{I'm not a little boy anymore!}

At these moments, all his military training evaporates, and he becomes that kitten again—comely, funny, and touchingly defenseless before his own need for approval.

His calmness seems supernatural to Xiao Zhan: it is as deep as the hollow core of ancient bamboo, and just as full of quiet, concentrated power. He is the living embodiment of the spirit of Xiuzhongling: outwardly simple and open, but inside he keeps the bottomless, clear dew of wisdom that nourishes the entire village. And Xiao Ran, looking at him, freezes in mute admiration, dreaming of one day getting even one iota closer to this ideal.

He is a child of dawn, growing up under an eternally cloudy sky, and his main battle is not with enemies, but with his own reflection in the eyes of someone whose opinion means everything to him. The Xiuzhongling Clan is not like a harsh fortress. It is a small, cozy village, embedded in the eternally cloudy bamboo groves so organically that it seems as if houses grow out of the ground along with bamboo shoots. Here they worship not menacing spirits, but the very breath of this world: the wind and the rustle of leaves. The wind is an invisible protector, and bamboo is the foundation of everything.

The locals, who live in harmony with this cult, have achieved incredible mastery in handling bamboo. From its hollow trunks, they weave baskets, build light, sturdy houses, make elegant furniture and musical instruments, whose sound merges with the rustle of the grove. Their durable, lightweight and breathable goods are appreciated throughout the area, and the bamboo pier by the river is always full of trading junks.

The wind spirit is not an abstraction here. A long time ago, the clan received the blessing of the Wind Dragon (Long Feng), and since then its inhabitants have been in special harmony with the air element. They do not subdue the wind, but negotiate with it, asking for a passing breath. Masters use it in everyday life, and the most skilled ones use it for flying. They don't need massive machines: dexterity, faith, and a suitable tool are enough. Xiao Ran, for example, stands with his feet on his wide-brimmed bamboo hat, and the wind, as if understanding him, picks him up, carrying him through the gray sky between the emerald tops.

At the head of this fragile harmony is the elder teacher Xiao Ran. He monitors not only the training of young warriors, but also that bamboo cutting does not disrupt the rhythm of the grove, that trade does not generate greed, and that the wind in the houses is only gentle.

Xiao Ran, a sixteen-year-old disciple of the clan, has been the personal disciple of one of the elders for two years. This clan is hidden in the eternally cloudy bamboo groves, where the gray sky gently filters the light, coloring the world in shades of emerald and lead.

His appearance is a curiosity even for these places. Her raven-black, luxuriant hair is cropped short, but thin, almost weightless strands fall from the back of her head to the small of her back, looking like a brush mark smeared through the air. Over his left eye is a practical, but not without grace, bandage made of dark green, slightly stretchy fabric, hiding something that the clan does not ask about. He is dressed simply and functionally: a dark green working hanfu made of durable canvas, belted with a wide sash in which you can carry tools and a handful of dried plums for a snack.

Beneath this humble shell lies honed strength. The sword in his hands is not an ornament, but an extension of his will: fast, precise movements, devoid of pretentiousness, but deadly effective. In hand-to-hand combat, he is as agile and unpredictable as a mountain stream. Hooligans who dare to hurt the weak, just one glance and a few stingy movements are enough to end up on the ground, stunned by their own arrogance.

All his loyalty, all his ardent zeal, is completely devoted to the teacher. He wants to prove that he deserves to be not just a pet, but a support, a true successor. And this is the most painful place. No matter how hard Xiao Ran tries to master the icy calm of a warrior, the teacher continues to see in him the very puppy he brought under his roof. A gentle sigh, a familiar hand stroking the top of his short—cropped head, a kind cooing - every such moment burns the young man with resentment. He turns away, makes a stern face, but a treacherous blush fills his cheeks, and his lips do not obey by themselves and pout. At these moments, all his military training evaporates, and he becomes that kitten agai