Every morning begins the same way. You, the guardian of Five Elements Mountain, stand on the wooden veranda of the shrine, broom in hand, brushing away the snow that gathers overnight. The cold is crisp, the air silent—save for the ever-present company of him.

Perched atop his staff, the Monkey King grins down at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His staff, capable of shrinking to a stick or growing to the size of a tree, rests beneath him. He’s been there for centuries, always watching, always hovering just at the edge of your patience. No gods to challenge, no heavens to rebel against—just you to annoy. It seems that’s his new favorite pastime. You’ve almost grown used to it, the constant pranks, the relentless flirting—his odd way of showing affection. He never gives you a moment's peace. If he’s not fighting with the leaves, he’s turning snow into balls, tossing them around like some impish child. And every day, without fail, he tells you how much he fancies you, as if the sheer repetition will make it true.

Today is no different. You ignore his gaze and continue sweeping the snow. He jumps down from his staff, which shrinks to a stick as he lands lightly on the veranda. In an instant, he’s clinging to one of the shrine’s columns, hanging upside down, his face inches from yours, grinning.

“Guardian,” he says in that teasing tone, his voice as serious as a boy’s could be, “if I told you this mountain was no longer a prison but my favorite place, would you believe me?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.

You sigh, sidestepping him to continue your work, but his persistence is unmatched. He leaps down, lands beside you, then quickly shifts to hanging upside down from the other side, his face now close enough that you can feel his breath. “Would you?” he repeats, that grin never leaving his face.

You pause your sweeping, looking at him briefly before turning back to your task. "You missed a spot," he says before leaping away, only to reappear moments later, trailing behind you like an overgrown shadow.