Chapter 130: The Woman Who Fed Everyone

Wēn Jìng said, settling back onto her knees to finish the bandaging with her son arranged comfortably on her knee. “He’s been trying to write since last month. We’re working on what counts as paper.”

Yàn Shū looked at Zhāo Yàn. At his three tails, specifically, which had settled into their usual arrangement around him.

His mouth formed a small, wondering O.

“Tails,” he said.

“Three of them,” Zhāo Yàn agreed. “I’m going to have nine someday.”

Yàn Shū nodded. Then he held out his bark scroll. “I write,” he said.

“What do you write?”

Yàn Shū stiffened. “Things,” he said firmly.

“Very specific,” Mò Lǎo murmured into his tea.

Wēn Jìng finished the bandaging with a neat knot and sat back, her son still settled contentedly against her, already attempting to show his bark scroll to Han Shān. He was looking at it with an eyebrow raised.

“There,” she said, to Zhāo Yàn. “Better.”

It was better. Significantly better. He could breathe without his ribs making commentary.

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled at him warmly.

Mò Lǎo set down his empty cup and stretched. “I ran into them near the eastern path. They fell into your old game trap.”

Wēn Jìng’s eyes went wide behind her glasses. “The hole? That hole has been there for two seasons, I keep meaning to fill it—are you both alright? Did you land hard? Is anything—”

“We’re fine,” Han Shān said, with a speed that suggested he was drawing a line under the topic.

Zhāo Yàn’s tails twitched. “Han Shān may have squealed.”

“I did not squeal.”

“It was a very dignified sound. That happened to be high pitched.”

“That was a tactical—”

“Vocalization?”

Han Shān looked at the wall.

Wēn Jìng was already up, moving to the shelf where a pot had been sitting, and began producing bowls.

“Sit, Mò Lǎo, you’re not leaving before you eat, you’ve been in that hole for four months and you look like it. I have rice and there’s still some of that soup from three weeks ago, it’s perfectly good I preserved it—” She was talking over her shoulder, arranging bowls, Yàn Shū having migrated to the floor to continue showing Han Shān the bark scroll with increasing urgency.

Han Shān looked at the scratched markings with genuine attention. “What does it say?”

Yàn Shū pointed at a marking. “Tree.”

“That looks like a circle.”

“It’s a tree.”

“Trees aren’t circular.”

Yàn Shū frowned with the full force of a four year old whose artistic vision has been questioned. “That one is.”

Han Shān looked at the marking. He was clearly fighting a smile. “Show me another one.”

Yàn Shū showed him another one.

Wēn Jìng caught Zhāo Yàn watching this and smiled at him. She set a bowl in front of him, one in front of Mò Lǎo, and then settled at the low table with her own, Yàn Shū migrating back to her side without looking up from his scroll.

They ate.

The house was warm. The soup was good. Outside the window the afternoon was going gold and the painted stones clicked softly in the breeze.

“You said the Eastern Hills,” Wēn Jìng said eventually. “Near Thousand Fang territory?”

“Bordering it, yes.”

Her face went red. “Oh, you have heard about them? They’re just getting started, that tribe. The new elder took over in spring. Young, apparently, but very capable. Mò Lǎo, you passed through there, didn’t you? Before your nap?”

“Mm,” Mò Lǎo said, which was apparently yes.

“They have cubs,” Wēn Jìng continued, the way she said everything, warmly, directly, without meandering. “I heard they have the most wonderful group of young ones. All different clans, all together. Panthers, I think, and some wolves, and a crane family.”

She looked over them. “You should visit sometime. When you’re older, perhaps. It seems like the sort of place that collects interesting people.”

Zhāo Yàn looked at his bowl. “I’m not supposed to wander far.”

“Mm,” she said simply.

Han Shān said nothing.

Yàn Shū had abandoned the scroll entirely in favour of attempting to climb Han Shān, who was sitting very straight and very still and allowing this to everyone’s shock.

“He likes you,” Wēn Jìng told Han Shān.

“I noticed,” Han Shān said, carefully extracting one small hand from his ear.

Yàn Shū immediately replaced it.

Wēn Jìng laughed, soft and fond. They were very adorable, and it was often that her son found other cubs he liked.

“You’re welcome here whenever you like. Both of you. I will always have something for you to eat, and you can stay as long as you want.” She collected the empty bowls with one hand, Yàn Shū attached to her side. “Mò Lǎo knows the way.”

Mò Lǎo raised his cup.

Zhāo Yàn’s tails settled. They had become Warm and loose, nothing like last night. He looked at Han Shān, who had finally been released by Yàn Shū and was sitting with the bark scroll in his hands, looking at it.

He put it down carefully when he noticed Zhāo Yàn looking. “We should get back.”

“Mm.” Zhāo Yàn didn’t move yet. “She said Thousand Fang.”

“I heard.”

“Cubs.”

“I heard.”

Wēn Jìng appeared in the doorway, Yàn Shū on her hip, wiping her hands on a cloth. She looked at them both with that attention. “It’s not far. Perhaps a day’s walk when you’re older and allowed further from home.” She tilted her head. “Do you want to go? I have been meaning to visit myself. I could come with you. Introduce you. I believe it would be a lot of fun. What do you think?”

Zhāo Yàn looked at Han Shān.

Han Shān looked at Zhāo Yàn.

“I would want to go but…my mother,” Zhāo Yàn said slowly.

Wēn Jìng waved a gentle hand. “I’ll talk to her.”

“She has a stick.”

“I’m very good with mothers.” She smiled, entirely unworried. “And with sticks, honestly. Now.” She looked at them both, bright and simple and direct. “Where do you stay?”

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