It was early autumn. Golden-white chrysanthemums bloomed throughout the park, releasing an endless fragrance with just a light sniff.
Tourists strolled along the stone paths. Others leaned against railings, gazing at the clear stream. Some even pulled out cameras, crouching low to capture precious moments.
Yet no matter what they were doing, everyone’s attention snapped toward distant shouts the next second.
"Hey! Why are you chasing me?!"
"Chirp! Chirp-chirp-chirp!"
Heads turned. A tall young man came sprinting toward them, hands clamped over his head in utter disarray. Behind him fluttered a tiny sparrow.
The little bird’s eyes burned with fury. It relentlessly pecked at the man, as if they shared some ancient grudge.
Zhou Ruiyang was utterly baffled.
He hadn’t provoked it—he’d even bought birdseed to feed it! Why this unprovoked attack? And why was it friendly to everyone else but him?
Zhou Ruiyang couldn’t understand. But Mujin didn’t care about his confusion.
*This guy ruined my mission. Turned me into a sparrow. Chased by snakes. Drowned in lakes. Eating bugs. Sleeping in tree hollows.*
Even if he hadn’t meant it, Mujin couldn’t help but resent him.
So now, she was simply voicing her pent-up frustration. Since she couldn’t speak, she used the only other way her beak knew how:
Pecking!
Peck the hell out of him!
Though pecking was a bird’s natural attack, Mujin felt strangely awkward doing it.
Attacking him somehow felt like... kissing him.
But since Zhou Ruiyang yelped in pain, she figured it was working.
"Seriously, are you ever gonna stop?!"
Zhou Ruiyang thought he’d lose the bird after running a distance. Yet this sparrow chased him relentlessly. With crowds gathering, he felt too embarrassed to just keep fleeing.
He skidded to a halt. As the sparrow darted toward him, his hands shot out.
Sparrows had sharp reflexes—but Mujin only saw a blur. Before she could react, Zhou Ruiyang had her trapped in his palm.
"Whoa, this kid caught a bird barehanded?"
"What did he do? I didn’t even see it!"
"A master. This is a true master."
Hearing the onlookers’ murmurs, Zhou Ruiyang grew uneasy. He carried the plump little sparrow into a secluded grove.
Holding it close to his face, he growled, "Listen up, little troublemaker. Behave yourself, or there’ll be no good juice for you."
He’d heard birds were smart enough to understand human speech.
Mujin understood perfectly—but she refused to comply. Instead, she "kissed" his fingers with frantic pecks.
"Still disobedient, huh?" Zhou Ruiyang’s eyes narrowed. He squeezed just a little harder.
*Ow!*
*Let go, idiot! I’m gonna get squished flat!*
The crushing pain finally sparked real fear.
As a human, she’d never feared people—even when they loomed large. But now? Humans were Ultraman-level giants to her. Ending her life would be effortless.
She wriggled desperately, trying to shout—but only bird cries escaped.
"Chirp! Chirp-chirp-chirp!"
"Feeling it now? Good. Stay put."
"Chirp."
Zhou Ruiyang froze.
Had that sparrow just... nodded?
He slowly opened his hand. The sparrow shot into the air, circling him once before shrieking:
"Chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp!" (*Stupid Ruiyang, you just wait! I’ll be back!*)
But Zhou Ruiyang heard only bird calls as Mujin flew away.
Mujin soared over the trees to the park’s artificial birdhouse zone.
Tiny house-shaped nests hung from branches, meant for birds to live in freely.
Mujin had worried about competition—but she’d overestimated their appeal. Wild birds preferred building their own nests with twigs over these strange little boxes.
These "homes" were really just park decorations to attract humans.
Still, thanks to this human vanity, Mujin had a place to call home.
The irony wasn’t lost on her: as a human, she’d never owned a house. As a sparrow, she did.
Inside her nest, soft turf covered the floor—warm and cushiony.
A slender twig served as her bed (unbelievable, she knew).
Beside it sat a tiny bowl she’d scavenged, filled with birdseed. Her emergency stash. Her "mini-fridge."
The two-story nest had a tiny staircase. Mujin hopped up to the second floor, gazing out the round window.
Sunset painted the maple leaves gold and crimson. Distant rooftops glowed like fairy-tale castles.
No adult worries. No uncertain futures. Just soaring freely, resting when tired, eating when hungry, soaking in dreamlike views whenever bored.
From a sparrow’s eyes, the world was breathtakingly beautiful.
*If only I had a tiny rocking chair...*
But that was impossible. Sparrows couldn’t sit or lie down comfortably—doing so usually meant they were near death.
(Though sparrows *could* play dead, Mujin had tried lying down. Standing on branches felt far better.)
For birds, gripping a twig was as relaxing as lying down had been for her as a human.
"Mama... Mama... waaah..."
A child’s sob shattered the peace.
Mujin startled, hopping to the window. Her round eyes widened.
A little girl, maybe four or five, crouched beneath her tree, tears streaming down her face.
Her cries were soft. This grove was deep and quiet—few tourists wandered here.
*Lost her mom? Wandered here alone?*
Memories flooded back: getting separated from her own mother in a crowded market as a child. That crushing loneliness.
Mujin fluttered down, circling the girl—but could only chirp helplessly.
*Damn it! I can’t speak!*
A bird’s voice box couldn’t mimic human words. How could she find the girl’s mother without speech?
Just as panic set in, a man’s voice called out nearby:
"What’s wrong, little sister?"
Mujin looked up—and froze in surprise.
Zhou Ruiyang?
Why was he here?
