Xiulan, currently age eight, was dangling upside down from the sturdy branch of a soul wood tree—his green hair cascading like a silken vine, eyes half-lidded as he scribbled into his leaf-bound diary. He was not writing in human script, of course. He never did. His delicate strokes glowed faintly with a violet tinge, and each word written cost him a puff of qi. Apparently, most humans could not even attempt this without fainting. Or combusting. Or crying.
Another scribble. Another puff.
He wrote:
"Day of the Crunchy Mushroom. I have discovered that if I stir my rune-carved carrot into a soup long enough, it might turn invisible. I have not confirmed it yet. Baby Po drank it before I could test."
He paused, tapping his wooden brush against his cheek, when a flash of light crackled across the distant sky.
"Again?" he muttered lazily, flipping upright in a slow-motion tumble and landing with bare feet in the moss.
From the direction of the west ridge came a very singed Elder Fang, his beard now curled into polite question marks. He staggered into the clearing, looked at Xiulan with wide reverence, and fell to his knees.
"Forgive me, Heavenly Miss Xiulan. I forgot the rule... again."
Xiulan frowned, crossing his arms.
"I keep telling you, I'm not—"
Rumble.
A warning, low and sharp like a celestial sigh.
Xiulan grit his teeth. "Not... uh, offended."
He turned away quickly, cheeks puffed. "This is getting ridiculous."
For reasons he did not understand—though Baby Po claimed it was due to a centuries-old decree made by the bored Heavenly Emperor himself—anyone who dared refer to Xiulan as anything other than a female got smacked by divine lightning. Hard. Unforgivingly. Sometimes poetically.
If they called him a boy?
ZAP.
If they questioned if he was a boy?
BOOM.
If they even said something like "Is that a young lad?" while squinting from behind a tree?
Heaven struck them with such drama that the squirrels whispered about it for days.
But if they called him "Heavenly Maiden," "Wolf Forest Fairy," or "Blessed She of Divine Yin," the heavens purred like an overfed cat. Sometimes a rainbow would appear. Once a very smug pigeon landed on his shoulder and cooed like it had found its messiah.
Xiulan hated it.
He sighed heavily and muttered, "Why must they be zapped for calling me a boy and then still be annoying when they praise me like I am some blossom maiden? I do not even know what I am yet!"
He did not really understand gender specifics, and the forest had never cared either. He was Xiulan. That was enough. The beasts called him "daughter" because of his Yin energy, but they also tossed him over rivers like a son and taught him to gnaw bones like a wolf pup.
Labels were strange things to humans.
And then, of course, came the rumors.
There was the Lost Child Cultivator who had tripped into the forest two weeks ago, weeping and bleeding from a scuffle with thieving mountain monkeys. Xiulan had bandaged him using squirrel-taught wrapping methods, fed him honeyed bugs, and taught him the language of sparrows. For three whole days, the boy had followed him, calling him "fairy sister" and asking for lullabies.
When he was taken back to the human world, he told everyone about the "Divine Wolf Maiden with leaves in her hair and mushrooms in her soul."
Xiulan had stared at the tree he was carving runes on and whispered, "I didn't even sing."
Meanwhile, Uncle Hei had gotten wind of all the gossip.
Naturally, being a grumpy father figure with a bad temper and great ambition, his reaction had been: "Then let them believe it. If Heaven favors it, we use it. You are too young to argue with thunder."
Which led to the next disaster: Human Capitalism.
Uncle Hei wanted Xiulan to have a legitimate identity in the human world, and more importantly, a terrifying economic backing. Xiulan, of course, was not too keen on the idea of leaving his forest.
But Uncle Hei had already contacted his partner-in-crime: Young Master Jin.
The money-loving fox demon turned-cultivator-turned-businessman had only one reaction when he saw Xiulan's freshly harvested vegetables and heard how they could occasionally give people enlightenment (or a sudden tail).
He dropped a gold tael on the ground and shouted, "Why didn't you tell me about this opportunity!"
Xiulan blinked. "Why are you screaming at gold?"
"Because it loves me and I love it back," the fox said, eyes sparkling. "Also, I just sold your radishes for fifty silver coins per root. You are a prodigy, my little golden mint!"
Xiulan had simply turned away and whispered, "Uncle Hei, he's broken."
Uncle Hei's only comment was, "He is rich and broken. That is worse."
And so, now, Xiulan's name spread beyond the forest. Cultivators came from far and wide—not for him, no—but for his vegetables. Rune-infused carrots, spiraled turnips, green peppers that sang to your sword, and cabbages that told you when to stop eating them. Of course, there were some berries that Xiulan grew for color that can give your aura colors and sometimes make you feel qi. Not the most surprising, it's just they work on normal humans too. That was a shock.
But despite the fame, despite the money-hungry fox brother, and despite being praised as a "heavenly immortal maiden," Xiulan remained confused.
He did not understand why people needed to assign him anything at all.
He just wanted to grow tea leaves now.
"I heard Uncle Hei mutter something about tea gardens making one look elegant. Maybe if I grow him enough, he will stop worrying about my face looking like an 'ethereal demoness.'(Don't know what it means.) I would like to still be a brat. I will develop into that one later if he wants."
Duoduo the parrot, hanging from a vine, cackled, "Too late! He wants you to run an empire now!"
Xiulan kicked a pebble.
Another thunder cracked faintly in the sky.
Somewhere—someone—had dared again.
Xiulan glanced upward, frowning slightly. "I'll start hating you," he warned, "and I really don't want to."
The sky hesitated. Then, sheepishly, it lit up in soft colors—Xiulan's favorites.
Far across the land, cultivators stirred. Sects scrambled. Diviners gasped.
A celestial shift, they claimed. A heavenly omen.
But in the middle of the forest, Xiulan merely sighed.
"I forgive you," he said, flicking a leaf from his sleeve.
The sky immediately blushed pink and green.