Uncle Hei had a long-standing rule:
He was not a softie.
He did not preen. He did not coddle. He did not baby.
He simply protected, growled, grunted, carried Xiulan on his back when the child stubbed a toe, murdered three snake demons who looked at his baby weirdly, and once made a jade comb from his own claws because the "other one didn't glide smoothly through your hair." He only held him in his mouth when he was a baby, a baby who deserved that much effort and he needed something to hold in his mouth.
Totally normal uncle behavior.
Not fatherly. Not doting. Certainly not… emotional. Never a… softy.
Except that he was glaring daggers at a female cultivator who had just handed Xiulan a flower and patted his head.
"Pretty," the girl cooed softly. "So delicate… It's like the forest sculpted you with petals and moonlight. You must be so loved."
Xiulan beamed. "I made this headband from dead moss!"
The girl's eyes shimmered like she was about to cry. "Of course you did, sweet child…"
Behind them, Uncle Hei cracked a branch in half with his teeth. Not because it was in his way. Just because. His tail thumped once against the tree trunk, like a silent warning.
Baby Po appeared at his side and handed him a cooked scorpion leg. "You're growling again."
"I'm breathing."
"You're jealous."
"I don't get jealous."
"You are radiating the energy of 'touch-my-child-again-and-die.'"
"I just do not like these humans. They come once a week to teach him stupidity—"
"They call it etiquette class."
"—and they even told him not to eat what we give him—"
"They were not aware of his immunity to poison and his tastes."
Uncle Hei huffed. "She looks at him with eyes. Motherly eyes. That is worse than romantic. It is sticky. She is going to start knitting. And—and Xiulan might start liking it…"
"So, you are jealous."
"I am not!"
Baby Po did not dignify a response, all he did was scoff.
Meanwhile, Xiulan was learning how to cultivate—sort of. Under the teachings of the female cultivator, and Elder Redcheeks who under the pretext of helping came to keep eye on the female cultivator.
Elder Redcheeks sat them under the Tree That Glows (they had not bothered naming it anything else), with squirrel fur in one hand and a brush dipped in jade water in the other.
"This is called 'Opening the Meridians,'" The Female Cultivator said, while Elder Redcheeks flicking his tail like a patient instructor said, "Try breathing through your belly button."
Xiulan blinked. "Why?"
"Because humans like making things hard." Elder Redcheeks grumbled.
Xiulan obeyed. The tree glowed brighter. Birds fell asleep mid-air. The grass started sprouting flowers shaped like his face.
The female cultivator paled.
A passing disciple fell to her knees. "He's… refining qi without a core?!"
The female cultivator gasped, "No, he is the core."
"Is that even allowed?!" The passing disciple came close.
"Shut up, we're not calling him a boy!"
The sky rumbled just in case.
Xiulan did not notice.
Late into the night, Baby Po and Uncle Hei slept outside the tree house under the white-glowing moon.
Xiulan was scribbling notes into his leaf-diary.
"Baby Po said I carry all the qi. Like a soup pot. I can absorb sun qi, moon qi, even angry wolf qi when Uncle Hei kicks things.
Today I grew a vine on my finger. It said hello. I think it is a cousin."
He looked out the window brightly. "Uncle Hei! Do you think if I sleep upside down tonight, I can grow mushroom lashes?"
Uncle Hei sleepily grunted. "No."
Xiulan pouted.
Baby Po whispered, "Maybe."
Uncle Hei growled and Baby Po stuck his tongue.
That night, as the stars blinked lazily above and the forest wrapped itself around the child like a lullaby, Uncle Hei sat beside Xiulan's sleeping form. He watched the boy's chest rise and fall, tiny sprouts dancing on his sleeves.
He muttered quietly, "If anyone takes you from me… they'll meet teeth, claws, and a thousand poisons."
He tucked the moss blanket up to Xiulan's chin and added, "…Stupid child. Always smiling. Soft. No defense. Who smiles at a snake trying to kill them?"
Xiulan turned in his sleep and mumbled, "Love you too, Daddy Hei."
Uncle Hei turned into a wolf and leapt into a tree out of sheer embarrassment.
Baby Po cackled from the shadows. "Tsundere confirmed."
Xiulan slept with a smile brimming with love and peace.
Baby Po padded through the dewy grass before dawn, carrying in his mouth a bundle of steaming moss-buns stuffed with glowroot porridge—a recipe only his species could perfect. In one paw he clutched a carved wooden spoon, and in the other a feathered fan to waft away the last wisps of smoke.
He reached Xiulan's sleeping mat, where the boy lay curled beneath a blanket of woven fern fronds. Baby Po set the porridge down gently on a flat stone, then tapped Xiulan's shoulder with the fan.
"Lan-Lan," he rumbled in his gentle growl, "wake up. Breakfast is served."
Xiulan stirred, one eye cracking open. He sniffed the steam. "What's that smell?"
"Moss-bun porridge," Po said proudly, fluffing his tail. "It hums with morning qi." He dipped the spoon and held it under Xiulan's chin.
Groaning like a bear with a stone in its stomach, Xiulan rolled onto his back. "Po, it's too early." He yawned so wide a moth flew out.
"No!" Baby Po clucked, lifting a spoonful to Xiulan's lips. "Eat, or I'll tickle your nose with a beetle."
Xiulan sat up with a squeak. "Fine, fine." He tasted the warm porridge. His eyes widened—sweet, earthy, and just the right hint of spice.
Po beamed. "Made it myself. Picked the moss at first light, milled the root by moonlight."
Xiulan scooped another bite. "You're… amazing."
Po's ears twitched. "I know."
The sky above the forest cracked open with a lazy yawn of thunder—half wake-up call, half approval. Xiulan grinned. "Morning, Thunder."
Baby Po chuckled, setting another bun on the stone. "Morning, Little Storm."
In the golden glow of dawn, the forest whispered its approval, and Xiulan, awakened by friendship and porridge, began his day.