Dawn crept over Zhenbei like a hesitant houseguest, unsure if it should disturb the aftermath of last night's chaos.
Mingyu, naturally, was still asleep under his plum tree, surrounded by empty dumpling plates that Aunt Bao kept quietly replacing with full ones.
"I've never seen someone eat in their sleep before," Li Xuan marveled, watching him unconsciously navigate chopsticks to his mouth with perfect accuracy.
"Oh, this is nothing," Rui Lin smirked, fanning herself. "Once saw him catch and eat a flying dumpling during a meditation session. His eyes were closed the entire time."
The village was slowly returning to its peculiar version of normal. Old Wang had negotiated a peace treaty between his turnips and the crater left by last night's battle. The local chickens had formed a martial arts society, inspired by the one that had tripped Bao Ping. And Elder Yan had covered every available surface with theoretical diagrams of what he now called "Osmotic Sloth Cultivation."
"The genius lies in its inefficiency!" he proclaimed to anyone who would listen, which was mainly his scrolls. "By doing nothing, one does everything! By sleeping, one awakens! By—" he paused as a dumpling mysteriously flew into his open mouth.
"Less talking, more eating," Mingyu mumbled, eyes still closed.
Bao Ping, who had spent the morning trying to replicate Mingyu's techniques, had succeeded only in discovering fourteen new ways to fall down.
He now sat cross-legged beside his mentor's tree, attempting to master what he called the "Profound Drowsy Stance."
"I think I'm getting it!" he announced, right before slumping sideways into a bush.
"Perfect form," Mingyu commented. "The bush breaking your fall was an advanced technique."
Li Xuan paced nearby, frost trailing from her heels. "The Night Beasts were just scouts. More will come. We need to prepare, to train, to—"
"Take a nap?" Mingyu suggested.
"Be serious!"
"I am. Have you seen how hard it is to maintain the perfect nap? The angle of sunlight, the breeze coefficient, the optimal dumpling-to-tea ratio..."
Rui Lin laughed, a sound like crackling flames. "He's not entirely wrong. I once saw him adjust his sleeping position to dodge an assassin's blade. The assassin was so impressed he retired and opened a bedding shop."
Just then, a messenger hawk swooped down, circled the village three times (as if double-checking its directions), and crashed directly into Mingyu's stomach. Rather than disturbing him, it somehow ended up nestled in a comfortable position, looking slightly dazed but oddly content.
"Message from the Imperial City," it announced, before dozing off.
Li Xuan retrieved the scroll from its carrier. As she read, her eyebrows climbed steadily higher.
"The Emperor requests our presence," she said finally. "Apparently, word of last night's battle has spread. They're calling it 'The Night When Tigers Yawned.'"
"Terrible title," Mingyu muttered. "Needs more mention of dumplings."
"This is serious! The Imperial Court wants to understand your... your..."
"Profound mastery of strategic laziness?" Rui Lin suggested.
"Actually, they used those exact words," Li Xuan admitted.
Elder Yan nearly fell off his roof in excitement. "The Imperial Archives! Think of the scholarly possibilities! The ancient texts! The—"
"Comfortable beds?" Mingyu opened one eye.
"Yes! No! I mean... this is academic!"
Aunt Bao emerged from her kitchen, wiping her hands. "If you're going to the Imperial City, you'll need provisions. Their court food is all presentation, no substance. Like their politics."
"You've been to court?" Bao Ping asked, extracting himself from the bush.
"Girl's got to make a living," she shrugged. "Also, might have started a small revolution in the palace kitchens. Nothing major, just some strong opinions about proper seasoning."
Mingyu finally sat up, causing the messenger hawk to slide into a more comfortable position on his lap. "Do we have to go? The Imperial City is so... vertical. All those stairs."
"The fate of the realm might depend on it," Li Xuan pressed.
"Can't we just send a strongly worded letter? Something like 'Dear Empire, please stop building stairs, they're exhausting. Best regards, The Tiger Who'd Rather Not Climb Things.'"
But even as he complained, there was a glint in his eye that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. The mark on his belly pulsed softly, and for a moment, everyone caught a glimpse of ancient memories in its light—grand halls, celestial battles, and what looked suspiciously like a heavenly banquet hall.
Rui Lin noticed it first. "You've been there before, haven't you? To the Imperial City?"
"Might have passed through. Once. Or twice. There was this really good noodle stand..."
"When?"
"Oh, you know... couple hundred years ago? Time gets fuzzy when you're accidentally cultivating through multiple dynasties."
The silence that followed was broken only by Elder Yan's brush frantically scratching against parchment.
"Well," Mingyu sighed, standing with the fluid grace that still caught everyone off guard, "I suppose we should pack. Aunt Bao, we'll need—"
"Already done," she called from her kitchen. "Packed enough food to feed an army. Or you for a day."
"The Imperial City is five days' journey," Li Xuan pointed out.
"Like I said, packed enough food."
Bao Ping bounced excitedly. "A real adventure! With a quest! And a journey! And probably dramatic battles!"
"And naps," Mingyu added firmly. "Many, many naps."
As the village prepared for their departure, something shifted in the air. The lazy afternoon light took on a golden quality that seemed to follow Mingyu's movements. Even the local cats, notorious critics of everything, gathered to watch with approval in their half-closed eyes.
"You know," Rui Lin mused, falling into step beside him, "for someone who claims to hate adventure, you seem surprisingly prepared."
Mingyu shrugged, a gesture that somehow contained centuries of wisdom. "Best way to get back to napping is to deal with whatever's preventing the nap."
"And what's preventing it this time?"
He looked up, past the village, past the mountains, to where the horizon met the sky. For a moment, the ancient power in him stirred, like a tiger shifting in its sleep.
"Something old," he said quietly. "Something that forgot that sometimes the most powerful force isn't the one that roars loudest, but the one that knows when to rest, when to wait, and..."
"When to eat?" Aunt Bao suggested, appearing with another plate of dumplings.
"Exactly." He smiled, and in that smile was the wisdom of countless perfect afternoon naps. "Now, who's carrying my pillow?"