The Spirit Beast Summit was held once every 300 years.
An ancient tradition. A sacred convocation. A deeply political event full of pride, posturing, and tail fluff inflation contests.
This year, the summit was hosted near Azure Cloud Mountain.
This was a problem.
Because the invitation had been accidentally addressed to:
"Most Esteemed Spirit Beast Sage and Clan Patriarch, Whiskers"
Which was a bigger problem.
Because Whiskers never declined mail.
He sat on the invitation. And therefore, by ancient law, accepted.
The summit was held in the Stone Glade, where divine beasts gathered in full form:
1. Thunderhorns stampeded lightning through the mist.
2. Bloommanes shed healing pollen with every roar.
3. A lava whale floated overhead humming bass harmonics.
A death owl sold poetry.
Each beast clan waited for the arrival of the guest of honor.
Then the floating palanquin arrived.
Covered in embroidered pillows.
Carried by three disciples, a squirrel with back pain, and a raccoon in ceremonial armor.
Whiskers leapt out, yawned mid-air, and landed directly on the summit's jade altar.
The glade fell silent.
A spirit yak whispered, "That's him?"
The sky goat beside him trembled. "He sneezed a demon lord to death last year."
"…Oh."
A fox patriarch approached, bowing low.
"We await your guidance, Lord Whiskers. Will you lead the clans into a new era of harmony?"
Whiskers blinked.
He said: "No loud noises. No war. And stop chewing on the temple roots. They're chewy for a reason."
Everyone nodded solemnly.
This was interpreted as:
"Peace is the natural state of being; conflict is noise."
"The roots of tradition must not be devoured by arrogance."
"All things chewy hold deeper wisdom."
Xi-Xi flew in late and started clapping.
"He's so WISE!"
Spirit Beast law dictated that to be confirmed as Patriarch, one must:
Solve three spirit disputes.
Beat at least one challenger in ritual combat.
Offer a philosophical koan.
Whiskers solved the three disputes by:
1. Hissing at two thunder goats fighting over territory (they fled and founded a joint meditation center).
2. Lying on a sunstone two flame lizards were dueling for (they now co-own it and open a bed-and-breakfast).
3. Staring at a vinebear who wanted to lead a revolt (he fell asleep mid-roar).
He beat his challenger—a pompous peacock tiger—in combat by flicking a fishbone at him.
The tiger wept and asked to become his disciple.
The final challenge was the koan.
Whiskers closed his eyes, lifted one paw, and said:
"Sometimes, the Dao is behind the couch."
Silence.
Then enlightenment.
A snake-dragon achieved golden core on the spot.
A giant wreath of celestial vines was summoned.
Floral instruments played a melody that made three beast cubs ascend early.
A crown of spirit leaves floated above Whiskers' head.
Whiskers looked up.
Batted it off.
"I don't want it."
"But—but—you're the prophesied one!"
"Then change the prophecy."
"Your wisdom is… boundless!"
Whiskers blinked. "I have a nap scheduled. Xi-Xi, summon the squirrel."
The beasts, undeterred, built a shrine in his name and began referring to themselves as the Pawborn Clans.
Whiskers slept through the first council meeting.
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Extra: The Dao Tree Dreams of Cats – A Myth from the Roots Below
"Before the beginning, before time unraveled itself into spirals of qi and form, there was only silence… and a cat."
— Rootwhisperer Scrolls, Vol. 1
The Dao Tree was not born.
It curled into existence.
An idea. A root. A dream.
And in that dream, something flickered.
It was not a storm. Not a flame. Not a sword.
It was a creature small and smug, curled into the warm shadow beneath its bark.
A cat.
With silver fur and eyes like moon-forged mirrors.
The cat purred.
And the Dao Tree shivered.
The spirits say the world did not awaken until the cat stretched.
When he yawned, stars took their shapes.
When he kneaded the soil, rivers flowed.
When he sneezed, the first monster was born.
(It was squishy and afraid of loud noises.)
The Dao Tree grew tall just to make space around the cat.
Its leaves rustled lullabies.
Its roots curled in respect.
And all things began to grow.
When the cat left—walked beyond the first forest, tail high, indifferent—the Dao Tree mourned.
It dropped golden leaves for centuries.
Until one day, it felt… purring.
Again.
Above, curled at its base, was a new cat.
Small. Familiar. Slightly rounder.
Possibly smugger.
And once again, the Tree dreamed.
They say:
"When the Dao Tree hums, it is not singing for enlightenment.
It is trying not to laugh."
"When the cat naps, the roots remember."
"One day, all worlds will end not in flame, nor silence, but in a satisfied purr."