Chapter 84: The Council of Chaos

“You see?!”

Elder Zhao’s voice cracked through the central meeting ground like a whip, echoing off the huts and scattering a flock of unfortunate birds from the nearby trees.

“THIS woman! THIS woman is ALWAYS a source of trouble and PROBLEMS!”

Bai Yue sat on a log at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it threatened to escape her forehead.

She was surrounded, not by guards, but by a very grumpy Snow Leopard, a very irritated Fox Lord, a very nervous Red Panda scholar, and approximately seven cubs who had decided that “Mama’s Defense Squad” was their new favorite game.

“I didn’t bring him anywhere,” Bai Yue said flatly. “He showed up. On his own. I slapped him. He left. That’s the whole story.”

“AND NOW HE’S LURKING AT OUR BORDERS!” Elder Zhao’s wattle trembled with rage. The old wolf looked like he was about two heartbeats away from needing medicinal herbs. “The Bear King! The most territorial, vindictive Alpha in the Northern Territory! CAMPING on our doorstep! Because of YOU!”

The crane elder nodded vigorously, his long neck bobbing like an angry metronome. “First the monkeys. Then the dragons. Then the MICE. Now the BEAR KING. She’s like a… a… disaster magnet!”

“A calamity cow,” the boar elder supplied helpfully.

“A plague pigeon!”

“A catastrophe cat!”

“They are mixing animals,” Yàn Shū whispered to Bai Yue, adjusting his glasses. “Statistically, their insults are becoming less coherent.”

Bai Yue snorted.

“You LAUGH?!” Elder Zhao whirled on her. “You laugh while our village faces annihilation?!”

“Oh my god.” Bai Yue rubbed her temples. “He’s not going to annihilate anything. He wants to have dinner with me. To see if I’ve ’changed.’ It’s weird and creepy and I’m not going.”

“AND IF HE TAKES OFFENSE TO YOUR REFUSAL?!”

“Then Han Shān will freeze his eyebrows off, Zhāo Yàn will steal his dignity, and Mo Xiao will—” she paused, looking at the panther Alpha who had somehow materialized behind her at some point, “—what would you do?”

Mo Xiao bared his teeth in something that was absolutely not a smile. “I’d enjoy watching.”

The elders collectively shuddered.

From somewhere near Bai Yue’s feet, a tiny voice piped up.

“She isn’t a catastrophe cat!”

Miao Miao had wormed her way past the arguing adults and was now clinging to Bai Yue’s leg like a fuzzy barnacle. Her little panther ears were flat against her head, and her amber eyes were blazing with the fierce protectiveness only a toddler could muster.

“She’s a HERO cat!” Miao Miao declared. “She fought the bird monsters! And the shiny dragons! And the smelly mice!”

“She also fought a HYDRA,” A-Li added, appearing on Bai Yue’s other side. He puffed out his tiny chest. “With a STICK.”

“A very big stick,” Xiao Hei agreed solemnly, peeking out from behind Mo Xiao’s leg. “She went BAM and POW and the hydra said SORRY MAMA.”

“The hydra did NOT say sorry mama,” Bai Yue corrected, though she was fighting a smile.

“It should have,” Miao Miao huffed. “You’re the best. All the monsters should say sorry.”

Elder Zhao stared at the three panther cubs. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“That’s… that’s not the point—”

“The point,” A-Li interrupted, “is that sje is good now. So you have to stop being mean to her. Or we’ll bite your ankles.”

“We’re very good biters,” Xiao Hei added helpfully.

The crane elder looked down at his spindly, feathery legs and took an involuntary step backward.

Bai Yue lost the battle with her smile. She reached down and scooped Miao Miao up, settling the purring cub on her lap. “Thank you, my tiny defenders. Your testimony has been noted.”

“You’re WELCOME!”

The elders exchanged helpless glances. How were they supposed to argue against….that?

The council devolved after that. Not into more arguing, the cubs had effectively killed that energy, but into the kind of chaotic, multi-directional shouting match that happened when too many powerful beastmen had too many opinions and no one was willing to back down.

Bai Yue tuned most of it out, focusing instead on the warm weight of Miao Miao in her lap and the way Xiao Hei was now using her left foot as a pillow.

Until A-Li tugged on her sleeve.

“Bai Yue.” His little face was scrunched in concentration. “We have an important question.”

“Okay?”

“We have been thinking.” He gestured to his siblings. “About the baby.”

Bai Yue’s heart did a flip. “What about the baby?”

“Names.” A-Li nodded solemnly. “You need a good name. One that’s strong. And cute. And also a little bit scary so the other cubs know not to be mean.”

Miao Miao perked up. “I thought of one! Little Cloud!”

“That’s not scary,” Xiao Hei objected.

“It’s FLUFFY scary. Clouds can be scary. What if it’s a storm cloud?”

“A-Li, what did you think of?” Bai Yue asked, genuinely curious now.

A-Li puffed up. “I thought… if it’s a boy… maybe Xiao Pang.”

Bai Yue blinked. “Little… fat?”

“NO!” A-Li looked horrified. “Not fat! ROUND! Babies are supposed to be round! It’s a GOOD thing! It means they’re healthy and loved and get enough milk!”

“It’s a protective name,” Miao Miao explained wisely. “If you name a baby something cute, the ancestors protect them more. Auntie Li Shuǐ told us.”

“I… huh.” Bai Yue looked at the three earnest little faces. “Xiao Pang. Little Round One.”

“It’s perfect,” A-Li said confidently.

“We’ll… we’ll keep it on the list,” Bai Yue managed, fighting laughter.

~

The council finally, mercifully, wound down.

The verdict: Bai Yue was absolutely, categorically, under no circumstances to go anywhere near the Bear King.

“I wasn’t planning to,” she reminded them for the seventeenth time.

“And we’ll send word to the neighboring tribes,” Elder Zhao continued, ignoring her. “The crane territory, the snake pits, the eastern fox clans. If the Bear King tries anything, he’ll face the combined might of—”

“Can we play games first?”

Everyone stared at Bai Yue.

“Games?” Mo Xiao repeated.

“Yes. Games.” Bai Yue shifted Miao Miao to her other arm. “We have been back for days and all anyone does is argue and stress-eat and glare at me like I am personally responsible for every disaster in the universe.”

“You kind of are,” the boar elder muttered.

“Ignoring that.” Bai Yue waved a hand. “The cubs are bored. I am bored. My back hurts and I need a distraction. So. Games.”

“You are pregnant,” Zhāo Yàn pointed out, appearing at her side with his usual silent-footed sneakiness. “Shouldn’t you be resting? Preserving your strength? Letting us pamper you?”

Bai Yue scoffed. “I am pregnant, not weak. I can still run. Probably. A little. In a straight line. For like… ten seconds.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Han Shān said flatly.

“That’s the BEST idea,” Bai Yue countered.

The husbands exchanged looks.

“Fine,” Han Shān rumbled. “Games. But nothing dangerous.”

“Nothing that involves running,” Zhāo Yàn added.

“Or jumping,” Yàn Shū contributed nervously.

“Or lifting anything heavier than a berry,” Mo Xiao added, despite not being a husband.

Bai Yue rolled her eyes. “You realize I fought a Hydra three weeks ago, right?”

“You were not pregnant three weeks ago,” Han Shān pointed out.

“Fine. FINE.” Bai Yue threw her free hand up. “Gentle games. Sitting games. Games where I’m basically a stationary object that occasionally gives commands. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Zhāo Yàn deadpanned.

~

The discussion that followed was… something.

Zhāo Yàn immediately suggested a game called “Steal the Tail,” which was apparently a fox tradition involving chasing and dramatic flourishes and absolutely no one sitting still.

“DENIED,” Han Shān growled.

Yàn Shū proposed a scholarly game of riddles. “Statistically, mental stimulation is excellent for fetal development, and—”

“BORING,” the panther triplets chorused.

Mo Xiao suggested a hunting demonstration, the adults would show the cubs proper stalking techniques while Bai Yue watched from a safe distance.

“That’s actually not terrible,” Bai Yue admitted.

“Cubs only,” Han Shān added firmly. “No adults participating. Just….demonstrating.”

“Demonstrating aggressively,” Zhāo Yàn muttered.

The elders, who had been trying to leave for the past twenty minutes, found themselves drawn back into the chaos. Someone suggested a storytelling circle. Someone else suggested a “who can identify the most herbs” competition (that was Yàn Shū, and he was immediately booed). The crane elder, in a moment of weakness, offered to demonstrate traditional crane dancing, which led to a heated debate about whether dancing counted as a game or a performance art.

By the time the moon was high, they had somehow agreed on a schedule: hunting demonstration at dawn, riddles after breakfast (Yàn Shū got his concession), storytelling at midday, and a “family feast” in the evening where everyone would bring a dish.

“You’re really doing this,” Elder Zhao said weakly, watching his fellow elders get recruited as judges for various events.

“We’re really doing this.” Bai Yue grinned. “You’re welcome to join. I hear the crane dancing is going to be spectacular.”

The wolf elder made a sound like a dying balloon and shuffled away.

~

Later, much later, after the cubs had been wrestled into their huts and the village had finally gone quiet, Yàn Shū walked Bai Yue back to her hut.

The path was short. The moon was bright. And the Red Panda scholar was, as always, vibrating with nervous energy.

“Today was… eventful,” he ventured.

“Today was exhausting.” Bai Yue rubbed her lower back. “But good exhausting. The cubs were happy.”

“They adore you.” Yàn Shū’s voice was soft. “All of them. It’s… remarkable. The way they trust you. The way they defend you.” He paused. “Hóng Yè called you ’Mama’ today. When he thought no one was listening.”

Bai Yue’s steps faltered. “He did?”

“To Xiao Hei. Something about making sure ’Mama’s tea’ was the right temperature.” Yàn Shū smiled, a small, tremulous thing. “He would die before admitting it, but…he cares for you. They all do.”

They reached her hut. Bai Yue stopped at the entrance, turning to face him.

“And you?” she asked quietly.

Yàn Shū’s face went through approximately seventeen shades of red. “I, that is, statistically, my emotional attachment to you has increased exponentially since—”

Bai Yue laughed, shaking her head.

She reached up, Yàn Shū was taller than her, somehow, despite his soft scholarly demeanor, and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

His brain visibly short-circuited. His ears went completely flat. His tail, that fluffy red panda tail, started wagging so hard it created a small breeze.

“Thank you,” Bai Yue whispered. “For being here. For believing in me. For writing those ridiculous poems.”

“Th-they’re not ridiculous,” Yàn Shū managed. “They’re…..they’re scientifically accurate depictions of—”

She kissed his cheek again. Just because she could.

“Goodnight, Yàn Shū.”

She slipped into her hut, leaving the scholar standing frozen in the moonlight, one hand pressed to his cheek, his tail still wagging.

“…Goodnight,” he whispered to empty air.

Then, very quietly, to himself:

“The amethyst dawn. Warmer than the sun. Statistically, I am the luckiest male in the territory.”

From inside the hut, Bai Yue’s voice floated out: “I can hear you!”

Yàn Shū squeaked and fled.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep