The morning sun crested the eastern ridge of the Grand Desolate Forest, spilling a bath of warm golden amber across the five crescent peaks.
Down in the sheltered valley basin, the crisp autumn breeze smelled of ripening grain, wild cedar resin, and the sweet, musky dampness of rich forest loam. The surrounding deciduous slopes had begun their seasonal transformation, painting the ridges in fiery shades of scarlet maple, burnished chestnut, and deep ochre. It was the eve of the Autumn Equinox, the sacred sky node where day and night balanced in perfect harmony before winter’s descent.
Beneath the sweeping emerald canopy of the Primordial Spirit Willow, the central plaza of the Myriad Spirit Safe hall was already buzzing with joyous, organized activity.
Resting on a raised wooden platform shaded by woven bamboo mats, Lin Xiao sat on a plush square silk cushion. One of the many luxurious items generously ‘donated’ by the Crimson Flame Sect’s left expedition. Floating beside him in a carved wooden washbasin was Xiao Long. The golden river carp, whose brow now sported two elegant, pearl-white dragon horns, blew happy clusters of rainbow-bright water bubbles that floated lazily into the morning air.
Beside the basin, Su Ling’er stood with her back straight. She looked every inch the consummate chief administrator. Her three snowy-white fox tails swayed in rhythmic care behind her vermilion-bordered scholar robes. In her delicate paws, she held a long roll of smoothed cedar bark covered in tidy, columned script written with soot-ink.
“Lord Xiao,” Su Ling’er announced, her clear voice ringing across the platform. “The pre-festival census and resource inventory are complete. As of sunrise today, the safe hall’s permanent resident population has reached five hundred and twelve individuals.”
Lin Xiao gave a contented wobble, his curved white eyes smiling warmly. “Five hundred and twelve. That’s a good round number. No one is sleeping in damp hollows or shivering without blankets?”
“Not a single soul,” Su Ling’er replied, her violet eyes shining with pride. “Thanks to Tie Shan’s stone-cutting saws and the badger clan’s stonework crews, every family has a dry timber-and-slate cottage. The communal hot springs have removed joint stiffness among the elders. Our boundary patrols report zero hunting beast incursions since Xiao Hei and Da Peng established the outer watch.”
A soft raptor cry sounded high overhead. Slicing through the golden autumn clouds, Da Peng circled the valley basin with easy majesty, his thirty-meter golden wings catching the sunrise before banking sharply toward his cliffside roost.
“Now,” Su Ling’er continued, tapping her cedar scroll, “we must finalize the working deployment for the three-day Autumn Equinox Festival. If we’re to host five hundred citizens, our logistics must be impeccable.”
Lin Xiao leaned forward, his jelly surface jiggling with eager culinary excitement. “Lay it out for us, Prime Minister Ling’er. What’s on the festival schedule?”
Su Ling’er stifled a soft giggle behind her sleeve at the title before unfurling the parchment.
“Phase One begins tomorrow morning at dawn: the Great Tuber Harvest,” Su Ling’er explained. “Sector Four—the enriched river-bed flats bordering the southern river bend—has three hundred plots of Giant Spirit Sweet Potatoes ready for digging. The soil has been nourished by your ancient runoff for sixty days. The rabbit and badger clans have prepared sixty wicker collection carts.”
“Giant sweet potatoes,” Lin Xiao murmured blissfully, imagining the fragrant steam rising from charred purple skins. “Roasting them over glowing wood coals until the honeyed sugars caramelize and bubble through the skin... We need plenty of coarse salt and wild butter for those.”
“Phase Two,” Su Ling’er continued, her slender finger tracing down the scroll, “is the reaping of the fifty mu of Jade-Grain Spirit Rice along the tiered terraces. Xiao Long has controlled the moisture levels perfectly. The stalks are heavy with pearl-white grains, bowed under their own weight. Tie Shan has forged fifty curved reaping scythes from hardened spring-steel. The deer beastfolk and bear youths will handle the sickle lines. Meanwhile, the fox maidens manage the winnowing frames.”
In the wooden washbasin, Xiao Long poked his golden head above the water line. That let out a cheerful splash. “Lord Xiao! I can summon a gentle harvest breeze tomorrow afternoon to separate the chaff from the golden kernels!”
Lin Xiao reached a fluid slime arm into the basin, gently scratching the carp between his tiny dragon horns. “Good work, Xiao Long. A clean breeze makes winnowing ten times faster. We’ll steam the first twenty bushels right in the grand plaza for dinner.”
“Phase Three,” Su Ling’er said, her tone growing conspiratorial, “is the cellar check. In the underground vaults beneath the Great Willow, the twenty charred-cedar fermentation casks of wild plum and peach spirit wine have reached full maturation. The beeswax seals have held for sixty days. Uncle Badger reports that a heavenly aroma of fermented fruit and wild honey is already seeping through the stone trapdoors.”
Lin Xiao’s entire azure body lit up with a soft, radiant glow.
Aged fruit wine, Lin Xiao thought. Fermented with wild mountain plums, ripe yellow peaches, honeycomb from the northern cliffs, and pure stalactite spring dew. We started those barrels when the grotto was just a muddy hole in the rocks. Tapping the first cask tomorrow is going to feel like opening a treasure vault.
“And Phase Four,” Su Ling’er finished, “is the festival itself. Tie Shan has built eighty long cedar banquet tables in the central plaza. The badger clan has carved stone fire bowls for heating. The squirrel scouts have gathered three wagonloads of sweet pine nuts and roasted chestnuts. However, Lord Xiao, we need your executive ruling on rationing.”
Lin Xiao tilted his blue head, his white eyes blinking. “Rationing? Why would we ration?”
Su Ling’er adjusted her robes, her voice turning practical. “In traditional mortal cities and clan estates, harvest festivals usually distribute seventy percent of the grain to sect granaries for military stockpiles, twenty percent for merchant taxes, and ten percent for the populace. If we feed five hundred citizens without restriction for three days, we’ll eat hundreds of jin of pork, thousands of jin of grain, and many barrels of wine.”
Lin Xiao shook his head firmly, a warm, ringing chuckle shaking through his core.
“Ling’er,” Lin Xiao said gently, “we didn’t break our backs clearing rocks, digging ditches, and braving sect fighters just to turn our home into another stingy feudal manor. What’s the point of growing sixty thousand jin of spirit rice if the people who planted it have to count every single mouthful?”
The fox maiden looked at him, her large violet eyes wide with surprise.
“The First Rule of the Autumn Equinox is simple,” Lin Xiao declared. His voice carried clearly to the artisans and scouts working in the plaza below. “Nobody works during the three days of the festival. No plowing, no foraging, no stone-cutting. Every beast, spirit, and child eats until their belly is round. Every elder drinks until their cheeks are warm. If someone wants three bowls of steamed jade rice and a whole roasted yam, they get three bowls. Food is meant to bring joy, not anxiety.”
Down in the plaza, an elderly badger mason setting paving stones paused. His whiskers shook with sudden, overwhelmed emotion. Around him, rabbit maidens weaving harvest banners and young bear smiths hauling cedar planks burst into spontaneous, ringing cheers that echoed across the valley!
“LONG LIVE LORD XIAO!”
“EAT UNTIL FULL! DRINK UNTIL WARM!”
A sweet-sounding, crystal-clear chime rang inside Lin Xiao’s mindscape:
“Host,” the Dao Spirit’s smooth female voice chimed with uncharacteristic warmth. “Sociological analysis indicates your total heat spreading decree has raised communal loyalty to total, iron-hard thresholds. The psychological stress markers among incoming refugee clans have dropped to zero. Agrarian productivity forecasts for the upcoming winter cycle have increased by forty-five percent due to overwhelming enthusiasm.”
See? Lin Xiao thought happily. People work harder when they know they actually get to enjoy the fruits of their labor. It’s not rocket science. It’s just basic respect.
As the afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the terraces, Tie Shan arrived at the platform carrying a massive hand-carved cedar signboard. Using his golden titan claws, the bear smith mounted the board above the entrance to the communal dining pavilion.
Carved deeply into the polished wood were six bold characters inked in red star-iron lacquer:
EAT WELL. SLEEP WELL. REST IN PEACE.
Lin Xiao hopped down from his cushion, landing on the timber floor with a satisfied squish. Looking out over the golden terraces, the clear flowing canals, and the smiling faces of five hundred living beings preparing for the greatest feast of their lives, he felt an overwhelming sense of peaceful accomplishment.
Across the pathways, young fox cubs were hanging woven bamboo lantern cages from the roof edges of the cottages, placing glowing spirit jade crystals inside that cast a warm, firefly-like soft glow upon the cobblestones. The rabbit elder, Old White, was personally lining the vegetable carts with fresh wild ferns to cushion the incoming tubers, humming an ancient folk melody that had not been sung in the wilderness for three ages. For hundreds of years, beastfolk clans had lived in the unending terror of hunter snares, sect raids, and freezing winter famines. Here, in this secluded hollow beneath the crescent peaks, fear had been replaced by the honest, joyful toil of communal preparation.
Lin Xiao smiled, his curved white eyes glowing with gentle warmth as dusk settled over the mountains.
“Rest up tonight, everyone,” Lin Xiao announced with a cheerful wave of his slime arm. “Fill your bellies with tea, sleep warm, and dream of sweet potatoes. Tomorrow at sunrise, the harvest begins!”