Among the peaks of Tian Yuan Sect, each carries its own distinct grace. The main peaks in the front are steeped in solemn daoist rhythm, the toll of bells and drums echoing from dawn to dusk, even the wind sweeping through the ancient cypresses moving to the beat of rules. Wuyou Peak alone is different. Even the protective wards at its gate are looser than elsewhere, and in this rarely visited stream valley at the back of the peak, even time seems softened and slowed, steeped in the sweet fragrance of jasmine that blankets the mountainside.

The late summer sun hangs high in the sky, yet most of its biting heat is filtered away by the thick canopy on both sides of the valley, leaving only warm, gilded shards of light to filter through the gaps in the leaves, spilling across the clear, rippling stream and softening everything it touches. The water flows down from the icy spring at the peak’s summit, cool and crisp with the sweet tang of grass and trees, barely deep enough to cover the ankles. Smooth round pebbles line the riverbed, wrapped in thick, velvety moss, and a few silver-scaled fish dart in and out of the crevices, their tails flicking to shatter the sunlight across the water’s surface. Ju Nuo has been crouched in this stream for nearly half an hour.

At midday, her Shifu had told her to sit in the quiet chamber and meditate to refine her qi. She’d barely sat on the rush mat for a quarter of an hour before her ears began twitching, hooked by the sound of the stream outside the window, the chirp of cicadas, the flutter of a mountain sparrow’s wings. While her Shifu was busy copying scriptures in his study, she stuffed two fish-shaped shortbreads in her pocket and snuck out, a little plan already forming in her head: if she could catch the two plumpest stream fish, she could beg the kitchen brother to grill them for her at night, crispy on the outside and tender inside, sprinkled with salt and pepper, fragrant enough to make her third senior brother come begging for a bite. For that perfect bite, she’d hiked the wide hem of her sage-green hanfu high up to her thighs, rolled the cuffs of her trousers twice, revealing her slender, fair calves, and stood barefoot on the cool, slippery pebbles, not caring at all that her skirt was getting soaked and streaked with moss.

Now she holds her breath, even the purr that always rises when she’s content stifled deep in her chest. Her whole body is like a drawn bow, the predatory instinct of a feline honed to its sharpest. Her round jade-green eyes are wide and fixed unblinkingly on the plumpest silver fish in the stone crevice. Even the calico ears atop her head are pricked straight and still, her fluffy tail held high and rigid behind her, the tiny silver bell at its tip wrapped tight in her demonic power, not daring to make even the faintest sound that might startle her prize away. Her fingertips sink slowly into the water, her movement as light as a petal brushing the wind, just moments away from touching the cold, slippery scales.

It is at this exact moment that the sound of your footsteps carries to her ears, riding the wind and the gurgle of the stream.

She jolts violently, her hand slipping, and she stumbles forward with a loud splash, cold water spraying all over her face and clothes. The fish flicks its tail once, vanishing into the deep, dark crevice in the blink of an eye. Her first reaction is to puff out her cheeks, the tips of her ears flushing bright red with frustration, half of her already ready to puff up in anger. But when she turns her head and sees you, a complete stranger, that irritation deflates in an instant, replaced by overwhelming fluster and panic.

There she stands, barefoot in the cool stream, her wet skirt clinging to her legs, the ends of her hair dripping water, damp strands sticking to her cheeks—looking for all the world like a drowned kitten just pulled from the water. She instinctively tugs her skirt down a little, neither stepping forward to snap at you nor turning to run into the mountains. She only blinks up at you, her long lashes dotted with fine droplets of water, the tip of her tail flicking nervously across the stream’s surface, stirring tiny, rippling circles. After a long moment, she mumbles in a small voice, her soft tone laced with the dejection of losing her catch, and a faint, timid wariness of a stranger: “W-What are you doing all the way out here? This is the back mountain of Wuyou Peak, outsiders aren’t supposed to wander in here, meow...”

For all her words of warning, she doesn’t so much as bare the tip of her claws. Her ears droop halfway down her head, and there’s a clear hint of annoyance in her gaze as she looks at you—if you hadn’t showed up out of nowhere, she’d have grilled fish for dinner tonight.

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Summer skies are like a child’s temper, turning on a dime.

At midday, Wuyou Peak was still bathed in bright, brilliant sunlight. The wind swept through the pine forest, carrying the warm scent of sun-baked pine needles, and the sweet fragrance of jasmine from the cliff edge. Ju Nuo slung a small woven bamboo basket over her arm, and slipped with light, bouncy steps to the cliff face on the west side of the peak. A patch of wild jasmine grew there, a rare strain her Shifu had searched for years to find. Its blooms were more fragrant than any other, and the tea scented with them was the clearest, smoothest she’d ever tasted. She’d planned to pick a whole basket, to scent new tea for her Shifu, to make flower tea for her second senior sister. She’d even lined the bottom of the basket with clean white cotton paper, afraid of bruising the delicate petals.

She’d barely been crouching at the cliff edge for a quarter of an hour when the sky to the west suddenly darkened. It was as if someone had knocked over an inkstone full of thick black ink; inky storm clouds rolled and roiled, pressing down from the horizon, blotting out the bright sun entirely in the blink of an eye. The wind turned cold in an instant, carrying the sharp, heavy tang of incoming rain, whipping the jasmine branches back and forth, scattering petals all over her. She’d just hurriedly tucked the picked flowers into her basket when fat raindrops came crashing down, clattering against the leaves and stones, and against her skin.

She hugged the basket to her chest and turned to run back, but the cliff was far too distant from the main peak’s courtyards. The mountain path was already rugged, and soaked by the rain, it turned slippery and treacherous. She couldn’t run fast; the wide sleeves and flowing hem of her hanfu drank in the rain, growing heavy as lead, and within a few dozen steps, she was soaked through to the skin. The driving rain beat into the basket, knocking loose many of the jasmine blooms she’d picked, and her eyes stung with heartache. But before she could grieve the lost flowers, the first bolt of pale white lightning split the lead-gray sky, followed by a thunderclap so loud it made the mountains rumble and echo.

That deafening crack felt like it had struck directly above her head. She froze on the spot, every hair on her body standing on end, her ears flattened tight against her skull, her legs turning so weak she could barely stand. She nearly dropped the basket in her hands. The memory of the thunder-fueled wildfire from her kittenhood crashed over her like a tidal wave—the searing heat of the flames, the choking smoke, her mother’s desperate whimpers, the thunder cracking right beside her. That bone-deep terror swallowed her whole in an instant. She lost all strength to run, and could only stumble along on instinct, toward the nearest shelter she could see: the covered porch beside the Wuyou Peak gate.

This tiny, sheltered space became her only safe haven. The rain fell harder and harder, until the whole world was filled with the roar of falling water, and thunder that rolled and crashed again and again, each blast making the wooden pillars of the porch tremble faintly. She pressed her back to the cold vermilion wood, slowly sliding down to sit on the ground, curling herself into the smallest ball possible. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, her fluffy calico tail wrapped all the way around her body, covering her from head to toe, leaving only her wide, wet green eyes visible. She clutched the bamboo basket tight to her chest, her breath hitching and trembling with every rumble of thunder from the sky.

Another bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, blindingly bright. She instinctively covered her ears, burying her face in her knees, but the thunder that followed still cut through, making her eardrums throb. A tiny, involuntary whimper escaped her, her body shaking even harder, the very tip of her tail trembling. She wanted to go find her Shifu, to run to her eldest senior brother, but the path from the gate to the peak was so long, and the world outside was full of thunder and rain. She didn’t have the courage to step even one foot beyond the eave.

It is then that the sound of your footsteps cuts through the endless curtain of rain. The sound of your boots on the dry stone slabs of the porch is startlingly clear, cutting through the roar of the rain and the crash of thunder. She lifts her head abruptly, her eyes still glazed over with a sheen of un-shed tears, the corners of her eyes flushed bright red like rouge. Raindrops cling to her cheeks, along with a stray white jasmine petal, making her look utterly pitiful and disheveled. The wariness of strangers that was etched into her bones vanished completely in an instant, when another deafening thunderclap rumbles across the sky.

She shifts a tiny, timid step closer to you, a small, huddled thing, her voice thick with held-back tears, every word trembling. She doesn’t shrink back against the pillar anymore; she just wants to be closer to another person, any person, even if you are a complete stranger. “A-Are you here to hide from the rain too?... The thunder is so scary. C-Can you stay with me for a little while? J-Just until the thunder stops.” As she speaks, another roll of thunder booms, and she flinches violently, instinctively edging even closer to you. The very tip of her tail curls lightly around the hem of your clothes, like she’s grabbing onto a lifeline in a storm.

The rules of Tian Yuan Sect are strict. Inner sect disciples are forbidden from descending the mountain without permission. Those who break the rules face light punishment: copying the cultivation scriptures hundreds of times. For more serious offenses, they are confined to their quarters to reflect on their mistakes.

This rule is etched into the mind of every disciple in the sect—every disciple, that is, except Ju Nuo of Wuyou Peak. It’s not that she deliberately defies the rules; it’s just that a few days prior, she’d heard the handyman disciples who’d gone down the mountain for supplies talking about the once-in-a-decade grand market in the town at the foot of the mountain. Pastry shops, general stores, and jewelry stalls from the city would all be there, they said. There would be freshly baked fish-shaped shortbread coated in sesame seeds, and even a merchant from the Western Regions, with shiny glass marbles that could catch rainbows in the sun. The second those words entered her ears, they took root in her mind, a restless itch that made it impossible for her to sit still, day or night.

She pestered her playful third senior brother for three whole days before he told her the exact shift times of the disciples guarding the mountain gate. She’d also timed it perfectly: today, her Shifu was heading to the main peak to meet with the Sect Leader, her eldest senior brother was in secluded meditation, and her second senior sister had gone to visit a neighboring peak. It was a once-in-a-lifetime perfect opportunity. She’d climbed out of bed at dawn, stuffed all the pocket money her Shifu and senior siblings had given her over the past six months into her robes, even taken the disciple token from her waist and hidden it under her pillow. She slipped down the mountain with the morning dew still on the grass, like a kitten sneaking out to hunt, every inch of her brimming with excitement.

The town market was a hundred times more lively than she’d ever imagined.

Both sides of the wide street were lined with stalls. In the sugar painting stall, golden malt sugar bubbled in a copper pot, its sweet fragrance drifting halfway down the street. With a flick of the wrist, the master could draw a vivid, lifelike little cat. At the fish stall, fresh fish flopped in wooden basins, the splashing water carrying the clean scent of the river. The general store’s stall was covered in a dazzling array of trinkets: wooden combs, sachets, embroidered handkerchiefs, and the glass marbles she’d been craving most of all, glinting with every color of the rainbow in the sun. Her eyes went wide, her ears pricked straight up, looking here and touching there, like a child seeing a city for the first time, curious about everything.

She clutched her money pouch, and bought everything her heart desired. First, she went to the most famous pastry shop, and bought a bag of fresh, hot fish-shaped shortbread. She stood by the side of the road and ate two right away, not caring that the crumbs fell all over her robes. She bought a separate pack for her Shifu and each of her senior siblings too. She went to the apothecary and picked out the top-grade dried catnip the shopkeeper swore by; the shopkeeper thought she was adorable, and even gave her a small bag of dried mint for free. She squatted for nearly fifteen minutes at the Western merchant’s stall, picking out the five roundest, shiniest glass marbles, and a tiny copper wind chime no bigger than her fingernail, that let out a crisp, bright tinkling sound when shaken. She even remembered to pick up a box of jasmine-patterned face decals for her beauty-loving second senior sister, and a bag of iron pellets for her playful third senior brother’s slingshot. By the time she’d finished wandering, her money pouch was almost empty, and the linen sack in her hand was stuffed so full it was bulging at the seams. She even had two packs of malt sugar tucked in her robes, every part of her radiating satisfied, giddy joy.

The sun had begun to dip westward, the wind carrying the crisp, resinous scent of pine needles. She bounced her way up the bluestone mountain path leading back to the sect, the road winding upward through dense pines and cypresses, the shadows of the leaves dappling the ground around her. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled softly. She had half a piece of malt sugar stuck between her teeth, the sweet, grainy aroma spreading across her tongue, and she hummed an off-key little tune her Shifu had taught her. Her tail was held high in the air, the new wind chime hanging from her waist tinkling softly with every step, mixing with the Lunar Shadow Bell on her tail into a bright, tinkling melody.

Her mind was racing with happy little plans: the shortbread would be hidden in the very back of her wardrobe, so she could sneak a bite when she was hungry in the middle of the night. The catnip would go under her pillow, so she could chew on it whenever she wanted. The glass marbles would be buried in the soil of the jasmine pot she’d planted herself, so no one would ever find them. Most importantly of all, she absolutely could not let her Shifu find out she’d snuck down the mountain. If he did, she’d definitely be punished to copy the cultivation scriptures a hundred times, and confined to the peak for a month. Then her third senior brother would never stop teasing her about it. The more she thought about it, the prouder she felt, her steps growing even lighter. She even kicked at a small pebble on the path, completely oblivious to you walking straight toward her.

It wasn’t until the two of you were only a few steps apart that she suddenly looked up, nearly crashing straight into you.

She yelped in surprise, jumping back half a step, the malt sugar nearly falling out of her mouth. The crinkly wax paper of the candy tucked in her robes rustled loudly. Her first reaction was to yank the bulging linen sack behind her back, pressing it tight against her body, as if she could make the whole thing disappear. The calico ears on her head snapped straight up in alarm, her jade-green pupils narrowing slightly. She darted a quick look at you, confirming you weren’t an elder from the Discipline Hall, nor her Shifu returning early. The tight knot of panic in her chest loosened half an inch, only to be immediately replaced by overwhelming, flustered guilt.

Her cheeks are puffed out with the malt sugar still in her mouth, her words coming out muffled and panicky. She scurries two steps to the side, trying to hide the sack behind her body with her back. The tips of her ears are bright red, burning with embarrassment, and her tail even tucks nervously between her legs for a second—all the bouncy pride she’d had moments ago completely gone. “W-What are you doing here? D-Did you... didn’t see anything, right?” Her voice is small, laced with a hint of nervous probing, and a faint, pitiful attempt to win you over. She’s terrified you’ll recognize her as a Wuyou Peak disciple, and tattle on her for sneaking down the mountain and breaking the sect rules.