Chapter 95: The Tiny Tyrant of Thousand Fang

“Mother, are you out of your mind?”

Han Shān’s voice echoed through the hut the next morning, sharp enough to cut through the fog of exhaustion that had settled over Bai Yue’s brain.

Bai Yue blinked groggily from the bed, Zhēn nestled against her chest, finally quiet after what had felt like seventeen consecutive hours of screaming.

The morning light streamed through the cracks in the hut, and she desperately wanted to go back to sleep.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

Hán Bīng stood in the center of the room, looking as regal and composed as ever, holding what appeared to be a small bowl of……something.

“It is a traditional Snow Leopard postpartum remedy,” Hán Bīng said calmly. “Very nutritious. Very strengthening.”

“What is it?” Bai Yue asked warily.

“Ants.”

Silence.

“Ants,” Bai Yue repeated flatly.

“Specifically, queen ants. They are rich in protein and essential nutrients that aid recovery after birth. The elders recommend consuming them within the first three days for optimal—”

“MOTHER.” Han Shān’s voice cracked. “She is not eating ants.”

“Many Snow Leopard females have eaten ants. It is tradition.”

“So is jumping off cliffs to prove your bravery. We don’t do that anymore either!”

Hán Bīng’s eyebrow arched. “Speak for yourself. I jumped off a cliff when I was pregnant with you. It built character.”

“It built a concussion! You were unconscious for three days!”

“It was worth it.”

“Thank you for the thought,” Bai Yue said carefully, “but I think I’ll stick to… normal food.”

Hán Bīng’s expression flickered with disappointment. “Suit yourself. But when you’re weak and exhausted, don’t come crying to me.”

“I am already weak and exhausted,” Bai Yue muttered.

As if on cue, Zhēn stirred, her tiny face scrunching up in preparation for what Bai Yue had come to recognize as The Pre-Cry Face.

“Oh no,” Bai Yue whispered. “Please, baby, no. Mama just sat down.”

Zhēn’s face scrunched harder.

“I’m serious. I haven’t slept in—” she did the math, failed, “—a very long time.”

Zhēn opened her mouth.

And screamed.

Not a normal baby cry. This was a full-throated, world-ending, apocalypse-level scream that seemed physically impossible to come from something so small.

“How is she so loud?” Bai Yue groaned, shifting the baby to her other arm. “She’s tiny. She should make tiny sounds. This is….this is assault.”

“She has strong lungs,” Han Shān said proudly. “Like her mother.”

“Your mother just tried to feed me ants. I’m not taking that as a compliment right now.”

Zhēn screamed louder.

“I fed you,” Bai Yue told the baby. “I changed you. I held you for hours. What more do you want from me?”

Zhēn’s response was more screaming.

“She wants you,” Zhāo Yàn observed from the corner, where he had been watching with an expression of fascination. “Specifically. Only you.”

“But I need to sleep.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“I need to eat.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“I need to—” Bai Yue gestured vaguely at herself. “Exist.”

Zhāo Yàn shrugged elegantly. “She doesn’t care.”

They had discovered this particular truth about Zhēn within the first few hours.

The tiny queen of Thousand Fang had exactly one requirement for happiness: being held by Bai Yue. At all times. Preferably with skin contact. Definitely not by anyone else.

The moment Bai Yue tried to hand her to someone else, anyone else, the screaming commenced.

Han Shān had tried. The mighty Snow Leopard Alpha, terror of the northern peaks, had been reduced to a puddle of desperation as his newborn daughter screamed in his arms as if he were personally trying to murder her.

“What did I do wrong?” he’d asked, genuinely devastated.

“Nothing,” Bai Yue had assured him. “She just wants me.”

“But I’m her father.”

“She doesn’t care.”

Zhāo Yàn had tried next, employing his considerable charm and nine very fluffy tails. Zhēn had screamed louder.

“Impossible,” he’d muttered. “Everyone loves my tails.”

“Not the baby.”

“The baby is wrong.”

Yàn Shū had attempted a scholarly approach, gently explaining the benefits of paternal bonding to the infant. Zhēn had screamed so hard she’d turned purple.

“She’s very……opinionated,” Yàn Shū had said weakly, handing her back.

Now, Bai Yue sat in the bed, exhausted beyond reason, as Zhēn screamed her tiny lungs out for no apparent reason.

“She’s fed,” Bai Yue listed. “She’s changed. She’s warm. She’s been held constantly. What does she WANT?”

“Perhaps she is cold,” Hán Bīng suggested, still holding the ant bowl. “Snow Leopard cubs require specific temperature conditions.”

“It is literally a sauna in here.”

“Perhaps she is hot, then.”

“She has been hot, cold, hungry, full, tired, awake—” Bai Yue listed on her fingers. “Nothing works. She just screams until I hold her, and then she stops, and then I try to put her down for ONE SECOND to use the facilities, and she starts screaming again.”

“This is normal,” Wēn Jìng said cheerfully, appearing in the doorway with a tray of food. Actual food. Not ants. “You must remember, my grandson was like that too. You’ll get past this. You’ve had 3 kits already. You can do it.”

Bai Yue groaned. Right.

She had a literal fox kit, a panda teenager, and an adorable snowball.

One more wouldn’t hurt.

~

The morning passed in a blur of feeding, changing, and attempting to sleep in two-minute increments.

Bai Yue discovered that breastfeeding was….an experience.

On one hand, it was beautiful. Intimate. A connection with her daughter that felt primal and profound.

Especially since she had never had a child before.

On the other hand, it was exhausting and slightly weird, and having an audience made it significantly more awkward.

“Can you two… not stare?” she asked Han Shān and Zhāo Yàn, who had positioned themselves on either side of the bed like sentinels.

“We are not staring,” Han Shān said, definitely staring.

“We’re observing,” Zhāo Yàn corrected. “It’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Observing is scientific. Staring is creepy.”

“You’re both being creepy.”

Zhēn latched on with the determination of a tiny predator, making satisfied little sounds as she ate. Her tiny hand pressed against Bai Yue’s chest, fingers splayed.

“She’s so small,” Han Shān whispered. “How is she so small?”

“She was just born yesterday,” Bai Yue reminded him. “Babies are small.”

“She should be bigger. I should feed her more. My Rui Xue was bigger. Perhaps the mountain goat milk would help—”

“She’s fine. She’s eating.”

“But she’s so small.”

“You said that.”

“It bears repeating.”

Zhāo Yàn reached out one finger and gently stroked Zhēn’s cheek. The baby’s eyes, those beautiful amethyst eyes, flickered toward him briefly before closing in contentment.

“She likes me,” Zhāo Yàn breathed.

“She’s eating. She’s not thinking about you.”

“She looked at me. That was a look of love.”

“That was a look of ’stop touching me while I’m eating.’”

“It was love.”

Eventually, Bai Yue convinced them to leave.

Not completely, they refused to go far, but at least to the other side of the hut where they could “observe” from a slightly less creepy distance.

Wēn Jìng took over baby duty for exactly forty-five seconds while Bai Yue used the facilities and ate actual food (no ants, thank you very much). Those forty-five seconds involved approximately thirty seconds of Zhēn screaming, ten seconds of Wēn Jìng trying to soothe her, and five seconds of Wēn Jìng handing her back with a slightly manic smile.

“She has strong opinions,” Wēn Jìng said. “Good. Strong opinions are important.”

“She’s a baby. Her only opinion should be ’milk good.’”

“She has many opinions. Milk good. Mama only. Everyone else terrible.” Wēn Jìng nodded approvingly. “She knows what she wants. That’s a leader.”

“She’s a tyrant.”

“Same thing.”

~

By afternoon, Bai Yue had reached a new level of exhaustion she hadn’t known existed.

Her body ached. Her eyes burned. Her brain felt like it was full of cotton.

But every time she looked at Zhēn, at that tiny, perfect face, at those purple eyes staring up at her with complete trust, it was all worth it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured to the baby. “That’s the only reason I haven’t traded you to the monkeys.”

Zhēn gurgled.

“That’s not a real threat. The monkeys would probably give you back. They’re chaotic, but they’re not monsters.”

Another gurgle.

“Your fathers are obsessed with you. Did you know that? They’ve been hovering since you were born. Han Shān keeps trying to build you things. Zhāo Yàn keeps trying to show you his tails. Yàn Shū is writing poems about you.”

Gurgle.

“They’re going to spoil you rotten. You know that, right? You’re going to be the most spoiled baby in the entire Beast Realm.”

Gurgle-gurgle.

“And I’m going to love every second of it.”

Bai Yue pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“I love you, Zhēn,” she whispered. “More than anything.”

The baby’s eyes fluttered closed, finally, finally asleep.

Bai Yue held her breath, afraid to move, afraid to wake her.

Three minutes passed. Five. Ten.

Maybe, Bai Yue thought, maybe I can just….close my eyes. For a second. Just a tiny second.

She leaned back against the pillows, still holding Zhēn against her chest.

Her eyes drifted closed.

~

After what felt like eternity, Bai Yue’s eyes snapped open.

Zhēn was still in her arms, still asleep. But the hut was quiet. Too quiet.

Then she heard it.

A distant sound. Faint at first, but growing louder.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Wings.

Dragon wings.

Outside, someone shouted: “WHAT IS THAT?!”

Another voice: “DRAGONS! DRAGONS ARE BACK!”

Han Shān’s roar: “EVERYONE TO DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!”

Zhāo Yàn’s voice, sharp with alarm: “Bai Yue! Stay inside! Don’t move!”

The wingbeats grew louder, closer, until they were directly overhead.

Bai Yue clutched Zhēn to her chest, heart pounding.

The ground shook with the impact of something massive landing.

Silence.

Then—

“STAR-THIEF!”

That voice. That ridiculous, arrogant, utterly unmistakable voice.

“WHERE IS MY SOUP?! I HAVE RETURNED AND I REQUIRE NOURISHMENT!”

Bai Yue’s jaw dropped.

Cāng Jì?????

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