Nian, The Ancient Monster

(The story contains theme of bullying)

The clouds gathered, growing heavier. Ying’s tears had already dried, leaving faint streaks across her face. She squatted down, blood seeping from her scraped knees. Lifting her head, she stared upward - the sky fractured into countless squares. A mesh fence stretched above her, enclosing the deep pit of the playground where she sat. The pits - meant for trees – remained empty, turning into tools for the bullies. She wept and shouted, but no one came to rescue her. Above the pit, more clouds gathered. She tried to rise, but her sprained ankle betrayed her. They had shoved her down into the pit, leaving her wounded and unable to stand. They even piled dirt into the pit, intent on burying her. Their cruel laughter still echoed in her ears. She shivered at the thought of their voices. She clutched the wall of the pit and, gritting her teeth, forced herself to rise. Her hands seized the mesh fence above; she tugged and pulled until it loosened. She pushed the fence cover aside. Her hands reached over the edge of the pit, groping for something to hold. Her hand caught hold of something - a metal leg. She remembered the paralleled bars that stood beside the pit. Clinging to its cold leg, she pulled with all her strength and lifted herself out.

The playground was quiet and empty. At last, she rose, leaning against the bars for support. Pain burned in her knees and ankles, yet she limped toward the lit classrooms. Thunders rumbled in the distant sky. She staggered into the second-floor classroom. The scratching of pens ceased; all eyes fixed on her. The female teacher’s mouth hung open, but no words came. Ying limped to her seat in the corner - a solitary table with a solitary chair. She sank into it, her chest tight with the unspoken urge to weep. She fought to hold back her tears, but a boy suddenly shouted, “Stinky!” The insult broke her resolve, and her tears poured out like a tide. “Stop crying!” another boy yelled. “You’re disturbing our study!” The teacher buried her face in the books, pretending she had heard nothing. Ying packed her belongings into her backpack and rose from her chair. As she stepped out of the classroom, laughter erupted - cruel words like “fat big” pierced her heart. She fled, almost like a wounded animal escaping a hunter.

She remembered the story of Nian, the monster from Chinese legend who emerged before the New Year Eve to devour people. Nian’s seven brothers shone with beauty – eyes glistening, hair dark and glossy, body slender, skin pale as jade. But Nian himself was hideous, with sharp claws, huge horns, and crocodile-like skin. “Ying, you’re as ugly as Nian,” her classmate Tong jeered. Cruel laughter followed.

As she trudged home, the rain pelted down. Her hair was soon drenched, and water blurred her vision, dripping from her lashes to her face. When she wiped it away, her skin stung beneath her touch. In her country, there was a strange rule - complete darkness was forbidden. Even when no one was home, the lights had to remain on. More ground was torn open, and wagon after wagon of coal thundered into the capital to feed its power.

The fridge held little: white buns in a bag, salted turnips, several overripe tomatoes, a row of eggs, and one bottle of Baijiu- the traditional Chinese liquor. She prepared meals for herself and her father. Her mother was gone, erased from memory. The home bore no trace of her. “You’re a pig without a mother! You came from nowhere.” The cruel taunts echoed in her ears, each word tearing at her heart. She stepped into the washroom and paused before the mirror. Am I too ugly? she asked herself. Her fingers pressed against her cheeks, feeling the softness, and a wave of horror swept through her. The insults rang again – pig, fat. Lowering her gaze, she saw the wrinkles swelling on her hands. Disgust rose within her and self-loathing consumed her. Suddenly, she wept aloud.

Pang - the door swung open. She froze and stopped crying. Her father entered, the sharp smell of liquor clinging to him. He was drunk again. His eyes flared when he saw the empty dining table. Rage spilled from him as he cursed her, shouting that she was fat, that no one would ever marry her if she stayed that way. She fried eggs with tomatoes, crisped bun slices, and placed them on the table. Her father ignored her wounded cheeks. He seized the liquor, filling his bowl. Outside, the storm raged, bending the trees, while the road lamps still glowed. On the television, the forecast warned of endless rain and rising floods.

Sitting at the table, her father sipped his liquor. Suddenly, his eyes fixed on Ying’s wounded cheek.

“How did you hurt your face?” her father demanded.

Ying stopped chewing the bun.

“They bullied you again?” he shouted. “Why don’t you fight back? You shame me!” Ying lowered her gaze, unable to hold her eyes back.

His voice grew harsher. “Crying again? Tears solve nothing!”

The television blared, and a sudden image of a mine explosion seized Ying’s attention. The news spoke of more disasters in the coal fields. Her father set down his chopsticks, eyes locked on the screen. At that moment, her father’s phone buzzed. It was his supervisor, ordering him to repair the power lines. Though he grumbled, muttering that his boss was a pig, he finally rose, shoved on his waterproof coat and stormed out.

Rain whipped and wind rattled, as if conspiring in vengeance against humankind. Outside, the darkness spread as more road lamps failed. Ying stood at the window, watching her father trudged through the storm. Step by step, his figure grew smaller, until at last he vanished into the rain. A shiver ran through her – she imaged the pit now filled with water. If she were still down there, she would drown unseen, her death unnoticed. In the end, her story would flash across the news for barely a minute, and her classmates would rejoice at her disappearance.

She crouched on her small cot against the wall, trying to sleep, but the roar of wind and thunder kept her awake. Pulling the cover over her face, she began to weep. No one could see her tears. At last, exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into sleep.

Suddenly, she was awakened by knocks. It was near midnight - who could appear at such an hour? She walked to the door and called out, “Who is outside?”

“Sorry! Please help me,” came a man’s voice.

Ying opened the door, and froze.

What stood before her was no man. It was a creature, towering and reptilian, walking upright like a human. Two horns jutted from its head, its skin rough and scaled like a crocodile’s.

She knew instantly who he was.

He was Nian.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you,” he said gently. “My name is Nian. I had nowhere else to go. May I stay in your home for a few days?”

It stunned her – the realization that she could comprehend the speech of something not human. Ying found it strange that she was not truly afraid when their eyes met. Nian’s eyes glistened, sparkling like stars. She felt as though something was hidden within them, something meant for her alone. Rainwater dripped from his hands, pattering onto the floor.

Ying hesitated. She did not want to refuse him, yet wondered if her father would ever agree.

“Please, I won’t cause trouble,” Nian pleaded. “I need to prove my innocence.”

Ying’s hands lingered on the door, but she stepped aside. She let him in.

Ying handed him a dry towel and poured a cup of tea. Nian wiped his body slowly.

“You may wonder why I sought you out, and not others.” Nian said.

Ying felt as though he could see straight into her mind. She nodded silently.

“I heard your weeping in the playground,” he continued. “I followed the sound of your cry all the way here.”

She had never imagined that pain could bind them - that they were trauma-connected.

The television still blared, the host reporting the latest progress on the mine explosions. More coal mines had exploded, and the police were investigating the cause. On camera, one officer declared, “We found huge print pattens around the site. They looked like footprints - but not human.” Nian stared at the screen, his eyes unblinking. Ying seemed to understand.

“It wasn’t me,” Nian insisted. “I didn’t do that. I’m not an evil creature, even if I look frightening.”

She knew his pain. She remembered how her classmates had accused her of stealing their pens. No matter how she explained, not a single one believed her. She trusted him. Measwhile, the city itself seemed to collapse – more mine explosions, more power lines failing. The city dimmed, growing less bright with each passing hour.

The lesson was drilled in from the first grade: darkness is the enemy, the seed of evil, chaos, and crime. Light is the friend, the realm of beauty, kindness, and love. So the country burned coal, dammed river, captured wind and sun, split atoms – all to keep the darkness away.

She switched to another channel. The host spoke of a prophecy soon to be fulfilled: “When all the power lines are cut, when every light is extinguished, and the whole city is swallowed by darkness, a giant monster will appear to devour the people.” Ying walked to the window, staring outside, and more lamps had gone dark. Yet she knew the giant monster could not be Nian -he had not harmed her, not even a hair. A chilling thought struck her: what if there was another giant monster?

After a short while, Nian’s portrait appeared on the news. The host announced that the police had identified the suspect – Nian, the monster who lived beneath the East Sea. At that moment, the door swung open - Ying’s father had returned. As soon as his eyes fell on Nian, terror seized him. With a startled cry, her father leapt back, snatching the broom by the door, and charged straight at Nian.

Ying rushed forward to stop her father, pleading that Nian was not evil. But her father refused to listen, striking Nian again and again with the broom. Nian never fought back. Anger coiled in Ying’s chest until it burst - she snatched a bowl and struck her father. He collapsed, unconscious. Terror seized her, but Nian knelt beside him, checking his breath, and reassured her that her father was still alive. At that moment, every light went out. The room was swallowed by darkness. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, lightning split the sky into jagged shards, thunder crashed so violently, and the whole room quaked.

Ying and Nian did not sense the danger until heavy knocks thundered against the door. Nian knew the police was outside. He dashed to the window, and flung it open.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told Ying. “You have greater power than you realize. We’ll meet again.”

Then, with a final glance, he leapt into the night, vanishing into the darkness. Wind and rain lashed against Ying’s face, cold and stinging. The door burst open, and officers stormed in. At last, she was taken away to the police station.

The city thundered with generators, a beast of iron and noise. Ying gazed through the police car window - streets drowned in shadow, something she had never seen before. Joy flickered inside her, but when the officer’s eyes met hers, she buried it deep. In the police office, the door opened and a policeman entered. Ying froze – she knew that face. Her classmate’s father.

“You’re Tong’s classmate,” the policeman said.

The mention of any classmate made Ying unease. She could never forget how Tong had treated her - poking her back with a drawing compass until blood seeped through her blouse.

“You know why we brought you here,” the policeman continued. “If you can tell us where the monster was hiding, we can release you now.”

“I had no idea,” Ying replied, “he escaped when you broke in.”

“But he didn’t hurt you,” the officer pressed. “You must know something we don’t.”

Ying repeated that she knew nothing, but the policeman’s eyes were filled with distrust.

Finally, he spat out, “You’re a weirdo.”

The words pierced her.

He didn’t stop. “Tong is right.”

Finally, Ying’s anger erupted. “Tong hurt me, but the monster didn’t. Your son is more than evil,” she cried.

The policeman’s cheeks swelled with rage, his hands rising to strike - but at that instant, all lights went off, and the generators failed, plunging the city into absolute darkness. Outside, the ground gave way in places; buildings crumbled, roads split, bridges shattered into pieces. Countless residents vanished into the chaos. Ying felt the floor beneath her trembling. She ran outside. All police cars screeched away, leaving her abandoned before the station.

She froze as the earth before her split open, yawning into gigantic holes -like the mouths of monsters, ready to swallow everything. At the same time, waves rose from the sea, towering three meters high, crashing towards her. In that moment, she surrendered all hope of survival. All of a sudden, her life unspooled like film reels, each frame flashing before her eyes. She saw every moment, beginning with the instant she was born.

When the nurse handed newborn Ying to her mother, her mother’s brows furrowed. The film reel froze on Ying’s face - her eyes were narrow, drawn like a line, and crimson spots marked her neck. Fear flickered across her mother’s features. With a startled gasp, she tossed the infant back into the nurse’s arms. The reel shifted to her elementary school. Children spat on her clothes. She wore leggings too thin, so the boys chased her, jeering that her body was as fat as a pig’s. She hid herself in girls’ toilet, sobbing, but the door was locked from outside. She screamed for help, yet no one came. In the end, she spent the entire night trapped inside, alone with her tears. The reel shifted again – to the day she was tossed into the pit on the playground. Just before the waves could swallow her whole, she felt herself lifted, carried upward. Out of nowhere, Nian emerged, rescuing her from the sea’s devouring jaws.

Nian carried her through the storm, and flew above the city. Beneath, the ground had vanished, replaced by vast dark holes. When the sea surged forward, waves poured into the voids, swallowing everything. In moments, the city was gone, transformed into ocean. It was as if it had never existed at all.

Mountains drowned, swallowed by the sea. Ying could not tell how long they had flown until Nian descended onto a plateau. He set her down gently, then turned away as if to leave.

“Where are you going?” Ying asked, her voice trembling.

“I’m returning to my home- the East Sea. My brothers are going to destroy the city.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They believe humans have grown too greedy,” Nian replied. “Your people claimed more and more land, even reshaping the sea into earth.”

Ying felt sorrow for the sea creatures, for their loss and anger.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m their brother. Perhaps they will listen,” Nian said.

With that, Nian flew back towards the direction of the tsunami.

At the palace gate, guards barred Nian’s way, urging him to leave. Though Nian was a son of the old Dragon King, yet he had never received his father’s love. Even these guards mocked him, he refused to kill them. Instead, he knocked them unconscious, leaving them sprawled on the palace floor as he pressed forward.

He strode into the hall, where seven thrones towered ahead. Upon them sat his seven brothers.

“You fought for humans.” Brother One accused.

“Don’t you know they hate you?” Brother Two sneered.

Nian stepped forward. “Brothers, can you stop this? Yes, they made mistakes, but they don’t deserve such disastrous punishment. It’s too cruel.”

Brother Three’s voice thundered. “Cruel? You forgot how they treated us. Was it not cruel when they stole our sea?”

“Hate begets hate,” Nian answered. “We can negotiate with them, even teach them.”

“You’re too naïve,” Brother Four laughed. “You want to be their hero, but no matter what you do, they will always see you as the villain.”

Brother Five smirked. “Humans are shallow. In their eyes, ugly things can only be villains.”

“They celebrate the Year of Dragon with extravagance,” Brother Six mocked. “If you were not so hideous, perhaps they would honor you too.”

Brother Seven said nothing, and he rose from his throne, armed and ready to fight.

***

Another Spring Festival was approaching. Ying, now a teacher of legends and folktales, stood before her students.

One child asked, “Was Nian good or bad?”

Ying smiled. “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Always look inside.”

After the class bell rang, she grabbed her bag and strode out of the classroom.

According to the new law, all lights had to go out as soon as the clock struck six. With a flashlight to guide her, Ying made her way home. Suddenly, a cheer rang out. A red glow spread across the sky, dyeing the city crimson. She lifted her gaze. The glow shifted, shaping itself into a face – Nian’s face. She wiped her tears away, knowing he was still watching.