Chapter Text
Crane had had just about enough, he mused somewhat bitterly, of putting out fires for the day.
He eyed the damp, scorched roof with all the mistrust his tired and aching body could muster. If it rekindled, then Crane figured at this point they were just going to have to build a new training hall, because he refused to douse this frankly ruined building a single bucketful further.
He didn’t even bother carrying the abused bucket down, just drifting off the roof, wings curved and just taught enough to cushion himself on air. Crane had the odd thought that he should stumble when he hit the ground, because this felt like the kind of situation one could only really stumble away from with a thousand yard stare and muttered promises of “never again” on their tongue—but, no. He was too well-trained for such theatrics. It would take more effort to perform than it would to just land with natural grace. Unfortunately.
There were people waiting for him on the ground. None of them were people he wanted to see. But to be fair, Crane wanted to see no one and think of nothing until he woke up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and possibly not even then. His stomach growled, reminding him he had only drank a bowl of broth and inhaled a single tofu square that day. Breakfast couldn’t come soon enough.
“Master Crane,” Madame Jinhua nodded solemnly. A lantern hung low from one hand, the shadows on her face haunted-looking in the dark of the night. Her son was secured on her hip with her other arm, the child fast asleep in the late hour. Spirits, Crane wished he could sleep that well.
“…Madame,” Crane greeted, reluctant to engage in any kind of interaction that would prevent him from reaching his sleeping mat.
The lantern light glinted in her eyes, a colder light than the building fire Crane had just spent far too long flying in the face of. “Do I have to worry about the rest of the palace burning down by morning.”
It was not phrased as a question.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, after today,” Crane deadpanned, brain-to-mouth filter shot to the lowest plane of the Spirit Realm.
She snorted ruefully. “Master Crane, if it were not for you and most of your team’s assistance with the absolute circus Shifu has made of today, I would consider burning down this entire palace with my own two hands.”
Crane blinked, half-convinced he had made it back to his room and was already dreaming. “Was… that a compliment? From you? To me?”
“Do not act so shocked,” Jinhua tsked, stern as steel. “I can respect hard work when I see it. You have gone above and beyond to help the people maintaining this place, today. Good work.”
Crane blinked a few times in rapid succession, eyes burning. If any further evidence was warranted showing just how rocked he’d been left by this—circus of a day—then him, a Kung Fu Master and member of the Furious Five, being brought to tears over a simple good work from Head Staff Coordinator Jinhua could be his exhibit A.
He swallowed, throat sore. “…Thank you.”
“Yes—well,” Jinhua, chagrinned, turned the lantern away from Crane’s wet eyes, the light now revealing only her side’s silhouette. “If you ever desire true employment, feel free to contact my office.”
Crane’s days as a janitor had long since been over, but for some reason, the offer made him feel more respected than he had in quite awhile. “Thank you, Madame Jinhua.”
“…You’re most welcome.” She promptly extended the lantern, light directed at the road leading down to the foremost courtyard. “I am going home. I will see you in approximately one to three months.”
A tired and possibly somewhat envious smile curled through Crane’s beak. “Fair.”
But just as Jinhua took a few steps towards freedom and Crane had about made the first listless flap up to his own quarters in his quest for blissful, blissful unconsciousness, rabbit in maid garb breathlessly ran up the road to the main gates.
“A-ah, Madame Jinhua,” the maid puffed, panicked but clearly hesitant to commit the gravest sin a subordinate could to their employer and vice versa—approaching them with an embargo on going home after work hours.
“That is indeed my name,” Jinhua allowed, brushing past the maid and continuing down the stairs. Her eyes stayed focused straight ahead, perhaps hoping if she didn’t look at the problem it would stop existing. “It is good of you to check.”
“There is someone here at the gates,” the maid said in a rush, clearly sensing her limited window of being heard out. “He says he’s lost his child!”
Crane turned around just in time to watch Jinhua stop in her tracks. Her silhouette from behind had grown a piglet shaped protrusion tucked under her arm.
Jinhua locked onto the rabbit, tired posture evaporating. “When was this?”
The maid—hesitated.
“…He said his son came to see the tournament today, but never made it home.” She wrung their paws, squeezing them bloodless.
Only the Masters of the Jade Palace could open the palace gates to outsiders, some part of Crane’s frazzled brain decided to inform him, something about the way the maid had paused tickling in the back of his mind. Contracted servants could enter and leave as their terms of employment dictated. However, for security reasons, any staff, whilst in the walls of the palace, were not to speak through the walls to outsiders, lest they be tempted to unlock the doors for them. No matter how an outsider begged or screamed, no matter what purpose or reasoning they offered to the unaffected doors, no staff were to acknowledge them under penalty of forfeiting their contracts. Only a Kung Fu Master of the Jade Palace could do anything to help.
The maid looked past Jinhua and right to Crane, and the light from the lantern caught her face. “The father has been standing at the palace gates for over an hour.” There were tears in the maid’s eyes, but also dried tracks down her cheeks and chin like she had been crying for an hour or so.
Sweet Spirits on a noodle cart. Kung Fu Master Crane of the Jade Palace let his eyes fall shut, his prospects of sleep, soon, melting in his grasp like early spring snow. They were doing this, then.