An odd sight—the giant of a man gently nesting a rabbit in his great hand.
"Yes! It's a male," Jianyu thought, as he wandered away from the firelight and the quiet chuckles of its occupants.

He had just turned twenty-two—his mother counted his true birthday as the day he received his name. By then, he had grown as tall as any of his brothers, as if Shan Hu’s blood truly ran in his veins. Years of training and countless battles had broadened his shoulders and back; his arms and legs were like oak trees rooted deep in the earth. His face, though weathered by sun, wind, and steel, still carried warmth. Beneath the scars shone kind brown eyes and a smile that never faded.

He had become a man his mother and sisters guarded like gold.

Behind the camp, near a quiet stream, Jianyu had built a large pen of wood and stone. Here, he kept the creatures of the forest—wildlife and critters gathered one by one, as carefully as jewels. He studied them with the same patience he gave his blades, determined to learn their breeding patterns, their diets, and the environments in which they thrived.

Lately, his focus had turned to rabbits. One of the old scrolls he had carried home from the scholar’s mansion claimed that rabbits were among the most prolific breeders.
If that’s true, he had once wondered, why do we see so few of them now?
In time, he came to his own conclusion: overhunting, traps, and the slow spread of villages into their nesting grounds.

He’d shared these thoughts with Húlí, who threw back his head in laughter.

“I’m serious, big brother! If we don’t stop trapping during breeding, we won’t see any more rabbits!” Jianyu insisted.

Húlís’ laugh only deepened as he clapped Jianyu on the back.
“If you say so, runt,” he said with a loving chuckle.

But as Jianyu’s prediction came to pass, and the rabbits dwindled, the chuckle faded—like the rabbits themselves. At last, Húlís’ slick yet deep voice rumbled across the fire:

“Ba... the runt may actually be onto something. He’s probably one of those geniuses.”

Now, Jianyu carefully lowered the rabbit into a section of the pen he had set aside in case he ever found another male. By now, he had learned to keep them apart—they grew aggressive when forced to share. He glanced toward a neighboring pen, lifted out two females, and placed them gently into the new enclosure.

“There…” he thought, watching the small creatures sniff and circle one another.

As he settled to observe the new pairings, a familiar voice called through the night air.

“Jian, my love…”

He turned, startled, and saw his mother. Zhenya, heavily pregnant yet again, waddled toward him with her hands pressed against her rounded belly.

Jianyu sprang to his feet at once, snatching up a massive log as though it weighed nothing and rolling it close for her to rest on.
“Ma, why are you wandering around at this hour?” I won’t forgive you if you hurt my little sister,” he scolded, though his smile was warm enough to soften the words.

Zhenya lowered herself onto the log with a sigh, brushing stray hair from her face. Already fifty-two, she was still as fertile as his rabbits—perhaps more so. She had already given Shan Hu a pair of paternal twins, one additional son before Jianyu, and somehow two more sons after him. Now, her belly swelled again with life—oddly larger than the last little brother she’d birthed.

“Heavens,” she muttered with a weary laugh. “I hope it’s a little sister for you. Otherwise, I don’t think your Ba will forgive me.”

Jianyu laughed aloud, the sound carrying over the pens and the stream beyond.
“Then let’s hope for a sister, Ma,” he said, his eyes bright with the same warmth he showed the smallest of creatures.

Drawn in by the sound, Húlí wandered in, curiosity flickering across his face like sunlight on water.

He spotted his mother perched on a tree stump, gently stroking her swollen belly as Jianyu fussed over a nest of newborns.

“Ma!” he shouted—far too loud for the setting.

Startled, several of the tiny animals scrambled into their makeshift hiding spots—flashes of fur and feathers disappearing beneath straw and slats.

“You’ll scare my little sister!” Zhenya snapped, glaring at him with sharp, accusatory eyes.
“Shut up Húlí,” she added with a huff. “You all only ever care about the bump I’m carrying.”

Húlí let out his signature laugh—half-chuckle, half-challenge—and dropped lazily to the ground beside her. He rested his head on her hip with surprising tenderness, fingers reaching out to brush the curve of her belly.

“Don’t worry, Ma,” he said with a smirk. “If the little imp bullies you, I’ll get revenge on your behalf when she’s born.”

Zhenya rolled her eyes and chuckled softly, running a hand through Húlí’s dark hair.

“Runt,” Húlí called out to Jianyu with mock offense. “How many critters do you even have in here? Which one’s fat enough for the stew pot?”

Jianyu didn’t look up from where he crouched beside a wooden crate, checking the bedding of a newborn kit.
“Try it,” he said calmly, “and I’ll give you a taste of what the last hand that reached in here got.”

Húlí grinned wider, clearly enjoying the game.
“Ma, he threatened me,” he whined dramatically.

Their mother gave a long-suffering sigh.
“If you two want to kill each other before I give birth, leave me out of it.”

Jianyu glanced up briefly—his face calm, but wearing the mischievous grin only a little brother could have.
Though he would never raise a blade to Húlí, everyone knew to leave the critters alone.

The camp remembered the last time someone crossed that line.

A drunken clansman had stumbled into Jianyu’s pen one night, thinking he could steal a baby squirrel for some tasteless prank. No one ever found out what he meant to do.

Before anyone could stop him, Jianyu’s dagger flew—sharp and silent—and pinned the man’s hand to a pillar. Húlí, in his way, had made sure that skill never dulled. He spent countless hours training the runt on how to aim, and when to act.

He was the only one who could tease Jianyu like this and live to laugh about it.

The message had been clear:
Don’t touch what’s mine.

— ✦ —

Next Episode — Identities
Under the starlit pines, a son without a past dreams of shaping the future—and the hills listen.