"Your Majesty! The old monkey is dead!"
Early that morning, a burst of chittering cries echoed through the valley. A troop of nimble monkeys darted between cliff faces and treetops, uttering words only they could distinguish and understand.
Carried by the howling gale within the gorge, those words spread outward and echoed again and again throughout the valley.
"Dead?"
Suddenly, a shrill voice emerged from the gale. Then a fierce wind swept in, black as ink. It spun in midair and gathered into a mass, within which a figure appeared.
It was a monkey with a pointed muzzle and sunken cheeks. A whirl of black wind supported it from below. Its body was exceptionally long, its frame large, its sinews, bones, and flesh drawn taut over its skeleton, making it seem gaunt. Yet whenever it moved, its joints crackled, revealing the explosive force contained within that body!
The monkey had a pair of narrow, elongated eyes that gleamed sharply, and its fur differed from that of ordinary monkeys—it was jet-black.
The moment the black-furred monkey appeared, the other monkeys present fell silent as cicadas in winter. Many of the younger ones even trembled all over.
The atmosphere immediately grew heavy. Then the Black Wind monkey opened its mouth, revealing a mouthful of fangs, and asked, "When did he die?" At the question, the monkeys began chattering again. "Just now!"
"Another one has gone?" Hearing this, the monkey riding the black wind saw the sharp gleam in its eyes dim considerably. It then waved the troop away, moved its body, and merged with the spinning mass of black wind. Amid a howl, it raced through the gorge, reaching the valley floor in the blink of an eye.
Both sides of the gorge were steep, monotonous cliffs formed of cold, hard stone.