"No."
The word landed before the door had finished opening.
Zhāo Yàn stood on the threshold of his mother’s hut, Wēn Jìng beside him, Han Shān one careful step behind, and looked at Gū Gū.
The stick was across her knees.
Her arms were folded.
Her face was creased with anger.
"No," she said again, in case the first one hadn’t landed correctly.
"Mother—"
"You snuck out." Her voice was very quiet. "In the middle of the night. With a wound. To go further into the forest. After I told you—after I explicitly told you—"
"I know."
"And now you’ve co back with a stranger and a snow leopard and a story I have not yet heard but already find deeply concerning. You want to go to Thousand Fang." She looked at Wēn Jìng with a glare. "And you are?"
Wēn Jìng smiled. "Wēn Jìng. River Valley. My son and I live on the eastern path." She adjusted Yàn Shū on her hip. Yàn Shū, who had been staring at Gū Gū with round, fascinated eyes, waved one small hand.
Gū Gū did not wave back.
"He is hurt," Gū Gū said. "My son is hurt. He snuck out of this house while injured and went further and got more hurt and you want to take him further still."
"His wound is properly treated now," Wēn Jìng said, gently. "I treated it myself. It’s clean, it’s closed, it’ll heal well." She paused. "You did good work with the original bandaging. Under difficult circumstances."
Gū Gū’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t flatter ."
"I’m not flattering you. I’m telling you the truth. You clearly love him very much and you’re very frightened and that makes complete sense." She looked at Gū Gū directly, without flinching. "But the wound is not the reason you’re saying no."
The hut went very quiet.
Gū Gū turned the other way. You don’t know ."
"No," Wēn Jìng agreed. "But I know that look. I’ve worn it." She shifted Yàn Shū to her other hip. "They found the Hollow Boar. Together. In the dark. And they handled it." She let that sit for a mont. "He’s not the sa cub who snuck out last night. He ca back different. I think you can see that."
Gū Gū looked at Zhāo Yàn.
Zhāo Yàn stood as straight as his ribs allowed and said nothing.
She looked at him for a long ti.
Then she stood.
She crossed the room and stopped in front of him.
"You scared ," she said.
"I know."
"You scared very badly."
"I know. I’m sorry."
She hit him with the stick.
"You don’t do that again," she said.
"I won’t."
"You sneak out of this house one more ti—"
"I won’t."
She looked at him for another mont.
"Fine," she said. She turned to Wēn Jìng. "He can go."
Wēn Jìng smiled warmly. "Thank you. I’ll take good care of—"
"You bring him back in three days," Gū Gū said. "Fed. Rested. With that wound no worse than it is right now. And if anything happens to him—"
"Nothing will happen to him."
"I’m explaining what will happen to you if sothing happens to him."
Wēn Jìng’s smile did not waver. "I understand completely."
"I have a stick."
"I see it."
"I know how to use it."
"I believe you."
Gū Gū looked at her. At the soft brown hair and the crooked glasses and the complete, unshakeable pleasantness of her.
Hmph. Guess she’d do.
She walked back to her chair and sat.
"Three days," she said.
"Three days," Wēn Jìng confird pleasantly.
Zhāo Yàn let out a breath he had been holding since the door opened.
~
They left the next morning.
Zhāo Yàn did not cry.
He had not cried. Nothing had happened that would make crying an appropriate response. He was a fox of exceptional cultivation, he was going on an adventure, everything was fine.
His three tails were very flat.
He did not look back at the hut when they left. He looked forward, at the path, at the early morning light coming through the trees. He focused on his breathing, which was steady, and his feet, which were moving.
Han Shān fell into step beside him.
He said nothing for a while. This was usual for Han Shān. Han Shān said nothing the way other people breathed, constantly and without apparent effort.
Then, after the hut had been out of sight for several minutes, he said: "She’ll still be there when you get back."
Zhāo Yàn’s jaw tightened. "I know that."
"Three days isn’t long."
"I know."
"She was frightened because she loves you. Not because—"
"Han Shān."
"Yes."
"I know." He paused. His tails lifted slightly. "I know all of that."
"Then why are your ears doing that?"
Zhāo Yàn’s ears were flat against his head. He was aware of this. "They’re not doing anything."
"They’re very flat."
"It’s the wind."
"There’s no wind."
"There’s always wind. Atmospheric wind. Invisible." He picked up his pace slightly, moving ahead on the path. "Can we discuss sothing else?"
Han Shān was quiet for a mont. "The panther clans at Thousand Fang are known for ambushing strangers," he said. "We should be prepared."
"How do you know that?"
"My mother told . When she explained the Eastern territories." He paused. "She said the black panthers especially are territorial. Cubs included."
"Cubs," Zhāo Yàn repeated. "Panther cubs ambush strangers."
"Apparently."
Zhāo Yàn’s tails had risen to their full height. "Let them try."
"Mm."
"I have three tails."
"You do."
"They’ll see coming and reconsider entirely."
"Probably," Han Shān said.
Ahead of them, Wēn Jìng was walking with Yàn Shū on her hip, the little red panda’s striped tail swishing contentedly, his bark scroll clutched in both hands, already trying to scratch sothing into it with a small stone.
She was humming. She had been humming since they left the river path.
It was, Zhāo Yàn thought, a very good sound for walking to.
His ears ca up. Gradually. Without him deciding to.
Han Shān noticed and said nothing, which was the correct response.
~
Thousand Fang territory announced itself before they arrived.
The trees changed first, becoming older, broader. Then the sounds changed, more birds, more movent. Then the sll, woodsmoke and cooking and animals and the accumulated life of a community.
Wēn Jìng stopped at the edge of the path where the trees thinned. "There," she said, pleased and warm. "Shall we?"
Zhāo Yàn and Han Shān stood beside her.
The clearing ahead was busy. Small figures moved between huts in various stages of construction. Voices carried. Soone sowhere was arguing about sothing with soone else.
It was, Zhāo Yàn thought, extrely chaotic.
He liked it imdiately.
Han Shān was doing the surveying thing, the slow systematic look he gave every new environnt, cataloguing and assessing.
"It’s loud," he observed.
"Very loud," Zhāo Yàn agreed.
"Disorganized."
"Completely."
"I count at least four different clan markings just from here."
"Mm."
Han Shān looked at him. "You’re smiling."
"I’m not smiling."
"Your mouth is doing the—"
"I don’t have a thing," Zhāo Yàn said. "That’s your thing. I don’t have a thing."
He stepped forward onto the path into Thousand Fang.
He made it only twelve steps.
Sothing dropped from the tree above him.
It was small. It was black. It hit Han Shān squarely in the chest.
Han Shān went down.
Not far. He caught himself, both hands hitting the ground, ending up on one knee with a small black panther cub sitting on his chest and growling with a ferocity that was genuinely impressive for sothing that was probably four years old and currently had a leaf stuck to the top of its head.
The growl stopped.
Two pairs of eyes, one blazing amber, one flat blue, regarded each other from a distance of approximately four inches.
"Who are you?" the panther cub demanded.
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