The dawn in Fragrant Rice Village did not arrive with a fanfare. It crept in, a slow, grey dilution of the night, accompanied by the chorus of contented frogs in the paddies and the first, tentative chirps of the sky-sparrows. Mist clung to the hollows between the hills, ghostly and soft, and the air carried the crisp, clean scent of a world washed anew.
Wei Xiao'ou was, unsurprisingly, still asleep.
He was not, however, in his bed. His cousin, Wei Tiezhu, discovered this when he stomped into their shared room in the family compound, his brow already set in its default expression of aggrieved determination.
"Xiao'ou! Get up! We have to fix that fence before Aunt Hong's ducks decide the ancestral hall roof looks like a good place to—"
The words died in his throat. The simple sleeping mat was empty, the thin blanket neatly folded at its foot. This was… unprecedented. Xiao'ou was many things, but an early riser was not one of them. A cold knot of dread formed in Tiezhu's stomach. Had the Lin clansmen come in the night? Had they spirited his cousin away for a discreet and brutal execution in some misty ravine?
He burst out of the room and into the main living area, where Grandfather Wei San was calmly sipping a cup of bitterbark tea. "Grandfather! He's gone! Xiao'ou is gone!"
Wei San took a slow sip, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Is he? Have you checked the third spirit-rice paddy from the western path? The one with the view of the twin peaks?"
Tiezhu stared. "Why would he be there?"
"The dew collects there in a particularly refreshing manner at this hour," the old man said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's excellent for the complexion, or so he tells me."
Blinking, Wei Tiezhu turned and marched out of the compound, his heavy boots scuffing the packed-earth path. He followed the winding trail between the paddies, the village slowly coming to life around him. He saw Old Man Li leading his aged spirit-ox to pasture, he heard the clang of Widow Wang's hammer as she beat the wrinkles out of her newly dyed fabrics, and he smelled the first, tantalizing whiffs of breakfast congee from a dozen hearths.
And there, in the exact paddy his grandfather had described, he found him.
Wei Xiao'ou was lying on his back on the same grassy mound, his straw hat once again covering his face. His hands were folded neatly on his chest, and his rusty umbrella lay beside him. He looked for all the world as if he had not moved an inch since the previous afternoon. The only difference was the faint, shimmering layer of Qi-Gathering Dew that coated his clothes and skin, making him glitter faintly in the nascent light.
"You… you're here?" Tiezhu spluttered, a wave of relief and fresh irritation washing over him.
The hat tilted slightly. One sleepy eye peered out from beneath the brim. "Tiezhu? You're loud. You'll scare the dew. It's skittish this morning."
"Scare the—?! Never mind! The fence! We have to fix it! Now!"
Xiao'ou sighed, a long, suffering sound that suggested he was being asked to move a mountain with a teaspoon. "The fence can wait. The dew won't. It's a matter of spiritual priorities." He adjusted his hat and settled back into perfect stillness.
Wei Tiezhu felt his eye begin to twitch in a rhythm that matched his cousin's snoring. He was about to resort to desperate measures—perhaps a full-bodied tackle—when a new voice interrupted.
"Let the boy be, Tiezhu. The dew is important."
Blind Granny Mo was making her slow, careful way along the path, one gnarled hand trailing along a bamboo guide-rail. Her milky eyes were turned towards the sky, but she seemed to see everything. In her other hand, she carried a small basket, from which steamed the most delicious-smelling steamed buns in the village.
"But Granny, the ducks—" Tiezhu began.
"The ducks are where they are meant to be, and the fence will be fixed when it is meant to be fixed," she said, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves. She stopped near the edge of the paddy and turned her sightless gaze directly towards the sleeping Xiao'ou. "The world turns without your pushing, young Tiezhu. Sometimes, the most powerful action is a well-timed… pause."
She reached into her basket and pulled out a plump, white bun. "For you, Little Gull. The one with the pork and lily-root filling. Your favorite."
To Tiezhu's astonishment, Xiao'ou sat up smoothly, as if pulled by a string. He took the bun with a reverent bow of his head. "Thank you, Granny Mo. Your foresight is, as always, impeccable."
The old woman cackled. "My foresight is in my nose, boy. I could smell your hunger from three paddies away." She then turned and began shuffling away. "Tiezhu! Stop gawking and come help an old woman to the square. I have buns to sell."
Defeated, Wei Tiezhu shot one last, frustrated look at his cousin, who was now happily munching on the bun, his eyes closed in bliss. With a grunt, he offered his arm to Blind Granny Mo and led her away.
As they left, Wei Xiao'ou finished the bun, licked his fingers with a satisfied smack, and lay back down. But he did not immediately resume his nap. He reached out and picked up a single, fat grain of spirit rice that had fallen from a nearby stalk. He held it up before his eyes, studying it.
"Skittish," he murmured to the grain. "But predictable. You always fall to the west when the wind is from the east. It's a design flaw."
He flicked the grain. It sailed through the air in a perfect, impossible arc, landing directly in the open beak of a scruffy spirit chicken that had just peeked out from the rice stalks. Big Yellow swallowed it with a satisfied gulp and fixed its beady gaze on Xiao'ou, as if expecting more.
—
The fence around the treasury garden was, in a word, a disaster. It looked as if a small, feisty tornado made of beaks and explosive flatulence had dedicated its life to its destruction. Several posts were leaning at drunken angles, and whole sections of woven bamboo were shredded.
Wei Tiezhu, having deposited Granny Mo at the village square, stood before the wreckage with a grim sense of purpose, a new bundle of bamboo poles slung over his shoulder. Aunt Wei Hong was there, her hands on her hips, surveying the damage with a mix of pride and exasperation.
"My beautiful, destructive darlings," she sighed. "They have such… spirit."
"They have such gunpowder in their guts," Tiezhu grumbled, hefting a heavy mallet. "Where's Xiao'ou? He should be here. This is his fault too!"
"His fault?" Aunt Hong raised an eyebrow. "Did he personally lure my ducks in here with promises of spiritual enlightenment?"
"No, but if he hadn't been napping, he could have helped shoo them away! Instead, he was busy using a young master from the Lin Clan as a mattress!"
Aunt Hong's lips quirked. "I heard. Serves the prissy boy right. Looking down on our rice." She patted Tiezhu's bulky arm. "Don't worry about Xiao'ou. Your grandfather has him today. Some sort of… ancestral duty."
Tiezhu paused, mallet held aloft. "Ancestral duty? Him? The only duty he knows is to his naptime."
"Even the laziest stream must sometimes feed the ancestral river," Aunt Hong said cryptically, before wading into the garden to coo at her partially demolished eggplants.
—
Meanwhile, in the cool, dim silence of the Wei Clan ancestral hall, Wei Xiao'ou was indeed performing an ancestral duty. He was, to be specific, sweeping.
Grandfather Wei San sat on a worn cushion before the altar, which held the memorial tablets of generations of Wei ancestors. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood incense and old, polished wood.
"A clean hall is a respectful hall," Wei San intoned, watching his grandson push a broom of rushes with a languid, almost hypnotic rhythm. "It shows the ancestors we remember them. That we care for the space they occasionally visit."
Xiao'ou said nothing. He swept a pile of dust and a single, dried leaf towards the door. His movements were efficient, effortless. He didn't seem to be putting any energy into it, yet the broom never missed a spot.
"The Lin Proudcrane incident has the village worried," Wei San continued, his voice casual. "They fear reprisal."
"Fear is a waste of a good sunrise," Xiao'ou murmured, his focus apparently on a stubborn bit of dirt in the corner.
"Perhaps. But it is a natural human emotion. One you seem to have… transcended." The old man's eyes were sharp. "You did not flinch under his spiritual pressure. Not even a little."
Xiao'ou paused, leaning on the broom. "I was sleepy. My flinching reflexes were dormant."
Wei San smiled faintly. He gestured to the floor near the altar. "There is a loose board there. Third from the left. It needs to be… resecured. As part of your sweeping duties."
Xiao'ou looked at the spot. He looked at his grandfather. For a long moment, their gazes held. Then, without a word, Xiao'ou walked over, knelt, and ran his fingers along the ancient, dark wood. He found the seam, and with a faint click, a section of the flooring lifted away, revealing a small, dark space beneath.
Inside rested a single object: a black-lacquered wooden box, about the length of a forearm. It was utterly plain, devoid of any carving or decoration, but the lacquer was so deep and perfect it seemed to swallow the light from the hall.
"This is the clan's most sacred treasure," Wei San said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "The only thing that remains from the time of our Immortal ancestors. It has been passed down, leader to leader, for ninety-nine generations. We are the hundredth."
Xiao'ou reached in and lifted the box. It was lighter than it looked. He placed it on the floor between them.
"Do you know what is inside?" Wei San asked.
Xiao'ou nodded slowly. "A piece of paper."
"Open it."
With calm, deliberate movements, Xiao'ou lifted the lid. The interior was lined with faded red silk. And resting in the center was a single sheet of parchment, yellowed with extreme age. It was completely, utterly blank.
"The Thirteenth Question," Wei San breathed. "It was asked by a child of our clan, a lifetime ago. The story says that when he asked it, words of cosmic fire burned themselves upon this page. And when he received the Answer, the words vanished, leaving only this. A blank page that holds the echo of a question that could shape realities."
Xiao'ou stared at the blank paper, his expression unreadable.
"What was the question, Xiao'ou?" Wei San's voice was barely audible.
Xiao'ou reached out and, with a tenderness that was unlike his usual lazy demeanor, traced the edge of the paper with his fingertip.
"He didn't ask 'why'," Xiao'ou said softly, his eyes distant. "Everyone asks 'why'. Why are we here? Why is there suffering? Why do we cultivate? Boring." He looked up at his grandfather, and a faint, mischievous sparkle lit his eyes. "He asked, 'What's the joke?'"
Wei San blinked. "The… joke?"
"The grand joke," Xiao'ou confirmed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "The one the heavens are telling at our expense. The one that makes the oldest ancestors chuckle in their graves. He asked to see the punchline."
The old storyteller was speechless. Of all the profound, universe-shaking queries he had imagined, this was not one of them. It was absurd. It was irreverent. It was… perfectly suited to the boy sitting before him.
"And the Answer?" Wei San finally managed.
Xiao'ou's smile became enigmatic. He closed the lid of the box, the soft click echoing in the silent hall. "The Answer was the delivery. It's not a 'what'. It's a 'how'." He stood up, lifting the box. "Where would you like me to put this?"
Wei San, his mind reeling, simply pointed to the hidden compartment. As Xiao'ou knelt to replace the box, securing the floorboard once more, the old man watched him. He saw the way his grandson moved, with an economy and grace that spoke of a control far beyond the Essence Condensation realm he publicly displayed. He saw the way the dusty light from the window seemed to avoid the rusty umbrella leaning against the wall.
When Xiao'ou stood and picked up the broom to resume his sweeping, the moment was over. The lazy disciple was back.
"The fence should be nearly fixed by now," Wei San said, collecting himself. "You should go and… supervise."
Xiao'ou sighed, the picture of put-upon reluctance. "Supervising is so taxing. It requires ocular focus and critical thinking. But if I must." He propped the broom neatly in the corner, collected his umbrella, and ambled out of the hall, leaving his grandfather alone with the blank page and a universe of new questions.
Wei San sat for a long time in the quiet dimness. He thought of the family motto: "Survive first, ascend later." He had always interpreted it as a warning to be cautious, to avoid notice, to endure.
But now, he wondered.
What if survival wasn't about hiding? What if it was about understanding the joke so well that you became the one telling it?
—
By the time Wei Xiao'ou arrived at the treasury garden, the fence was almost upright again, thanks to Wei Tiezhu's brute force and Aunt Hong's cheerful direction.
"Ah, the supervisor graces us with his presence!" Tiezhu grunted, hammering a final post into place with a series of thunderous blows.
Xiao'ou surveyed the work, leaning on his umbrella. "The cross-beam on the left is three finger-widths too high. It creates a resonant frequency that will attract woodpeckers. And the spiritual webbing on the right is too tight. It will chafe the bamboo and cause it to brittleness within the month."
Tiezhu froze, mallet held high. He stared at the beam. He stared at the weaving. How… how could he possibly know that? He looked at his cousin, who was now examining his own fingernails with great interest.
"Just… just help me with this last section," Tiezhu muttered, defeated.
As the two cousins worked—Tiezhu with grunting effort, Xiao'ou with seemingly casual, minimally effective taps of his umbrella that somehow solved problems Tiezhu had been struggling with for an hour—a commotion arose from the village square.
A merchant's caravan, a colorful train of a dozen mules and two covered carts, was rolling into the center of the village. And at the head of it, beaming from ear to ear, was a rotund young man they all knew.
"Fatty Lu!" Tiezhu called out, a genuine smile breaking through his frustration.
"Brother Tiezhu! Brother Xiao'ou!" Fatty Lu waved enthusiastically, his jolly frame wobbling as he dismounted. "You'll never believe it! I got the contract! The exclusive contract for spirit-grain distribution to the Jade Mist City garrison!"
This was huge news. It meant a stable, lucrative income for the village.
"That's wonderful, Fatty Lu!" Aunt Hong said, wiping her hands on her apron.
"It is! And to celebrate," Fatty Lu announced, puffing out his chest, "the first round of spirit cola is on me!"
He gestured to his assistants, who began unloading wooden casks from one of the carts. This was Fatty Lu's latest, and some said most dubious, invention: a fizzy, dark syrup made from fermented spirit-grain and a secret blend of herbs. He claimed it could "restore spiritual energy and joy in a single burp."
As the villagers gathered around, curious and skeptical, Wei Xiao'ou accepted a small clay cup of the bubbling, brown liquid. He took a sip. His eyes widened slightly.
"Well?" Fatty Lu asked, his face eager. "What do you think?"
Xiao'ou took another, longer sip. A slow, deep, and utterly satisfying belch escaped his lips, echoing slightly in the square. It was a burp of profound resonance, one that seemed to momentarily still the chatter of the sparrows.
He looked at the cup, then at Fatty Lu, a new respect in his eyes.
"Lu," he said solemnly. "You have just changed the world."
Fatty Lu's face split into a beatific smile. It was the highest praise he could have received.
That night, as the village slept, content with full bellies and the novel, fizzy sensation of spirit cola, Wei Xiao'ou stood once more in the courtyard. He wasn't looking at the moon this time. He was looking at the sky, at the countless, cold points of light.
In his hand, he held not the umbrella, but a single, white feather. It was from Lin Proudcrane's crane, caught in the branches of a tree near the field. He rolled it between his fingers.
"The game," he whispered to the night. "The boring, predictable game." He glanced back towards the ancestral hall, thinking of the black-lacquered box. "But every game needs a jester to keep things interesting."
He let the feather go. The capricious wind from the Jade Mist Hills caught it immediately, whisking it up and away, carrying it east, towards the distant, sleeping Lin Clan.
In his coop, Big Yellow dreamed again of the fire-bird. This time, it was laughing.