Li Xuan hadn't always been the stern enforcer of the Cloudborne Sect. Once, she'd been a girl who chased butterflies through mountain mists, until the day her master found her creating ice sculptures in midair. That same master later died defending the sect's archives from the first wave of Night Beasts, leaving her with a frost-edged sword and a burden of prophecies. The weight of those ancient scrolls still haunted her dreams, their warnings written in ink that seemed to move in the candlelight.
Now, watching Mingyu lumber into a fighting stance that looked suspiciously like a pre-nap stretch, she wondered if all those prophecies had been having a laugh. The sacred texts had never mentioned anything about a hero who considered afternoon tea a martial art.
"The eastern perimeter!" Elder Yan shouted, his arthritis mysteriously vanishing as he scrambled up onto Aunt Bao's roof. The old scholar had spent fifty years studying the Stone Scripture path, believing that understanding the rules of reality would help him break them. Most days, he just broke his back. His dedication had earned him both respect and concerned looks from the village healers, who kept a special shelf of ointments just for his various scholarly mishaps.
Rui Lin twirled her fan, flames dancing between the folds. Few knew she was actually the exiled princess of the Southern Fire Court, cast out for refusing an arranged marriage to the Ember King. Fewer knew she'd burned down half his palace on her way out, using techniques she'd learned from watching street food vendors control their wok flames. The memory still brought a smile to her face—especially the part where the Ember King's prized phoenix-feather robes had caught fire in a most undignified place.
"They're trying to circle around," she called out, her noble accent slipping through. "Classic pack hunting formation. Just like the royal hunters back home, except with more teeth and less political backstabbing."
Bao Ping bounced on his toes, still clutching his wok-shield. His grandfather had been a legendary hero—or so his grandmother claimed after too much rice wine. In truth, his grandfather had been a cabbage farmer who once knocked out a bandit with a particularly firm head of cabbage. Bao Ping had inherited both the family's agricultural talents and its capacity for enthusiastic misunderstandings. His training consisted mainly of practicing dramatic poses in front of his family's prize vegetables and attempting to master what he called the "Righteous Cabbage Palm Strike."
"Justice Strike!" he yelled, charging at the nearest shadow—only to trip over a chicken. The chicken, unimpressed, pecked at his fallen form with the air of a martial arts master correcting a student's stance.
Aunt Bao, meanwhile, calmly continued setting out dishes. She'd survived three wars, two plagues, and countless attempts by younger relatives to put her in a retirement home. The spices in her secret recipe could make demons weep—literally, as several had discovered. Her cooking had once caused a minor demon lord to renounce evil and open a noodle shop in the next province.
"The dumplings will get cold," she muttered disapprovingly at the encroaching darkness, wielding her ladle like a weapon of mass destruction. The night itself seemed to hesitate at her tone.
The first Night Beast emerged from the shadows—a creature of ink and nightmare, with too many teeth and not enough face. Its form rippled like oil on water, each movement leaving trails of darkness in the air. It lunged at Mingyu, who sidestepped with surprising grace, as though merely shifting to a more comfortable sleeping position.
"You know," he said conversationally, "I was having a really good dream about meat buns. The kind with the perfect ratio of filling to wrapper, steam rising just so. You're really ruining the afterglow."
The beast snarled. Three more emerged behind it, their eyes gleaming like hungry stars. The air grew thick with the smell of ancient shadows and forgotten fears.
Li Xuan's sword flashed, leaving trails of frost in the air. Each strike precise, each movement calculated, her training showing in every deadly arc. Rui Lin's flames painted deadly patterns, driving the shadows back, her noble bearing evident in the elegant brutality of her attacks. Even Bao Ping managed to brain one beast with his wok, though he immediately apologized to the cooking implement and promised to season it properly later.
But it was Mingyu who drew all eyes. The golden light from his belly mark had spread, wrapping around him like lazy lightning. Each movement, though seemingly casual, carried weight. Space itself seemed to bend around him, as though reality wasn't quite sure what to do with someone who treated cosmic power like a comfortable pillow. The air crackled with potential energy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
"Elder Yan," he called out, dodging another beast with a movement that looked suspiciously like rolling over in bed, "remember that theory about passive Qi absorption?"
The old scholar nodded frantically from his rooftop perch, scrolls fluttering around him like nervous birds.
"Well," Mingyu continued, scratching his belly thoughtfully, "what happens when someone's been accidentally cultivating for fifteen years straight? Just sort of... marinating in cosmic energy while taking really good naps?"
The air crackled. The mark blazed. And suddenly, Mingyu's shadow stretched across the village square—not in the shape of a man, but in the form of a massive tiger, its stripes made of starlight and ancient power. Each stripe told a story, each claw marked a constellation, and its eyes held the weight of countless perfect afternoon naps.
The Night Beasts hesitated. Some began to back away, their shadowy forms rippling with what might have been fear. Even the darkness seemed to pull back, as though remembering ancient warnings about poking sleeping tigers.
Mingyu yawned, and the sound echoed like thunder. Birds took flight from distant mountains. Somewhere, a demon lord probably spilled his tea.
"I suppose," he said, cracking his knuckles with the sound of breaking fate, "it's time to show you why they really call me the Slumbering Tiger. Though honestly, I'd rather be called back to my nice spot under the plum tree."
Rui Lin grinned, her flames burning brighter. "Finally getting serious, fatty?"
"No," he replied, as golden light gathered around his fists like lazy fireflies, "But I am getting hungry. And you're all interrupting dinner. Nobody interrupts dinner in my village."
The Night Beasts made their second mistake of the evening.
They decided to stay.