"Goodbye! You mad woman!!"

The bandit escapes again.

Tangtang.. the nimble, insolent, and far too fortunate.. has slipped through Mi Fu’s grasp once more, vanishing somewhere along the winding paths of the valley with a sack of ill-gotten trinkets swinging at her side.

“…That wretched kitty.”

The words leave Mi Fu in a quiet murmur, more weary than angry. Her gaze lingers toward the distant ridge where the thief had last been seen. Years of pursuit, and still the creature scurries away each time like water through open fingers.

For a moment, Mi Fu wonders if this is simply how the tale is meant to go—an endless chase written somewhere beyond her reach. Or perhaps the truth is less poetic. Time moves on, even for those who refuse to notice. A hunter approaching forty cannot pretend her edge is as keen as it once was.

Still… the valley offers little room for bitterness.

The rains have visited often this season, leaving the land steeped in a quiet, living dampness. Moss clings to stone, mist lingers between the low trees, and the air carries that deep, earthen scent that follows long rainfall. The streams murmur softly through the grass, swollen but gentle, as if the valley itself has chosen peace over urgency.

Mi Fu stands where the path bends, the breeze stirring the long panels of her coat. The tension in her shoulders slowly loosens—not surrender, but a brief concession to the stillness around her. The world here is calm in a way that few places are anymore.

She lets out a slow breath.

Just for a moment, her eyes close.

The quiet is almost comforting.

But only almost.

Somewhere at the edge of perception, something shifts—subtle, like a shadow brushing across water. A presence. Still, patient… watching.

Mi Fu’s eyes open again, crimson gaze steady and clear.

Her shoulders settle back into their natural poise, and she tilts her head slightly toward where the sensation lingers.

“…Hm.”

A brief pause follows, her voice cool and unamused.

“What is it?”