In the long and illustrious history of things going terribly wrong, few disasters could match the cosmic significance of an ancient prismatic dragon developing an interest in a human being. Particularly when that interest wasn't culinary.

  Xiaolong coiled her massive form around the misty crags overlooking the Fourth Sacred Waterfall, her scales shifting through shades of opalescent blue as she observed the tiny figure seated in lotus position beneath the cascade.

  The human had been there for three days now, perfectly still save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Water that could scour flesh from bone in its natural state somehow flowed around him like a gentle caress, transcending worldly principles in that peculiar way that cultivators insisted upon.

  How quaint.

  She'd been watching him since his arrival, initially because she found his presumption amusing. The Fourth Sacred Waterfall existed at the boundary between mortal and immortal realms. It wasn't meant for creatures whose entire existence would pass in the blink of a celestial eye.

  Yet here he was, this ephemeral speck, attempting to comprehend forces that had taken her centuries to master.

  "Little water ant," she murmured, her true voice causing ripples in the fabric of reality that the human, thankfully, couldn't perceive. "What secrets do you imagine this waterfall will share with you that your brief life could possibly contain?"

  The cultivator shifted slightly, his brow furrowing. For a moment, Xiaolong thought he might have sensed her presence, but that was impossible. She'd veiled herself with layers of concealment that would fool even lesser immortals. No mere human could—

  The man's eyes snapped open.

  In the next instant, he was airborne, his body moving with liquid grace as he launched himself from the stone dais. Water droplets hung suspended around him, transforming from benign moisture to glittering needles of ice-blue energy.

  "Malevolent spirit," he called out, his voice carrying the harmonious resonance of someone who had trained it as diligently as his body, "show yourself rather than lurking in shadow. The Azure Waters Sect does not tolerate ambush or deceit."

  Xiaolong blinked all three sets of eyelids in succession.

  Well. This was unexpected.

  For a brief moment, she considered maintaining her concealment—it would be trivial to remain undetected—but curiosity, that most dangerous of draconic traits, got the better of her.

  She allowed a portion of her essence to become visible in the mist, not as a fully manifested form but as a disturbance in the natural patterns, a subtle rippling in reality that suggested something vast compressed into the space between raindrops.

  "Malevolent?" Her voice resonated through the mist, causing water droplets to dance and shiver in unnatural patterns. "I've been called many things across the centuries, little cultivator, but rarely that."

  The man didn't lower his guard. If anything, his stance became more focused, the water needles hovering around him with deadly potential.

  Xiaolong found herself unexpectedly appreciating the economy of his movements. For a creature with such obvious limitations, he utilized what he had quite efficiently.

  "You speak of centuries as if they were days," he said, studying the shifting patterns in the mist with eyes clear as mountain springs. "Yet you conceal your true form. What manner of being are you, to lurk at the boundary falls?"

  Xiaolong circled around him, her massive form remaining imperceptible while the misty manifestation drifted closer. To the human, it would appear as though the fog itself had developed a mind and voice of its own—which wasn't entirely inaccurate.

  "I am..." She paused, realizing she couldn't exactly introduce herself as 'Longying Huaxia, Prismatic Dragon of the Eastern Celestial Court, Collector of Seven Emperors' Final Breaths.' That would likely end this interesting diversion prematurely. "I am Xiaolong," she finished, amused by the diminutive. Little Dragon indeed.

  The cultivator maintained his defensive posture, water spiraling around him in an elegant double-helix pattern that would, Xiaolong supposed, be moderately impressive to another human.

  From the complex formations, she recognized the Azure Waters Sect's signature style—the Way of Flowing Water. An adaptable technique, though fundamentally flawed in its philosophical underpinnings.

  Water did not overcome obstacles through harmony; it eroded them through relentless persistence. Dragons understood this far better than humans.

  "I am Li Feng, Elder Disciple of the Azure Waters Sect," he replied formally. "This waterfall is a sacred pilgrimage site. If you are a spirit guardian, I have made the proper offerings. If you are a fellow cultivator, I claim right of prior meditation. If you are neither..." The water around him sharpened perceptibly.

  Xiaolong found herself intrigued by his composure. Most humans, faced with uncertainty, babbled excessively or groveled. This one spoke with the calm certainty of flowing water—irritating as it was to admit the aptness of his sect's metaphor.

  "What if I am simply a traveler, enjoying the view?" she asked, her voice rippling through the mist in melodic waves.

  "Then you would not have concealed your presence for three days, nor would you speak of centuries," he replied immediately. His eyes narrowed. "Your spiritual energy doesn't flow like any cultivation method I recognize."

  "Perhaps I practice an esoteric path."

  "Perhaps you do." His voice remained level, but the water needles hadn't dissipated. "But those who walk honest paths don't lurk in shadows, studying others without announcing themselves."

  Xiaolong felt a flicker of genuine annoyance, a rare emotion for one who generally regarded mortal affairs with detached amusement. The mist darkened slightly, tiny sparks of prismatic energy flashing within its swirls. "I lurk where I please, little cultivator. This boundary doesn't belong to your sect or any human institution."

  Something in her tone must have conveyed more than she intended, because Li Feng suddenly shifted from defensive to offensive stance.

  The water needles launched toward her misty manifestation in a complex pattern designed to restrict movement rather than kill—another curiosity. Most humans, when threatened, aimed directly for vital points.

  Xiaolong could have dispersed the attack with a thought, but where was the fun in that? Instead, she let the patterns in the mist swirl and dance between the needles, allowing one to pass through her manifestation. Where it penetrated, the mist briefly shimmered with prismatic light before reforming.

  "Impressive," she conceded. "Though your third needle formation had a structural flaw. The flow diverged unnecessarily at the apex."

  Li Feng blinked, the only indication of his surprise. "You speak as a master of water techniques, yet you move like..." He didn't finish the thought, instead flowing into his next form.

  "Flowing Stream Palm," he announced, though whether as courtesy or as part of the technique's vocal component, Xiaolong wasn't certain.

  The attack came not as a direct strike but as a rippling wave of force. Interesting—he was using the waterfall's ambient spiritual energy to amplify his technique.

  Quite resourceful for a mortal.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She allowed the wave to pass through her misty form, only to discover the attack curving to follow her movement.

  For the first time in several centuries, Xiaolong felt something approximating delight. This tiny ephemeral being had created a technique with genuine tactical merit.

  Rather than avoiding it completely—which would reveal too much of her true capability—she let the wave pass through her manifestation, absorbing a portion of its energy and redirecting it upward in a spray of luminous droplets that caught the light like scattered diamonds.

  Li Feng's eyes widened fractionally. "You redirected without opposing. That's..." He shook his head, refocusing. "No matter. You still haven't explained your presence or purpose."

  "Must I have a purpose beyond curiosity?" Xiaolong countered, her misty form circling him slowly. Not to seek advantage—the very notion was absurd—but to observe his form from different angles.

  His cultivation base was remarkably balanced for one so young. She estimated he had perhaps two decades of training, a mere eyeblink, yet his spiritual essence flowed with the cohesion of much older practitioners.

  "At a sacred boundary site? Yes." Li Feng's hands formed a complex pattern, water from the fall gathering around him in concentric rings. "Particularly when that curiosity involves three days of hidden observation."

  Xiaolong sighed, a sound that manifested as a gentle breeze through the mist. "If I had malicious intent, little cultivator, we would not be having this conversation. Your defensive formations, while admirable for your level, would mean nothing."

  Rather than intimidating him, her words seemed to strengthen his resolve. The water rings compressed and accelerated, humming with spiritual resonance.

  "Then prove your benign intentions by departing," he said simply. "This is my final cultivation trial before seeking breakthrough. I must commune with the waterfall without distraction."

  Xiaolong found herself both irritated and oddly respectful of his dedication.

  Most humans would be either cowering or attempting flattery by now, sensing the power differential even if they couldn't identify its source. This one stood his ground like a pebble refusing to acknowledge the tide.

  "And if I choose not to leave?" she asked, genuinely curious about his response.

  "Then I will continue my duty until one of us falls." No bravado, just calm certainty. Water currents swirled more intensely around him, drawing power from the sacred fall.

  Well. This was becoming genuinely interesting.

  Xiaolong made a decision that would later prove to be either the most foolish or most profound of her five thousand years.

  "Very well, Li Feng of the Azure Waters Sect. Let us see the limits of your duty."

  She allowed her misty manifestation to condense slightly, forming a more coherent shape—still indistinct and ethereal, but with enough substance to interact with his techniques. A shadow play of her true form, reduced to the barest suggestion of power.

  Li Feng didn't waste breath on further words. The water rings expanded outward in a complex helical pattern, forming what Xiaolong recognized as the "Thousand Droplets Stance"—a moderately advanced defensive technique that could rapidly transition to offense.

  What followed was, from Xiaolong's perspective, something like a master calligrapher pretending to struggle with basic brushstrokes. She deliberately matched her speed and power to provide a believable challenge, allowing him to drive her misty form back initially before finding openings in his defense.

  To her surprise, there were fewer openings than expected. His technique was remarkably pure, each movement flowing into the next without hesitation or wasted energy.

  Where most human cultivators forced their will upon the elements, he seemed to genuinely embody his sect's philosophy of harmonizing with water's nature.

  "Your control is commendable," she said, her misty form undulating to avoid a particularly elegant combination attack. "Most cultivators your age still fight against the element they claim to master."

  Li Feng didn't respond verbally, but his next attack sequence incorporated her observation, becoming even more fluid and less direct. The water responded by moving more naturally around his intentions rather than being forced into them.

  Fascinating. He was adapting in real-time, incorporating even an opponent's casual remark into his practice. No wonder he'd achieved Elder Disciple status at such a young age.

  Their combat dance continued, with Xiaolong carefully maintaining the illusion of an evenly matched contest. She let her misty manifestation appear to grow less coherent, suggesting fatigue, even as she studied the subtle variations in his technique. There was something uniquely captivating about watching a being work so diligently with such limited resources.

  Dragons had always measured worth by what one accumulated—power, knowledge, territory, years. Yet here was a creature with mere decades to his name, commanding perhaps one-millionth of her power, displaying a mastery within his constraints that was somehow... beautiful.

  The realization distracted her enough that Li Feng's next attack—a variation on his Flowing Stream Palm that approached from three directions simultaneously—actually caused her manifestation to briefly disperse.

  The water struck with more force than she'd anticipated, scattering her misty form momentarily before she could reassert control.

  Li Feng pressed his momentary advantage, water coalescing around his wooden sword as he advanced. The blade hummed with spiritual resonance as he executed a complex form that Xiaolong recognized as "River Cutting Sword Art," though he'd modified it in some interesting ways.

  For an instant, Xiaolong felt an unfamiliar impulse to respond with genuine power—not to harm him, but to show him what true mastery looked like. The urge was so alien that it broke her concentration momentarily.

  The sword sliced through the heart of her misty manifestation, dispersing it completely.

  Xiaolong blinked her true eyes, genuinely surprised. She'd been distracted for less than a second, yet he'd capitalized on it perfectly.

  But the human cultivator didn't lower his guard. Instead, he called out to the apparently empty air: "I know you're still present. That was merely a projection, not your true essence."

  How perceptive. Xiaolong found herself increasingly intrigued by this mortal's capabilities.

  She allowed her voice to emanate from the waterfall itself, a rippling harmony that caused the sacred waters to briefly flow upward against gravity.

  "Correct, Li Feng of Azure Waters. Most impressive."

  He turned slowly, sword still held ready, scanning the area with both physical and spiritual senses. "Why engage me in combat if not to test or harm? What purpose does this serve?"

  It was a fair question, and one that Xiaolong found herself surprisingly unable to answer with her usual draconic certainty. Why indeed had she revealed herself at all? Curiosity seemed insufficient explanation for actions so contrary to dragon custom.

  "Perhaps," she said finally, "I wished to observe the Way of Flowing Water as practiced by one who truly embodies its principles."

  Li Feng's stance remained wary, but something in her tone must have registered as sincere, because he replied with unexpected candor: "Then you might have simply asked, rather than resorting to subterfuge."

  The simplicity of this statement struck Xiaolong as both naive and profound. Dragons approached all interactions as complex power negotiations. The concept of simply asking directly for what one wanted was alien to their nature.

  How peculiar that a being of such a limited lifespan would adopt the more efficient approach.

  Before she could formulate a response, fatigue suddenly overtook his features. Three days of waterfall meditation followed by an intense battle had depleted his spiritual reserves more than he'd let show. His sword arm trembled slightly, then more pronouncedly.

  Xiaolong could have taken advantage. Any dragon would have. It was simply the natural order—when an opponent showed weakness, you struck.

  Instead, she felt an unexpected impulse to withdraw, to allow him the dignity of recovery. "Your strength wanes, water cultivator. We shall continue this discourse another time."

  His legs gave way then, spiritual exhaustion claiming its due.

  Xiaolong moved without thinking, sending a gentle current of air to cushion his fall. His body settled softly onto the stone dais where he'd been meditating, limbs arranging into a comfortable position.

  Unconscious, his face relaxed from its intense focus, revealing a youthful countenance marked by the small distinguishing scar above his right eyebrow.

  Xiaolong drew closer in her true form, remaining invisible to mortal senses.

  For the first time, she studied him with an intensity normally reserved for rare celestial phenomena or particularly complex magical puzzles. There was something about his complete dedication, his willingness to face unknown danger for his principles, that was simply...

  She couldn't find the right word, which was itself unprecedented. Dragons had names for every concept worth knowing.

  On an impulse that would have scandalized dragon society, she extended one massive claw, reduced to near transparency, and allowed the very tip to hover above his cheek.

  She didn't make contact—that would require a physical manifestation she had not yet attempted—but the proximity sent an unexpected shiver through her true form.

  "Rest well, little water cultivator," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper in the falls. "Our dance is not yet complete."

  Xiaolong drew back, already forming plans that would have been incomprehensible to her just hours earlier. Five thousand years of draconic certainty had been disturbed by a human who faced her with nothing but courage, skill, and an inexplicable sense of harmony.

  She cast one last look at his sleeping form before retreating into the higher mists, leaving only a faint prismatic shimmer in the air where she had lingered.

  Dragons never doubted their path.

  Dragons never questioned their nature.

  Dragons certainly never found themselves fascinated by the brief, limited lives of humans.

  And yet…