As the merchant expounded on increasingly arcane details of taxation disputes between provincial governors, Xiaolong noticed several elderly villagers at a corner table watching their group with particular interest. They leaned together in the unmistakable posture of people discussing others while pretending not to, occasionally gesturing subtly in her direction.

  "The Tea House Gossips," Li Feng murmured, following her gaze. "The village's unofficial information network. More efficient than imperial messenger birds and considerably more embellished in their transmissions."

  "They seem quite focused on our table," Xiaolong observed.

  "A sect disciple returning with an unusual companion is the most interesting thing to happen in Boundary Village since the three-headed calf was born last spring." His tone carried gentle amusement rather than mockery. "By morning, they'll have constructed at least seven different theories about your origins, all mutually contradictory yet delivered with absolute certainty."

  As if to confirm this assessment, one of the elderly gossips—a woman whose elaborately arranged gray hair suggested far more time invested in its construction than the village's actual architecture—rose from her table and approached with the deliberate casualness of someone executing a long-planned reconnaissance mission.

  "Elder Sister Cui," Li Feng greeted her respectfully. "I trust your granddaughter's wedding preparations proceed well?"

  "Well enough, well enough," she replied, waving away the inquiry with practiced dismissiveness. "Though finding proper silk in these remote parts tests even my considerable resources."

  She turned her attention to Xiaolong with the barely concealed eagerness of a scholar discovering an untranslated manuscript. "And who might this be? Such unusual coloring—not local blood, certainly."

  The question was directed at Li Feng rather than Xiaolong herself, a social maneuver that would have provoked immediate draconic offense in her true form. Being discussed as though she were not present violated fundamental principles of proper respect.

  Before Li Feng could respond, Xiaolong deliberately inserted herself into the conversation. "This one is Xiaolong," she stated, using the formal third-person self-reference that dragons employed when establishing identity to lesser beings. "A cultivator studying the Way of Flowing Water under Elder Disciple Li's guidance."

  The slight widening of Elder Sister Cui's eyes suggested this direct self-introduction had violated some subtle village protocol. Li Feng smoothly covered the awkward moment.

  "Cultivator Xiaolong demonstrated exceptional insight into water element principles during our meeting at the Fourth Sacred Waterfall. As an Elder Disciple, I have authority to sponsor promising practitioners for observational study."

  This explanation, delivered with the perfect blend of authority and modesty, seemed to satisfy Elder Sister Cui's immediate curiosity while simultaneously elevating Xiaolong's perceived status.

  The social mechanics were fascinating—Li Feng had essentially extended his own reputation as a protective umbrella over her, transforming her from suspicious outsider to sponsored guest through pure verbal alchemy.

  "Most interesting," Elder Sister Cui murmured, studying Xiaolong with newly calculating eyes. "And will the young cultivator be participating in tomorrow's village blessing ceremony? Elder Brother Jia was hoping for sect assistance with the seasonal river offerings."

  Another conversational trap, Xiaolong realized—a request that would require either demonstration of her supposed water cultivation abilities or explanation of why she couldn't participate.

  Dragons appreciated such verbal sparring, though they typically concluded unsuccessful exchanges with immolation rather than mere social awkwardness.

  Li Feng intervened, "Our stay is unfortunately brief. We depart at first light to reach the sect before the new moon. Perhaps on our return journey."

  "A pity," Elder Sister Cui said without any actual disappointment in her tone. "Well, I shall not disturb your meal further. May clear waters guide your path, Elder Disciple."

  With a final assessing glance at Xiaolong, she returned to her table, immediately leaning in to share her reconnaissance findings with the other gossips. Their animated but hushed conversation suggested the intelligence gathering mission had yielded satisfactory results.

  "That," Li Feng commented after she had departed, "was the preliminary assessment. The true interrogation would have followed had I not provided our early departure as excuse."

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  "Human social dynamics are remarkably complex," Xiaolong observed, genuinely impressed by the layered communication she had witnessed.

  "Village politics put imperial court intrigue to shame," he agreed with a small smile. "Fewer assassinations, but far more creative character destruction."

  Merchant Huo, who had observed this exchange with professional interest, chuckled knowingly. "Elder Sister Cui could extract information from a stone tablet. Her grandson once tried to hide a broken teapot—by sunset she had not only discovered the crime but identified which martial technique he had been practicing when the accident occurred."

  The merchant glanced toward the tea house entrance, where darkness had fully claimed the village beyond. "I should review inventory before retiring. The mountain passes await us tomorrow." He rose with a formal bow to Li Feng. "A pleasure as always, Elder Disciple. May your sect find prosperity in these uncertain times."

  With the merchant's departure, the tea house began gradually emptying as villagers sought their beds. The musical instruments that had appeared earlier were put away without being played—apparently the evening's entertainment had been postponed in favor of discussing the interesting outsiders.

  "We should also retire," Li Feng suggested. "Early departure will avoid further social complications."

  Xiaolong nodded agreement, finding herself unexpectedly fatigued by the constant vigilance required to maintain her human disguise. Dragons didn't experience physical exhaustion in their true forms, but this limited manifestation apparently came with genuine energy constraints.

  They made their way upstairs, pausing at the corridor where their rooms separated.

  "Tomorrow will be simpler," Li Feng assured her. "The journey to the sect follows uninhabited mountain paths for most of the day."

  "The village experience has been... educational," Xiaolong replied, choosing her words carefully.

  "Rural settlements maintain traditions and perspectives often lost in larger communities," he observed. "Like mountain springs compared to great rivers—smaller, but sometimes purer for their isolation."

  This philosophical framing of the evening's social complexities struck Xiaolong as unexpectedly insightful. Li Feng consistently demonstrated a depth of thought beyond what dragons typically attributed to humans, whose brief lifespans supposedly prevented true wisdom from developing.

  "Rest well," he said, offering the slight bow appropriate between cultivation colleagues rather than the deeper one a disciple would show a master.

  "And you," she responded, mirroring the gesture with careful attention to proper form.

  As they separated to their respective rooms, Xiaolong found herself reflecting on the strange day's experiences.

  In less than twenty-four hours, she had adjusted her physical density to avoid geological disruption, received wisdom from a millennia-old carp deity, been recognized by a surprisingly perceptive child, and navigated the complex social dynamics of a human settlement without catastrophic revelation of her true nature.

  For a being accustomed to measuring significant events on cosmic timescales, this rapid accumulation of novel experiences was both disorienting and strangely exhilarating.

  Her contemplation was interrupted by a soft knock at her door. She opened it to find Little Mei standing in the hallway, clutching her drawing and wearing an expression of solemn determination.

  "I brought you this," the child whispered, extending the portrait. "So you don't forget what you really look like while you're pretending."

  The unexpected gesture caught Xiaolong completely off-guard. In five thousand years of existence, she had received countless offerings from terrified supplicants and ritual gifts from lesser immortals, but never a simple drawing offered with such straightforward kindness.

  "Thank you, Little Mei," she said, accepting the paper with careful reverence. "This is a gift of great insight."

  The child nodded with satisfaction. "I know. Grown-ups don't see properly anymore. They forget how to look at what's really there."

  With that pronouncement—which contained more wisdom than most immortal treatises Xiaolong had encountered—Mei turned and scampered away down the hall, her small feet making surprisingly little noise on the wooden boards.

  Alone in her room, Xiaolong studied the drawing in the dim light filtering through the small window. The child had captured something essential about her dual nature—not just the physical form she wore, but the vast cosmic entity contained within it.

  There was a perspective in this simple rendering that even the most accomplished immortal artists might envy.

  She carefully folded the drawing and tucked it into her robes, next to the pocket dimension where most of her mass now resided.

  Tomorrow would bring new challenges as they approached the Azure Waters Sect, with its formal hierarchies and spiritual scrutiny.

  But for tonight, in this surprisingly educational backwater village, she had encountered understanding from the most unexpected source imaginable—a human child who saw truth more clearly than immortals with millennia of existence.

  How very curious that after five thousand years among the most powerful beings in existence, Xiaolong should find herself learning from the most powerless. How very human to value such paradoxical wisdom.

  She settled onto the distinctly uncomfortable bed, preparing herself for the strange vulnerability of sleep. As consciousness began to fade, she found herself wondering what other unexpected lessons this unprecedented journey might yet reveal.

  In the village below, the Tea House Gossips continued their assessment long into the night, spinning elaborate theories about the mysterious visitor with color-shifting hair.

  None of their speculation came remotely close to the truth, proving once again that reality consistently outperforms even the most creative human imagination.

  Especially when that reality involves a cosmic dragon pretending to be human for reasons that even she herself didn't fully understand.