Xiulan's eighth birthday dawned with the scent of peaches, mud, and thinly veiled danger.
Auntie Viper coiled around the stone arch by the lake like a jeweled garland preparing for war.
"Today," she hissed, "we celebrate the most sacred ritual in viper culture." Another ritual that can leave anybody half-dead…
Xiulan blinked awake from his moss-bed, hair tangled with spiderwebs and a beetle still tap-dancing on his forehead. "Which one? The one where you swallow a rival whole, or the one where you decorate your tail with venom glands?"
Auntie Viper preened. "Neither, darling niece. This is the 'Rite of Eight.' On the eighth birthday, the honoree is—traditionally—bitten by their elders in loving recognition."
Xiulan sat up very slowly. "Bitten…?"
"With affection!" Auntie Viper nodded. "Think of it as… venomous kisses."
"On the head?"
Uncle Hei, seated nearby gnawing on a raw fish with resigned eyes, mumbled, "This is why the snake clan never got invited to wolf birthdays." His voice dull.
Baby Po dropped out of a tree upside-down. "I vote we substitute bites with cake." He didn't want another fight with the death.
Auntie Viper hissed, "Cowards."
Xiulan looked down at his bare arm. Then at Auntie Viper's fangs. "Do I get to choose the location of the... kiss? Anywhere but the head."
"Traditionally— we should,"
"No."
Meanwhile, in the southern grove, the Dancing Mushroom Sect had convened an emergency council meeting to discuss a soup for the party.
"Mmm," whispered Elder Sporetail, his cap tilted dramatically. "Our forest daughter-uh" the clouds gathered, "daughter, surely daughter is turning eight. We must provide… a dish."
"Soup," said Spriggybell, bouncing.
"But not just any soup," declared Caprina the Cracked, whose left eye always looked two seconds ahead of everyone else. "It must be elegant, fragrant, lightly cursed—"
"And visually aesthetic," added the twin button siblings, twirling in sync.
They all turned to the glimmering patch in the moon-lit corner of the grove. There, standing arrogantly in dew-slick glory, was a tall mushroom with gold-flecked gills and lashes that curled like sin.
"Hello, darlings," it purred. "You finally noticed."
It is a known knowledge, even if sentient, mushrooms that look too pretty are… venomous.
Xiulan, now dressed in his birthday finest (a slightly less tattered robe with a newly sewn snake-scale hem), stood watching as the mushrooms danced in offering, a chorus of glowing fungi performing synchronized pirouettes while singing in bass.
Then came him.
The pretty mushroom.
It winked, curled his lashes and… farted? Do mushrooms fart?
Oh wait, it was throwing water on itself but it turned into mist…
Xiulan blinked. "Why is that mushroom farting at me?"
The mushroom winked. "Only those touched by moonlight can truly appreciate my aroma."
Uncle Hei groaned. "Not again. This one tried seducing a tree last spring."
Auntie Viper slithered up. "He is… too beautiful. It's suspicious."
Baby Po frowned. "Aren't the prettiest mushrooms always venomous?"
Xiulan tilted his head. "Does that make me a mushroom?"
"Lan-Lan, don't be narcissist." Baby Po said.
Everyone paused.
Somewhere, thunder rumbled with mild confusion.
The soup was assembled with care. Rainbow snake broth, forest herbs, a dash of honey, one slightly apologetic cricket, and one piece of the beautiful mushroom's cap (with consent, obviously—he demanded a poem written by Young Master Jin, the fox merchant, in return).
Xiulan lifted the ladle and sipped.
He blinked.
Smiled.
Passed out.
Ten minutes later, he awoke with a glowing forehead, floating slightly above the ground.
"Oh good," muttered Uncle Hei, "he's flying again."
"Congratulations!" Auntie Viper clapped with her tail. "The mushroom's narcotic vision mist has activated! What do you see?"
Xiulan blinked.
"…The moon is talking to me."
"Very well." Baby Po said as he glanced at the silent moon.
"And what does it say?" Uncle Hei asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "She says, 'Stop drinking mushrooms, you are allergic.'"
By evening, the entire forest had gathered under the Great Peach Tree. Paper lanterns floated above, fireflies performed coordinated light shows, and a squirrel band played drums made of hollow walnuts and dried lizard skin.
Xiulan, still mildly glowing, stood on a log while various beasts sang birthday songs in seventeen dialects. Some bearish, some birdish, some wolfiest, etc., etc.
At one point, the bear cubs formed a conga line and tried to include a reluctant frog priest wearing green robes and holding twig staff. He gave in after his third glass of fermented nectar.
Auntie Viper gave Xiulan a custom fang-comb ("for grooming AND defense").
It was not clear whose grooming and whose defense.
Duoduo, the gossipy parrot and Baby Po performed an interpretive dance that may or may not have summoned minor rainclouds.
Uncle Hei sat close, watching with his usual half-frown, half-smile. "This dance deserves divine interventions."
Later that night, Xiulan lay curled beside his family beneath the stars, tummy full of soup, cheeks flushed from laughter, and chest filled with the kind of joy that made thunder crinkle and curl.
"I think today was perfect," he whispered.
Uncle Hei muttered, "Even with the mushroom hallucination?"
"It made the trees sing opera and moon talk, I always wanted to ask why it is bald. That was nice."
Auntie Viper whispered, "You are becoming yourself, Xiulan. One day, even the heavens will bow."
A firefly landed on his nose.
He smiled and murmured, "Maybe. But for now… I want cake tomorrow. Not venom."
"…We'll negotiate," hissed Auntie Viper.
"Still, no bites."