The Heavenly Miss Xiulan (Who Is Most Definitely Not a Boy)

Leaf Diary Entry: "I thought home meant roots, but maybe I was just potted for a while."

The forest rustled that morning, louder than usual. Xiulan blinked up at the dew-beaded leaves above his head and stretched out like a lazy snake across Baby Po's back. His long green robe—a new one sewn together from fox silk and moss thread by Auntie Porcupine—shimmered in the golden light. It was his 9th birthday, and for once, there wasn't a mushroom shrieking about soup.

No, today the forest was too quiet.

Baby Po huffed, tossing him off her back with a well-practiced shrug. "Up! You are a grown girl now."

"Boy," Xiulan mumbled face down in the moss while divine thundered in the clouds to show off might their might. Then paused. "Wait—are we even sure about that anymore?"

"Shh!" The squirrel chieftain hissed from a branch. "You want to call down thunder again? We just fixed the snake hole from last time."

Xiulan sighed. He had grown used to the forest's weird love. He had even grown used to the thunderbolts from the sky that zapped confused cultivators for calling out his gender. At some point, he had stopped trying to correct them and instead focused on his farm, his green tea experiments, and his rune-cabbage, which Elder Fang insisted can cause a new sensation if it could turn hairs from straight to curly or vice-versa.

But today… there was something else in the air.

Old Man Tu came stomping through the trees, dragging behind him an entire boar roasted with spicy mushrooms and a squirrel's interpretation of "human pastries" (which were really just mushroom caps filled with honey and cracked nuts).

"Time to feast!" he roared. "The forest's last banquet for our little forest blossom!"

Xiulan blinked. "Last… banquet?"

Duoduo, now in human form with feathers still sticking out awkwardly from her collar, cawed with laughter. "You are going to the human world, Maiden Xiulan! Your uncle said so!"

"He WHAT?"

Xiulan's jaw fell open. His freshly gathered basket of spirit carrots tumbled to the moss, and one of them glowed a guilty red.

"Uncle Hei said I was supposed to stay here," he said slowly. "Forever. He said this forest was my home. That I would only visit the human lands when necessary, and only if I wore dull colors."

Baby Po padded up beside him, licking his paw and fixing his golden eyes on his face.

"He lied," he said with alarming calmness. "Also, wear dull colors? Absolutely not. The forest voted—your aesthetic is now part of the local ecosystem."

"I voted against it," muttered the Whispering Tree from somewhere in the background. "Too green. I cannot compete."

"But why?" Xiulan whispered, stepping away from the boiling pots, dancing mushrooms, and flying parrots with party hats. "Why now?"

From the side, Young Master Jin walked in like a glowing scroll of gold leaf, fanning himself with an abacus and smelling faintly of osmanthus wine and profit. His silk robes rustled as he grinned and placed a gilded paper on the forest's old moss table.

"Because you have grown roots here, but branches must stretch. And also, I have invested in an education fund with 22% compound interest. Your new scrollwork uniform was not cheap."

"Did you just say compound interest—"

"The human world needs your tea, your carrots, and your face," Young Master Jin said solemnly. "Also, your spiritual qi radiates at such an intense level that cultivators now camp outside the forest to smell your farm soil."

Baby Po tilted her head. "Also, you might accidentally become the patron deity of root vegetables if we don't give you something else to do."

Xiulan turned to Old Man Tu. "And you knew?"

The bear rubbed his nose. "I did. I was going to tell you… maybe next year. Or never."

The moment the sect master arrived, the air shifted.

A soft pressure fell over the forest—not heavy or oppressive, but graceful, like the passing of clouds. The birds fell silent. Even the twin monkeys, mid-prank with a stolen banner, froze in place.

He stepped forward from the mist, a man draped in white, embroidered with ink-dragons that curled across his sleeves and disappeared into the folds of his robes. His eyes, quiet and deep, swept over the forest and landed on Xiulan with neither judgment nor confusion—only a calm, ancient understanding.

Xiulan blinked at him. "You're… clean."

Behind him, Duoduo the parrot whispered loudly, "Does he bathe in spiritual mist every morning or is that just a naturally smug glow?"

Xiulan leaned toward Baby Po. "Is that the person who's going to teach me how to be… a human maiden?"

"He's the sect master," Baby Po murmured back. "He only teaches core disciples."

"Then why is he here?"

Uncle Hei finally stepped forward, arms crossed, gaze cold. "Because I wrote to him. Twice. Then broke into his sect's spiritual pigeon messaging array and sent it directly to his private cloud line."

Xiulan gaped. "You can do that?"

"I used to eat golden cloud eagles. They remember."

The sect master did not seem offended. In fact, he smiled faintly and offered a respectful nod to Uncle Hei—something that startled everyone, including Jin, who nearly dropped his fan.

"I've heard much about the child," the sect master said. "And the forest. And the… thunder issues."

"Not my fault," Xiulan muttered. "Heaven is being petty."

The sect master's gaze did not waver. "I believe it. Which is why I have come to ask—not command—if you would become my disciple."

Everyone turned toward Xiulan.

Baby Po nudged him softly. "We'll always be here."

Old Man Tu gave a low rumble of approval. "Still your family, cub."

Even the Whispering Tree creaked gently. "Go on, leafy bug. I am tired of hearing you name your vegetables out loud."

Xiulan stared at the sect master, then at his home, his garden, his squirrel-taught dance circle, his vine swing, his soup pot (which currently contained a duck who refused to leave), and his diary leaves.

Then he did what any sensible forest-raised spiritual prodigy would do.

He cried.

"Wahhhh—I don't want to go!" he wailed, flopping onto the grass. "Why can't I learn cultivation here?! The radishes have been good sparring partners!"

The sect master, to his credit, crouched down to Xiulan's level and said seriously, "We can plant radishes in the sect."

"Can they talk?"

"No."

"Useless," Xiulan sniffled.

But he went anyway.

Because Uncle Hei gently tugged him up with a sigh and brushed off his robe.

Because Baby Po pushed a small satchel of spirit seeds into his arms.

Because Young Master Jin dramatically sobbed into a handkerchief made of golden thread and whispered, "Smash the human world, my baby turnip."

Because Old Man Tu placed one massive paw on his shoulder and said, "Go teach them to respect green."

And because deep in his heart, though Xiulan did not fully understand it yet, something was calling him forward—not away from the forest, but toward the person he was still becoming.

Before they left, he carved one final rune into the side of his favorite tree. It was shaped like a spiral of vines and light, curled gently around a pawprint, a feather, and a small squirrel tail.

The Rune of Home.

And the Whispering Tree groaned, "Sentimental fool. I am keeping it."

Leaf Diary of Xiulan – Day of Many Feelings

(Written on a big green leaf using berry juice and squirrel hair brush)

Today… the trees felt quiet.

The wind was not speaking much, as if it knew someone was going away.

Me.

I am the someone.

Uncle Hei told me I must go. He says it is for my future.

Baby Po says it is for my growth.

Jin-ge cried louder than the duck in my soup pot and handed me coins like a merchant fairy godparent.

They all hugged me.

Even the Whispering Tree called me names and said "don't die, leaf bug," which, coming from him, is the highest form of affection.

I carved a rune on the tree today. It glowed a little. It stayed.

I am scared. I am excited. I am annoyed.

Mostly, I feel like a squirrel with no branch—bouncing from one tree to another, unsure where I will land.

The sect master is very white and shiny. I wonder if he glows in the dark. I hope not. That would be creepy.

He said I could plant radishes there.

(Still unsure if he understands that mine talk back.)

My name is Xiulan.

Forest child. Soup artist. Carrot cultivator.

And now… disciple of some big sect in the human world.

I will go.

But I will come back.

Because no matter how shiny the mountains are…

My heart still beats like jungle drums.

– Xiulan

(Officially, maybe, a "heavenly maiden," but still just me.)