The morning came too quickly.

Hóng Yè had not slept. He had lain on his sleeping mat, staring at the ceiling of his father’s hut, listening to the sounds of the village waking around him.

The birds. The cooking fires. The distant laughter of children.

He had thought about jade eyes.

He had thought about pale green scales.

Hóng Yè’s jaw tightened.

He did not care.

He did not.

Young beastmen were sharpening their blades. Young females were weaving flowers into their hair, as if the hunt required floral accessories.

And everywhere, everywhere, there were whispers about Fēng Láng.

"Did you see him last night?"

"His fur is so shiny."

"Did you hear his voice? Like honey. Like warm honey."

"He looked at me. I think he looked at me."

"He looked at everyone."

"He looked at me longer."

Hóng Yè’s eye twitched. He walked faster.

He found a quiet corner near the eastern edge of the village, where the trees grew thick and the noise of the crowd faded to a murmur. He leaned against a tree and crossed his arms and waited for the hunt to begin.

He did not have to wait long.

A group of young jaguars gathered nearby, their voices low, their tails swishing. They were Hóng Yè’s age, maybe a little older, and they had been in Thousand Fang for only a few days. Already, they seemed more comfortable than he was.

"Did you see the snake girl?" one of them asked. His name was Páo Zhǎo, and he had a habit of talking too loudly.

"The one with the green scales?" another asked.

"Yes. Lì Jìng. She is from the southern marshes."

"She is beautiful."

"Did you see the way she smiled at Fēng Láng?"

Hóng Yè’s ears went warm.

"She did not smile at him," he said before he could stop himself.

The jaguars turned. They had not noticed him standing there, tucked against the tree, his arms crossed, his expression dark.

"She smiled at him," Páo Zhǎo said. "I saw it."

"She smiled at the fire," Hóng Yè said. "The light was in her eyes. It is difficult to tell direction in firelight."

The jaguars exchanged glances.

"Are you sure?" one asked.

Hóng Yè did not answer.

"You should find someone," Páo Zhǎo said, changing the subject. "The festival is for everyone. You do not have to be alone."

"I am not alone."

"You are standing by yourself. In the corner. Glaring at a tree."

"I am not glaring."

"Your face is doing it."

"I do not want to find someone," Hong Ye snapped. "It is stressful. Talking to people. Explaining things. Having to..." He gestured vaguely. "Exist near them."

The jaguars stared at him.

"You are strange," Páo Zhǎo said.

"I have been told."

Still, as the jaguars walked away, Hóng Yè found his eyes drifting across the clearing, searching for pale green scales.

He told himself he was not looking for her.

He was just......observing. Scanning the crowd. Assessing potential threats. It was a survival instinct.

He found her near the cooking fires, surrounded by young men.

There were four of them. Jaguars and visitors, their fur groomed, their smiles wide, their voices eager. They stood too close to her. They laughed too loudly at things that were not funny. They jostled for position, each trying to stand where she could see them best.

Lì Jìng was smiling. But her shoulders were tight. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Her jade eyes darted left and right, searching for an exit that was not there.

She was overwhelmed.

Hóng Yè’s chest tightened.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

And then—

"Go away."

The voice was not his.

Bai Yue had appeared beside Lì Jìng like a sudden storm, her hands on her hips, her purple eyes blazing. She did not yell. She did not need to.

"The hunt begins soon," she said. "Go prepare. All of you. Now."

The young men hesitated.

"Now," Bai Yue said.

They went. Bai Yue pulled Li Jing further away, from people that could possibly eavesdrop on them.

Lì Jìng let out a breath, her shoulders dropping, her hands unclasping. She looked at Bai Yue with gratitude.

"Thank you," she said. "They were very......enthusiastic."

"They were very annoying," Bai Yue said. She studied the girl in front of her. The dark hair. The jade eyes. The pale green scales.

"You are Hóng Yè’s mother," Lì Jìng said.

"I am."

Lì Jìng tilted her head. "He does not look like you."

"No," Bai Yue said. "He looks like his father. The same tendency to glare at things he does not understand."

LLì Jìng nodded quietly, her heart racing as she wondered why the mother of the boy she had just met was already rescuing her from unwanted suitors.

"Will you be my son’s friend?" she asked.

Lì Jìng’s cheeks went pink. "I......that is..."

"You do not have to say yes," Bai Yue said. "But he needs someone. Someone who is not family. Someone who does not already know all his stories. Someone who will ask him questions and wait for him to find the words."

Lì Jìng was quiet for a moment.

"I like talking to him," she said. "He is different. He does not pretend."

"No," Bai Yue smiled. "He does not."

"I do not see why I cannot be his friend."

Bai Yue’s smile widened.

"Perfect," she said. Her plan was already going into motion. "He likes fruits. The sweet ones. The ones that grow near the river bend. The trees are blooming this time of year. The fruit is ripe."

Lì Jìng’s brow furrowed. "The river bend?"

"The eastern path. Past the old oak. You cannot miss it."

Lì Jìng looked toward the eastern path. The trees were thick there, the undergrowth dense, the light filtering through the leaves in soft green patterns.

Hmm. She would be safe. No big deal.

"Alright then."

She walked toward it, her dark hair swaying, her pale green scales catching the light.