Chapter 139: Little Moon On The Run

Five Years Later

The sound of wind whistling past her ears was the first thing Zhen registered. Then came the slapping of oversized, emerald-green leaves against her face.

Giggle.

Thump.

She hit the forest floor, rolling once, twice, and then stylishly coming up on her feet.

Behind her, the village erupted.

“ZHEN!”

Bai Yue’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade, sharp enough to make birds flee from three territories over. “ZHEN, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Zhen did not get back there. Zhen was already running, her white hair streaming behind her, her purple eyes, her mother’s eyes, bright with mischief.

The village was waking up around her. Cooking fires being lit. Voices rising in the familiar chaos of morning. She ducked under a clothesline, leaped over a basket of tubers, and veered left toward Mo Xiao’s hut.

His door was open.

It was always open.

“MO XIAO!” she shrieked, launching herself through the doorway.

The Panther Alpha looked up from his morning meal. His amber eyes went wide. His hand shot out automatically, catching the small white missile before it could crash into his table.

He caught her by the scruff of her tunic.

She dangled there, grinning.

“Good morning, Uncle Mo Xiao!”

Mo Xiao stared at her. “It is,” he said slowly, “very early.”

“I know!”

“Your mother is screaming.”

“I know!”

He looked at her face. At the complete lack of remorse in her purple eyes. At the way her tail, white and fluffy, exactly like her father’s, was swishing behind her with the rhythm that meant she was planning something.

He set her down. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Zhen.”

“I just—” She stopped. Her grin widened. “I borrowed something.”

“Borrowed.”

“Temporarily.”

From the corner of the hut, a small, orange shape stirred. A tiger cub, younger than Zhen, with bright green eyes and a permanent look of mischief, lifted his head from his sleeping pile.

“Did you get it?” he whispered.

Zhen produced a small, round object from her tunic. It was a polished stone, carved with the markings of the Thousand Fang tribe, the one that sat on the Elder’s table during ceremonies.

The one that was definitely not supposed to be borrowed.

The tiger cub’s eyes went wide. “You took the talking rock?”

“It’s for the game,” Zhen said. “Ruì Xuě said we needed something important for the game. This is important.”

“Ruì Xuě is going to get in so much trouble.”

“Ruì Xuě is always in trouble.”

Mo Xiao put his face in his hands.

His ….half-son, Fēng Yá, five years old, the fourth cub, born of the mother of his triplets, had quickly become attached to Zhen over the years. He was already on his feet.

“Can I hold it?”

“We have to get to the meeting spot first! Come on!”

She grabbed his paw and they were gone, a blur of white and orange, their laughter echoing behind them.

Mo Xiao stared at the empty doorway.

Then he sighed and went back to his breakfast.

He was going to need the energy.

~

Zhen burst out of the village and into the clearing where the eastern path met the old hunting trail. The sun was just clearing the treeline, turning everything gold.

Ruì Xuě was waiting.

He was nine now, taller than Zhen remembered him being last week, which was how growth worked apparently. His white hair was longer, tied back from his face, and his purple eyes, they had the same eyes, she and Ruì Xuě, Mama’s eyes, were scanning the treeline with the patient watchfulness he had learned from their father.

“You are late,” he said.

“I was getting the thing.”

“Did you get the thing?”

She held up the stone.

Ruì Xuě’s eyes went wide. “Zhen. That’s the Elder’s—”

“Talking rock. Yes. For the game.”

“The game is pretend! You’re supposed to pretend to have the important thing, not actually take the important thing!”

“Pretending is boring.”

“Mama is going to—”

“ZHEN!”

The shout came from the village. It was closer now. Much closer.

Ruì Xuě grabbed her arm. “Oh no. Run.”

They ran.

They crashed through the undergrowth, Ruì Xuě’s longer legs eating up the ground, Zhen’s smaller ones pumping furiously to keep up. Fēng Yá was somewhere behind them, his laughter bouncing off the trees.

The path led to the hot springs. The hot springs led to the old iron-wood tree. And in the old iron-wood tree, every year around this time, there was a dragon.

Zhen saw him first.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ, the Burning Sky, oldest living dragon of the First Generation, her grandfather in every way that mattered, was perched on the lowest branch of the iron-wood tree like a very large, very regal bird.

His human form was as imposing as ever, broad-shouldered, silver-streaked dark hair, robes of deep crimson. But his face was carved in a smile.

“Little moon,” he rumbled.

“GRANDPA!”

She launched herself at him.

He caught her, of course. He always caught her. One massive hand settled on her back, holding her against his chest, and she felt the familiar warmth of him, the rumble of his voice vibrating through her bones.

“You are running from your mother.”

“I am conducting important business.”

“Important business.”

“The game,” Ruì Xuě supplied, slightly breathless, slightly intimidated, still standing at the base of the tree like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to approach. “We’re playing. She took the Elder’s stone. For the game.”

Dà Jiāo Huǒ looked at the stone in Zhen’s hand.

“You stole the tribe’s ceremonial marker.”

“Borrowed!”

“For a game.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, very deliberately, he reached out and took the stone from her hand.

Zhen’s face fell. “Grandpa—”

“I will return it,” he said. “When you are finished playing. For now—” He tucked the stone into his robes. “I will hold it. For safe keeping.”

Her face lit up again. “You’re the best grandpa.”

“I am the only grandpa.”

“That’s why you’re the best. Don’t tell my mum where I am!”

~

They played.

The game was complicated, Ruì Xuě had made up rules involving territories and alliances and something about a sacred artifact that needed to be protected from the “shadow beasts” (Fēng Yá, who kept jumping out from behind trees and making roaring noises).

Zhen was the keeper of the artifact. She stood on a rock in the center of the clearing, holding a stick that was pretending to be the stone because Grandpa had the real one, and defended her territory stubbornly.

Ruì Xuě was her guardian. Fēng Yá was the shadow beast.

They played until the sun was high and their stomachs were growling and Fēng Yá had fallen into the stream twice, which Zhen thought was probably enough.

“Again?” Fēng Yá asked, dripping, enthusiastic.

“Food first,” Ruì Xuě said.

“Food after,” Zhen countered.

“Food now.”

“Food—”

“ZHEN.”

Her mother’s voice was directly behind her.

Zhen froze.

She turned, very slowly, to find Bai Yue standing at the edge of the clearing.

She had her hands on her hips. Her hair was escaping its tie. She looked furious.

Behind her, Han Shān stood with his arms crossed. His face was trying very hard to be stern. It was not entirely successful.

“Mama,” Zhen said.

“The Elder’s stone.”

“I was going to return it.”

“When?”

“After the game.”

“The game that has been going on for three hours.”

“Games take time, Mama. You said so yourself. Quality over speed.”

Bai Yue’s eye twitched.

Han Shān made a sound that was definitely not a laugh. It was a cough. A very convenient cough.

“Zhen,” Bai Yue said, and her voice was taking on a stern tone. “You ran away. This morning. Before I was awake. You ran away, you took something that didn’t belong to you, you dragged your brother into it, and you have been hiding in the forest for three hours while I searched for you.”

Zhen considered this.

“I wasn’t hiding,” she said. “I was playing.”

“You were hiding.”

“I was playing.”

“Zhen.”

“Mama.”

They stared at each other. Bai Yue’s jaw was tight. Zhen’s chin was up. The resemblance was, at that moment, almost painful.

Han Shān stepped forward.

He crouched down in front of his daughter and looked at her with those blue eyes that could freeze rivers and melt hearts in equal measure.

“You worried your mother,” he said quietly.

Zhen’s tail drooped. Just slightly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You took something that wasn’t yours.”

“I was going to bring it back.”

“You ran away without telling anyone where you were going.”

“I—” She stopped. Her chin was still up, but her lip was trembling. Just a little. “I wanted to play the game. The game was important. Ruì Xuě said—”

“Ruì Xuě is in trouble too,” Han Shān said.

Behind Zhen, Ruì Xuě made a small, resigned sound.

“The point,” Han Shān continued, “is not that you wanted to play. The point is that you left without telling anyone. You took something that wasn’t yours. And you didn’t think about how it would make other people feel.” He paused. “How do you think Mama felt when she woke up and you were gone?”

Zhen looked at her mother.

Bai Yue’s arms were still crossed.

“I’m sorry,” Zhen whispered.

Bai Yue’s expression cracked. Just slightly.

“Come here,” she said.

Zhen went. Her mother’s arms came around her, tight and warm, and Zhen pressed her face into Bai Yue’s shoulder and breathed in the familiar smell of her, smoke and herbs.

“You scared me,” Bai Yue said into her hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just run away like that.”

“I know.”

“If you want to play a game, you tell someone. You ask. You don’t just—” Bai Yue stopped. Took a breath. “You don’t just disappear.”

Zhen nodded against her shoulder.

From the base of the iron-wood tree, a deep voice rumbled. “The stone.”

They looked up.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ had descended from his branch at some point. He was holding out the ceremonial stone.

“She entrusted it to me,” he said. “For safe keeping. It has not been damaged.”

Bai Yue took the stone. Her face went through several expressions very quickly. “You helped her.”

“I held the stone.”

“You let her keep playing.”

“She was having fun.”

“She was HIDING.”

Dà Jiāo Huǒ considered this. “She was also having fun.” He looked at Zhen, still tucked against her mother’s side, her face slightly guilty, her tail still swishing. “Little moon. Apologize properly.”

Zhen straightened. She looked at her mother. She looked at her father. She looked at Ruì Xuě, who had crept closer and was standing at Han Shān’s elbow.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I took the stone. I’m sorry I worried you.” She paused. “I’m not sorry I played the game. It was a good game. But I’m sorry about the rest.”

Bai Yue stared at her for a moment, trying to calm herself. She turned around, Han Shan looking at her. When she felt she had calmed down further, she turned around.

“Where’s Zhen?”

Han Shān blinked. “What?”

Bai Yue looked at the path. At the empty path. At the very empty path where her daughter had been two minutes ago with Fēng Yá and Ruì Xuě and a stolen ceremonial stone that she was supposed to be returning.

“She was just—” Bai Yue started.

“She’s gone,” Han Shān said.

“Gone???!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep