Chapter Text
“I’m gonna ask.” Mantis threatened softly.
“Don’t you dare.” Viper warned back, very tempted to slap the older master across the courtyard. “It’s none of our business how a goose has a panda kid.”
“That’s not what I was gonna ask, oh ye of little faith,” Mantis pressed an offended foreleg to his thorax. “I need to interrogate this guy on how he built a mobile furnace inside of a noodle cart. Honestly Viper, you’re kinda the weird one for jumping right to that.”
Viper huffed, physically turning from the temptation to smack Mantis anyway. Instead, she watched Po’s dad, the goose in question, break into a run at the sight of Po hobbling down the stairs and full-contact tackle the panda into a hug, Po budging not at all. Differing species aside, his actions thus far had been very fatherly—tight embraces, saying things like “don’t ever scare me like that again, young man!” It brought a genuine tear to the eye.
Four of the Furious Five stopped a polite distance away from the sweet scene, letting the father-son duo reunite on their own time. The remaining member of their team hid away at the top of the shadowed stairs, watching “mysteriously” from a distance. Viper did Tigress a courtesy and didn’t acknowledge her lurking, even though her fellow Master’s heat signature burned like a bonfire in her periphery.
Viper focused on slipping a coil-full of wrapped tofu squares into Crane’s talons. He’d had the most physically demanding task of them all: finding and dousing every last ember of the Training Hall and preventing the entire Jade Palace from going up in flames with the next unfortunate turn of the wind. It was important, but it meant he’d missed dinner.
Or at least, he’d missed what had passed as the night’s provisions. No one had exactly gathered ‘round the table for a “family meal.”
Mantis was busy treating Po’s head wound for one, with Monkey playing “nurse” (read: had been given strict instructions to not let Mantis stab any part of Po in the doctoring process). Viper would have preferred to supervise herself, but then that would have left Monkey and Tigress alone to prepare food for everyone, and…
Well. No one wanted a second fire cropping up in such a short timeframe.
Dinner consisted of Tigress’s signature no-cook, no-sauce, no-anything, pre-prepared tofu squares, while Viper added the garnishes preferred by her other team members that viewed food as more than fuel for Kung Fu. Mostly, Viper had hung out in the kitchen and kept an eye on Tigress as she took a listless kitchen knife to the pressed slabs of protein.
Viper had asked Tigress exactly once if she was alright. After… everything. Needless to say, the rest of cooking dinner was an uncomfortably silent affair.
Po pulled back from the lengthy hug to blink down at his father in astonishment. “Dad, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Mr. Ping parroted back, indignantly. “What in all of China are you doing here? It’s so late! Without even sending a messenger? Do you have any idea how worried I was—?”
“Sorry dad,” Po winced. “Things at the palace got kinda—crazier than expected…”
“I see,” Mr. Ping raised a brow, “The noodles really sold that well? Oh, what am I saying? Of course they did!”
“…Yeah, dad!” Po laughed, bordering on hysterical. “The noodles sold great! They were eating them like it was the only food in China.” Or like the only ready-made fresh meal at the top of a mountain, Viper supposed, but that was neither here nor there.
“That’s wonderful!” Mr. Ping grinned, excitedly bouncing in place. “Did we get rid of all the bean buns?”
Po sighed, exasperated but not particularly surprised. “Yes, dad.”
A businessman to the core indeed, Viper mused. Adopted or not, it seemed the goose still found a way to pass down a sense of single-minded dedication to his son.
“Oh, my son! I just knew you’d do an amazing job on your own!” Mr. Ping recaptured the hug. “You did so good!”
Po squeezed back a little tighter.
“At least you think so, dad.” Po’s dad tilted his head quizzically as the panda rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Everything… everything’s been a big mess today, dad. A totally awesome mess, don’t get me wrong! But, yeah. Still a mess.”
“It’s alright, Po.” Mr. Ping offered soothingly. He reached up and took the panda’s paw comfortingly. “In fact, I’m proud of you!”
Aww. All this paternal affection would have given Viper cavities, had she been born with fangs. She should really schedule a family visit soon. If today had impressed anything upon her, it was that one never knew if next time would be too late.
Po blinked rapidly down at his father. When he spoke his throat sounded tight. “Do you—do you really mean it?”
“Of course I’m proud of you, Po!” Mr. Ping half-scolded his son for considering any other possibility.
The panda’s lip wobbled in a way that seriously threatened the dryness of Viper’s own eyes. “Thanks, dad.”
“Yes yes, your dedication to noodles is very impressive, son.” Mr. Ping patted the back of Po’s hand. “But it’s time to go home now.”
“…Home?” Po fully retracted from the goose just to double-take. “Wait, what?”
“Yes, home! It’s been a busy day!” Mr. Ping tutted. Abruptly, the noodle-themed goose turned to their accumulated spectating warriors with a grateful bow. “Thank you all so much for bringing my son back to me. He’s my world, you see.”
“No… problem?” Crane responded for them, sounding as confused as Viper felt.
“Wait, dad,” Po waved his hands in a valiant attempt to slow his father’s momentum. “What do you mean? We’re leaving?”
“Yes, we are!” Po’s father declared, wings-on-hips. “Honestly, you made a great effort today, but I didn’t intend for you to be out this late!”
“Uh…” Po glanced to their audience of Kung Fu Masters, hunching a bit more at the sight. “No offense dad, but the stairs here literally almost killed me today. I’m not sure I’d make it if I had to climb them again to get back to the Jade Palace tomorrow morning.”
And if not murdered by stairs, then Master Shifu would just about do it himself, the thought encroached on Viper’s brain. She shook her head to clear it. Yes, her Master wanted Po gone, but only for the safety of the panda himself and the others around him. Actually attempting to kill Po would be counterproductive. Master Shifu would never seriously try to maim or murder him.
Probably.
Viper wondered if she should be irritated that the posturing debacle in the Training Hall was entirely unnecessary, considering all Master Shifu needed to do to “get the panda gone” was, apparently, call his dad to come pick him up. No flying saws, fire, or other life-threatening circumstances required.
Actually, yes. That was irritating. She’d decided it.
“Back?” Mr. Ping squinted at Po, incredulous. “Why would you need to come back? Is there another show tomorrow?”
“For… training?” Po answered hesitantly, like it could be a trick question.
“‘Training?’” Repeated Mr. Ping with a hearty helping of skepticism. “Training for what?”
Po slowly straightened, exchanging a look with their group as the revelation dawned over them all simultaneously. A sinking dread spread down Viper’s spine, nose to tip.
“Oh,” Po replied almost conversationally through his half-covered mouth. The panda stared off into the middle distance. “You haven’t heard?”
“No,” Viper whispered, copying Po, tail pressed to snout. “Surely, someone would have said something…”
Viper shared a cringe with Monkey, who had shoved his knuckles in his mouth and bitten down. Crane had shut his eyes, undoubtedly trying to pretend he was anywhere besides the peanut gallery of what was shaping up to be the second-most awkward reveal of the day.
Po’s father blinked up at his son expectantly, completely guileless. “Heard what?”
“I—” Po stuttered, twisting his fingers. “I got—I was—I’m—”
Po stopped. Took a breath, let it out. “Dad. I got picked.”
Mr. Ping tilted his head. “Picked for what?”
Po opened his mouth—and shut it. He squinted down at his father, taking in the goose’s mild, uncomprehending expression.
“…Random question.” Po said, without removing his stare. “Do you know what the tournament was for in the first place?”
“It was a fighting show, wasn’t it?” Mr. Ping nodded to himself decisively. “For your Kung Pow!”
Kung Pow? Viper mouthed to Crane. Crane just shook his head and shoved a tofu square into his beak, chewing tiredly.
“No. No, dad.” Po mourned, running a hand down his snout. “It was for the Dragon Warrior. The Dragon Warrior!”
“Ah! Yes!” Mr. Ping nodded once as if he understood. “The… Dragon Warrior! How exciting!” The goose tapped his beak in thought. “Hmm. Maybe for the next Dragon Warrior show, we could prepare some spicy dumplings to sell! We could call them, Dragon Dumplings,” Mr. Ping gestured in an arc, like the name would be up on a sign somewhere. “I bet they’d be a hit—we could mark them up by fifty percent!”
Abruptly, Viper was pulled into a memory of her and her family gathered at dinner table, witnessing her most medically-minded sister deliver a completely unironic quote which had promptly gone down in infamy in her household: “Mycology is second nature to us apothecaries, so it’s easy to forget that the average person only knows that histosol is the optimal ground-mushroom foraging soil, and can identify just one or two false matsutake species. And the death cap, of course.”
So perhaps, Viper was more the fool for overestimating the average villager’s familiarity with Kung Fu lore. Maybe it was arrogant to assume that everyone just had to know what the Dragon Warrior was. She was far too embroiled in the world of Kung Fu to determine if Mr. Ping’s lack of knowledge on the subject was odd. But all that rationalization didn’t stop her from shaking her head in disbelief at the goose, because how could he possibly not know? He lived three houses from the Jade Palace!
Po’s other hand moved up to cover his face entirely. “No, dad. There aren’t gonna be any more Dragon Warrior tournaments.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” Mr. Ping tsked like they were discussing an unfortunate pothole in the road. “Do you think people would stay excited enough about the show to still buy Dragon Dumplings for a bit anyway? We could mark them up by twenty-five percent!” The goose gasped and stuck a primary feather in the air, marking an epiphany. “Or! Maybe we should save the idea for a different show, if the Dragon stuff is done with. Is there a Snake Warrior tournament next year?”
There should absolutely be a Snake Warrior tournament next year, in Viper’s objectively correct opinion. With any luck, she’d actually get to have her family there to see her in it—provided Master Shifu didn’t successfully retcon their most recent tournament’s outcome and wind up making her Dragon Warrior, somehow. Who knew if penultimate cosmic power left room in the Dragon Warrior for things like families.
The belated, somewhat inappropriately-timed realization struck Viper then, that she probably wouldn’t get to commission those snake carvings from Po. Though, she supposed she wouldn’t need them anymore. If she wasn’t becoming the Dragon Warrior, then she wouldn’t need to get her family something to remember her by. No need to preserve a memory as she was before the scroll, when she was their sister, their daughter—when an irrefutable part of herself belonged to them, rather than to the whole universe.
Ironically, Po and his father would need those carvings more than her now, but she was sure they wouldn’t realize until far too late.
“There aren’t gonna be any more tournaments!” Po cried, ripping his hands away from himself in distress. “There’s only one! Ever! In history! And this was it!” Po let his paws drop, dangling limply. “This… this was all anyone got.”
“Po?” Mr. Ping’s brows furrowed, laying a gentle wing on the panda’s forearm. “Are you okay? Was the show bad?”
“No.” Po bit his lip. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I was talking to the Furious Five, and then I was feeding everybody, and then suddenly I was—” Po gestured in front of himself, vaguely, and buried his face in his hands once more. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Ping searched his son’s face, a tempered mirror to his distress. “Why are you apologizing?”
Po peered through his fingers. “…You really haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” Mr. Ping threw his wings up, thoroughly exasperated. “You’re starting to worry me, Po! Why don’t you want to come home?”
Po visibly swallowed. “I’m sorry. I…”
Po looked back at them. At her.
__________________
“Do you think… someone like me, could ever learn to do Kung Fu?”
Big, green eyes pierced through Viper. In them, a war was fought. Hope for an answer besides the only one he had undoubtedly been given before, versus his resignation to receiving it anyway.
He was so nervous, so fragile in his question. Viper’s immediate instinct was to reassure him. Say ‘yes’ without too much thought put into the answer. Just make him happy, because she’s good at happy.
But at the same time… she was his role-model of, apparently, ten whole years. She should give him a real, well-put answer. Something still suitably encouraging, obviously, but… not dishonest. Not something so blatantly fake it would dismiss him, regardless of how sweetly said.
“What makes you want to learn Kung Fu?” Viper asked, hoping her answer would be buried somewhere in his.
“Uh… I dunno,” the noodle vendor rubbed his neck awkwardly. “It’s just—I saw you guys fight Boar, and ever since… it’s all I’ve wanted to do! Just—” Po clenched his hands together, paws curved around each other like a spiral, “—there’s something about it, you know? It’s… it’s right! It’s…!” Po sighed defeatedly, letting his hands drop. “I don’t know, that probably sounds like nonsense. It’s hard for me to explain even to myself—and trust me,” Po chuckled, a little sad, “I’ve tried.”
“Hmm…” That didn’t really help her form a coherent answer. Viper tapped her chin, wracking her brain. “Well, what is Kung Fu to you, Po?”
“What is Kung Fu?” Po exclaimed like he couldn’t believe she’d asked, “It’s being awesome!”
Viper blinked. “Huh?”
“I mean—!” Po coughed into his fist, flushing hard. “T-that’s what it all seems to boil down to? Just—just based on what I managed to read about it.”
Her skepticism must have shown through the encouraging smile she attempted to plaster on her face. Po left out a nervous, almost giddy laugh.
“It’s about being committed to improving yourself, and respecting others and your opponents, and becoming totally cool and stuff through learning to punch people—for justice!” The enthusiasm in his voice clashed with how he grabbed up the end of his apron and rubbed it soothingly between his fingers. “That’s what makes it balanced, I think—punching for peace. Kung Fu is basically about, like, getting good—balanced, that is. Uniting with the universe, and stuff. That’s why they both start with ‘uni.’” The panda laughed again, still refusing eye-contact. “So, yeah. Awesomeness! …Uh. I’ll shut up now.”
Viper sucked in a deep breath for strength. She opened her mouth, trying to parse that, prepared to correct him, and after several moments of thought, ended up letting her jaw hang.
“…Believe it or not,” Viper started slowly, leaning more towards ‘not’ herself, “Master Oogway says something similar.”
Po apron slipped from his paws in surprise. “Wait, really?”
“Well. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say ‘awesomeness,’ before.” Viper dipped her head in admittance, “But honestly? You seem to have the gist of it: self-discipline, respect, and balance. That’s the core of Kung Fu.”
Po pumped his fist, letting out a ‘sweet!’ to himself under his breath. Viper smiled.
Viper crawled up the noodle cart, just to lay a comforting coil on the panda’s shoulder. “Master Oogway once told me that Kung Fu is the art of achieving self-excellence. So if you can believe that everyone has a most excellent version of themselves, then anyone, with lots and lots of hard work, can learn to do Kung Fu.”
“Po? You’re anyone, too. You can learn Kung Fu.”
____________________________
“…I don’t know, dad.” Po shrugged, helpless. “I just… I can’t go home. Not yet.”
He might never go home if he doesn’t go right now. The thought came upon Viper almost nonsensically, considering Shifu’s earlier promise to make the panda gone by morning. But Po wasn’t gone, and Shifu and Oogway’s one-sided cold war stretched to its first midnight.
In that moment she felt an abstract horror, something that urged her to tell Po to go and keep his father and his noodles before destiny could catch up. To not risk what he had for a scroll. To amend what she said earlier, scream that the Dragon Warrior wasn’t any excellent version of Po, just like how it wasn’t any version of her or her teammates. Tell this father before her that his child could very well disappear in a cosmic tidal wave the second he turned his back, could be replaced by something else belonging to everyone and no one. Warn him his son could be erased the second the panda laid eyes on the power people had killed to glimpse.
She remained silent, stuck in place.
Mr. Ping just sighed, and stretched to provide Po’s dark-furred shoulder a firm pat. “It’s okay to be frazzled, son. It’s been a long day—”
Mr. Ping’s face wrinkled. He absentmindedly brushed off Po’s shoulder—and then retracted his hand to inspect after a good few swipes weren’t sufficient.
The goose’s feathers came back visibly black.
“—What in all of China are you covered in, Po?” Mr. Ping caught Po before the panda could pull back and aggressively dusted him off. “Is this soot? Have you been cleaning?”
“Uh!” Said Po.
Clouds of dark ash and tiny splinters rained down, much to everyone’s notably individual horror. “Spirits, it’s everywhere!”
“Ha ha!” Po grimaced and took a step back out of his father’s wingspan. He ducked and rubbed his neck, avoiding eye-contact. “Sorry dad! There might have been a slight—really, just a tiny—incident, during training today.”
“‘Training,’” the goose’s echo jaundiced and utterly bereft of amusement. With new eyes, Mr. Ping scanned Po, scrutinizing with startling intensity. With the uncanny precision of an archer, he locked in on the top of Po’s exposed head.
“WHAT is THAT?”
“Yikes,” Mantis muttered for the Furious Five’s ears only, wincing in anticipation just before Viper could see exactly what had set the goose off louder than an alarm bell.
A second later, Viper found herself copying the doctor on pure reflex.
From one heartbeat to the next, Po’s jaw had been snagged and his head manhandled to Mr. Ping’s line of sight, tilted down enough to expose the goose egg sized bump on the top of Po’s skull.
“Where did you get this lump?” Mr. Ping gasped. He tilted Po’s head just enough for the semi-dried healing salve on his head to catch the moonlight. Gentle feathers came up to air trace a line of red bisecting the dramatic swell. “It has a cut!”
“Urk—!” Po winced through his seized snout. “Dad—! My face—!”
Mr. Ping obliged the implicit request to liberate Po’s face, revealing no shame in his swift and brutal investigation of his son’s damage. There was no room for remorse when evidently, the goose’s entire being had been taken over by something far colder. A chill swept through Viper’s body, and close by she sensed Monkey shiver.
Mr. Ping bowed his head, catching Po by the shoulders before the panda could straighten. A darkness bubbled to the surface of his eyes like tar. When the goose next spoke, it was with a hiss that had Viper flattened to the ground and checking the shadows for other snakes.
“Who did this?”
In her periphery, the others flinched. They immediately inspected literally anything else in the area besides the father and son to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Crane in particular took a step back, feathers puffy—a very bad sign. Hissing wasn’t exactly a friendly gesture in the snake community, but Viper was willing to bet money that little display hit differently to a fellow bird.
But really, it had been an accident. It wasn’t as though the Five and Master Shifu had all gotten together to hoist up a giant ceiling beam and beat Po over the head, and then set him a little bit on fire. They’d all tried their best to keep Po from getting hurt…
…Besides Master Shifu, who had brought him into the Training Hall for, perhaps, the explicit purpose of at least threatening Po with excessive pain and injury, should he not back down and quit Kung Fu.
…And the Furious Five—the group whose whole purpose was to protect villagers from threats up to and including actively collapsing buildings—who had failed at the job they’d trained for years to do, quite spectacularly, and allowed Po to come to harm under their watch.
…And Master Oogway, who had unsolicitedly plucked the panda from his peaceful village life, none but Shifu even trying to stop him, with the end goal of turning Po from a panda into an unknowable creature of myth and legend.
…And the village, who’d all borne witness to the birth of the “Dragon Warrior,” not caring enough to mention to the aforementioned Dragon Warrior’s father where his son went, leading said father to be stranded in front of the Jace Palace’s doors, unknowingly begging and crying for help from the very people who’d taken his son from him.
Viper wanted to crawl out of her skin.
Po, in a feat of incredible bravery or possibly obliviousness, remained undaunted in the face of the coldest fury she’d witnessed in recent memory.
“Oh, this little thing? I just, uh,” The panda fished for an explanation that wouldn’t get everyone in the Jade Palace smothered to death in their sleep. “I hit it! On… a pan! Yeah.”
“You hit your head… on a pan.” Mr. Ping repeated slowly.
“Yup!” Po’s guilty grin stretched around the ‘y.’
“You found a pan,” the goose clarified, eyes unblinking, “while using the Noodle Cart? The Noodle Cart, that has no pans? And you hit yourself with it? On the top of your head?”
“N-no!” Po backpedaled, hands waving. “It wasn’t with the Noodle Cart, it was in the… Jade Palace kitchen?”
Po risked a glance at the Masters, attempting to confirm if such a location existed. Which, obviously, it did. But frankly, Viper would have nodded frantically at anything the panda said if it meant unclogging the atmosphere of his father’s killing intent.
“And what, pre-cise-ly,” Mr. Ping enunciated each syllable, defined enough to cut, “were the events that led to a pan hitting you hard enough to bleed—” Mr. Ping, as fast as one of her own lunges, pulled up the corner of Po’s lip, revealing a blatant gap in his back teeth, “—and lose a tooth? Now, I could have sworn you just said you got hit on the top of your head!”
“Ahg, Dahd—” Po sputtered and batted the primary feather from his mouth. “It was—another pan? It hit me in the face!”
“Oh,” Mr. Ping said with exaggerated understanding. “A second pan has hit my son! This is quite the excuse for a food preparation area,” Mr. Ping spat the technically accurate description of a kitchen like it was the worst of slurs, “to have so many pans just flying around, haphazard! Are there any other ‘pans’ I should know about?”
Something about the last sentence had Po stilling, abandoning another bluster. He dared another glance at the Four, before placing a fragile, chagrined curve of the lips onto his face.
“…Actually,” Po rubbed the back of his neck, deliberately not looking at his father. “There, uh, might have been a third pan involved?”
Viper tried to catch his eye, delivering her best ‘what the hell are you doing’ stare. Who on earth would find three pans more believable than one or two?
Po let out an exhale that made a convincing impersonation of someone emptying out every spec of air in their body, promising nothing left but the truth. He sheepishly met his father’s eyes with a half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… might have been trying to do that three-pan stir fry juggling trick, again.”
Mr. Ping blinked. Then, one feature at a time, his feathers smoothed, his head unbowed, and face un-creased like taughtened silk. Much to Viper’s astonishment, she realized she was visibly watching the ire drain from the goose’s body.
“Po. I keep telling you not to practice that silly trick!” Mr. Ping half-scolded, yet clearly relieved to have discovered Po’s ‘secret.’ The atmosphere whiplashed into a lighter realm so quickly, Viper felt as though someone had physically grabbed her by the tail and cracked her. “We don’t have the ceiling height!”
“That worked?” Mantis asked, just shy of too loud. Monkey clapped a hand down and smothered Mantis’ face into his shoulder.
“I know! But the Jade Palace has really tall ceilings!” Po ‘defended’ himself. His wringing hands could have been embarrassment, but Viper knew it was guilt. “I… thought it would go right this time?”
Mr. Ping exhaled, exhaustedly pinching his beak. Viper was briefly inundated with the image of her own father making an identical expression of exasperation. When was the last time she’d seen it? When Viper had been a teen and used her dancing ribbon to tie two of her sister’s bullies to a tree? Even later? Actually, Viper was struggling to recall the last time she’d seen her father, period. It must have been at the annual new years family gathering, but in her anxiety she found the memory of his face slipping from her like sand through her coils.
Mr. Ping peered up at Po’s injury. “Does it… hurt?”
“Pssh, nah!” Po waved off the concern with impressive aplomb. “I only felt it for like, a second. And the tooth will grow back! Eventually.”
What? Monkey mouthed, fingers to his head like if he pressed hard enough, he might start comprehending Po’s claim better. Despite the ongoing maelstrom of worry rampaging inside of her, she still found herself raising a brow at him for it. Did primate teeth not grow back? How odd. Not that Viper had any room to comment on the state of others’ dentition, she supposed.
“And why were you showing off for this place anyway, hmm?” Mr. Ping placed his wings on his hips. “I certainly hope you weren’t hitting yourself with pans for free.”
Mr. Ping absentmindedly rubbed the soot between his feathers—and jerked to a halt. “Or… wait. Were you cleaning the kitchen, too?”
“Uh… yeah?” Po almost answered, but mostly asked. “It’s… the polite thing to do?”
“Po…” Mr. Ping’s eyes sparkled.
“…Did you get a job at the Jade Palace?”
Viper’s fangless jaw hung loose.
“Po! Is that why you were here so late?” Mr. Ping bounced in place, shaking out his wings with uncontainable excitement. “Were you getting chef’s training? Did you get picked to be the Jade Palace’s cook?”
Po stared, frozen, at his father. His brows twitched like they wanted to fly off his face. “Why would you ask that.”
But the goose’s imagination was clearly already off to the races, leaving Po’s question in the dust. “I knew you’d do great at the show, but performing well enough in front of the Jade Palace staff to be scouted as an on-site chef? I’m beyond words…!”
Po hesitated, mouth open, yet clearly not locating any words either. Slowly, the panda’s face pulled into a smile that was mostly grimace.
“Yeah, dad.” Po ‘admitted’ weakly. “I sure did.”
No. Viper shut her eyes, suppressing the urge to cry. Po, don’t cover for us. Don’t let the life you have end with a lie…
“Oh, Po!” Mr. Ping threw his arms around Po. “That’s incredible news!”
“You’re—not mad?” Po checked in, likely just to ensure the continued physical safety of everyone involved with his own pseudo-kidnapping. “I won’t be at the noodle shop for… a while.”
“Why would I be mad? Getting experience cooking for a palace will be incredible for the Noodle Shop’s reputation! This is an amazing achievement, Po! So prestigious!” The goose sniffed and wiped a real, actual tear from his eye. “My son is so talented…!”
Po laughed, a blatantly disbelieving undertone threaded through. “Thanks, dad!”
Po’s father spun to them, eyes brighter than the stars above. “I promise, you will not regret giving my son a chance! He’s the best worker I’ve ever had!”
“I’m the only worker you’ve ever had…” Po muttered.
“Shush!” Mr. Ping stage whispered back. “Don’t make it a hard sell after you’ve already got the job!”
Acting like Po’s ‘employers’ couldn’t have possibly heard that little exchange, Mr. Ping kept smiling brilliantly. “And it is so gracious of you to give my Po a position on the palace grounds to avoid the commute! Spirits know this whole place is far too remote…” The last part was muttered under the goose’s breath.
“It’s, uh… no problem, sir.” Crane responded, awkwardness potent enough to kill a lesser man. “We’re sure he’ll be… great… to have on board.”
“But… oh.” Mr. Ping’s brow furrowed, and his spark dimmed considerably. He brought his wing to his beak in consternation, turning back to Po. “If you’re not coming home tonight… I suppose that means the surprise is getting wasted.”
“Surprise?” Echoed Po. “For what?”
“For your birthday, silly!”
There was a ditch just in front of the stairs, where a stray Tongue of Fire or two had struck the ground during Crane’s performance during the tournament. It should be just wide enough for her to curl up in and die of shame.
“Oh yeah,” Po breathed. “I forgot about that.”
And with that, she fully boiled over.
“No, please,” Viper begged, voice cracking. “It’s not your birthday. Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” Mr. Ping squinted quizzically at her. “Why would I be joking?”
Mantis whistled. “Hell of a birthday.”
“How could you forget, Po?” Mr. Ping cried. “This is literally the most important birthday of your life!”
“I mean,” Po hedged with a hunted-sounded chuckle. “I’d say the most important birthday was the one I was born on—”
“Do you know what you can do, now?” The goose continued on like he hadn’t heard. “You’re officially old enough to inherit the Noodle Shop!”
Old enough to inherit…? Viper forced her steaming brain to work. Something about that milestone rang like an alarm in her mind.
Po reared his head back like someone had shoved a fistful of garlic into his nose. “You weren’t gonna give me the Noodle Shop today as a birthday gift, were you?”
“No no no, don’t be ridiculous!” Mr. Ping swatted the very idea away with a wing. “You’re going to have to get much older than twenty before I’ll loosen my grip on the shop, you hear me? I’ll keel over dead first! As is family tradition!”
“Thank Spirits,” breathed Po.
Twenty. Viper’s stomach dropped through the floor. She met Crane’s eyes, which were constricted to pin picks. Po turned twenty today? That’s—
Mr. Ping hummed mournfully. “I had a little Guan Li set up in the kitchen for when you came back and everything…” He huffed and lightly thwapped Po’s forearm in displeasure. “Missing your own coming-of-age ceremony is a whole new level, son! How many times do you think people come of age? Be more considerate!”
“Ah, sorry dad.” Po rubbed the back of his neck, looking into the sky to avoid the Furious Five’s penetrating stares.
“Hey,” Viper side-whispered frantically to Crane. “For boys, do you still get adult status at twenty, even if you miss the Guan Li?”
“I don’t know!” Crane hissed like a hot water pipe, feathers hiked and offended. “I never had a Guan Li!”
Viper fully turned to Crane, utterly appalled. Did he think Viper had the space to be horrified for a second person, right now? “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
Crane threw his wings up at her, in a gesture that could have been a ‘what did I do?’ Or perhaps a ‘get off my back!’
“Technically, it’s only after a Guan Li or Ji Li you get adult privileges.” Monkey chimed in, locked in a thousand yard stare into nowhere. “That’s how the courts ruled it in my hometown, anyway.”
“That’s such a specific thing to know.” Crane despaired.
“Unfortunate,” Mantis mused at Monkey’s statement almost casually, sounding like he was distracted preparing an argument persuading gravity to release him so he could float away from this cursed earth entirely. “If the tournament had been twelve hours later, we could have dodged those abducting-a-minor charges.”
The four stared at the ground in loaded silence. Monkey dragged a stressed hand down his face that pulled his eyes out of shape.
“Oh Spirits,” Viper sobbed. “We’re criminals!”
“Oh well, it’s alright.”
Viper whipped around, heart in her throat, just to see that Mr. Ping had been reassuring a slumped-over Po and had not reacted to her confession whatsoever.
“It’s probably for the best we didn’t hold the ceremony tonight.” Mr. Ping admitted. “It’s an unlucky day anyway!”
“It’s the literal date of my birth, dad.” Po deadpanned.
“It has a four in it!” Mr. Ping defended his impeccable reasoning. “We can hold it on a better day. Something with an eight. Now that would be perfect!”
Mr. Ping gasped to himself, and a conspiratorial grin stretched across his beak. He whispered in the only way he seemed to know of: easily heard by everyone in the general vicinity. “Po, be sure to make some friends at your new job! That way we can invite actual guests to your ceremony!”
“Ah.” Shame-faced, Po looked down to the ground. “I’ll—try my best, dad.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Ping dusted a bit more soot off Po. “See, Po? Everything has a way of working out.”
Po tried to smile back, but it was strained. “I—”
Growl.
Po patted his gurgling stomach, cringing with humiliation. “Uh… ha ha! Looks like I missed dinner.”
Mr. Ping raised a brow, and tapped the top of his head where Po’s wound lay. “It would have been better if dinner missed you, son.”
That got a genuine snort of laughter out of Po, and the goose smiled at seeing it.
“I guess you’re right, dad,” Po chuckled with a sniff. “I guess… I should probably get to bed, so I can see breakfast sooner.”
“Ah!” The goose straightened with a snap of realization. “Wait here!”
Despite Mr. Ping’s command, Po trailed after his father like a duckling for a few steps as the goose made for the gates of the palace grounds. Mr. Ping ducked out of the door, and then waddled right back through with an odd, squarish bag with a long strap looped over his shoulder. It was nearly half as big as the goose himself.
“I almost forgot I brought this!” Mr. Ping hummed pleasantly as he carefully scooped an earth-toned jar from the weirdly thick-lined bag. The jar, broad but shallow, was pressed into Po’s stunned hands. “I was worried you’d get hungry on the way back.”
Po removed the lid of the jar. He blinked, face unreadable. “Oh. These are…”
“Longevity noodles!” Mr. Ping injected, unable to contain himself. “Maybe we missed the ceremony for now, but no son of mine is skipping long noodles on his birthday!” The goose pulled a pair of wooden chopsticks from a pouch, presenting them to Po. “Long noodles, long life!”
And with that, Po started to cry.
“There, there.” Mr. Ping tutted, pulling his son into the final embrace of the night. “Happy birthday, Po. And congratulations on your new job!” The goose sniffed. “Oh, my son is growing up so fast!”
Po let his head fall on top of his father's, hiding his wet face.
“Thanks, dad.”