On the quiet slopes of Emei Mountain, a place known for its scenic beauty, spiritual significance, and monkeys, an unlikely story of hope and survival occurred. Amid the rugged trails and ancient tranquility, a person burdened with illness and despair found themselves at a crossroads, both literally and metaphorically. Here is their story.
A journey from despair to hope
I have been plagued by frailty and illness since childhood. For over 20 years, I found myself spending one or two months in the hospital nearly every year, with several severe illnesses in my childhood almost claiming my life. At the age of 22, I was diagnosed with hepatitis B, not as a carrier, but as an actual patient. It was the year I had just graduated from college and had yet to find a job. With my family’s decent financial status, they tirelessly sought various treatments and remedies for my condition.
However, after six months of treatment and spending tens of thousands on medication, my condition not only failed to improve, but worsened. Moreover, during this time, my girlfriend, who was far away in Shenzhen, sent me a breakup letter. In that moment of despair, I felt life had lost all meaning. Not only was I suffering, but I was also placing an immense burden on my family. Such a life held no joy for me; I felt it might be better to end it all.
A pivotal decision
After careful consideration, I finally decided to end my life. I didn’t tell my family, nor did I leave a note. With a few thousand yuan, I left home. At that time, I felt that I was going to die anyway, so why not find a beautiful place in nature to spend my final moments? Thus, I boarded a plane to Chengdu, Sichuan, and then took a bus to Emei Mountain. I couldn’t quite explain why I chose Emei Mountain; it was as if an inner voice guided me there.
It was late autumn and nearing winter, the off-peak season for tourists. That morning, after purchasing my entrance ticket, I began my hike up the mountain. I planned to reach the Golden Summit by foot, spend the night, and perhaps witness a sunrise or sunset the next day. If I couldn’t see them, it didn’t matter; I intended to find a cliff, close my eyes, and end it all.
Hepatitis patients typically have very poor physical stamina, and I was no exception. Normally, I’d feel exhausted after walking just a short distance. However, that day was different. Despite hiking, my steps were unusually light, and I felt no fatigue. By midday, I had reached halfway up the mountain. After a brief rest and some food, I prepared to push on to the Golden Summit in the afternoon.
As many may know, Emei Mountain is home to numerous monkeys, which are known for their boldness and occasional harassment of tourists. Since it was the off-season, and there were few tourists, the monkeys didn’t spare any hikers. Along the way, they bothered me several times, but I didn’t care. Knowing my fate was sealed, I had nothing to fear or worry about. It seemed the monkeys sensed my resignation and didn’t trouble me much.
During my midday rest, I witnessed a brutal scene among a group of monkeys. It occurred in a valley beside the road. About 20 monkeys, led by the alpha monkey, suddenly attacked a mother monkey for reasons unknown to me. The mother monkey carried a baby monkey, perhaps only a few months old, similar in size to a domestic cat. The mother fought desperately to protect her young, but to no avail. The group of monkeys surrounded her, screeching, clawing, and biting, drawing blood in a gruesome display of survival.
The lone mother monkey displayed remarkable maternal strength, risking her safety to shield her young. Witnessing this moved me deeply. Motherly love transcends borders, cultures, and even species. Touched by compassion, I decided to help the mother monkey. I gathered some rocks and hurled them toward the group of monkeys, shouting in an attempt to scatter them.
My intervention indeed had an effect; the monkey group quieted down and ceased their attack. Seizing the opportunity, the injured mother monkey limped out of the circle. Incredibly, instead of fleeing, she approached me. This mother monkey was not large, weighing around 45 pounds. She limped over from the valley, her back torn, revealing raw flesh, yet strangely without bleeding. However, there was a palm-sized wound on her leg, bleeding profusely. Given my experience with illness, I guessed her femoral artery was injured, making her chances of survival slim.
The mother monkey handed her baby to me
The mother monkey stopped 10 feet away from me, locking eyes with me intensely. Her eyes were as black as beans. I returned her gaze, and from her eyes, I didn’t sense the fear of impending death; instead, I felt a deep warmth emanating from her. She stared at me for about half a minute, then did something incredible — she lifted her hands, cradled her baby, and handed it toward me. I was stunned, but instinctively reached out and accepted the baby monkey. This baby monkey was pink all over, with sparse fur. Perhaps sensing the danger, it neither struggled nor resisted, lying docilely in my palm, only its curious black eyes watching me.
As I held the baby monkey, still trying to make sense of the situation, the mother monkey turned and dashed back into the valley, rejoining the fray with the monkey group, their piercing cries resuming. The group split into two; one continued to attack the mother monkey, while the other, led by the alpha monkey, surprisingly crept toward me. This alpha monkey was massive, easily weighing between 90 and 110 pounds. It bared its teeth, roaring incessantly. However, I could tell they weren’t after me; they wanted the baby monkey in my hands.
With no time to spare, I had only one thought in my mind — to ensure the survival of the baby monkey at all costs. Quickly, I unzipped my down jacket, tucking the baby monkey into the inner pocket, then bolted uphill. Honestly, I had never run so fast in my life. The monkey group caught up with me effortlessly, leaping around me, screaming. Initially wary of my size, they hesitated, just scratching and tearing my jacket. But seeing I posed no real threat, the alpha monkey launched a genuine attack. I barely saw it coming, only feeling a sharp pain in my head as blood from the wound began to obscure my vision.
Panicking, I ran as fast as possible, pulling up my jacket hood to protect my face and swinging my backpack wildly to fend off the monkeys. After five or six minutes of running, my energy was nearly depleted, and my body bore several scratches from the monkeys. Just as I was about to collapse, an old man appeared ahead. He was thin, short, maybe around 5 feet 3 inches tall. He shouted, simultaneously beating the ground with a bamboo pole.
The monkey group seemed afraid of the old man. They ceased their attack upon hearing his shouts, and when he struck the ground with the bamboo pole, most of the monkeys scattered. Only the alpha monkey remained, growling fiercely at me, mere feet away. Exhausted, I involuntarily slumped to the ground, gasping for air. The alpha monkey stood close, baring its long teeth, ready to snatch the baby monkey in my jacket. At that moment, the old man approached, scolding the alpha monkey in the Sichuan dialect, but I couldn’t understand a word.
The alpha monkey wasn’t deterred by the old man’s presence and continued to roar fiercely. Suddenly, it charged toward me, clawing at my chest. Instinctively, I protected my head and face with one hand while using my backpack to fend off the monkey. But the monkey’s movements were too fast. It struck and retreated, leaving a gaping hole in my down jacket, while my backpack didn’t even touch its fur. Seeing the alpha monkey defy him, the old mangrew angry and began to shout, simultaneously wielding his bamboo pole.
The alpha monkey was resolute. It seized the old man’s bamboo pole, and the two engaged in a tug-of-war. To my surprise, the old man was agile and strong. He swung the bamboo pole, lifting the hefty monkey into the air and forcing it to release its grip. The old man continued to chase the monkey, and realizing it was outmatched, the alpha monkey eventually fled down the valley.
The compassion of strangers
With the alpha monkey gone, the old man and I started talking. Communication was challenging due to his dialect, but we managed to adapt gradually. I explained why the monkey group chased me and handed him the baby monkey, hoping he could take care of it. The old man placed the baby monkey in his pocket, then helped me up, suggesting we see a doctor to dress my wounds. I agreed and followed him further.
We walked along a mountain path for about half a mile until we reached a house nestled on the mountainside. It was an isolated stone house without water or electricity, surrounded by cliffs on three sides. I couldn’t fathom how such a structure existed within a scenic area or how people lived there. The old man helped me inside, and I saw the interior, in the dim light, was sparsely furnished yet remarkably clean. An old nun was meditating on a brick bed. The old man lit a candle and quickly conversed with the nun in the Sichuan dialect, leaving me unable to understand a word.
After their conversation, the old man left, and the nun approached me, scrutinizing my wounds. The gash on my head from the monkey’s claw was painful and bleeding. I also had a few scratches on my buttocks and thighs, but they weren’t too severe. As she examined me, I observed the nun — around 50 years old, fair-skinned, clad in gray robes with a hat on her head. Her appearance was typical in a Buddhist sacred site like Mount Emei, nothing remarkable. Yet, her demeanor was unlike anything I had ever seen — calm, composed, with eyes full of compassion that I had never witnessed before.
After inspecting my wounds, the nun didn’t provide any treatment. Instead, she abruptly asked in Mandarin if I had come to Mount Emei to commit suicide. I was shocked and asked how she knew. She explained that my fate was plagued by illness and disaster, and I was destined to die before the age of 25. I was dumbfounded, taking a long time to regain my senses. I asked how she could know all that, but she didn’t answer directly. She stated that my past lives’ misdeeds accumulated significant karma, leading to my suffering, but now things would change, and I wouldn’t die at 25. She warned against suicide, explaining its grave consequences similar to murder, resulting in a soul’s severe torment for centuries.
Listening to her, I felt a strange belief, though I had never considered concepts like past lives or karma. At that moment, I trusted her words completely, without a shred of doubt. I asked why my fate had changed, and she replied cryptically, saying: “The heart’s intentions are known to heaven and earth.” A single good thought could elevate one to divinity, while a single evil thought could condemn one to hell. Ultimately, one’s fate is hinged on the goodness or evilness of his heart.
Kindness can change one’s fate
Feeling enlightened, I asked if my saving the baby monkey counted as an act of kindness that allowed me to accumulate good karma, altering my fate. The nun emphasized self-improvement over relying on others or religious practices. Possessing a genuinely good heart was the greatest happiness, as the judgment of divinity focused on one’s heart rather than actions. I felt perplexed by her profound words, unable to articulate a response.
The nun didn’t say much more and didn’t treat my wounds. Instead, she gave me a Buddhist scripture and departed, leaving me alone in the candlelit stone house. It felt like I was in a dream, where a day passed in an instant, yet it also felt like I had waited for it for centuries. Holding the scripture the nun gave me, I rested for a while before heading downhill. The thought of suicide had vanished entirely.
On the way down, I noticed something astonishing — the wounds inflicted by the monkeys had miraculously healed. The holes in my clothes remained, and the blood on my hair had dried, but the wounds were gone. No matter how much I touched, there was no pain, as if I had never been injured. At that moment, I looked up at the sky with a newfound sense of awe, believing that perhaps divine beings truly existed. Upon reaching home, thanks to that encounter, I delved into cultivating my heart and mind.
Now, three years have passed, my hepatitis B has healed on its own, and I haven’t had any serious illnesses since then. My personality has also completely changed. I used to be hot-tempered, narrow-minded, and selfish, but now I have learned to be calm, tolerant, and happy.
Last week, I celebrated my 25th birthday. I didn’t die, and I am very grateful for that. But what I’m even more thankful for is that I didn’t commit suicide. I often think back to that little monkey, remembering its mother’s warm and affectionate gaze, and the decisive sacrifice she made. If it weren’t for their moving portrayal of life and death, perhaps I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to cultivate and improve myself, and I wouldn’t have lived healthily until today. I will forever be grateful to them, the mother monkey and her baby.
Translated by Katy Liu
