy. The black-furred monkey struggled to open the door. He could call for the clones. They could take his boss and put him to bed rather easily.But for some reason he wanted to do it himself. Probably because he didn't want to owe the other monkey anything.
A favor for a favor.
Mengai dragged the blonde monkey inside. Sun Wukong's head fell on his shoulders, his breath hit the shell of the macaque's ears, and his snores echoed in the sensitive appendages. The macaque scowled. By Diyu this guy was annoying even in his sleep. The black-furred monkey somehow managed to drag Sun Wukong all the way to his bed. He threw the slumbering monkey on the wooden bed and put the empty bottle of wine in a nearby bin.
“Gods, it's like you're made of stones or something.” Grumbled Mengai as he massaged his shoulders. He looked at the snoring monkey and snorted. This idiot was drooling. What a poor sight. “Now we're even.” Huffed the macaque as he approached the sleeping monkey. He frowned at the memory of what happened yesterday.
Why did the bimawen help him?
He could have let Erlang have his way. It's true that he stole something. No matter the point of view, he was the one in the wrong. Was it a matter of pride? Did it infuriate him to see his assistant being pushed around by another? Was he a possession? Or did he want to have a share in Mengai's spoil so badly that he went ahead and helped him?
Or was it pity?
Others would perhaps call it compassion, but Mengai wanted to see nothing but pity. He didn't understand compassion. He didn't understand why someone would willingly help another without expecting anything in return. Especially someone like him. It's not like he was friends with the blonde-furred monkey, if anything Mengai was quite sure that he was nothing but a thorn in his side. Yet, he had to admit, Sun Wukong was a lot kinder than what he was first led to believe. He didn't hit. He rarely yelled. He gave fruits, food, and home.
It scared Mengai.
What if he got used to this ? What if he let himself become idle ? This was dangerous. He couldn't be swayed by the vulnerable feelings residing in his heart. No matter the compassion he was shown. In the end, only himself should matter, because the moment he lets himself get attached to someone, he knows he’ll love this person more than he’ll love himself.
No matter the kindness.
It couldn't matter.
It shouldn't matter.
Would he ever admit that he searched for Guanyin's face when he was strolling amongst the spirits at the Peach Festival? No. Never. Because he shouldn't indulge himself. No matter if she saved him. No matter if she showed him kindness. It couldn't matter.
He couldn't let himself be weaker than he already was.
Mengai sighed and left Wukong's room with a frown. He returned to his own quarter, shed his hanfu and collapsed on his bed. He should forget this for now. Forget the kindness. Forget the desires. Ignore them until they're nothing but long lost memories.
This was his way of living.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Hoping the sunrise would burn every troublesome feeling and desire surging in his chest.
***
Mengai woke up quite early. He still had a terrible headache so he went into the inner garden to search for mint. He knew he saw some once. Or at least he thought he saw some. He foraged in the bushes, trying to spot the green leaves which could appease the pain vibrating inside of his skull.
“Oh you're usually never awake this early.” Mengai startled and looked behind him. A clone was standing there. It was easy to distinguish them from the real Sun Wukong. Their eyes were a little bit brighter, a little bit unnatural, lightened up by magic instead of life. The macaque couldn't yet distinguish the clones in-between them though. Maybe one day he could. He knew some gave themselves names but he never bothered to ask.
“Yeah…” Replied the macaque, his tail twitched nervously, he couldn't be completely comfortable with them yet. They were beings made of magic. Made to obey any of Wukong's wishes, to cater to any of his whims.
“If you want mint, you can find some near the maple tree.” Huffed the clone with an amused glint in his eyes.
“How did you…”
“You reek of alcohol.” Snorted the clone. “By the way, today is a harvest day so you won't go to the stables, probably, you'll have to ask the boss.” The clone then waved at him and went away with great leisure. Mengai watched him until he couldn't anymore. Once he was sure the clone left, he rushed to the maple tree and collected his precious mint leaves with glee. Once he had a good handful of mint leaves he rushed to the kitchen.
Wukong had a dusty stove somewhere here. Mengai frowned when he saw how dirty it was, the thick layer of dust covering it obscured the color. The black-furred monkey took a cloth and wetted it, then he diligently cleaned the stove. The stove gradually took back its blue hue. It was still not in the best condition, but it would do. The macaque put dry branches he found in the inner garden inside of the stove and lit a little fire. Once the flames were bright and hot, licking the ceiling of the stove, Mengai put water in a bronze pan and placed it on the stove. He watched as the water began to heat, when bubbles began to rumble under the clear surface, he took the pan out of the stove. Mengai placed the mint leaves in the boiling water and waited for a bit. Soon, the clear water turned light green, swirling with the bright leaves.
Mengai huffed, satisfied, and served himself a glass of mint tea. Of course, it didn't magically heal his pounding headache, but it eased it greatly. The fresh aftertaste of the mint combined with the soothing warmth of the water was perfect. The black-furred monkey didn't make tea that often. Perhaps, he should.
For one second, his mind flashed to his boss. Sun Wukong drank as much as him, maybe even more, he should also be suffering… Perhaps, he could bring him the leftover of his tea–Mengai shook his head. No. No. No. He shouldn't fester this idea nor indulge in this saccharine feeling. Sun Wukong wasn't his friend and he would never be. Mengai had no friends. Friends were dangerous. They knew each nook and crannies of the valley of your heart. They could backstab you as easily as if they were plunging a knife in butter. The black-furred monkey repeated it over and over, like a mentra, it etched itself in his mind.
Still, his feet took him to Wukong's door. He put the tea before the door and left. This was to curry favor, he told himself. Nothing but to curry favor.
Once he was back to his room, Mengai put on his white linen robe. He glanced at the ruffled hanfu, dirtied by wine, laying in his cabinet and sighed. He ought to talk to the clones about it. He didn't want the dress to stay dirty. As superficial as it sounded, Mengai felt attached to it. It was his. Wukong gave it to him. It was the first thing he considered his in this place. Nothing but his. His to wear. His to dirty… Perhaps, his to wash. Yes. He shouldn't let the clones near it. He would wash it himself. Not now, though. Work will soon begin and Mengai refused to be late.
At first, he didn't want to be late because he feared the bimawen's wrath. But nowadays, it was more a matter of pride. He was a good stableboy. He wanted to be good. He hated to be looked down on, to be brushed aside like an annoying fly, granted there were many things he didn't know about dragon-horses and he was still afraid of them, but he'll be good. Only because seeing the surprised look on Wukong's face when he was early or when he got something right was worth it. It was thrilling. Yes. Take that. He wasn't a fool! He wasn't a Mengmeng! Perhaps, if he worked harder, he could even be better than Wukong. How sweet of a vengeance would that be? He ought to do that!
Once he was ready, Mengai left his room and skipped over to the front door. He was satisfied to see that Wukong wasn’t there yet. He stood before the doors and patiently waited for his boss to come out of his den. Sun Wukong came a few minutes after. His fur was rufflier than usual, full of cow-licks. The black-furred monkey coughed to hide the snorts stumbling out of his mouth. It was oddly satisfying to be ready earlier than Wukong. It almost felt like Mengai was the one waiting for Wukong, it gave him a feeble sense of power, as flickering as a spark in the dead of winter. The bimawen dragged himself to the door, his gaze fell on Mengai for a short second. His gold coated eyes were veiled by a thin layer of mist, like leaves were veiled by the dew. The blonde monkey yawned, and a single tear began to bead in the corner of his eyes, it rolled on his cheek once his jaw settled, losing itself in the fur. Wukong nodded at him and then kicked the door open.
“No horses today. We will go to the orchard to harvest.” Warned Wukong, the macaque nodded obediently, the clone warned him of that. He never went to the orchard but he heard of it. The clones were always eager to talk about peaches. They yapped about it constantly. Mengai didn't know what was so great about peaches but he wasn't foolish enough to voice his opinions.
The path to the orchard was lusher than the stables’, wildflowers grew around the grass flattened by feets, circling the road like two rivers of petals. Mengai walked in his boss' footsteps. His gaze was sometimes lured by the flickering of a grasshopper hopping in the petals. His attention zeroing in on the happy-go-lucky insect. But he never let his eyes linger on them for too long. He had to focus. He was at work after all. It wasn't the time to indulge himself, no matter how pretty the grasshoppers were.
Soon, Mengai noticed bright pinkish petals drifting in the winds, he looked ahead and found a forest of peach trees peeking from beyond the path. It shouldn't have surprised him. Of course, this peach-brained mogwai would build an outrageous peach orchard, extending from lis and lis of distance. Yet, once he stood at the foot of the orchard, he couldn't help but look up at the towering trees with something akin to awe. It felt like entering a whole new world made of pink and saccharine sweetness.
Clones rushed to greet the bimawen. They talked about the fullest trees and which sections were already taken care of. At the end of their explanation, Wukong took two large bamboo baskets, he hoasted one on his shoulders and gave the other to Mengai. The black-furred monkey hurried to take his basket, it was louder than he expected, nonetheless he still hoasted it on his shoulders without any complaints.
“We'll go to the north section.” Warned the bimawen. “By the way, you think it's possible to do a vineyard?” The clone eyebrows furrowed in thought for a second.
“It might be if we prepare an adequate space but we'll need to order seeds among other things.”
“Alright. I'll leave it to you.” The clone nodded and scrambled to satisfy his wishes. Wukong then entered the orchard with a leisurely step, Mengai followed after him.
Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination, but the air seemed fresher inside of the orchard. It slithered in-between the tree like an invisible serpent, carrying the sweet saccharine smell of peaches in its bowels. Mengai's nose frowned at the enticing smell. He wasn't one for sweetness. He prefered the heaviness of meat. The odor of grease and smoke. But he had to admit that this scent was alluring in its own right. It tickled his nostrils, trying to awaken his hunger, passing again and again under his nose like the teasing touch of a feather. The black-furred monkey gulped. He was suddenly quite aware that he neglected breakfast, the only thing filling his stomach was mint tea. Even if it wasn't his favorite, it would be quite satisfying to sink his fang in the rosy skin of a peach, to feel the juice flood his mouth with sweetness. He shook his head and chastised himself for having such thoughts. No. He wasn't mad enough to dare steal peaches from Sun Wukong. His boss cherished peaches more than gold. Stealing them would be his end.
“Alright we're here.” Mengai flinched at his boss's voice. He straightened himself and killed any thoughts of peaches flickering in his head. They were in the middle of large peach trees, all beautifully flowered. Some clones were perched on the tree's branches, they were picking the peaches and throwing them in their baskets. Once their baskets were filled to the brim, they hopped off the trees and emptied them in large barrows dispatched in every nook and crannies. Some clones were charged to push the barrows away once they were filled, perhaps to empty them in a nearby warehouse. It was quite the sight. All clones were moving and running, coming and leaving, like the waves crashing on the shores, like the bees bustling inside their hive.
Wukong nodded in satisfaction. He approached a tree barren of clones and latched on it, he climbed fast, his nimble hands grabbing and pulling at the bark to hoast himself higher. In less than one blink, he was already perched in the highest branch. Mengai gulped, he remained at the foot of the tree, his hands gripping his basket with unease. The bimawen looked down at him and frowned :
“What are you doing? Come up here!”
Mengai flinched. He looked at the bark and wondered if he could even do it. He should. Monkeys were born to climb. Did he ever try? No. Never. In his life, the fruits he picked were the ones who fell, the beds he seeked were the ones hidden, like grottos and dens, not branches and leaves. He was a monkey yet he never lived like one. Would he ask for help? No. It was better to fall on his butt than ask for his boss's helping hand. The macaque approached the tree, he put his hands on the bark and try to hoast himself higher. He managed for a few seconds but then his feet tripped and he fell on the floor.
Sun Wukong bursted out laughing.
This bastard.
The black-furred huffed, that was just bad luck, he could do it. He latched on the tree and tried to hoast himself higher, but once again he failed and fell on his butt. At this point, the bimawen was wheezing with laughter, he rolled on the branch, hands clutching his belly.
“Stop, stop, I can't laugh anymore, it's painful!” Cackled Sun Wukong with crinking eyes. If he could, Mengai would pick up a rotten peach and throw it at his face. He hated the laugh of his boss. It was joyous and loud. Full of chimes and lightness.
He hated it because he was the butt of the joke. Being laughed at was one of the numerous things he hated most in the world. If there was one thing that could push him to go above and beyond, it was being mocked. He would do anything and everything to make this laughter cease. Mengai tried again and again, he improved, but it wasn't enough to reach the lowest branch of the tree. Wukong watched him, leisurely sprawled on his branch like a sunbathing lion. After half an hour, the bimawen hopped off his throne and approached him.
“This is pitiful. Let me help you.” Mengai, filled to the brim with frustration, was about to hiss and snap at his boss. He didn't need anyone's help. He was enough. He could do it. Just you watch. But before he could even open his mouth the bimawen grabbed his hips and pushed him on the tree.
“Hey!” Yelped Mengai as he latched on the bark to steady himself.
“You got legs, in case you forgot, so use them. Push yourself up with your legs.” Huffed Wukong. His hold was of iron. It almost burned the black-furred monkey. Mengai wondered if one press of the other stone hands would be enough to shatter his bones. It felt like it. Mengai took a shaky breath to calm his fretting heart. It wasn't the time for this sort of musing. The faster he'll learn how to climb, the faster he'll be able to escape those iron hands.
It was easier to climb now that Wukong was pushing him. Yet it was also more embarrassing. With efforts from both parties, the horse assistant managed to hoast himself on the lowest branch. Mengai sloped against the trunk, breath heaving, gods climbing was more taxing than he thought. Sun Wukong hoped besides him without breaking a sweat. Show off.
“You never climbed a tree before, did you?” Asked Wukong with a curious shine in his eyes. Mengai puffed, what a genius, truly nobody could have guessed this fact. “Why?”
“I never needed to.” Shrugged Mengai. Even if he was theoretically a monkey, he spent most of his time disguising himself as other people, he didn't have time to live his own life. Wukong hummed. He seemed to have realized something.
“You don't know how to groom yourself, you don't know how to climb trees, there are a lot of obvious things you don't know, Mengmeng. You're like an infant. But don't worry, this bimawen will teach you!” Laughed Wukong as he put his hands on his hips in pride.
“I don't need a teacher.” Huffed Mengai with crossed arms.
“You can call me shizun.” Replied the bimawen, brushing away his obvious distaste of the idea. Mengai rolled his eyes. Wukong was in no way his shizun. He wouldn't allow it.
The black-furred monkey turned away and began to pick peaches. He didn't pay attention to what sort he was picking. As long as some were in front of him. He picked them.
“Hey, hey.” Interrupted Wukong, he hovered behind his shoulder and stopped his picking. “You only gotta pick the ripe ones.”
“How do I know they're ripe?”
“Don't pick the firm ones. They gotta be soft. But don't press too hard or you'll bruise them.” Carefully explained Wukong. Mengai huffed, why was peach picking such a complicated activity? It was just fruits. Nonetheless the black-furred monkey followed his boss instructions to a T. He picked only the softest and roundest, those soaked in the sunlight. As he put them in his basket, he couldn't help but salivate, the scharrine scent was even stronger from this close. But he held on. He didn't want to fan the flames of Wukong's temper.
As he worked silently, Wukong suddenly handed him a peach. “You look like you're gonna faint if you don't eat.” Snorted the bimawen. The horse assistant hesitated for a second, he took the peach, the fuzz was soft against his nimble fingers. Was this another sign of pity? Did he look so desperate? The black-furred monkey brought the peach to his lips and took a large bite. It was good. The juice overflowed his mouth, gliding in his throat like the saving grace of a man dying of thirst.
“...thanks.” He mumbled, perhaps his boss wasn't expecting him to be thankful, he flinched and let the peach he was holding fall out of his hands. The fruit shattered once it hit the soil . Mengai smirked at the other monkey's slip of hand, but he hid his half-smile in the peach fuzz, he didn't want to bruise the other's ego.
“We, huh, we should fish after this.” Suddenly proposed Wukong, a rather pitiful attempt at diverting the attention, he seemed quite embarrassed by his slip of hand. “You're good at fishing so you'll be able to catch us breakfast.”
“How do you know I'm good at fishing?” Asked the black-furred monkey. That was odd. He never fished in front of the other before. Wukong stilled, his skin reverting back to the very stone he came from, before awkwardly scratching his neck.
“It's instinct! You have the look of a fisher anyway.” Mengai didn't buy the excuse, but he let it go, it's not as if his skills in fishing had to remain a secret.
They kept picking peaches for a few more hours. Once their baskets were filled, they emptied them in the barrow. Wukong then dragged his assistant out of the orchard, towards a nearby river.
“What's your favorite fruit by the way?” Asked Wukong as they stepped out of the rose-colored world that was the orchard. Mengai never truly thought about it. He didn't eat many fruits in his life. Meat was more of his taste. But if he had to choose...
“I like oranges..” Wukong frowned in disgust.
“Leave it to you to choose something so sour. But I guess we have room for oranges in the orchard.” Mengai frowned at those words. He didn't understand why Wukong would even bother with this. What was the point? What end was he pursuing? Perhaps, there were no thoughts in this peach-brained mogwai head. Perhaps he was only driven by pity. Pity. Pity. Pity. The black-furred monkey had to repeat the word over and over again like a religious mantra. It wasn't kindness. It wasn't compassion. It was pity.
He was scared of what it might be if not pity.
The question was burning his lips. Licking his teeth like the flames lick the stones of the fire-place. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. Why would someone do something like this when there was no reward, no gains, no greater pursuits?
“Why would you add oranges to your orchard ?” The words passed his lips before he could even stop them. He regretted it for a moment. Almost afraid of the answer. Wukong didn't turn back. He answered leisurely, as if his logic was the most natural thing in the world :
“Because you like them.”
Mengai felt his throat dry up. He decided, for his own sanity, to drop the subject before it could delve deeper in waters he wasn't ready to swam in.
It wasn't difficult to find a river. The orchard was surrounded by forests with jumping waters, all they had to do was choose one. Mengai pulled up his sleeves and pants, he went in the cold water and waited patiently for a fish to pass by him. Wukong observed him intently. It was unnerving to have those gold coated eyes bore holes in his skin. Why did he seem so interested in fishing? Why didn't he help? Perhaps, he didn't want to wet himself. Mengai frowned. No. He didn't think Sun Wukong, the monkey who rolled in dirt with his horses, would be bothered by a little bit of water.
“Why… aren't you fishing?” Finally asked the macaque. Wukong flinched, he looked around, as if his answer was written in the patch of grass or the clouds drifting in the sky. “Do you not know-”
“Of course I know how to fish!”Cut the bimawen. He rose and went in the water. “I was just… taking a break. The peach picking was taxing.” That was a rather pitiful lie, but Mengai decided to not pick on it. Both monkeys stood in the water, carefully eyeing the shadows slithering under the surface. Then, Wukong went to catch one, but the moment his claws fell on the fish, it slipped away and the bimawen fell on his butt.
Mengai blinked a bit in surprise before bursting out laughing. Oh, that was gold. His boss didn't know how to fish!
“Hey! Don't laugh! You can't laugh at your superior!” Huffed Wukong as he rose, he was completely wet. His fur stuck to his body, making him skinnier. Mengai couldn't stop. This was too funny. Sun Wukong crossed his arms and growled. “Stop laughing!” He hit the water and splashed the macaque. Mengai shrieked, surprised by the sudden wave engulfing him. When he regained his poise, he was completely wet. “Oops, sorry accident.” Smirked Wukong without a shred of remorse.
Mengai wanted to wipe this smirk off his face, pushed by adrenaline, he splashed Wukong with a flick of tail. “Pardon me, boss. This was an accident.” He repeated with the most obnoxious voice possible.
Wukong blinked, surprised by the audacity of his assistant. “Oh this is war.” He huffed as he leaped towards the black-furred monkey. Mengai shrieked and ran away.
They spend hours chasing one another, running along the river, splashing and leaping, growling and laughing. All fishes scattered when they arrived. Scared by the chaos they brought with them. By the end of their game, they both were heaving, sprawled on the mossy edges of the river's bed. They were completely wet and with no fish. But somehow, they seemed satisfied. Mengai bit his lips, trying to restrain the laughter tickling his inside. In the end he couldn't win against the urge to explode in giggles. He opened his mouth and let his laughter rang in the air. He laughed so much he clutched his belly.
“You laugh a lot today.” Mengai stopped his bout of laughing at his boss' words. He turned towards the blonde monkey. Sun Wukong was sprawled in the moss, sun gliding in his wet fur, giving ruby-red hues to the soft blonde. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. Two honey-colored gems shining with embers of laughter. His fur cascaded on his shoulders like trails of lava. He looked like a lion. He was as dangerous as a lion, thought Mengai. “You should laugh more often.” He gave no other explanation. No other words. Why should Mengai laugh more often? What was the reason? No matter the inquiries swirling behind his teeth, he couldn't bring himself to ask them.
Mengai sat up, he raked a hand in his tangled fur to push back the wet strands falling in his eyes. “We have no fish.” He stated, hoping it would distract him from the feeling churning his guts. Wukong hummed and sat up as well.
“That's your fault.” If Mengai was a lesser monkey, he would punch the other square in the face. It wasn't his fault. In fact, Wukong was the one who initiated this stupid water war. How dare he push the blame entirely on his shoulders! This peach-brain mogwai! But Mengai decided to keep his frustration for himself. Then, a brilliant idea flashed in the recess of his mind. He pondered on it. It would be the perfect callback, the perfect way to spat back at his boss's hypocrisy.
“You know, I can teach you how to fish.” Proposed Mengai with a bright smile. He offered his hand to the other monkey. His face the very picture of innocence. Wukong narrowed his eyes. He gazed at the hand as if it was a jaw ready to close on his flesh.
“What are you scheming?” Asked the bimawen, voice laced with suspicion.
“I'm never scheming.” Huffed Mengai, that was the worst lie he ever dared to tell. “Of course I know you must be good at fishing. I'm merely trying to help you hone those skills of yours.” That was the second worst lie. But his boss had a pride as massive as the sun itself and it wouldn't be good to try and wound it. Those who played with fire were meant to be burned. Mengai liked to play with fire, but only a little bit, only for the flames to lick the tip of his fingers and redden his fur.
Wukong suspicion was honeyed by the scharrine praises. He hummed, satisfied, and took his assistant's hands. Mengai guided him to the river. They both stood in the water, letting the current nip their thighs.
“You need to have your knees bent and be perfectly still.” Explained the black-furred monkey. Wukong reluctantly followed his instructions. How delightful. To have this stubborn monkey follows his orders so easily. It almost thrilled him. “We probably scared the fishes with our, huh, war. So we have to wait for a bit.” It wasn't even close to a war. But it was better to call it like that than to dare use the word “play”. Because “play” implied that they had a good time together. It implied that their relationship was beyond mere master/servant. Mengai didn't dare fathom it. He didn't want to. “When you see a fish swimming close to you, you need to be fast, your grip needs to be strong.” Wukong distantly nodded, the only sign he was listening was the wagging of an ear. They waited for a long time, still as statues, for the fishes to peek out of their beds.
Wukong moved the second a fish brushed against his ankle. His hands dived in the water and he clawed out a fish. But his hold was too weak, the flimsy creature wiggled against his fingers, and escaped his claws. Leaping in the water and disappearing in the current. Mengai hid his smirk under his hand. He coughed to prevent any bout of laughing from escaping him and regained his poise.
“It's not like peaches, don't be afraid to grip tightly.” Chastised the macaque, he reveled in the bimawen frustrated expression. Wukong's eyes were curved like moon crescents, his nose wrinkled, and his lips pursed together in concentration. The sunlight was gliding on his upward fangs. Giving them a golden glint. Distantly, Mengai wished he had fangs like those, they looked good when highlighted by the sun. Why did the peach-brained mogwai have all the nice things? The world was unfair. In comparison, his fangs were little, no bigger than fimsly thorns. They didn't protrude from his lips like proud daggers, instead they hid behind his mouth like measles toothpicks. Mengai shook his head. It wasn't the time for bouts of envy.
At first, it was funny to see his boss fail at fishing. The joy he felt when Wukong let creatures as harmless as carps escape him was boundless. But Mengai overlooked his boss' stubbornness. And it stopped being funny after the third hour. Now, the black-furred monkey just hoped they could catch something before night. He could do it himself, but he feared it would bruise the other ego too much. At last, after the fourth hour, Wukong managed to catch two skinny carps. He clawed them out of the water by sheer luck, and gripped on them tightly. Silence veiled both monkeys for a second before they both erupted in joy.
Wukong was happy about his first catch.
Mengai was happy that this long wait was over. And perhaps, there was also an inexplicable bout of pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his boss's success. But he shook off the feeling before it could fester.
“It was just a matter of time. I knew I could do it.” Huffed Wukong with pride, he created a basket and knife with his hair. He put the fishes in the basket and played with the knife.
“Yeah, I'm a proud shizun.” Replied Mengai with a devilish smirk. Wukong stilled, he rolled his eyes and waved his words away with a flick of wrist.
“Did you really help me with my fishing only to get back at me for calling myself your shizun?” Sighed the bimawen.
“I'm not that petty.” The third worst lie he ever told today. They slipped past his lips so easily. It was second nature at this point. Wukong huffed, clearly believing him capable of such pettiness, before handing him the knife.
Mengai prepared the fishes while his boss made the fire. It took a few minutes for the carps to be ready. Once they were cleaned and gutted, Mengai put them on spikes and planted them near the fire.
“You can eat meat right?” Asked the macaque. In truth he never saw his boss eat anything other than peaches. It was almost unsettling to think he could eat something else.
“You think I'd try so much to catch a fish if I couldn't eat it?” Snorted the bimawen. Fair point. Mengai hummed and looked down to the grilling carps. He salivated at the sight. Once they were ready, he handed the skinnier one to Wukong and kept the plumpest for himself.
The black-furred monkey devoured his fish with delight. The hunger rising within his stomach was finally properly quelled.
“You know, we should do things outside of work more often.” Hummed Wukong. “You're not that bad when you're not being petty.” He added with a smirk. Mengai rolled his eyes.
He kept silent and finished his fish. But then, perhaps lured by the comfortable atmosphere veiling them both and the feeling of a full stomach, he let his thoughts slip : “You're not that bad either when you're not being annoying.”
Wukong laughed, amused by his sarcastic reply. Mengai watched him laugh and snorted, he took the last bite of his fish, and told himself the little bout of warmth blooming in his chest was due to his full stomach.
It had to be.
+ vocabulary
Shizun : can be translated as master/teacher
Mogwai : in Chinese mythos a lil gremlin
Li : Ancient Chinese measurement, 1 li = 576 meters
Ch1 / Previous/ Next
Play!
Awww, look how cute and adorable!
Diener 5er Herren (... oder die Leiden des jungen B.)
what is rain? is that a song?
IS IT AN EMOTION? WE DON’T KNOW