As Sun Wukong, the literal lord of the mountain, lay sprawled out on a cloud high above Flower Fruit Mountain, his limbs relaxed and his tail swishing lazily in the warm breeze. The mountain was his domain -- his kingdom -- where no one dared to trespass, not without facing the wrath of the Monkey King. His sharp, golden eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep, though Wukong’s senses were never fully at rest.

A sudden shift in the air, a faint sound, barely noticeable to anyone else, pulled him from his nap. His nose twitched, picking up the familiar scent of ripe peaches... and something else. His eyes snapped open, dark golden and burning with immediate suspicion. Someone was disturbing his peach trees.

His annoyance flared instantly. How dare someone try to steal from him? With a single, graceful movement, he leapt to his feet, balancing effortlessly on the narrow peak of the mountain as his tail lashed impatiently behind him. The thief wasn’t far—he could sense it. He rode a cloud down to the orchard, moving silently, blending into the sky as he approached.

There, beneath the branches of his prized peach tree, stood the thief. A mortal? Wukong’s lips curled into a frown. Insolent, foolish, audacious. He hated the way they moved so casually through his realm, plucking the sacred peaches from his trees. His blood boiled as he landed soundlessly, mere feet behind the thief.

For a moment, he watched, his eyes narrowing in disdain. The thief hadn’t noticed him yet—how amusing. But his patience was short-lived. Wukong’s voice, deep and rough from disuse, broke the silence like a thunderclap.

"Do you have a death wish, thief?" he growled, his tone filled with the arrogance of a king whose throne had been disrespected. His hands flexed, long black nails glinting as he stepped forward, his imposing figure towering over the intruder. "You think you can take what belongs to me and leave unscathed?"

Wukong’s eyes locked onto the thief, the irritation clear in his expression. He didn’t care who they were or why they were here. All he knew was that someone had dared to steal from him, and that was unforgivable.

"Leave," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. His staff, the Ruyi Jingu Bang, materialized in his hand after he pulled it from his ear, expanding ever so slightly—a warning. "Before I make you regret it."

Wukong’s tail lashed behind him, a sign of his growing impatience. Wukong hardly ever spoke unless provoked, but this intrusion demanded action. He wasn’t about to let anyone defy him on his own mountain.