The world changed around her.
The forest faded. The scent of pine and rain dissolved into heat—thick, heavy, suffocating heat. Sand replaced soil beneath her feet, stretching into red dunes under a burning sky.
Desert.
A vast, unforgiving desert where even the wind tasted of dust and hunger.
Jiang Yu opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the blaze of light. The air shimmered with heat. Far beneath the surface, something pulsed—alive, uneasy, waiting.
A tremor rippled through the sand.
She crouched.
And then she saw it.
Half-buried in the dune before her was a tiny creature, no larger than her palm. Translucent pale-gold shell. A delicate tail curled into a trembling spiral. Six little legs that scrabbled weakly against the ground.
A baby scorpion.
It made a sound that no self-respecting scorpion should make:
"peep."
Jiang Yu stared at it in silence.
The little thing stared back—big, glossy black eyes full of… hope.
Then it lifted both front pincers—
And toddled straight into her hand.
Not even hesitating.
As if declaring:
You are mine now.
The corner of Jiang Yu's lip twitched.
"Another abandoned child," she murmured. "Do all the heavens only send me orphans?"
The scorpion peeped again—this time louder—wrapping its tiny tail around her thumb like a baby clinging to its mother's sleeve.
She tried to set it down.
It clung harder.
She raised an eyebrow.
"You are very small," she said. "What if I step on you by mistake?"
The scorpion responded by burying its face against her palm, body shaking pathetically.
She sighed.
"…Fine."
She lifted it and rested it in the crook of her neck, where it tucked itself close—content just to feel her warmth.
It hummed. Scorpions did not hum. But this one did.
This one was soft.
Ridiculously soft.
⸻
Life in the Desert
The desert was harsh, full of monsters hidden beneath the sand. Yet none dared approach her. The heat did not bother her, nor the endless dunes. Jiang Yu walked calmly, her steps steady and unhurried.
The baby scorpion spent most of the journey clinging to her shoulder—or sometimes her hair—like a piece of living golden jewelry.
Whenever something moved under the sand, the scorpion would hide beneath her collar.
Jiang Yu pretended she did not find this mildly endearing.
⸻
The First Threat
It came at dusk—when the sand turned blood-red and the shadows stretched long.
A Sand Viper, thick as a tree trunk, erupted from beneath the surface. Its fangs glistened with venom, its tongue flicking in the air.
The scorpion trembled. Its tail curled tightly—defensive, but weak.
The viper lunged.
Jiang Yu moved faster.
Her hand closed around the snake's throat. Bones snapped. The creature's long body thrashed before falling still.
She dropped the corpse into the sand.
The scorpion, now brave again, scuttled down her arm and puffed itself up proudly, as if to say, Yes, my mother is strongest.
Jiang Yu reached out and gently tapped its tiny head.
"You should learn to bite," she said.
The scorpion nodded vigorously.
But then climbed right back into her hand again.
Still soft.
⸻
Training a Gentle Creature
Teaching the wolf had been simple.
He had wanted strength.
The scorpion… wanted to be held.
When she tried to show it how to sting prey, it froze and refused to look.
When she tried to teach it how to hide, it simply crawled under her cloak and fell asleep.
When she attempted to place it on the ground—
It clawed its way back up like a child being separated from its mother.
Jiang Yu stared down at the tiny creature attached to her sleeve.
"…You are helpless," she concluded flatly.
The scorpion immediately tried to look more tough.
It failed.
With a long exhale, she lifted it again.
"Very well," she murmured. "If you cannot hunt—then I will teach you how to rule."
The scorpion perked up.
Soft did not mean weak. Some creatures conquered the world simply by being untouchable.
The desert would bend to her child—or it would burn.
⸻
The First Lesson
Night fell.
The dunes glittered under starlight like waves of silver. Jiang Yu sat atop a high ridge, the scorpion curled asleep in her hands.
She did not look at it as she spoke.
Her voice was quiet, almost gentle.
"You are small now. Gentle. But remember this."
The scorpion's little body stirred, listening.
"The world will not love you for being soft."
Her fingertips brushed its delicate shell.
"So you will learn to be soft to yourself— and merciless to others."
The scorpion's tail twitched once.
Then it nestled itself more firmly against her.
Not afraid.
Simply trusting.
Completely.
Jiang Yu's chest tightened—not painfully, but like something buried long ago shifted slightly.
"…Sleep," she murmured.
The scorpion already had