The Mysterious Youth and the Lost Prince

Years passed, each day a mirror of the last. Ne Zha would return from his endless searching, his child-like form dragging with exhaustion as he made his way to the nursery. He always found Ao Bing in the same position - sitting in the rocking chair that still held the lingering chill of his ice powers, their son's blanket clutched in his lifeless grip.

The once-vibrant Dragon Empress was now a shadow of himself. His lustrous blue-silver hair had dulled to an ashen gray, hanging limp and unkempt around his gaunt face. His eyes, once sharp and bright as winter stars, were now vacant, staring endlessly at nothing. The temperature around him remained perpetually freezing, small ice crystals forming and melting in an endless cycle that matched his broken heartbeat.

Ne Zha would approach, as he always did, and kneel before his husband's chair. Sometimes in his child form, sometimes as an adult, but always with the same aching hope that today might be different.

"I searched the southern provinces today," Ne Zha would say, his voice hoarse from calling their son's name across the mortal realm. "I thought I felt a trace of his energy near a mountain temple, but..." he would trail off, the words 'it wasn't him' hanging unspoken in the frozen air.

Ao Bing remained motionless, his fingers mechanically stroking the worn fabric of the blanket.

"The plum trees are blooming in the mortal realm," Ne Zha would continue, desperately filling the silence. "Remember how Ao Lui used to laugh when the petals would fall? How they would freeze or burn when they touched his skin?"

No response. Just the soft sound of fingers moving across fabric.

"I miss his laugh," Ne Zha would whisper, his voice cracking. "I miss the way he would sneeze and make both fire and ice. I miss... I miss you too, Ao Bing. Please... please come back to me. I can't lose you both."

Sometimes Ne Zha would cry, his tears falling onto Ao Bing's motionless hands. Sometimes he would rage, his six arms manifesting as he destroyed furniture in frustrated grief. But most often, he would simply sit at Ao Bing's feet, leaning against his husband's legs, and talk about their son.

"He would be so big now," Ne Zha would muse, staring at the empty crib they couldn't bear to remove. "Would he have your grace? My temper? Both?" He would laugh softly, the sound hollow. "Probably both, maybe."

The nursery remained exactly as it had been the night of the kidnapping, frozen in time like Ao Bing himself. The only changes were the scorch marks from Ne Zha's outbursts and the ever-present layer of frost that emanated from Ao Bing's silent form.

Servants would whisper about their rulers - the Emperor who searched endlessly, burning across the mortal realm like a comet of vengeance, and the Empress who had turned to living ice, frozen by grief in their son's nursery. Some said the Dragon Empress had died that night, that only his body remained, his soul having followed their son into whatever darkness had claimed him.

Ne Zha found himself drowning in imperial duties without Ao Bing's steady support. Documents piled up, meetings went unattended, and the celestial bureaucracy began to falter. Finally, after much searching, he appointed Wuxian, a respected human cultivator known for his wisdom and administrative skills, as his chief advisor.

Wuxian brought with him his apprentice, Xiaohei, a teenage feline spirit who seemed to embody both the grace and mischief of his kind. The boy's white hair and cat ears would often be spotted in places they shouldn't be - behind pillars during private meetings, in the palace kitchens stealing snacks, or perched on roof beams eavesdropping on conversations.

One day, while exploring the palace's restricted areas, Xiaohei came across the frozen nursery. Peering through a frost-covered window, he saw the Dragon Empress sitting motionless in his chair, and quickly scampered away, his green eyes wide with curiosity.

Later that evening, as Wuxian was reviewing documents in his study, Xiaohei dropped down from his usual perch in the rafters.

"Master," he said, his tail swishing with barely contained curiosity, "why is there a frozen room in the palace? And who was that person sitting in there?"

Wuxian set down his brush, his expression growing solemn. "Ah, you found the nursery." He sighed, opening a drawer in his desk. "I suppose you should know - it's part of the palace's history now."

He pulled out a carefully preserved painting, the colors still vibrant despite the years. It showed a baby with tufts of purple hair, magenta eyes ringed with red, small horns, and a glowing purple symbol on his forehead. The infant was captured mid-laugh, small puffs of both steam and frost visible around his mouth.

"This is Prince Ao Lui," Wuxian explained, his voice soft. "The son of Emperor Ne Zha and Empress Ao Bing. He was taken from his nursery the night before his hundred-day celebration."

Xiaohei's ears perked forward as he studied the painting. "Who took him?"

"No one knows," Wuxian replied. "The Emperor has been searching for him ever since, and the imperial consort…" he trailed off, glancing in the direction of the nursery. "He hasn't spoken or left that room since that night."

Xiaohei's tail drooped, his usual playfulness subdued. "And that's why the Emperor sometimes comes back looking so tired? He's still searching?"

Wuxian nodded. "Every free moment he has. He's searched every corner of the mortal realm, every mountain and valley. But there's been no trace of the prince or the person who took him."

Xiaohei continued to stare at the painting, his green eyes fixed on the laughing baby's face. Something about the image stirred something in him - a strange feeling he couldn't quite place. "Can I... can I keep looking at this for a while?" he asked hesitantly.

Wuxian raised an eyebrow at his usually rambunctious apprentice's sudden solemnity, but nodded. "Just be careful with it. It's one of the only images we have of the prince."

As Xiaohei settled in a corner with the painting, his tail curled around his feet, Wuxian watched him with growing interest. He'd never seen his apprentice so focused on anything before. The boy seemed almost transfixed by the image of the lost prince, as if trying to memorize every detail of the baby's face.

After studying the painting of the lost prince in Wuxian's study, Xiaohei couldn't get the image out of his mind. It followed him over the next few days, even as he and Wuxian prepared for their latest mission to the mortal realm.

Besides serving as the Emperor's advisor, Wuxian was part of an organization dedicated to helping displaced spirits - a cause close to his heart. After all, that was how he'd found Xiaohei, a young feline spirit left homeless after humans destroyed his forest. Wuxian had taken the spirited youth under his wing, training him as both an apprentice and a helper in his spirit-aid missions.

These trips to the mortal realm were always interesting, if somewhat restrictive for Xiaohei. While Wuxian could move freely among humans in his cultivator form, Xiaohei had to transform into a simple white cat to avoid drawing attention. His white hair, cat ears, and obvious spiritual nature would cause too much commotion in his true form.

Today's mission had brought them to a small town where several displaced tree spirits needed relocation. As usual, Wuxian had instructed Xiaohei to "stay put" while he handled the negotiations. And as usual, Xiaohei had other plans.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the town's tiled roofs as Xiaohei, in his simple black cat form, padded silently from building to building. His green eyes glowed with curiosity as he peered through windows and gaps in the roofing, watching the lives of mortals unfold below.

"Stay here, Xiaohei," he mimicked Wuxian's voice in a playful mutter. "As if I ever listen." His tail flicked with amusement as he leapt to another roof, landing with feline grace.

Below him, he watched a family preparing dinner, the smell of cooking rice and spices making his whiskers twitch. In another house, children played with wooden toys while their grandmother dozed in a chair. Each glimpse was like a little story, feeding his endless fascination with the mortal world.

As Xiaohei moved from roof to roof, he came across a house with an open courtyard at its center. Inside, a young man around his age stood at the base of a large tree, looking up at its branches with a mix of longing and hesitation.

The young man had long black hair that fell loosely to his waist, and even from this distance, Xiaohei could see his skin was as fine as white jade. He kept reaching for the lowest branch, then pulling back, as if unsure of his footing.

Intrigued, Xiaohei jumped down into the courtyard. Still in his cat form, he approached the tree and gracefully leapt onto the lowest branch. He turned to look at the young man, swishing his tail invitingly.

The black-haired youth noticed him, a small smile gracing his features. "Oh? Are you showing me the way, little cat?"

Xiaohei meowed in response, then jumped to the next branch up. He waited there, his green eyes fixed on the young man below. Understanding dawned on the youth's face, and he carefully reached for the first branch.

Branch by branch, Xiaohei led the way up the tree, waiting patiently each time for the young man to follow. Sometimes he would meow encouragement when the youth hesitated, or demonstrate the easiest path to take.

Finally, they reached the top branches that could support their weight. The black-haired youth's face lit up with wonder as he gazed out over the town, the setting sun painting everything in golden hues.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, his voice soft with awe. "I've never seen anything like this before." He turned to Xiaohei, reaching out to stroke his fur. "Did you help me climb up here on purpose, little cat?"

Xiaohei allowed himself to be petted, studying the young man more closely now. There was something otherworldly about his beauty - not just his jade-like skin and flowing black hair, but a certain grace that seemed almost... celestial.

"I should thank you," the youth continued, speaking more to himself than to the cat he believed Xiaohei to be. "I've always wanted to climb this tree, but never had the courage before. The view is worth it though, isn't it?"

The peaceful moment was shattered by a sharp voice cutting through the evening air. "Long Niao!"

The black-haired youth startled violently, his serene expression instantly replaced by fear. "Oh no," he whispered, scrambling to get down from the tree. In his haste, his foot slipped on a branch, and he tumbled the last few feet to the ground with a soft thud.

A man stormed into the courtyard just as Niao hit the ground. His face was twisted with anger as he roughly grabbed Niao's arm, yanking him upright. "Were you climbing this tree again? After I expressly forbade it?"

"I-I wasn't... I was just..." Niao tried to explain, his voice small and trembling, but the man cut him off with a rough shake.

"Don't lie to me! Look at you - covered in bark and leaves. How many times must I tell you to stay where you belong?"

Xiaohei had jumped down from the tree and stood behind Niao, his fur bristling at the man's rough treatment. The man noticed him and scowled.

"And what's this? A filthy stray?" He waved his free hand aggressively at Xiaohei. "Shoo! Get out of here, you mangy beast!"

Xiaohei stood his ground, green eyes narrowing as he stared defiantly at the man. This only seemed to anger him further.

"Useless animal," the man spat, then turned his attention back to Niao. "Come on. You clearly need another lesson about obedience." He began dragging Niao toward the house.

Niao looked back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Xiaohei's for a brief moment. There was something in that look - a mixture of resignation and longing - that made Xiaohei's heart clench.

Then they disappeared into the house, leaving Xiaohei alone in the courtyard. The cat spirit's tail twitched anxiously as he stared at the door where they'd vanished. The man's behavior had been disturbing, and Niao's fear had seemed deeply ingrained, as if this was a regular occurrence.

Something wasn't right here. The youth's otherworldly beauty, his apparent confinement, the man's controlling behavior - it all felt wrong. Xiaohei's whiskers twitched with concern as he remembered the look in Niao's eyes.

Following the events in the courtyard, Xiaohei found himself distracted throughout the next day. Even as he helped Wuxian with his duties, his mind kept wandering back to the black-haired youth and the rough way that man had treated him.

When night fell, Xiaohei slipped away from their lodgings. The streets were empty as he padded silently through the town in his cat form, making his way back to the house with the courtyard. Most of the windows were dark, but one still glowed with lamplight.

Leaping onto a nearby wall, Xiaohei crept closer to the lit window. Inside, he could see Long Niao kneeling at a low table, his long black hair falling forward as he bent over something he was writing. The lamplight cast a soft glow on his jade-white skin, making him look almost ethereal.

Xiaohei's tail accidentally knocked the window and Niao looked up, and his face brightened immediately upon seeing the black cat from earlier. He quickly got up and opened the window.

"It's you again," he whispered, his voice warm with genuine pleasure. "Please, come in. Are you hungry?"

Niao lifted Xiaohei gently through the window and set him down. He went to a small cabinet and returned with a piece of dried fish, offering it to the cat with careful hands.

"I saved this from dinner," he explained softly, settling back at his table and placing Xiaohei in his lap. "I hoped you might come back."

From his new vantage point, Xiaohei could clearly see what Niao had been writing. His heart sank as he read the characters repeated over and over on the paper:

"I must not climb trees. I must remain where I belong. I must not disobey."

The characters were neat and precise, but there were so many repetitions that Niao's fingers were stained with ink. Some of the earlier lines looked shaky, as if his hand had been trembling when he wrote them.

Niao absently stroked Xiaohei's fur as he picked up his brush again. "I have to write this five hundred times," he murmured, more to himself than to the cat he thought Xiaohei to be. "Father says it will help me remember my place."

Xiaohei felt his fur bristle with anger, but he forced himself to remain still, maintaining his disguise as an ordinary cat. He watched as Niao continued writing, his delicate hands moving methodically across the paper, adding line after line of self-degrading rules.

In the quiet room, with only the scratch of the brush and the soft glow of the lamp, Xiaohei could feel the sadness radiating from the beautiful youth. There was something deeply wrong here - something that went beyond simple strict parenting or harsh discipline. The way Niao was being treated, the way he was confined... it reminded Xiaohei of a caged bird, its wings clipped to keep it from flying free.

As Niao's brush strokes grew slower and his head began to nod, Xiaohei watched him finally succumb to sleep, slumping forward onto the table. After ensuring Niao was truly asleep, Xiaohei silently transformed into his spirit form.

He moved carefully through the room, his green eyes adjusting easily to the darkness. Something about this situation nagged at him - there had to be more to the story of why this beautiful youth was being kept so strictly confined.

Xiaohei's keen nose picked up a faint scent coming from beneath Niao's bed. Getting down on his hands and knees, he discovered a loose floorboard. Inside the small space was a crudely made doll, clearly fashioned by childish hands. What caught Xiaohei's attention was its unusual purple hair.

The doll looked well-worn, as if it had been handled often, though the hiding place suggested it was something Niao needed to keep secret. Xiaohei carefully replaced the doll exactly as he'd found it, his mind racing with questions.

As he finished replacing the floorboard, he heard Niao beginning to stir. Quickly, he transformed back into his cat form, but in his haste, one of his paws stepped into the ink pot on the table.

By the time Niao lifted his head, Xiaohei had already slipped out the window, leaving behind a single black pawprint on the edge of the punishment papers.

Niao noticed the pawprint and laughed softly, a rare genuine smile crossing his face. But the joy was quickly replaced by fear as he realized what "Father" would say about the marred paper. He frantically tried to cover the pawprint with more ink, his hands trembling slightly.

The door slid open, and Niao straightened immediately, his face carefully composed into a neutral expression.

"Father," he greeted, bowing his head respectfully to the man from earlier.

The man entered the room, his eyes immediately going to the papers on the table. "Have you finished your lines?"

Back at the heavenly palace, Ne Zha sat slumped in his throne, looking exhausted after another fruitless search of the mortal realm. Wuxian stood before him, providing updates on celestial matters that needed attention. Xiaohei waited impatiently for the meeting to end, his tail twitching with the urgency of what he wanted to share.

As soon as Ne Zha dismissed them, Xiaohei bounded toward his master. "Master Wuxian, I need to tell you something important-"

But servants swarmed around Wuxian immediately, bombarding him with questions about various administrative matters. "Not now, Xiaohei," Wuxian waved him off, turning to address a particularly insistent servant's concerns about the upcoming celestial festival.

That evening, in Wuxian's private study, Xiaohei tried again. "Master, listen! I found something strange in the mortal realm - a doll with purple hair, hidden under the floorboards of-"

"Xiaohei," Wuxian interrupted, not looking up from his scrolls, "it's just a doll. Children use whatever materials they have at hand. Purple yarn doesn't mean anything."

"But Master-"

"Enough," Wuxian said firmly. "You're letting your imagination run wild again. You're still young, and I understand you want to help, but not everything is a grand mystery to be solved."

Later, as they sat down to their evening meal in their quarters, Xiaohei pushed his food around his bowl, his ears drooping slightly. "Master Wuxian... can I ask you something about the prince?"

Wuxian looked up, surprised by his apprentice's serious tone. "What do you want to know?"

"How old would he be now? If we found him, what would he look like?"

Wuxian set down his chopsticks, considering the question carefully. "That's... complicated. Time flows differently in the celestial realm than it does in the mortal world. And the prince's unique heritage makes it even more uncertain."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Wuxian explained, "if he remained in the heavenly realm, he would age as immortals do. But if that person took him to the mortal realm... his divine blood might still affect his aging. He could still appear quite young, perhaps even still an infant, despite the years that have passed. There's never been anyone quite like him before - part demon, part dragon, part human, and part spirit. We simply don't know how time would affect him."

Xiaohei absorbed this information, thinking about Long Niao's ageless beauty, his otherworldly grace. "And his powers? Would he have both ice and fire abilities?"

"Presumably, yes. Though they might manifest in unexpected ways." Wuxian studied his apprentice curiously. "Why all these questions suddenly?"

"No reason," Xiaohei said quickly, standing up. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Master."

In his room, Xiaohei lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He thought about Long Niao's jade-white skin, his confined existence, the purple-haired doll hidden away like a secret memory. He thought about the man who claimed to be Niao's father, but whose features bore no resemblance to the youth's ethereal beauty.