The Goblin’s Bride

The soft crunch of footsteps echoed through the moonless forest, breaking the heavy silence. A young girl walked hesitantly, her face streaked with tears.

“Mom… Mom… where are you?”

Her trembling voice called out, but the only reply was the rustling of leaves and the ominous darkness pressing around her.

“Mom…” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Suddenly, there was a rustling sound—snap.

“Mom!” she screamed, her terror rising as she began to run blindly.

“It’s a tiger! A tiger!”

The stories she’d heard countless times echoed in her mind. They said the forest at night belonged to tigers, their heavy paws padding silently until it was too late. To her frightened ears, the simple sound of an acorn falling from a tree seemed like a tiger’s approach.

“Mom! It’s coming for me! The tiger!”

Her imagination ran wild. Maybe the tiger had already devoured her mother, and now it was coming for her. Her sobs grew louder, her feet stumbling over roots and rocks. She could barely see through the tears flooding her eyes.

“Mom!”

Her frantic running came to an abrupt halt as her foot caught on a jagged stone. She fell forward with a cry.

“Ahh!”

Clutching her scraped knee, she sobbed harder, her tiny body heaving with fear and pain. And then, amidst the sound of her own crying, she heard it—closer now—the rustling of leaves. It was near.

The bushes before her shook violently, and from the shadows, something enormous emerged.

Striped fur glinted faintly in the dark, and glowing blue eyes pierced through the night. It was unmistakable—a tiger.

“AAAAHHH!”

Frozen in fear, the girl couldn’t move as the beast bared its sharp teeth and prowled toward her, its eyes locked on its prey.

“Help me! Please, help me!” she screamed, waving her small hands in desperation.

And then, just as the tiger lunged, something changed. She felt no claws, no teeth. No pain.

‘Is it Mom?’ she thought as she hesitantly opened her tear-filled eyes.

What she saw made her gasp.

The tiger was on the ground, flattened under the foot of a towering man who stood above it. The man’s shadow loomed large, and his expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though holding down a ferocious tiger was no more difficult than pinning a kitten.

The beast that had seemed unstoppable now whimpered under his weight, unable to move.

“Even if the mountain offers you no food, how could you target such a small child?” The man’s voice was low, scolding.

Through her tear-blurred vision, the girl stared up at him in awe and confusion. Who was this man who could subdue a tiger so effortlessly?

“Are you hurt?” he asked, turning his sharp gaze to her.

She sniffled and shook her head.

“Good. Then go home now,” he said firmly.

The moment he lifted his foot, the tiger scrambled away, vanishing into the brush. The girl watched its striped tail disappear into the darkness, her body finally relaxing as a wave of relief washed over her.

“Let me see…”

The man knelt in front of her, his size overwhelming, yet oddly, she didn’t feel afraid. There was something warm about his presence, something steady.

“You’re bleeding.”

He gently lifted the hem of her skirt to inspect her scraped knee, the torn skin glistening with fresh blood.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he asked, his tone exasperated.

“I… I didn’t feel it,” she murmured, her voice small. The truth was, she’d been too scared to notice the pain.

“How old are you?”

“Seven…”

“A child this young shouldn’t be wandering the forest at night. Didn’t your parents tell you there are tigers here? Where are they?”

“My mom… I can’t find her,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You came here with her?”

She nodded.

The man sighed deeply. “What kind of mother leaves a child alone in the woods…”

Without another word, he pulled a cloth from his wrist and began wrapping her injured knee with practiced care. Then, he turned and crouched, offering his broad back.

“Get on.”

“Who… who are you?” she asked hesitantly.

The man glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“You don’t know?” he teased. His smile revealed sharp, pointed fangs, and she instinctively flinched.

“Your teeth…”

“I’m a goblin,” he said simply. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you? The forest belongs to goblins too.”

She hesitated, her small hand reaching into her pocket. After a moment, she pulled out something and held it out to him—a single acorn, sitting delicately in her palm.

The man raised an eyebrow, then chuckled softly. “For me?”

The girl nodded, her wide, tear-streaked eyes locked on his.

The goblin’s laughter echoed warmly through the forest as he gently took the acorn from her hand. “Well, aren’t you brave?”

The man looked at the acorn the girl held out, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Dongyi had picked up a handful of acorns earlier, stuffing them into her pocket as she wandered. She now offered one to him, recalling an old tale: goblins love acorn jelly.

“Here, you can have this,” she said with an earnest look.

“Thank you,” the man replied, taking the acorn from her outstretched hand.

He placed it in his mouth, chewing it with a loud crunch. The bitter taste wasn’t to his liking, but how could he refuse a gift from a tearful seven-year-old?

“Now, climb onto my back,” he said, crouching down and offering her his broad shoulders.

Without hesitation, Dongyi scrambled onto his back, her arms wrapping tightly around him as he stood to his full height.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed, his tone steady. “I’ll climb to the top of the trees and look for your mother.”

Dongyi clung to him with all her strength as he leaped into the air. She gasped as he bounded effortlessly from branch to branch, his feet barely touching the wood before propelling them higher. At last, they reached the highest tree in the forest, where he stood firmly on a sturdy branch, surveying the world below.

From this vantage point, the entire forest stretched out before them, cloaked in darkness. The absence of the moon didn’t bother him—his eyes were unimpeded by the night.

She’s gone, he thought grimly.

There was no trace of human presence nearby. The faint scent of another person lingered in the air, but it was old and distant, indicating they had left the forest long ago.

The child’s mother had abandoned her.

“Do you see her? Do you see my mom?” Dongyi asked, her voice trembling with hope.

“Do you know the way to your house?” he asked in response.

“If we leave the forest, I can find the path once we’re at the edge,” she replied, nodding.

“You’re a smart girl,” he said softly.

He already knew what he had to do.

“Alright,” he continued. “I’ll take you home. Show me the way when we get there.”

“What about my mom?”

“She’s probably already at the house, waiting for you.”

“She left me all alone?”

“Perhaps she thought you’d find your way back,” he replied, his voice calm but noncommittal.

“Do you think so?”

“Let’s go find out,” he said gently, avoiding the real answer.

As they descended through the trees, he asked, “Is your father at home?”

“My dad’s in heaven,” she whispered.

“Any other family? Siblings?”

“No… just my mom.”

The man’s face grew somber. He didn’t need to ask further—he’d seen it before. In times of famine, parents often abandoned their children, unable to feed them. Even wild animals rarely abandoned their young, but humans, driven by desperation, sometimes did.

When they reached the forest’s edge, Dongyi had grown quieter. Her grip on his shoulders loosened, and soon the rhythmic rise and fall of her soft breathing told him she had fallen asleep.

Earlier, she had described her home: [“It’s the house with the big chestnut tree. It doesn’t grow any chestnuts, but the tree is really big. And the fence is full of colorful lantern-flowers.”]

Following her description, the man soon came upon the house. The large chestnut tree loomed over the modest thatched-roof home, and the vibrant lantern-flowers dotted the fence just as she’d said.

But the house was dark and silent.

No one is here.

He pushed open the creaking gate and carried the sleeping child inside. The house was empty, devoid of life. Her father was gone, and there were no siblings. Her mother had abandoned her.

Carefully, he found a corner in the small home and laid her on a soft blanket. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazing at her peaceful, tear-streaked face.

She had escaped the tiger tonight, but what of tomorrow? What of the famine that loomed over the land? Could this fragile child survive the bitter winter that would soon arrive?

As he stood there, the faint bitterness of the acorn lingered on his tongue, a reminder of the fragile gift she had given him.

The goblin chewed the acorn raw, swallowing it down despite its bitterness.

In truth, he didn’t like acorns, nor did he care for acorn jelly. And the girl was mistaken—while humans gossiped that goblins loved acorn jelly, the rumor wasn’t even accurate. Supposedly, goblins preferred buckwheat jelly, though that, too, was false. He didn’t like either.

He didn’t fear horse blood as humans believed, nor had he ever wrestled with humans or wielded a mythical club. He bore no horns on his head.

In reality, he didn’t know where he came from. He was simply the lone goblin of the forest. Both humans and the animals of the forest called him a goblin, so he had accepted the title as his own.

He had long since lost count of how many years he had lived. Perhaps a thousand years by human reckoning, though he never bothered to keep track. Time had faded his memories, like ink washed away by countless rains. Perhaps he once knew who or what he was, where he had come from.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had let those memories go.

For the goblin, a thousand years was no more than the passage of a thousand seasons. He had existed in that steady rhythm, like the reflection of the moon on still water—silent, unchanging, and alone.

Until this child, this small human, fell into his stagnant existence, as unexpectedly as an acorn dropping from a tree.

She was like an acorn herself—small and fragile. Acorns, after all, only grow into great oak trees after enduring countless seasons. Who would care for this little acorn of a girl until she grew strong enough to stand on her own?

As the gentle breeze stirred the branches of the chestnut tree, rustling its leaves, the goblin reached out and wiped the dried tearstains from the sleeping child’s cheek with his fingertip.

Human children grew quickly, after all. Staying by her side until she was strong enough to face the winters and famines of her world alone might not be so bad. After all, a goblin’s time was long, and his days endlessly dull.

“Mm…”

Dongyi stirred, rubbing her eyes as she slowly woke up.

“Mom?”

Her gaze wandered around the small room, landing on a tray of food set out near the warmest part of the floor.

“Mom, is that you?”

Ignoring the food, she leapt to her feet and rushed to the door, flinging it open to peer outside.

“Mom! Last night, there was a goblin—”

But the figure entering through the gate wasn’t her mother. It was a man she didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” she asked, tilting her head.

“You’re awake,” the man said with a smile.

Though she didn’t know him, his face felt strangely familiar.

“Where’s my mom?”

“She asked me to look after you for a while,” he replied.

“Where did she go?”

“She said she was going to earn a lot of money. Until she comes back, she asked me to take good care of you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m…” He hesitated, then set down the pack he carried on his back and approached her. Sitting on the edge of the wooden veranda, he gently smoothed her messy hair with his hand.

“I’m your distant relative,” he said.

“Relative?”

“Yes. A very distant one. Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then let’s eat together.”

“When will my mom come back?”

“After about a hundred nights.”

“A hundred nights…” Dongyi began counting on her fingers but quickly gave up, frowning in confusion.

“Are you going to stay here until then?”

“I will.”

“Have you seen the goblin?”

“The goblin?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I met a goblin last night!” Dongyi said excitedly.

“You must have been dreaming,” he replied.

“No, it wasn’t a dream! I went to the forest with my mom, but I couldn’t find her. Then a tiger tried to eat me, but the goblin chased it away!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! And the goblin carried me home on his back.”

“And how do you know it was a goblin?”

“It had teeth like this!” she exclaimed, baring her own teeth and mimicking a bite with her fingers.

“Sharp teeth?”

“Yes! Really sharp.”

“Did it have horns?”

“Horns…” Dongyi paused, deep in thought.

Did it? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Of course, it had horns,” Dongyi declared confidently. She couldn’t quite remember if she’d seen any, but it seemed better to say yes. Otherwise, he might argue that it wasn’t a goblin at all.

“Really? Then did it have a goblin’s club as well?”

“Of course! It had a huge one, about this big!” She spread her arms wide, trying to show the size as if it were the most formidable weapon imaginable.

The man bit back a smile as he watched her animated gestures.

“And what else?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

“Um… oh! I gave it an acorn, and it ate it! It said it liked acorns!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! It told me it loved acorns!”

“Not buckwheat?” he teased.

“Nope, acorns,” she said firmly, nodding as if there could be no doubt.

The man chuckled quietly. He’d never said any such thing. But seeing the sparkle in her eyes as she recounted her story, he didn’t have the heart to correct her.

He had already resolved to stay with this small, fragile child until she was strong enough to face the world on her own. He couldn’t do so in his goblin form—it would only frighten her and others. Instead, he had taken the guise of a human.

As a “distant relative,” the trusting girl had accepted his presence without question. It was a convenient explanation, even for others who might cross paths with them.

He didn’t know how long he’d stay. Perhaps until she could fend for herself or until her mother returned, though he doubted the latter would happen. Until then, he would wear this human mask, living quietly by her side.

“I didn’t get to thank the goblin,” Dongyi murmured, her small voice tinged with regret.

“The goblin knows,” he said softly, his tone reassuring.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think I’ll see it again if I go back to the forest?”

“Hard to say,” he replied, his voice calm. “But it’s better if you don’t go back.”

“Why not?”

“There are tigers,” he said simply.

“Tigers are scary, but…” Dongyi’s gaze shifted nervously, her small face betraying the conflict in her heart—fear of the tiger and gratitude for the goblin wrestling for control.

The man smiled faintly. This child, so small and earnest, was grappling with emotions far too big for her.

“Why don’t you think about it over breakfast?” he said, stepping inside to pull the tray closer.

The man himself didn’t eat human food. Goblins thrived on human vitality, though he never took enough to cause harm. In the forest, he had often lingered unseen around lost travelers, feeding on the faintest traces of their energy before slipping away unnoticed.

But now, he picked up a spoon and began eating, mimicking the habits of humans. The food tasted bland, like chewing on sand, but he would have to get used to it. Pretending to be human meant embracing their ways, no matter how strange or unpleasant they seemed.

Dongyi, on the other hand, dug into her meal with enthusiasm, her cheeks puffing as she chewed. Watching her eat, the man felt a rare warmth spreading through him. He realized he was smiling—a genuine, unguarded smile. It had been so long since he’d last smiled like this, he’d nearly forgotten the feeling.

He paused, his spoon suspended in midair, as he simply watched her, her small face lit with simple joy as she savored her breakfast.

Outside, the chestnut tree in the yard swayed gently, its branches rustling in the morning breeze. The soft sound of the leaves brushing against one another filled the air, a quiet whisper of peace that settled over the little home.