The day began with a squirrel screaming. Nothing new there, they scream all the day.
Not just any squirrel—Elder Redcheeks, esteemed war survivor of the Great Nut Heist and the only squirrel in the southern trees to wear an acorn cap with feathers (a symbol of victory and probable delusion). Elder Redcheeks took pride in three things: his bushy tail, his war stories, and screaming at dawn.
"HE'S BOILING SNAKE AGAIN!"
Xiulan, age seven, going eight and covered in chalky fingerprints of beast ink, blinked out of meditation.
"No, I'm not," he yawned. "I'm curing it." And threw in some more herbs without checking which one should or shouldn't be boiled.
Elder Redcheeks skidded down a branch, tail fluffed in horror. "IT'S A RAINBOW-FANGED SERPENT!"
Xiulan stirred his clay pot and touched his ears. "It's fine. Auntie Viper said this one's peaceful unless you insult her singing." Auntie Viper always helps him with such things, she once fed him venom soup that tasted funny.
"You're making soup out of it!"
"She shed into the pot herself. It's a donation. A worthy contribution"
"IT'S A SNAKE. WITH FANGS. THAT SINGS."
Xiulan poked the surface of the bubbling iridescent stew and muttered thoughtfully, "Hmm. Might need salt."
By midmorning, half the forest had gathered around the boy—girl? —dangerous celestial being? —to investigate the rumors.
They found him sitting cross-legged on a rock, stirring a gently glowing stew with a twig he'd sharpened using his teeth (it was supposed to be good for dental care but… he just chose not to). His hair was slightly tangled with moss crowns and cicada shells, and he wore a patchwork robe made of leaves, bird feathers, and stolen monk sleeves he'd found years ago on a washed-up body.
He was humming an off-key lullaby and very focused on not setting the soup on fire with his spiritual energy.
Which he occasionally did.
Hence the six smoking craters behind him. It is told that his spiritual qi is too high concentration, it burns.
Uncle Hei arrived first.
He sniffed once. Twice.
Snorted. "That soup smells like a bet with death."
"Do you think it'll taste better if I chant over it?" Xiulan asked, utterly serious.
Baby Po leapt into the clearing with a gasp. "YOU PUT WHAT IN THE WHAT?!"
"The rainbow snake."
"The one that paralyzes you with a wink?!"
"Yeah," Xiulan nodded. "She winked at me and then slithered into the pot herself. She said I looked tired."
Baby Po stared at him, then at the pot, then back again. "Did you thank her?"
"I bowed three times and complimented her scales."
"Good. At least we still have manners."
At some point, Auntie Viper arrived again and coiled protectively around the rock Xiulan sat on.
"My niece," she hissed proudly. "Learning the art-iss of venom infusions. I'm so proud." She went as far as possible to look inside the stew to see her other niece, the rainbow serpent who wanted to flirt with death.
"I'm not your niece," Xiulan said again, already stirring in crushed mint leaves. "Also, it's more like stew now."
"Soup is just stew with ambition, and there is a pretty ambitious little one in there." muttered the old bear who had joined late, dragging a cart of mushrooms and coughing up a beetle.
Auntie Viper hiss-laughed. "He-iss speaks truth."
Elder Redcheeks, now perched on a branch with binoculars made of two acorn shells tied together with spider silk, muttered, "One of these days, the sky's gonna drop an entire mountain on us."
As if on cue, a cloud rumbled above.
Everyone instinctively backed up fifteen paces.
"...He didn't say it," Xiulan called up nervously. "He just implied it!"
The cloud muttered and rolled on, disappointed.
By noon, the soup was ready.
Xiulan served it in acorn caps and old turtle shells (donated by Old Turtle Lu who wanted him to sing for him). One by one, the beasts of the forest sipped.
The paralyzed rabbit began breakdancing (paralyzed by Xiulan's other day experiment with venom from two snakes, mixed and fermented).
The elderly crane's bald patch sprouted purple feathers.
The old badger remembered his ex-wife and immediately forgot her again.
Even Uncle Hei snorted and declared, "Tastes like regret and enlightenment. And it has a high degree of poison; I have almost achieved immunity against them."
Xiulan sipped, eyes closed. "I feel like I could… write an entire cultivation manual in rhyme. Do I know how to write one?"
"You already did that," said Baby Po, pulling out a scroll. "It is called 'Yin for the Win.'"
"Oh right," Xiulan said thoughtfully. "I should write a sequel."
But the real fun began when the sky cracked again.
BOOM.
The parrot from last week—newly reincarnated—fell out of the sky yelling, "I SAID NOTHING! NOTHING! THIS TIME I SAID NOTHING!"
Splat.
Baby Po looked down. "...That poor bird."
"I think it's the voice," Xiulan mused. "Maybe the heavens just don't like smug tones."
"Or birds named Kevin."
A second parrot behind the tree started inching away. "I am now known as… Cloudy Chirp. Long live high-yin ma'am—uh, sir—uh…"
BOOM.
Gone.
Old Bear sighed.
Uncle Hei smirked.
Baby Po looked confused.
And Auntie Viper hissed. "That one de-iss-erved it."
That night, Xiulan sat by the lake with Uncle Hei.
"You really think it's okay I drink soups like that?" he asked, poking at the stars reflected in the water.
Uncle Hei flicked his tail. "You have high yin. You are strange. But you are strange like moonlight. Soft. Fierce. Untouchable. And very much not boy."
Xiulan squinted. "But I have—"
BOOM.
"Right," he sighed. "Fine. I am daughter. For thunder reasons."
"For love reasons too," Uncle Hei said. "The forest chose you, Xiulan. You are ours. And the sky's just jealous."
The lake rippled.
"very jealous of us who received a divine grace like you."
A firefly lit up over Xiulan's head.
In the distance, something howled at the moon in the wrong key.
He smiled.
Tomorrow he would learn wind-step from the cranes, and maybe try fermenting peach juice in hollow snake bones.
But tonight?
Tonight, he curled under a furred paw, safe, warm, and very much loved—lightning, soup, and all.
an with a squirrel screaming.
Not just any squirrel—Elder Redcheeks, esteemed war survivor of the Great Nut Heist and the only squirrel in the southern trees to wear an acorn cap with feathers (a symbol of victory and probable delusion). Elder Redcheeks took pride in three things: his bushy tail, his war stories, and screaming at dawn.
"HE'S BOILING SNAKE AGAIN!"
Xiulan, age eight and covered in chalky fingerprints of beast ink, blinked out of meditation.
"No, I'm not," he yawned. "I'm curing it."
Elder Redcheeks skidded down a branch, tail fluffed in horror. "IT'S A RAINBOW-FANGED SERPENT!"
Xiulan stirred his clay pot. "It's fine. Auntie Viper said this one's peaceful unless you insult her singing."
"You're making soup out of it!"
"She shed into the pot herself. It's a spiritual donation."
"IT'S A SNAKE. WITH FANGS. THAT SING."
Xiulan poked the surface of the bubbling iridescent stew and muttered thoughtfully, "Hmm. Might need salt."
By midmorning, half the forest had gathered around the boy—girl?—dangerous celestial being?—to investigate the rumors.
They found him sitting cross-legged on a rock, stirring a gently glowing stew with a twig he'd sharpened using his teeth (no reason; just felt right). His hair was slightly tangled with moss crowns and cicada shells, and he wore a patchwork robe made of leaves, bird feathers, and stolen monk sleeves he'd found years ago on a washed-up body.
He was humming an off-key lullaby and very focused on not setting the soup on fire with his spiritual energy.
Which he occasionally did.
Hence the six smoking craters behind him.
Uncle Hei arrived first.
He sniffed once. Twice.
Snorted. "That soup smells like a bet with death."
"Do you think it'll taste better if I chant over it?" Xiulan asked, utterly serious.
Baby Po leapt into the clearing with a gasp. "YOU PUT WHAT IN THE WHAT?!"
"The rainbow snake."
"The one that paralyzes you with a wink?!"
"Yeah," Xiulan nodded. "She winked at me and then slithered into the pot herself. She said I looked tired."
Baby Po stared at him, then at the pot, then back again. "Did you thank her?"
"I bowed three times and complimented her scales."
"Good. At least we still have manners."
At some point, Auntie Viper arrived and coiled protectively around the rock Xiulan sat on.
"My niece," she hissed proudly. "Learning the art of venom infusions. I'm so proud."
"I'm not your niece," Xiulan said again, already stirring in crushed mint leaves. "Also, it's more like stew now."
"Soup is just stew with ambition," muttered the old bear who had joined late, dragging a cart of mushrooms and coughing up a beetle.
Auntie Viper hiss-laughed. "He speaks truth."
Elder Redcheeks, now perched on a branch with binoculars made of two acorn shells tied together with spider silk, muttered, "One of these days, the sky's gonna drop an entire mountain on us."
As if on cue, a cloud rumbled above.
Everyone instinctively backed up fifteen paces.
"...He didn't say it," Xiulan called up nervously. "He just implied it!"
The cloud muttered and rolled on, disappointed.
By noon, the soup was ready.
Xiulan served it in acorn caps and old turtle shells. One by one, the beasts of the forest sipped.
The paralyzed rabbit began breakdancing.
The elderly crane's bald patch sprouted purple feathers.
The old badger remembered his ex-wife and immediately forgot her again.
Even Uncle Hei snorted and declared, "Tastes like regret and enlightenment."
Xiulan sipped, eyes closed. "I feel like I could… write an entire cultivation manual in rhyme."
"You already did that," said Baby Po, pulling out a scroll. "It's called 'Yin for the Win.'"
"Oh right," Xiulan said thoughtfully. "I should write a sequel."
But the real fun began when the sky cracked again.
BOOM.
The parrot from last week—newly reincarnated—fell out of the sky yelling, "I SAID NOTHING! NOTHING! THIS TIME I SAID NOTHING!"
Splat.
Baby Po looked down. "...That poor bird."
"I think it's the voice," Xiulan mused. "Maybe the heavens just don't like smug tones."
"Or birds named Kevin."
A second parrot behind the tree started inching away. "I am now known as… Cloudy Chirp. Long live high-yin ma'am—uh, sir—uh…"
BOOM.
Gone.
Auntie Viper hissed. "That one deserved it."
That night, Xiulan sat by the lake with Uncle Hei.
"You really think it's okay I drink soup like that?" he asked, poking at the stars reflected in the water.
Uncle Hei flicked his tail. "You have high yin. You are strange. But you're strange like moonlight. Soft. Fierce. Untouchable. And very much not boy."
Xiulan squinted. "But I have—"
BOOM.
"Right," he sighed. "Fine. I'm daughter. For thunder reasons."
"For love reasons too," Uncle Hei said. "The forest chose you, Xiulan. You're ours. And the sky's just jealous."
The lake rippled.
A firefly lit up over Xiulan's head.
In the distance, something howled at the moon in the wrong key.
He smiled.
Tomorrow he'd learn wind-step from the cranes, and maybe try fermenting peach juice in hollow snake bones.
But tonight?
Tonight, he curled under a furred paw, safe, warm, and very much loved—lightning, soup, and all.