With what little bravery and mental strength he had left, Minglan forced himself to turn toward the rustling sound.
The herbs named xilliary shook again.
Something pushed through the herbs. Minglan flinched as leaves bent and stems snapped with a dull crack.
Minglan held his breath.
For a split second, he thought he saw fur.
Then a round head popped out from between the plants.
It was a cat.
Not a sleek one. Not a mysterious one.
But a fat one. A very fat one.
The cat stepped fully into view, its soggy belly brushing against the leaves.
Minglan stared at its thick, well-kept fur. Someone was definitely feeding this thing.
The fat cat blinked at Minglan once, slow and unimpressed, as if questioning why Minglan was just standing there.
Minglan stared back.
"God… you scared me for that?" he muttered under his breath.
The fat cat flicked its tail and walked toward him, only to stop short of Minglan's feet and lift its head. With a demanding sound, the cat seemed to ask for attention.
Minglan hesitated, but then he crouched down. "Whoa," he said quietly, reaching out to pat the cat. "You're really fat, huh?"
The cat stiffened.
Minglan barely had time to blink before pain bit into the back of his hand.
"Ah!" He yanked his hand back.
The cat hissed. Loud. Offended. Then it bolted, fat body moving way faster than it should have, tail fluffed up like it had just been betrayed.
Minglan dragged in a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
A thin line of red welled up almost immediately where the claws had struck.
It wasn't much. Just a shallow cut. The blood slid down his skin anyway.
Then the air dropped. Not suddenly, not violently. Just enough that Minglan felt it in his chest.
He tried to pull in a deeper breath.
Nothing.
He dragged in another breath. Fire lit up his lungs. His head went empty.
Another breath and his lungs burned for it. Panic hit before he could stop it.
"Wh-"
Leaves shuddered around him. Something kept brushing against something else, over and over, a low, endless rustle. The smell changed too. Sharp. Too much. It crawled up his nose and into his head.
Minglan took a step back.
Missed the breath again.
The edges of his vision went soft. Then darker.
Something hit him in the chest. Hard.
Too hard.
The hit knocked the air out of him.
Minglan went flying.
The garden disappeared and then the ground slammed into him. Hard enough that it shook everything.
He coughed and hauled air back into his lungs. The pressure was gone. All at once.
Pain followed. His back. His shoulder. His hand.
He stayed there. Just for a second. Or longer. He couldn't tell.
His chest kept rising too fast.
A shadow slid over him.
Minglan squinted up.
Someone was standing there, right at the edge of the garden.
The man's eyes dropped to Minglan's hand.
The blood. Then back to his face.
"You dirtied my garden with your blood," the man said. His voice was flat.
Minglan swallowed.
His throat hurt.
"I didn't know," Minglan said. "I didn't even feel it bleeding."
The man didn't answer right away. He just looked at him like he was weighing something.
Then he said, "Blood isn't allowed in the garden."
Minglan's brow pinched. "I didn't mean to-"
"Doesn't matter," the man cut in.
His eyes slid past Minglan, back to the rows of herbs, as if the garden was the only thing worth checking. "You are lucky the garden is all alright."
Lucky.
The word landed heavier than the shove. He wanted to shout: you called getting beaten up by the wind lucky!?
The man looked back down at him. again.
"You're not yet a student."
The man said it like it settled the whole argument.
Minglan started to speak. Nothing came out. He shut his mouth.
"Next time," the man said, already turning, "don't touch what you don't understand."
Then he was walking away. The sound of it thinned out down the corridor.
Minglan stayed on the floor. His chest still felt tight, like the garden had left a handprint there. It took a while before breathing stopped hurting.
He didn't look away from the entrance. Not even when his back went numb against the cold tile.
Then he felt it.
A gaze.
Minglan shifted his head slightly.
The cat sat just inside the garden.
It had chosen a spot right beside the xilliary herbs, tail wrapped neatly around its feet. One paw lifted, already grooming itself.
Calm as a saint.
The cat paused and stared at him.
Its eyes narrowed, slow.
Minglan stared back. "You've got to be kidding me."
The cat flicked its tail once and kept grooming.
Unhurried. Thorough.
Minglan had just been thrown out like trash. The cat acted like it was not the trigger for it.
He blew out a breath through his teeth. "Yeah," he muttered. "Take your time."
The cat yawned, slow and huge, then went right back to licking its paw.
"Oh? Minglan? Is that you?" A sound cut through the corridor. Minglan's head snapped up. Someone stood a few steps away.
"Si Yalin?" Minglan stood up, a bit in disbelief. The last time he met Si Yalin, the girl was torn apart, beaten by the wetlands just like how Minglan did but the girl in front of him is surely well kept. She had her long hair loose, making her looks more feminine although she still wears a casual long pants and shirt. Except, this time the clothes are clean. Seeing her like this is like seeing another person.
Si Yalin walked to him, as calm as ever. It was just in her nature to always be composed and calm. However, when her eyes catch the sight of that fat cat, there's a glint of excitement and unease on her soft face. "Greetings to the holy land warden." she clasp both of her palms in front of her chest and bow down.
Minglan does not understand why did she do that to a very fat orange cat but he is a quick learner and follows suit. "Greetings to the holy land warden." he said, "I'm sorry for calling you very fat before." he added.
Hearing that, Si Yalin looked at him in surprise as if yelling to his face "YOU DID WHAT!?" but she did not press any further.
Si Yalin glanced at it Minglan hand that get scratched by the warden and her expression changed. "You bled," she said.
"It was an accident," Minglan muttered.
"The garden doesn't care about accidents," she said. Then, softer: "You're lucky the warden didn't react again."
Minglan's eyes darted back to the cat.
"The warden," he repeated. "That's the cat?"
Si Yalin nodded once. Quick. Like she didn't want the word hanging in the air.
Minglan stared.
The cat yawned again. Slow. Huge. Like it was enjoying his confusion.
"Okay," Minglan said, voice thin. "So what if I bled? I'm out the garden now anyways."
Si Yalin took a breath and straightened, like she was preparing to deliver bad news in the calmest tone possible. "Now we report," she said.
"Report?" Minglan echoed.
Si Yalin looked at him. "If you don't, it will just gets worse for you."
"Worse how?"
Si Yalin didn't answer. She just nodded toward the corridor, toward the elevator area where the hotel lights looked a little dimmer than the rest.
"Come," she said. "And don't touch anything else. Let's be more careful in a place we are new at, shall we?"
Knowing that, indeed, he lacks knowledge of this weird game and it's world building niche. He follows his friend's advice for his own good.