025 Dragon Dance

[POV: Wo Li]

I woke with a start, my body tangled in the simple bedding inside my tree house.

An uncomfortable heaviness pressed against my chest, not pain exactly, but a deep unease that lingered like fog in my mind. The dream had come again with vivid fragments of another life, where I had been Nevle Drol Diurdhcra, a name that felt both alien and intimately mine.

In those visions, I moved through incredible cities and great wilderness, a world of fantasy and forgotten gods. Yet each time the dream faded, pieces of my Earth memories seemed to shave away, eroded like sandstone under relentless rain.

“It’s getting worse by the day.”

I sat up, rubbing my temples, and pushed the thoughts aside. Dwelling on them only made the discomfort worse. The first light of dawn filtered through the walls of the tree, casting soft green patterns across the floor.

Stepping outside, I nearly tripped over a familiar form sprawled on the ground. Guo Yimu lay there, bald head gleaming faintly in the morning dew, his robes twisted awkwardly around him. What was wrong with this baldy? He had clearly chosen to sleep right here instead of inside like a normal person. A suspicious dark patch stained the front of his lower robes. Did he piss himself while asleep? The thought made me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

With a sigh, I raised my hand and murmured the incantation. “Cleansing Spirits.”

A gentle swirl of translucent energy enveloped him, lifting away the grime and moisture in an instant. The spell worked perfectly, as always.

“Hu hu hu hu,” let out Guo Yimu with a strange laugh. “Yes, yes, right there… just a little bit lower… yes… yes…”

“Ugh… what the hell, man?” I muttered under my breath, turning away quickly.

Shaking off the awkwardness, I started my day the usual way of gathering the tributes left during the night. The offerings had piled up again at the base of the tree with rare fruits, bundles of medicinal herbs, chunks of venison filled with strange energy, and even a few random knick-knacks. There were a lot of them, like usual.

I moved methodically, moving the heavier items with a casual wave of phytokinesis and directing them inside the tree’s storage hollow.

As I worked, my ears caught distant sounds from beyond the woven curtain of vines. Soft wingbeats cut through the morning air, followed by a familiar, measured hoot.

“Greetings, master of the forest.”

I didn’t even look up at first, guiding a bundle of herbs into the hollow with a flick of my fingers. “I’m glad you made it. But please, just call me Wo Li. I claim not to be the master of any such forest, you know?”

She settled onto a low branch nearby, feathers shifting in quiet elegance. The owl’s large eyes reflected the dim green light, watching me with that same knowing calm she always carried.

I shortly finished transferring the tributes I received last night. There was honestly a lot of them. Sometimes, I’d only receive trickles, scattered offerings like hesitant gestures. But once a month, without fail, it would come in bulk like this, as if the entire forest had conspired to empty its gratitude all at once.

I exhaled slowly, brushing dirt from my hands before turning to her.

“Thank you… for agreeing to accompany me, talk to me, and offer advice,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “I think I could use some of that advice right now.”

She tilted her head slightly, attentive.

“I asked you here because… do you know a way to stop these tributes?” I gestured vaguely toward the now half-empty pile. “Honestly, I’d prefer they stop doing it. It’s excessive. And no matter how many times I try to ignore it or tell them off, they keep insisting.”

The owl let out a soft, thoughtful hoot before replying, her voice calm and even.

“It is their way, Wo Li. A way for the local wildlife to express their gratitude to you. In offering these tributes, they believe they repay a debt… and in doing so, it gives them peace of mind.”

Before I could respond, a rustling sound came from behind me.

“Senior? What am I doing here?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Guo Yimu had stirred awake, pushing himself upright with a sluggish motion, his expression muddled and unfocused.

“I don’t know,” I replied flatly. “You tell me.”

He blinked a few times, looking around as if the world had rearranged itself without his permission. “I don’t know… I can’t remember.”

The owl shifted slightly on her branch, her talons scraping softly against the bark as she regarded Guo Yimu’s confused face. “It is possible that a certain bipedal beast encountered him during the night. If the young monk stirred awake and wandered, such a creature might have struck him unconscious before he could comprehend the situation.”

There weren’t many in this forest that fit that description. My mind immediately settled on a certain overgrown marsupial with an attitude problem.

Guo Yimu scratched his bald head, still sitting on the ground. “I don’t remember it, though.”

“That’s not surprising,” I replied before the owl could elaborate. I waved a hand dismissively. “And for the record, baldy here isn’t really a monk. No need to take him seriously.”

“I understand,” the owl said simply, her golden eyes flicking toward him without judgment.

Guo Yimu straightened at that, clearly dissatisfied. He pressed his palms together and spoke with exaggerated composure, “Though my current state may be… unconventional, I still walk a path aligned with discipline and clarity. Titles are but illusions, yet one must not abandon the principles of a monk so lightly.”

I stared at him for a moment, then looked away. “Yeah, sure.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, the wooden door of the guesthouse creaked open. Li Ming stepped out, stretching her arms high above her head as a yawn escaped her.

“Wow, Baldy actually woke up this early for once,” she said, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

Guo Yimu looked faintly offended but didn’t respond immediately.

Li Ming turned to me, already more alert. “Do you want me to chop more wood?”

I shook my head. “We have too much already. At this rate, we could build another house out of spare firewood alone.”

She shrugged, unconcerned, and leaned lazily against the doorway. Behind her, the small building that used to be Xing Ning’s workshop, now repurposed as a guesthouse, stood quietly beneath the morning light. Vines had crept along its walls, weaving between wooden panels, while small flowers bloomed in scattered clusters. They weren’t harmful, just another sign that the forest was slowly reclaiming everything in its reach.

I glanced between the two of them, then turned away.

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“Do as you please,” I said. “I’m going on a stroll.”

My gaze shifted to the owl. “Would you come with me?”

She spread her wings slightly before gliding down, landing lightly atop my head.

“Do you not mind?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” I replied, already stepping away from the campsite.

The soft weight of her presence settled comfortably, her feathers brushing faintly against my hair as I walked past the outer ring of trees.

My meeting with her had been brief, but strangely natural. Not long ago, she had found me lying in the grass, staring blankly at the sky while my thoughts spiraled into places I didn’t care to revisit. She had spoken first, her voice calm and unintrusive, and somehow the conversation had just… continued.

Since then, I found myself seeking it out.

Silence was easy, but it wasn’t always welcome.

“I just realized something,” I said as we moved deeper into the forest. “I never got your name.”

“I do not have one,” she replied.

I slowed slightly. “You don’t?”

“No. Would you like to give me one?”

I considered that for a moment, stepping over a fallen branch. “How do beasts usually get their names then?”

Her claws shifted lightly as she adjusted her balance.

“A beast most often receives a name from humans,” she explained. “However, such conventions rarely apply to wildlife. The exception lies with those who have awakened their spark, a symbol of sapience that allows one to communicate eloquently with others, including humans.”

There was a subtle shift in her tone, something almost… lively.

“I have had a few pleasant encounters with humans in the past,” she continued, sounding faintly pleased. “Though recently, the cultivators visiting this forest have proven considerably less agreeable.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but I could feel the faintest hint of amusement in her silence.

That was part of why I liked talking to her. She carried herself with a kind of composed intelligence. At the same time, there was an undercurrent of personality that slipped through in small ways.

In terms of presence, she was strong. Around Core Formation, if I had to guess. That alone made her stand apart from most of the wildlife here, which probably explained why the others described her as aloof.

We continued walking, the forest stretching quietly around us.

“So,” I said after a while, “let’s try this naming thing.”

She didn’t object.

“Hmm… how about… Ash?”

“Ash is acceptable,” she said after a brief pause, “but it feels somewhat… incomplete.”

“Alright. What about… Luma?”

“Too soft.”

“Feather.”

“…No.”

I let out a small breath, glancing upward slightly as if that would help me think. “You’re picky.”