The first pale silver rays of dawn crept over the eastern ridges of the Grand Desolate Forest, painting the mist-shrouded canopy in soft shades of rose and amber. In mortal border cities or traditional sect towns, the approach of an invading host would have triggered screaming chaos, blood-curdling war gongs, wild looting, and soldiers trampling weeping children in narrow alleys.
In the Myriad Spirit Safe hall, however, the day began with the gentle, crystal-clear chiming of jade wind bells.
Su Ling’er stepped gracefully through the central town square, her silk-stitched vermilion-and-white robes rustling softly against the dew-damped cobblestones. Her nine amazing snowy tails, tipped with delicate brush-strokes of red stone crimson, swayed behind her in slow, rhythmic poise. In her slender hands, she held an office roster woven from fine mulberry silk, reviewing the district census with calm, unrushed care.
Beside her walked three mortal elders—retired weavers and carpenters who had fled the royal tax guard posts six months earlier—and two gray-muzzled badger beastmen carrying wooden measuring rods.
“District Three has completed the morning packing, Prime Minister Su,” reported Elder Shen, an eighty-year-old mortal carpenter whose wrinkled face was creased with calm peace. “The grain reserves from the lower granary have been sealed in airtight clay jars and passed to the lower vaults. The communal ovens have already produced six thousand steamed buns.”
“Excellent work, Elder Shen,” Su Ling’er replied. Her voice sweet-sounding and carried the soothing warmth of spring sunlight. “Ensure that the elderly have walking sticks, and that every family brings extra woolen blankets. The underground caverns are dry and heated by earth-heat vents, but stone is always stone. We must keep old knees comfortable.”
“Understood, Prime Minister!”
All across the town, an orderly, peaceful procession was already in motion. There was no screaming, no wild weeping, and no trampling. Four thousand eight hundred and fifty non-combatants—mortal tailors, apprentice potters, herbal gatherers, elderly badger matriarchs, and families of young shadow hound puppies—walked in neat, cheerful lines toward the entrance of the dark rock grottoes.
They carried woven reed baskets filled with clothes, wooden toys, embroidery hoops, and jars of pickled plums. To the outside observer, it looked less like an emergency wartime escape and more like an entire town packing picnic hampers for an autumn festival outing.
Before reaching the main grotto entrance, Su Ling’er turned down the stone path leading toward the town weaving pavilion. Inside, twenty mortal seamstresses and five fox-maiden weavers were carefully packing bundles of sky spirit-silk and raw mountain cotton into cedar storage chests.
“Auntie Zhang,” Su Ling’er called out softly, stepping across the threshold. “Leave the heavy wooden looms in place. Master Tie has already sealed the building’s outer shutters with heavy iron latches. Take only the dyed thread and your sewing needles.”
Auntie Zhang, a round-faced mortal woman whose hands were dyed with indigo, wiped her palms on her apron and smiled broadly. “Don’t you worry about us, Prime Minister! The girls and I have twenty quilts half-finished. We’ll set up our embroidery frames in the cave by the second hour. By the time Sect Master Lin finishes shooing those noisy guests away, we’ll have warm winter blankets ready for the badger cubs.”
“Take your time, Auntie,” Su Ling’er said with a gentle laugh. “There’s no rush whatsoever.”
From the weaving pavilion, Su Ling’er crossed the wide stone bridge spanning the town pool. Floating peacefully near the intake water gate was Old Ba, the ancient iron-shell tortoise. Resting on the old turtle’s mossy back shell were several dozen young golden river carps, their glittering scales catching the morning sunlight as they poked their heads above the waterline.
“Grandpa Ba,” Su Ling’er bowed respectfully. “Has Xiao Long guided the river shoals into the deep underground channels?”
Old Ba slowly extended his leathery, wrinkled neck, blinking his milky amber eyes with calm dignity. “The little dragon has done well, Prime Minister. All the fish spirits and freshwater snails have migrated into the lower underground riverbed beneath the fifth grotto. Even if those traditional fire fighters boil the surface streams, our water clans will remain cool and moist in the dark waters.”
The old tortoise let out a slow, gravelly chuckle. “Four hundred years ago, when the blood sects swept through these woods, we hid in the mud and prayed to die quickly. Today, our sovereign builds us warm stone vaults and feeds us steamed turnips. Tell Sect Master Lin that if any of those sword youngsters fall into the river, this old shell will give them a firm smack with my tail.”
“I shall pass along your message, Grandpa Ba,” Su Ling’er smiled, her heart swelling with quiet pride.
At the western cliff face, the huge black glass gates of the underground dark rock grottoes stood wide open.
Carved deep into the living bedrock of the mountain by Tie Shan and the earth-bear masons, the grottoes were a masterpiece of underground civil building. The air within was fresh, constantly cycled by upright air-flow chimney pipes bored through the mountain peaks. Long festoons of soft, glowing moon-moss hung from the high vaulted ceilings, casting a soothing, twilight-blue light across vast communal halls.
Beneath the paved slate floors ran channels of earth-heat hot spring water, streaming a cozy, pervasive warmth that banished the autumn chill. Long communal tables of polished cedar stretched down the length of the central cave, piled high with steaming bamboo baskets.
The scent of freshly baked wild mushroom buns, crispy pan-fried turnip cakes, and hot spiced apple cider filled the massive chamber, greeted by the cheerful chatter of thousands of voices.
At the entrance to the main hall, a pleasant, elastic shhk sound echoed across the stone flags.
The crowds parted with bright smiles and cheerful waves as a semi-clear sapphire-blue sphere forty inches in width came bouncing down the hall. Lin Xiao, having reverted to his beloved slime form to inspect the shelters, rolled into the center of the hall, his crescent eye-markings crinkled in relaxed warmth.
“Sect Master!” a chorus of young voices squealed.
A dozen small children—three mortal toddlers in quilted cotton tunics, four fluffy badger pups, and five sleek little wolf cubs—scrambled toward him across the warm slate floor. The children surrounded the blue blob, giggling with pure delight as they reached out with small hands to gently pat his cool, floating jelly.
Lin Xiao wobbled his mass playfully. He allowed his surface to squish inward like a soft velvet pillow beneath their tiny fingers before gently springing back with a cheerful boing.
“Careful with the tickling, little ones,” Lin Xiao’s clear deep echoed warmly through surface shakes. “My jelly is extra bouncy this morning. If you push too hard, you’ll bounce all the way up to the ceiling moss.”
The children dissolved into fits of shrieking giggles, hugging his squishy flanks.
Su Ling’er walked into the center of the hall. She stepped up onto a low stone dais beside Lin Xiao. The cave fell quiet, thousands of pairs of eyes—mortal, beast, and spirit—looking toward their Prime Minister and their Azure Sovereign with total, rock-steady trust.
“Citizens of the Commonwealth,” Su Ling’er announced. Her clear voice carried to every corner of the vast hall. “Thirty thousand fighters from the Eastern Sects have gathered at the Grand Defile. They carry flying swords, fire giant crossbows, and ancient banners. They believe that by shouting threats through golden trumpets, they can force us to give up our homes, our equality, and our peace.”
A low, indignant murmur rustled through the crowd. But Su Ling’er raised a graceful, white-sleeved hand, smiling softly.
“Our Sect Master has established a total decree,” Su Ling’er continued. “No citizen of this valley shall take up arms to kill. No blood shall stain our fields, and no mother shall mourn a child. Our vanguard will hold the defile with non-lethal defense arrays, capture the aggressors in sticky silk, and disarm their blades. While we stand vigil above, your duty here is simple.”
She gestured toward the long tables laden with steaming food and warm cider.
“Rest your bodies. Eat your fill. Play your chess games, weave your cloth, and sing your songs. Our home is safe. Our master is watching over the sky. We shall open these gates when the tea has been poured and our guests have learned how to behave.”
A thunderous cheer erupted from the four thousand eight hundred citizens.
Mortal weavers raised cups of warm apple cider, beast mothers held their pups high in the air, and old craftsmen slammed their fists onto the cedar tables in joyous celebration. The sound of fear didn’t exist in the dark rock cave. Only the warm, roaring defiance of a family that knew it was loved, protected, and free.
Auntie Chen, the head of the safe hall’s communal kitchen, bustled over with a huge clay pot platter piled high with golden-brown pan-fried turnip cakes, their crispy crusts glistening with sesame oil.
“Here, Sect Master,” Auntie Chen said, placing the steaming platter before Lin Xiao with maternal affection. “Eat a few hot cakes before you go out into that cold wind. Don’t let those noisy sect fools ruin your appetite.”
Lin Xiao sprouted a small, semi-clear blue slime arm, picking up a crispy turnip cake and popping it directly into his core. A burst of savory radish, aromatic green onion, and crispy rice flour dissolved into pure, nourishing origin energy.
“Delicious as always, Auntie Chen,” Lin Xiao said with a contented jiggle. “Save a plate for Old Gu. He’s up on the ridge with a willow twig. You know how cranky he gets when his stomach is empty.”
“I’ve already packed him a whole basket of steamed pork buns,” Auntie Chen laughed, shooing him toward the doorway with a wooden spoon. “Now go on, Sect Master. Show those sword youngsters that our Desolate Forest knows how to welcome guests with manners.”
Lin Xiao smiled inwardly, wobbling his jelly contentedly as a young badger pup curled up against his flank, falling fast asleep on the warm floor.
“This is how things ought to be,” Lin Xiao thought, watching an old mortal woman pour hot broth for a neighboring fox maiden. “No matter how big an army marches outside, home is where everyone has a seat at the table and a warm bowl of soup.”
With the rear safely secured and every life accounted for, Lin Xiao gave a gentle hop, bidding farewell to the children as he headed back toward the surface tunnel.
It was time to go meet thirty thousand very loud, very confused guests at the front gate.