The breeze that morning smelled of wet moss, roasted chestnuts, and the accidental explosion of yet another qi-infused cabbage. A turnip acting as bombs and a cabbage being explosive was a common happening of the day now.
Xiulan crouched under the crooked gourd arch, carefully lining up painted stones around a newly sprouted tea patch. His calligraphy brush—plucked from the tail feathers of a deeply unwilling Duoduo—swished neatly across the stone's surface.
Rune: "Balance."
Purpose: Keep baby gourd vines from tangling into each other and accidentally forming sentient vegetable knots again.
He sighed. "Why do you always grow into knots when I tell you to be free?"
The vines rustled gently. Possibly in apology. Possibly in rebellion. They were like that. Perhaps, they just did it out of love.
A crackling hush rolled through the air, and the animals stirred.
Duoduo squawked once, wings twitching.
"Heads up, golden gourd! Got incoming!" he hissed, fluttering up to the higher branch of the tea-bush and hiding behind a squirrel.
Xiulan did not look up. He could feel it too. A qi signature like a trembling bell—young, determined, and boiling with bad ideas.
Someone had entered the outer boundary of the Eternal Spirit Forest.
Someone... human. Cultivator but young, very young.
Someone loud.
"I knew this forest had a hidden maiden!" came the yell. "Where is she?! I demand an audience!"
Xiulan stood, dusted his knees, and turned toward the path. A flicker of green tea steam rose behind him like a halo; a gourd wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. His sleeves flared slightly in the breeze. Unintentionally majestic. Unapologetically beautiful.
From the trees emerged a boy.
Not much taller than Xiulan, with a red face, puffed cheeks, and a comically oversized sword strapped diagonally across his back. He stomped forward like an angry duck in warrior cosplay.
"You!" he pointed.
Xiulan blinked. "Me?"
The boy blushed.
"Yes, you! Are you the—uh—uh... Maiden of Divine Forest Yin?"
Duoduo wheezed above, "That's a new one."
"I just call myself Xiulan," the green-haired child replied simply.
The boy froze. His dark eyes widened.
"No way..."
He gawked. He turned pink. His ears twitched.
Xiulan sighed. It was happening again.
"I thought you were a—uh—" the boy began.
The air rumbled.
Crackle...
"Don't finish it," Duoduo whispered from above.
"I—uh—you're...very pretty like a girl!" the boy declared suddenly. "Even though you're clearly...of divine origin!"
The sky stilled.
Duoduo sighed in relief. "Nice save, Tsundere."
Xiulan squinted. "Who are you?"
The boy coughed. "Chenglei of the Iron Heart Sect! I am the youngest disciple under Elder Wuji and next in line to inherit his sword!"
Xiulan looked at the comically large sword strapped to the kid's back. How do you wield it?
"Do you know how to use it?"
Chenglei puffed up. "Of course! I train six hours a day! I have defeated two phantom tigers and even a goat spirit once!"
Xiulan, deeply unimpressed, turned to check on his carrots. Hmm, this one probably needs a nourishing rune.
Chenglei flushed. "Wait, don't ignore me!"
"I'm not," Xiulan replied. "I'm just tending to my spiritual vegetables."
"Spiritual what?"
Xiulan pointed to a small patch of carrots. A few glowed faintly green. One was humming.
"They sing sometimes," he said. "But only when the wind is sad."
The boy looked confused, "...What?"
"Would you like to help paint runes on them?" Xiulan asked.
Chenglei blinked. "I came here to duel you."
"I'm farming," Xiulan said plainly. "We can duel over who grows better radishes if you want."
The human boy opened his mouth. Closed it.
"This is a very strange place," he muttered. And a strange duel.
A squirrel with a monocle dropped a nut beside him. Duoduo gave a sage nod from above.
"You'll get used to it."
As the afternoon wore on, Chenglei stayed.
He did not help, not really. But he also did not leave.
He watched Xiulan plant another patch of tea sprouts, brew soup in a jade cauldron using root vegetables that glowed when happy, and talk to a shy mushroom who was debating the meaning of death.
And when night fell, he stood awkwardly near the garden's edge, sword still on his back.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he announced suddenly.
Xiulan tilted his head. "Why?"
Chenglei crossed his arms. "To make sure you're safe!"
Xiulan blinked. "From what?"
Chenglei hesitated. "Weird forest... stuff."
Xiulan smiled faintly. "Okay."
Chenglei flushed again and ran off, tripping over a root and then swearing he did it on purpose.
Duoduo fluttered down and landed on Xiulan's shoulder. "That one's gonna be trouble."
Xiulan picked up a small leaf and wrote a rune on it with a sigh.
Rune: "Companionship."
The leaf sparkled.
And thus, Xiulan formed a new but flimsy relation. A friend, maybe.
The rune glowed softly for a moment before floating from Xiulan's palm and settling onto the breeze. It danced around his head like a firefly, then zipped off in the direction Chenglei had gone.
"Should I be worried?" Duoduo asked, eyeing the leaf suspiciously. "That looked like a tagging spell."
"It's a gentle one," Xiulan replied, voice calm. "If he trips again, the leaf will catch him."
"Useful," said Duoduo. "Also definitely going to be trouble."
Xiulan watched the rustling path where Chenglei had vanished. Something about the boy's presence had felt different—loud, a little clumsy, and oddly bright.
"I think I'll let him stay," Xiulan murmured, mostly to the wind.
The forest answered with a rustle of approval.
Somewhere in the distance, a root conveniently lifted just in time for Chenglei to not trip again. He still blamed it on the forest anyway.
Back at the clearing, Xiulan picked up another leaf.
Rune: "Hope."
He pinned it gently to the hollow where Baby Po snored in his wolf form.
"Just in case," he said.
The night settled in, warm and faintly glowing, and the forest—alive and ever-watchful—sighed.