The next day arrived with the subtle chaos of a goose stampede and one of Xiulan's watermelons blooming into a snake for absolutely no reason. The watermelon even twirled and twerked…
The forest, as always, was normal.
Xiulan was brushing dew off his tea leaves when the ground gave the tiniest stomp, followed by—
"I'M BACK!"
Xiulan turned slowly, still holding a fluffy rabbit-puff brush in one hand. Chenglei had returned, face red, sword larger than ever, and this time dragging something in a sack. Something fell out of the sack. A shining fruit, maybe.
"You brought... supplies?" Xiulan asked, blinking.
Chenglei coughed. "No. I brought... offerings."
He dumped the sack. Out rolled two extremely misshapen spirit fruits, one half-burned talisman, and a small caged chicken that looked deeply offended. It was even red on the stomach.
"I didn't know what... forest maidens liked," Chenglei muttered, ears turning pink. "So, I brought treasures."
Duoduo, perched on a nearby stick, clicked his beak. "Bro. She eats snake venom and drinks moonlight. You brought her a chicken."
"It's for summoning rituals!" Chenglei barked.
The chicken clucked with righteous indignation.
Xiulan tilted his head. "Do I need a chicken?"
"You can keep it," Chenglei mumbled.
The chicken glared at them all.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the forest where the wind always tasted like secrets, Uncle Hei stood with his arms crossed. His white wolf form flickered in the breeze—less beast, more legend—and completely uninterested in anything except the jade box in his hand.
Inside: a cluster of dried tea leaves. Not just any tea leaves—these were from Xiulan's leaf-bed garden, kissed by morning mist, steeped in spirit qi, and humming faintly from the rune Xiulan had drawn in the soil with his toe and a stick. A rune that was not supposed to work.
But somehow always did.
Across from him, Fox Jin—half-fox, half-capitalism—lounged on a bent tree branch like it was a velvet chaise. His sleeves shimmered like moon water. His fan was made of banknotes. His expression was as smug as ever.
He sniffed theatrically as Uncle Hei handed over the box.
Fox Jin's pupils dilated. "Is this… the divine leaf blend?"
"Hn."
"From the cabbage child's north-facing slope garden? With dew kissed by the sixth hour sun, grown under poetry-reciting vines?"
Uncle Hei's ears twitched. "Stop calling him that."
Fox Jin ignored the growl. He cradled the jade box like it contained immortal secrets. "This scent. It is wild serenity. It is like being hugged by an enlightened squirrel and then punched by nostalgia."
He opened the lid reverently. The leaves glowed faint green, and the air shimmered.
"Oh… this'll sell like enlightenment pills before a celestial wedding."
Uncle Hei narrowed his eyes. "It's not for sale."
Fox Jin blinked.
Pause.
Then burst out, "What?! Do you understand the market value of divine-child-grown forest tea infused with beast-script rune qi and emotional attachment?! This is a luxury artifact in beverage form!"
"It's for his future," Hei said flatly. "Not your shop."
Fox Jin clutched the box. "Then allow me to... curate the future."
Uncle Hei's tail bristled. "You can bottle it. Not brand it."
"Minimal packaging," Jin wheedled. "Rustic charm. Earthborn elegance. Spirit-traced seal of authenticity?"
A pause.
"...Only if it doesn't have his name on it."
"Done."
Uncle Hei sighed and turned away, ready to fade into the mist.
But Jin twirled after him. "So, just to be clear, I'm branding it as Heavenly Garden Forest Leaf—Infused with the Essence of an Unknown Miracle Youth Who Definitely Is Not Xiulan, We Swear?"
"No."
"Right. Too long. I will shorten it to Mystic Maiden's Steeped Silence."
Uncle Hei stopped walking. The air grew colder.
Jin coughed. "Silent Tea. Just Silent Tea."
The white wolf kept walking.
Jin fanned himself dramatically. "Fine, fine! I will only put grown under heavenly auspices in the scroll-label footnotes. No names. Maybe a silhouette on the box—"
"You want your tail set on fire again?"
"No! No flames!" Jin squeaked. "Just steam. Honest spiritual steam."
Uncle Hei vanished into the mist, leaving behind the faintest flicker of wolf-shaped disapproval.
Jin looked down at the box and grinned. "This will fund Xiulan's trust fund till the next five reincarnations. No sect will dare charge tuition."
Then, thoughtfully, he whispered to the tea leaves, "I'll make sure no one touches him without signing at least three spiritual contracts first."
Behind him, the leaves rustled. The wind carried the faint hum of a child's rune—etched by accident, fueled by heart.
The world did not yet know the name Xiulan.
But the tea did.
And soon, so would everyone else.
Back in the tea garden, Chenglei was sulking.
"I can't believe you didn't like the talisman," he muttered, poking a patch of qi-cabbage.
"It caught fire," Xiulan said. "Twice."
Chenglei folded his arms. "It was... symbolic."
Xiulan nodded politely, then walked to the edge of his tea field. "Would you like to try painting a rune today?"
The boy brightened slightly. "Yes! No! I mean... maybe."
Xiulan handed him a brush and pointed at a leaf. "This one needs the rune for 'soft.' So, it does not crisp up when the sun is annoyed."
"The sun gets annoyed?" Chenglei repeated. "How?"
"It's a whole thing," Duoduo said from above. "Don't worry about it."
Chenglei kneeled beside Xiulan and dipped the brush in ink. The leaf wriggled slightly.
"Calm," Xiulan whispered. "They like compliments."
Chenglei squinted. "You're very... supple?"
The leaf settled.
Duoduo wheezed. "Never flirt with a plant."
At sunset, they sat under the peach-blossom tree, drinking soup made of carrots that hummed lullabies and mushrooms that sparkled slightly when stirred.
Xiulan, curious, glanced over at Chenglei's sword.
"Is it heavy?"
"Of course it is," Chenglei said. "It's a sacred heirloom."
"Do you carry it everywhere?"
"...Yes."
Xiulan looked thoughtful. "Would you carry it into the bath?" or lavatory?
Chenglei flushed so hard he dropped his spoon. "WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT?!"
Xiulan blinked. "You said everywhere."
Duoduo was laughing so hard he rolled off the branch.
That night, when Chenglei finally left (after three false exits and one turn-around because he "forgot his honor"), Xiulan sat in his tea garden and looked up at the sky.
He did not understand humans. Not really.
But Chenglei... was loud, and awkward, and occasionally useful at holding the paintbrush when Xiulan's hand was tired.
He did not dislike him.
A leaf fluttered down and landed in Xiulan's hair.
He wrote one word on it.
Rune: Friend.
Entry #160
Chenglei (that is his name; he finally told me while looking at the ground) is a strange human, a boy just like… me. But not bad-strange. Just... poking-around-the-vegetables kind of strange. I do not dislike him.
I learned the rune for "friend" today. It looks like a dancing snake with legs.
Maybe I will draw it for him next time.
If he stops calling me Maiden.