Hóng Yè watched her go.

He did not mean to. His eyes simply followed her, tracking the sway of her dark hair, the pale green scales on her bare arms catching the morning light like scattered emeralds.

She walked toward the eastern path, the one that led past the old oak and down to the river bend, and she did not look back.

His tail flicked.

He pressed it flat against his leg.

"You are staring."

Hóng Yè turned.

Zhāo Yàn stood behind him, his arms crossed, his nine tails fanned out behind him like a peacock displaying its feathers.

His crimson eyes were bright with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

Hóng Yè’s ears went warm.

"I am not staring," he said.

"You were staring."

"I was looking."

"At the snake girl."

"At the trees. She happened to be walking past them."

Zhāo Yàn’s smile widened. His tails swished behind him.

"Of course," he said. "The trees. Very interesting trees. I have heard that the trees on the eastern path are particularly fascinating this time of year."

Hóng Yè’s jaw tightened. He did not know what Zhāo Yàn wanted, but he knew that look. He had seen it before, on the faces of his fathers when they were about to say something embarrassing.

"What do you want?" he asked. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Zhāo Yàn’s eyebrows rose. "Want? I do not want anything. I am simply here to offer some friendly advice."

"Your advice is never friendly."

"It is always friendly. You are just not good at receiving it."

Hóng Yè said nothing. He loved Zhāo Yàn. He did. The fox lord had been part of his life for as long as he could remember, always there, always dramatic, always ready to offer unsolicited opinions on everything from Hóng Yè’s posture to the way he ate his food. He was not his father by blood, but he was his father in every way that mattered.

That did not mean Hóng Yè enjoyed being cornered by him.

"The hunt is about to start," Hóng Yè said. "Should you not be preparing?"

"I am prepared. I am always prepared. Preparation is for people who are not naturally magnificent."

Hóng Yè rubbed his temples.

"The eastern path," Zhāo Yàn continued, as if Hóng Yè had not spoken, "is very quiet this time of morning. The hunters do not go there. There is no game. Just trees. And the river. And the fruit trees that are blooming."

Hóng Yè frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"No reason." Zhāo Yàn’s tails swished faster. "I just thought you might want to know. Since you do not like hunting. Since you prefer to be alone. Since the eastern path is very peaceful and very secluded and very far from all of this noise."

Hóng Yè looked at him.

Zhāo Yàn looked back.

The silence stretched.

"You are being strange," Hóng Yè said.

"I am always strange."

"You are being stranger than usual."

"Impossible."

Hóng Yè studied his face. The smirk. The glittering eyes. The way his tails were vibrating with barely contained glee. Something was happening. Something Zhāo Yàn knew about and Hóng Yè did not.

Or maybe it had something to do with Li Jing.....

No. Surely his parents couldn’t be that devious.

And besides he also did not want to go to the hunt. The thought of standing in a crowded field, surrounded by shouting beastmen and animals, made his skin crawl. He would rather be anywhere else.

Even the eastern path.

"Fine," he said. "I will go."

Zhāo Yàn’s smile softened. Just slightly. Just enough that Hóng Yè almost missed it.

"Good," he said. "Enjoy the fruit."

He turned and walked away, his tails swaying behind him, his steps light and quick.

Hóng Yè watched him go.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

But he did not know what.

~

The eastern path was quiet.

Hóng Yè walked slowly, his feet crunching on the fallen leaves, his ears tuned to the sounds of the forest. Birds called in the distance. Somewhere, a river rushed over stones. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of wet earth and growing things.

He had been here before. Many times. It was where he came when the village became too loud, when the voices pressed in on him, when he needed to be alone.

The fruit trees were blooming. White flowers dotted the branches like scattered snow, their petals drifting down to cover the ground in soft white drifts. The fruit was not ripe yet, not fully, but there were a few early ones, round and golden, hanging just out of reach.

Hóng Yè stopped walking.

He was not alone.

She was sitting on a fallen log near the riverbank, her back to him, her dark hair falling across her shoulders. She was looking at the water, at the way the light danced on the surface, at the small fish that darted between the stones.

Lì Jìng.

Oh God.

Hóng Yè bit his lip.

He should leave. He should turn around and walk back to the village and pretend he had never come here. He should find somewhere else to hide, somewhere far from jade eyes and pale green scales.

But his feet would not move.

She turned.

Her jade eyes found his. Her lips parted.

"You came," she said.

Hóng Yè did not know what to say. He did not know why he was here. He did not know why she was here. The fruit trees. The eastern path. The place where hunters never went.

The fruit trees that are blooming.

Zhāo Yàn.

His jaw tightened.

"That devious sneaky old fox," he muttered.

Lì Jìng tilted her head. "What?"

"Nothing." He crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"

She looked at him for a long moment. Her cheeks were pink. Her scales caught the light.

"Your mother told me about the fruit trees," she said. "She said they were blooming. She said the fruit was sweet."

Hóng Yè stared at her.

"My mother sent you here."

"She suggested it."

"Suggested."

"Strongly suggested."

Hóng Yè closed his eyes. He could see them now, Bai Yue and Zhāo Yàn, their heads together, their voices low, their smiles sharp. Plotting. Meddling. Being absolutely insufferable.

"I am going to kill them," he said.

Lì Jìng laughed softly, covering her face.

"Your family is very..." She paused, searching for the word.

"Annoying?"

"I was going to say loving."

"They are the same thing."

She smiled at him.

"Well, you’re here. So do you want to sit?" Lì Jìng asked, gesturing to the log beside her.

Hóng Yè looked at the log. Looked at her. Looked back at the path that led to the village.

He sat.

The log was narrow. Their shoulders were almost touching.

Neither of them spoke.

The river rushed past. The birds called. The white petals drifted down from the trees, landing in Lì Jìng’s hair like tiny stars.

Hóng Yè noticed this.

He did not say anything.

But he noticed.

~

Back in the village, the hunt began.

Horns sounded. Beastmen shouted. Cubs cheered.

Bai Yue stood at the edge of the clearing, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the eastern path.

Zhāo Yàn appeared beside her.

"It is done," he said.

"Did he go?"

"He went."

"Did she go?"

"She went."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the hunters stream into the forest.

"Meddling," Zhāo Yàn said, "is exhausting."

"Meddling," Bai Yue said, "is necessary."

They looked at each other.

Their fists bumped together. Knuckle to knuckle. A small, secret gesture.

"Now we wait," Bai Yue said.

"Now we wait," Zhāo Yàn agreed.