Dragon's Descent [Xianxia, Reverse Cultivation]

Whispering Reeds Village possessed the particular charm that came from centuries of polite negotiations with natural disasters.

The buildings perched on raised stone foundations like dignified herons, their walls whitewashed to cheerful optimism despite windows positioned strategically above normal flood lines. Bridges arched between structures as permanent fixtures that could be dismantled in under an hour—a contradiction that Xiaolong found perfectly human in its practical impossibility.

Everything spoke of people who had learned to dance with catastrophe rather than fight it.

She found the architectural philosophy oddly familiar. Dragons, too, designed their lairs with escape routes and contingency plans, though typically these involved portals rather than removable wooden planks.

"There!" Li Feng pointed toward a modest house distinguished by wind chimes that sang in harmonious clusters. "Home."

The word carried weight that had nothing to do with property ownership and everything to do with belonging. Xiaolong tested the concept against her own experience and found it as foreign as the notion of deliberately weakening oneself for philosophical reasons.

Dragons claimed territories. Humans claimed homes.

Before they reached the door, it burst open like a siege engine in reverse. Two figures emerged: a woman whose black hair escaped its practical bun in silver-threaded defiance, and a man whose weathered hands moved restlessly, as if still feeling for net-lines and current changes.

"Li Feng!" The woman—his mother, obviously—moved toward her son like a hunting falcon spotting prey, her dark eyes cataloging details faster than a merchant counting coins. "Look at you! Skinny as a winter pike and pale as fish belly. What've you been eating? Air and good intentions?"

Her hands bore the distinctive stains of fabric dyes, purple and indigo marking her fingers like small bruises. She unconsciously smoothed the front of her robes while speaking—a nervous habit born from working with patterns and textures, as if she could organize the world through proper arrangement of fabric.

"Hello, Mother." Li Feng submitted to her inspection like someone who had long ago accepted the futility of resistance. "I'm recovering well, thank you."

"Recovering?" Lan Hua's voice sharpened like a knife finding bone. Her hands now actively examined his arms and shoulders for signs of distress. Each touch carried the sort of maternal radar that could detect problems through layers of clothing and willful denial. "From what? And don't you dare give me that sect nonsense about 'spiritual growth through adversity.'"

"Now, Lan Hua," the man said, approaching like a ship navigating familiar but treacherous waters. His gait rolled slightly, permanently calibrated for boat decks that shifted underfoot. "Boy's still standing, isn't he? Can't be too bad."

His father possessed the steady presence that came from years of reading weather patterns and water moods. His brown eyes squinted permanently from a lifetime of scanning horizons for signs of change, and his hands never quite stopped moving, as if they remembered the rhythm of casting nets even on dry land.

"Oh, that's your solution, Li Jian?" Lan Hua shot back without taking her attention from Li Feng. "As long as he's upright, everything's fine? I suppose if he fell over, you'd say 'Well, at least he's still breathing.'"

"Might," Li Jian agreed mildly, his tone carrying the diplomatic skills of someone who had spent decades navigating domestic currents more treacherous than any river. "Breathing's a good start."

Xiaolong watched this exchange, her anthropological instincts fully engaged.

Dragon family interactions typically involved formal announcements of territorial boundaries and ritualized demonstrations of individual power. This casual mixture of affection and gentle mockery represented a completely different social framework—one where strength was demonstrated through care rather than dominance.

Li Feng gently extracted himself from his mother's examination. "Mother, Father, please meet Daoist Xiao, a skilled cultivator and trusted friend who has offered her aid in the coming difficulties."

Xiaolong stepped forward and executed what she hoped was an appropriately formal bow. The angle felt wrong—too deep for a human introduction but too shallow for the cosmic respect she was accustomed to receiving. Like most human social interactions, it existed in an uncomfortable middle ground that satisfied no established protocol.

"Honored to meet Li Feng's esteemed parents," she said, falling back on the elaborate courtesy that had served dragons in formal situations for millennia.

Lan Hua's attention immediately focused on Xiaolong like a weaver examining a piece of particularly complex fabric. Her dark eyes moved from Xiaolong's face to her hands, lingering on details that most observers would miss entirely—the absence of calluses, the perfect symmetry of unmarked skin, the way her fingers moved as if they had never held anything more demanding than air itself.

"Well, isn't that fancy talk," she observed, her tone carrying more curiosity than criticism. "And look at those hands—soft as silk, not a mark on them. What kind of work do you do, dear? Besides cultivating, I mean."

Xiaolong glanced down at her hands, seeing them suddenly through Lan Hua's pattern-trained eyes. Five millennia of draconic existence had left no marks that translated to human form.

Dragons didn't develop calluses from manual labor or scars from mishaps involving sharp implements. Her hands told the story of someone who had never needed to work for survival, which was both absolutely true and completely misleading.

"Mother," Li Feng said, his voice carrying the gentle warning of someone who had seen this particular maternal talent cause social complications before.

"What? I'm just making conversation," Lan Hua replied, though her inspection continued. "Hands tell stories, and this girl's hands are telling me she's never mucked a pigsty or hauled a fishing net in her life."

Li Jian stepped forward, offering his hand in the straightforward manner of someone who preferred direct approaches to social complexity. "Don't mind her—she sizes up everyone like they're fabric she might buy. I'm Li Jian. Any friend willing to help with flood troubles is welcome at my table."

His handshake carried the strength of years spent hauling nets and fighting river currents, yet his grip adapted instantly to Xiaolong's responsive pressure—evidence of someone who understood the value of reading his environment before applying force.

"Your hospitality honors me," Xiaolong replied, which prompted another sharp look from Lan Hua.

"There it is again," Lan Hua said, tilting her head like a bird studying an unusual seed. "Honors you? Most folks just say 'thank you' and leave it at that. You talk like someone used to people bowing and scraping."

Before Xiaolong could formulate a response that might deflect this uncomfortably accurate observation, Hui Yun chose that moment to materialize, landing in a theatrical flourish that scattered the wind chimes into startled complaint and caused a nearby flower box to spontaneously bloom out of season.

"Greetings, honored human nest-guardians!" the fox announced, apparently having decided that formal introductions required maximum dramatic impact. "I bring tidings of great and terrible import regarding the wayward waters and the sky-spirits' impending tantrum!"

Li Jian blinked slowly, his expression shifting from polite welcome to the careful attention he might apply to unusual weather phenomena that could either bring fortune or disaster.

"Well, that's... something. Don't see talking foxes every day."

"Hui Yun has strong opinions about weather patterns," Li Feng explained diplomatically. "Among other things."

"Strong opinions?" Hui Yun declared proudly, beginning what appeared to be an impromptu grooming session designed to display its magnificent tail to best advantage. "I have the strongest opinions! For instance, your village's flood barriers were built by someone who thinks you can sweet-talk a flood into behaving! Might as well try reasoning with a typhoon!"

"Huh," Li Jian said, his fisherman's pragmatism cutting straight to the heart of things. "Fox has a point about the barriers. They've been showing cracks for months."

"Perhaps," Xiaolong interjected hastily, "we might continue this discussion inside? The weather is taking an interest in our conversation."

Indeed, the rain had progressed from lazy drops to more focused precipitation, as if the sky had decided that subtlety was overrated and directness would better serve its meteorological purposes.

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Li Feng's childhood home possessed lived-in comfort that came from decades of attention to practical details. The furniture bore gentle wear from daily use rather than pristine preservation. Books shared shelf space with fishing gear, and everything indicated people who valued both intellectual pursuit and manual competence.

Xiaolong cataloged these details, her curiosity intensifying as she encountered yet another aspect of human existence that defied dragon logic.

Why arrange books by color rather than subject? What purpose did those apparently decorative stones serve? Why position windows to maximize natural light during early morning hours when any sensible being would still be asleep?

The space spoke of priorities she was still learning to understand—comfort over display, utility over grandeur, connection over isolation. Dragons optimized their lairs for power projection and territorial defense. Humans, inexplicably, optimized for something they called "coziness."

"Sit wherever you like," Lan Hua said, bustling toward the kitchen area. "You look ready to drop. I'll get tea started."

Xiaolong approached the nearest chair like a general surveying potentially hostile territory. Her ongoing difficulties with dimensional mass displacement meant that furniture had become an unexpected nemesis in her quest to appear appropriately human.

She lowered herself slowly onto the wooden seat, listening carefully for signs of structural protest. The chair held, though it creaked ominously enough to suggest it was reconsidering its career choices.

"That chair's older than I am," Li Jian observed, his amusement evident. "Belonged to my grandfather. If it held him after a night of drinking fisherman's rum, it'll hold anyone."

"I'm certain it is," Xiaolong replied, freezing in place rather than risk any movement that might test the chair's ancestral durability further.

From the kitchen came the sounds of Lan Hua organizing what sounded like enough tea service for a small army. "We've got jasmine, oolong, and that bitter stuff Li Jian likes that tastes like pond water!"

"The bitter stuff helps with stomach troubles," Li Jian called back. "Not everyone wants tea that tastes like flowers."

While Lan Hua prepared tea with the efficiency of someone who had fed unexpected guests for decades, Li Jian settled across from them, his fisherman's directness cutting through social preliminaries.

"So," he said, fixing his son with a steady look. "How bad is this flood going to be? And don't give me sect double-talk—I can read the weather as well as any cultivator."

Li Feng considered his words carefully. "Worse than anything the village has faced in recent memory. The spiritual imbalance indicates flooding of significant magnitude, possibly approaching the level of the Great Surge forty years ago."

Li Jian's weathered face went grim. His hands unconsciously mimed the motion of hauling nets against strong current. "Great Surge nearly wiped us out. Barriers were new then, too, and we still lost half the lower district."

"Exactly." Li Feng leaned forward, intensity building in his voice. "We'll need to reinforce everything, modify the spiritual channels, and possibly construct additional overflow routes."

Lan Hua returned with tea that steamed in patterns resembling miniature weather formations. "What about getting help from other places? Your fancy sect, maybe?"

"The sect has larger concerns," Li Feng said diplomatically. "Individual villages are expected to handle normal flooding through local resources."

"Normal flooding," Lan Hua repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut fabric. "Let me guess—'normal' means anything that doesn't threaten sect property."

Li Jian reached over and patted her hand. "Easy, dear. Getting angry at the sect won't hold back the water."

"Might make me feel better though," she muttered, but subsided.

Xiaolong suspected that "normal flooding" didn't include the elemental uprising currently building in the northern watersheds, but pointing this out would hardly improve morale.

"Then we handle it ourselves," Lan Hua said, settling into her own chair. Her hands smoothed her robes again—the anxious pattern-working gesture that activated during times of stress. "Wouldn't be the first time. Tell me about these barriers."

Li Jian's attention sharpened. "You know about flood defenses?"

"Some," Xiaolong replied carefully. "My... background... includes study of water management on various scales."

"Main barrier runs along the east side," Li Jian explained, his hands sketching invisible maps in the air. "Stone and packed earth, with those spiritual channels Li Feng's grandfather helped design. Got overflow routes through the old mill race and the north drainage, but they're silted up something awful."

"Spiritual reinforcement?" Xiaolong asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Basic stuff," Li Feng said. "Water-calming formations. Nothing complex—just enough to encourage normal floodwater to follow designated paths rather than exploring creative alternatives."

Hui Yun, feeling neglected by the serious conversation, began elaborate grooming that involved strategic positioning to display its magnificent tail. The performance attracted several moths that appeared from nowhere to flutter around the fox in what might have been either spiritual communion or simple attraction to its glowing fur.

"That fox of yours puts on quite a show," Lan Hua observed, her pattern-reading attention now focused on the spirit beast.

"Hui Yun believes that personal grooming is a spiritual practice requiring public appreciation," Xiaolong explained. "Among other unusual convictions."

"I heard that!" Hui Yun declared indignantly. "My grooming rituals maintain perfect harmony between spiritual and physical realms! Unlike certain dragons who can't even sit in chairs properly!"

The sudden silence that followed this announcement indicated that Hui Yun had perhaps shared more information than strictly necessary for the current social situation.

Li Feng's parents turned to look at Xiaolong, their expressions transitioning from polite confusion toward genuine concern. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, though whether from the weather outside or the sudden chill of parental suspicion remained diplomatically unclear.

"Dragons?" Li Jian asked, his voice carrying the careful tone of someone who had learned to take unusual weather signs seriously.

"Hui Yun enjoys... metaphorical language," Xiaolong said weakly. "Very metaphorical."

"Oh, absolutely!" Hui Yun agreed enthusiastically. "So metaphorical that sometimes the metaphors walk around in human form and break furniture!"

Lan Hua's sharp eyes moved between Xiaolong, her son, and the fox, assembling patterns from available information like a weaver working out a particularly complex design. Her hands smoothed her robes faster now, the nervous gesture accelerating as her analysis progressed.

"Li Feng," she said, her voice taking on the tone she'd used when he was twelve and had 'borrowed' a neighbor's boat without permission. "Want to tell us why your friend's pet fox knows things about dragons? And why she talks like nobility but claims to be a wandering cultivator?"

"Mother—" Li Feng began.

"And another thing," Lan Hua continued, building momentum like water finding a crack in a dam. "I've been dying fabric for thirty years, and I know expensive when I see it. Those robes cost more than most people make in a season, but they don't have a single travel stain on them."

Li Jian nodded slowly. "Like a fishing net that's never been wet. Tells its own story."

Li Feng cleared his throat urgently. "Perhaps we should discuss the specific flood preparations needed. Time may be more limited than we initially thought."

Thunder rumbled overhead as if the weather had been monitoring their conversation and found their concerns insufficiently urgent. The sound carried undertones that Xiaolong's enhanced hearing identified as something more complex than simple atmospheric disturbance—spiritual energy building pressure, seeking release.

Rain began falling harder, drumming against windows. The wind chimes outside sang more frantically, their harmonious melody becoming something closer to alarm bells as the wind picked up.

Xiaolong studied Li Feng's face, noting strain that indicated his recovery remained incomplete despite determined optimism. Responsibility sat heavily on shoulders still healing from recent crisis, and the weight increased as the storm gathered strength outside.

"The formations will need complete reconstruction," she said, abandoning diplomatic vagueness for direct assessment. "The current barriers are designed for seasonal inconvenience, not elemental catastrophe."

"Can it be done?" Lan Hua asked bluntly. "In time, I mean."

Li Feng hesitated just long enough for parental instincts to register concern. "Under ideal circumstances... possibly."

"And without ideal circumstances?" Li Jian pressed, his fisherman's pragmatism demanding honest answers rather than optimistic speculation.

"Then we evacuate what we can, reinforce what we must, and hope the water doesn't rise higher than our preparations."

The thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and the wind chimes' alarm grew more urgent. Even Hui Yun paused in its grooming to listen, ears swiveling toward sounds that carried meaning beyond mere noise.

During the brief lull that followed, Xiaolong found herself studying Li Feng's parents with renewed curiosity. "Your mother and father accepted Hui Yun's manifestation with remarkable equanimity," she observed quietly to Li Feng. "Most mortals who aren't cultivators would show greater... surprise... at encountering a spirit beast of such obvious power."

Li Feng's smile carried the warmth of old memories. "Water flows around obstacles, but it also shapes the land it touches. My parents have lived beside the river for decades—they've encountered stranger things than talking foxes."

"Indeed!" Hui Yun interjected from its grooming session. "Though I must say, their lack of proper amazement at my magnificent entrance was rather disappointing. Where are the gasps of wonder? The awed prostrations? The offerings of premium fish?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Li Jian said dryly, not looking up from his weather calculations. "Had a water sprite steal our nets three summers back. Took negotiating and two bottles of good wine to get them returned. After that, a fox with opinions doesn't rate much shock."

"Besides," Lan Hua added, her hands never pausing in their fabric-smoothing rhythm, "any creature willing to warn about flood dangers gets treated as family. Good manners don't care if you've got fur and six tails."

Xiaolong watched the family process this information, their calm determination speaking of people who had faced serious challenges before and survived through mutual support rather than external rescue.

They didn't panic or despair—they simply began planning, as if major natural disasters were merely another problem requiring practical solutions.

For the first time in five millennia, she found herself wishing for problems that could be solved through straightforward application of overwhelming force rather than the delicate navigation of community obligations and human relationships.

Dragons were poorly equipped for situations requiring subtlety, patience, and long-term thinking that prioritized other beings' welfare over immediate personal convenience.

Fortunately, she was no longer entirely a dragon.

Unfortunately, she wasn't entirely human either, which left her simultaneously overqualified and completely unprepared for the challenges ahead.