The journey to the Black Water tribe was, in a word, exhausting.
Xin Yi had imagined a majestic trek through ancient forests, perhaps with a side of romantic tension with Qing Lin. Instead, she was currently knee-deep in a marsh that smelled like a wet basement, carrying a sack of soap supplies while a seven-year-old python prince tried to use her hair as a climbing rope.
"Xiao Long! For the love of everything holy, get your sticky fingers out of my ponytail!" Xin Yi shrieked, ducking as a low-hanging branch nearly swiped her face.
"But it's so soft!" Xiao Long chirped, swinging from her shoulder with the agility of a spider monkey. "And it smells like the purple flowers! Uncle Qing, why don't you have hair that smells like flowers? Yours just smells like rain."
Qing Lin, who was walking ahead didn't even turn around. "Because, Xiao Long, I don't spend three hours a day boiling fat and lavender. I have a kingdom to run."
