Once upon a time, in the far reaches of the southern mountains, there lived a strange and enormous creature. His name was Hundun.
He was as big as a mountain, and his body was covered in thick, shaggy fur like a great woolly blanket. He looked like a huge bear, or perhaps a giant dog, with four strong legs but no claws to harm anyone.
But the strangest thing about Hundun was this: he had eyes, yet they were covered by his thick fur and he could not see. He had ears, but they were blocked, and he could not hear.
He walked through the world like someone in a deep, endless sleep. He did not know the difference between day and night, between left and right, between good and bad. He was the very symbol of confusion and darkness.
Because Hundun could not see or hear, he did not know his own strength. He would walk aimlessly, crashing into ancient trees, knocking over rocks, and stepping on villages without even knowing it.
When people saw him coming, they were terrified.
"Run! Here comes Hundun!" they cried. "He cannot tell friend from enemy! He will crush everything in his path!"
But Hundun did not mean to be bad. He was just lost in his own dark world. He would sit down heavily, making the ground shake, and let out a low, rumbling sound like thunder far away. He did not know joy, and he did not know sorrow. Everything was the same to him.
One day, two other spirits came to visit him. Their names were Shu and Hu (Quick and Sudden). They felt sorry for the great beast.
"Look at him," said Shu. "He has eyes and ears just like us, but he cannot use them. How sad it must be to know nothing!"
"Yes," said Hu. "Let us do him a favor. Let us drill holes for him, so he can see the light and hear the music of the world, just like everyone else!"
So they climbed up onto Hundun's face. They took their sharp tools and began to work.
"One hole for the eye," they said. "One hole for the other eye. One hole for the ear, another for the nose, and a mouth so he can speak!"
They worked day and night, carving seven openings into his head. They thought they were being very kind, giving him the gifts of sense and knowledge.
On the seventh day, the work was finished.
"Now open your eyes!" they said happily.
Hundun moved for the first time. He shook his great shaggy head. The light rushed in, and the sound of the world crashed into his mind.
But Hundun was not made to see or hear. His nature was to be blank, to be empty, to be confused.
As the light hit him, he let out a terrible, deafening roar. His mind could not handle the difference between right and wrong, between beautiful and ugly, between pain and pleasure. All the things he had never known suddenly overwhelmed him.
He looked at the bright world, and then he looked at his friends who had helped him. But he could not understand what he saw. Everything was a mess, and the pain was too great.
With one last great cry, the giant creature fell to the ground, and his life faded away like mist in the wind.
Shu and Hu stood in silence, filled with sadness. They had wanted to give him a gift, but they did not understand that what made Hundun who he was, was his very darkness and confusion. Trying to make him like everyone else only destroyed him.
And so, the legend tells us: sometimes, trying to force things to be clear when they are meant to be mysterious, or trying to change a nature that is different from our own, can lead to a sad ending.
And the mountains remained silent, ever after.