The morning mist still lingered when the old man, Li Denfeng, called her name. 

“Chunhua,” he said softly, the syllables like dew resting on her new tongue. 

“... the sun will rise soon. Could you go gather some herbs before the heat takes their scent, please? They should bloom by now.”

He handed her a small woven basket, its handle polished smooth by years of use: 

“By the riverbank, there's a field, and in the field you’ll find some jasmine. You surely know, small flowers with thin white crowns. Pick only what’s tender. The old roots have already given what they could. It’s gonna be good for tea.”

She nodded, repeating his words under her breath - not out of memory, but rhythm. Words still felt strange in her mouth, as if every sound had to learn where to live. Yet she understood the gesture, the trust in his eyes, and that was enough. She was ready to go out into nature, but no more as a magpie bird, but as a human.

Every motion she made was hesitant, but not fearful -  as if she were still learning the boundaries of being alive. Spring-starting wind had flown through her long, smooth, black hair, feathers no more. When she found the blooming field beside the river, she reached for a stalk of jasmine, paused to feel its softness, and smiled. 

“This is it!” she thought to herself: “No more flying, hunting, sleeping and repeating. Just me touching, experiencing, feeling, the fruits of nature, as a human. Seeing flowers, not as hays for my home, but as the most beautiful fruits of nature that my eyes can devour.”

She could not help herself, but to emerge herself in the blooming beauties of the spring. She didn’t want to just see them, she wanted to feel them. And as such, she put the now jasmine-filled basket by her side, and sat onto the grass. As a magpie, sure, she has seen many flowers, many trees, the most beautiful things a human eye could ever dream of - but for magpie eyes, they were just merely the products of nature and human construction. Now as a human, products of nature became their fruits, and products of construction became human art. For a magpie, grass, flowers and trees, they were just giant mights besides her small body. But for a human, grass and flowers were finally below her reach, and she felt powerful enough to just lay in, and absorb the peace of the nature around her. 

“Just a little bit of nap won’t hurt anyone.” she said to herself as she laid there on the ground, closed her eyes and let the peace of nature surround her.

It was then that she heard it - the distant clop of hooves, slow and deliberate, breaking the hum of insects. She didn’t hear the hoofbeats at first - just the slow rhythm of something moving through the reeds. When the sound grew nearer, she straightened, shielding her eyes from the sun. As the sound grew nearer and nearer, Chunhua started moving and posturing herself to stand up to see the source of this sound. As she was trying to stand up, an arrow struck into the bushes, right beside her. 

“W-wait! I-I’m of no danger!” Chunhua proclaimed, slowly standing up from the ground.

As she stood up, quickly lifting the basket to her side, a horse emerged at the edge of the field, its rider in travel clothes the color of earth and iron. A bow hung at her side. The girl’s posture was sharp, practiced — the way soldiers stood when they’d been taught to never show fear.

Chunhua froze. The basket slipped from her hands, spilling the jasmines onto the damp ground. The rider’s eyes narrowed.

“Who’s there?” asked the raider.

Chunhua hesitated before answering, voice small but steady: “I… help Li Defeng.”

At the name, the tension in the rider’s shoulders eased. She swung down from the saddle, powerful boots pressing soft prints into the soil, beating dominating steps into the air.

“You work for the old healer?” she asked, studying Chunhua as if trying to place her, “I haven’t seen you in the village before.”

Chunhua looked down, her toes curling into the cool grass: “I-I… came here… recently.”

The rider tilted her head. Something about the girl’s speech - careful, searching - made her pause. There was nothing rude in it, no naivety or shyness, only a quiet sincerity, someone still learning what words were meant to do, carefully choosing which one to vocalise.

A smile, faint but real, touched the rider’s lips: “Then welcome,” she said, “I’m Liu Xiuying.”

She knelt to pick up a stray violet from the grass, offering it back to Chunhua. Their fingers brushed - just barely - and something light stirred in Chunhua’s chest, unfamiliar and quick, like the flutter of wings.

For a heartbeat, Xiuying forgot the rules that shaped her days — the posture, the silence, the neat fold of obedience.There was something about the way the girl looked at the world that made it feel unguarded again. Chunhua didn’t smile to be polite; she smiled as though light had simply found her and refused to leave. Xiuying caught herself staring — not at her face, exactly, but at the way her fingers brushed against the violets, careful not to bruise them. It was the kind of gentleness no one had ever taught her.

“Why were you in the grass?” Xiuying asked.

“W-why… were you shooting into the grass?” Chunhua slyly replied. 

“Well, I was on a look, because…” Xiuying stopped herself.

And then it struck her, into silence: Chunhua, while much gentler than Xiuying, she wasn’t performing for the village, or the monks, or anyone other than her. She was whimsical, she was gentle, she was happy and smiling, but only for her and her. That’s what intrigued Xiuying about her - she was more happy than most people she’s met, just happy to be, to explore the nature around her. 

“... well, it’s nothing of your concern.” she replied. 

Xiuying was intrigued, maybe a bit confused, but not angry. There were many gentler girls in the village than this “grass girl” that she’s encountered, but certainly she was more much more confident in her being, in her being just the way she was; while others were doing it more-so for the wants of others.

“And what is your name?” Xiuying asked after a quick pause for a thought.

“Chunhua.” she replied, now with no more fright in her voice, but proudly, yet calmly; because yes, Chunhua she was.

“Just Chunhua?” Xiuying asked.

“... nothing of your concern.” Chunhua repeated her words, again, a bit slyly, as she doesn’t like to be reminded that doesn't have any surname, she’s not like other humans, for she was once a magpie.

“R-right…” Xiuying replied, as if proud of Chunhua’s response “... w-wait, I’ll help you.”

As Xiuying started picking the jasmine from the ground, so did Chunhua, as if trying to show her that she can do it herself. As they were both stubbornly picking up the jasmine from the ground, bumping hands into each other; their heads suddenly clicked, and both straightened their heads to their sight, their eyes facing one another. And just in that peaceful moment, they could have looked into each others’ deep eyes, as if looking into their souls.

Xiuying stood up and said: “Um, so you are with the old man?”

“Y-yes”

“So that’s why you have my robe…” Xiuying remarked with a smile.

“Oh…”

“No no, it’s okay, you can keep it… it suits you.” Xiuying pleaded. 

Chunhua, standing there, hearing what can only be described as her first compliment, could not mutter any more than: “I-I should go. Mister Denfeng is awaiting me.”

“Y-yeah, me too.” Xiuying joined.

That night, long after she’d returned to her father’s courtyard, Xiuying found herself reaching for the brush she hadn’t used in weeks. The scent of the river still clung to her sleeves, a whisper of mint and damp earth. She dipped the tip into ink, hesitated - then drew a single, uncertain stroke across the page. It wasn’t a letter yet. Just the thought of one. A way to speak again, if the world allowed it.