But contentment, for such a soul, was a cage. “We will grow old,” an elder monkey whispered one night. “We will sicken. We will die.”

The Dragon King offered sword after sword. The Monkey broke them. He offered halberds. The Monkey bent them into pretzels.

The Monkey King’s laughter died. Death? Him? The stone-born, the waterfall-leaper? Unacceptable.