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It was a beautiful day.
In early spring, the Cindersap Forest seemed to be savoring every bit of the essence bestowed upon it by heaven and earth. Trees grew in lush profusion, brimming with vitality. High up in the wide canopies, birdsong echoed from somewhere, while occasional slivers of sunlight filtered down onto the grassy carpet below.
Qi wandered through the vibrant green landscape, where the treetops stretched so high they nearly blotted out the sky. The grass here had grown wild for countless seasons and now reached the knees of a grown man. He hadn't intended to go for a stroll - not at all - he had simply set his sights on a location he had been curious about for a long time. His thumb absentmindedly brushed against the hat he had taken off and held in his hand, the spring breeze playing idly with his dark hair. The hat was slightly worn after a few trivial adventures he had experienced in the Calico Desert. A mere snap of his fingers would have fetched him a brand-new one, yet here he was, wading through the grass.
Could it be that when everything becomes too easy, humans prefer to choose the most primitive ways? People find joy in meticulously crafting a ceramic bowl with their own hands, carving a wooden spoon with rough palms, rather than accepting the flawless smoothness of machinery. Humans - strangely enough - never seem to have enough. The more convenient life becomes, the emptier they feel, and so they crawl their way back to the most primitive things. A cycle that repeats itself over and over.
But magic cannot simply vanish on its own. It possesses a transformative and restorative nature. It does not disappear the way technology or machinery breaks down. Its eternal nature is both something humans crave and something inherently destructive. The more powerful it is, the easier it becomes, and the more boring everything turns out to be. How many ways do powerful entities actually have to amuse their minds? Will the search for entertainment be effective if they themselves cannot accept that every joy must come to an end?
The smile on Qi’s lips grew more pronounced as he took a soft, deep breath. Magic can only create results, not meaning. The diligence of skilled hands, the beads of sweat on a craftsman’s back as they bend under a dim, soot-stained oil lamp, and the radiant smile on their lips when they hand over the finished product to the recipient… That is where meaning lies. And that was the reason Qi was striding through this place toward a newly opened hat shop.
To say it was newly opened wasn't entirely accurate. He had seen and heard about it a few months ago, but only now did he have the opportunity to visit.
The hat shop was nestled in a narrow, cramped corner of the forest near the waterfall. It was a decently built log cabin, but it had grown decrepit and weathered over time. He could see a large white banner with the word "HATS" written in big red ink: the brushstrokes slanted to the left, smudged in some places and shaky in others, as if written by a child just learning to hold a pen. Next to the door was a printed picture of a hat, somewhat faded but still neatly pasted.
The door let out a dry, creaking groan as someone inside moved, and immediately, he smelled it: the scent of old leather, fabric, and damp wood blending together in the confined space. Warm and grounding, he thought. The kind of scent that made one want to lower their voice.
Qi had to duck slightly just to see through the doorway. Inside was a mouse landlord, "rather large for his species," resting his chin on his hands, leaning against a counter made from a clean wooden table. Atop his head sat a blue hat that fit astonishingly well. He looked up at Qi, his tiny black eyes blinking slowly, and spoke:
"Hi! Buy hat?"
His voice was broken, but his tone was firm. There wasn't a shred of timidity before a guest who stood several times his height. Qi’s lips twitched slightly.
"Actually, I would like to commission a new hat." He paused for a beat, his thumb once again absentmindedly brushing the brim of the old hat in his hand. "Unfortunately, my old hat is not in very good shape after a long time of companionship, and perhaps it is time for it to rest."
He bent down a bit further, just enough to bring his gaze level with the mouse, and to get a clearer view inside the house behind the counter. On the wall hung all kinds of needles, threads, and measuring tapes. A tiny tape measure, no larger than a strand of embroidery thread, lay curled on the table like a sleeping caterpillar. Of course, everything was perfectly suited to the needs of a mouse merchant. Qi wondered how it would measure his head. The question didn't annoy him; on the contrary, it sparked a very faint, pleasant curiosity, as if he were a child about to watch a magic trick.
"Ah! Poke poke! Where old hat? Give me."
The mouse extended his hand. A tiny hand with five long fingers, minuscule knuckles neatly aligned, his pink palm facing upward in anticipation. Qi looked at the hand for a second, then placed his old hat into it. The hat was nearly as large as the mouse's entire body, yet he caught it lightly and securely, as if he had done this a thousand times.
The mouse merchant rotated the hat in his hands, touching the inner fabric and inspecting the border of the embroidered thread. Occasionally, he let out a few soft squeaks, his whiskers twitching slightly. Qi waited for him to speak.
"Goodness," he squeaked softly. "Where get hat?"
"I had it custom-made at a shop out of town." Qi tilted his head. "Is something wrong?"
"Good hat!" His eyes visibly brightened, and he set the hat on the counter. "Can fix. But why want new?"
"You see..." Qi shrugged, as if the answer were entirely obvious. "Because I want a hat made by your own hands."
The mouse blinked. The round ears atop his blue hat twitched slightly. Then he stood up straight, puffed out his chest proudly, and gave a firm nod.
"Okay! Can do! Make new!"
He turned and walked toward his tool rack, his long tail swishing with each pattering step on the wooden floor. His hands deftly snatched up the measuring tape and some colored chalk for marking, then he opened the side door on the left, dragging out a ladder tucked in the corner.
"Sit down. Okay?" he said, setting the ladder right next to Qi.
"Professional." Qi followed the mouse's instruction and sat on the grass. The ladder didn't look very sturdy. One chipped leg was propped up by a small pebble, wobbling slightly as the mouse stepped up. But at least the mouse was now at eye level when standing on the top rung.
"Would you like me to help hold the ladder?" Qi asked idly.
"No! Is fine."
He shook his head vigorously, as confident as if he had never fallen in his life. The tape measure was as thin as a strand of embroidery thread, yet when he tossed one end over Qi’s head, the movement was so decisive it felt as though he had done it a thousand times. The end of the tape fell over the opposite shoulder; the mouse caught it with both hands, pulling it taut right across Qi's forehead.
"Twenty-three." He read the number, eyes narrowing, then loosened the tape slightly. "Twenty-three and a half."
He didn't say more, but the way he nodded as he let go of the tape showed he was satisfied with the number. Then he wrapped the tape from the crown of Qi’s head down to his ears, one hand holding the top, the other pulling gently. His tiny feet tipped up slightly on the rickety step, making the ladder give a small creak.
"Like tight hat or loose hat?" he asked, hands still holding the tape.
"Just enough so the wind won't blow it away."
"Got it."
The mouse let go of the tape, pulled a piece of white chalk from his coat pocket, and leaned down to mark something on the wooden table, likely a note for himself. Then he stood straight, dusted his hands, and looked Qi up and down as if visualizing the final product in his mind.
"Done! What hat look like?"
"Identical to the old one, of course."
The mouse nodded, looking down at the old hat still resting on the counter. He turned it inside out, narrowing his eyes to admire the embroidery once more, then looked up. But he didn't look at Qi; he looked at his robe. His gaze swept quickly over the patterns on the fabric, like someone taking a photo with their memory.
"Dark color. Wide brim. Pattern..." he muttered, reaching for the chalk and scribbling something on the table. "...like clothes. Right?"
Qi nodded. "Correct."
"Good." The mouse set the chalk down, clapping his hands together with a soft pop. "Fast. Few hours."
Qi looked at him with a hint of surprise, his eyebrows arching slightly.
"That fast?"
"Me efficient." The mouse squeaked a few times as he looked up at Qi, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "And free."
Qi exhaled softly, letting out what was almost an incomplete smile, and nodded.
"May I sit here and watch you? I am not very busy, and I enjoy seeing how you make your hats."
"Of course! Make house!" The mouse nodded and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. Then he rolled up the curtain and tied it neatly, pointing his finger at an empty patch of ground beside the house. "Sit there."
Qi sat on the grass, his back resting against an ancient tree trunk near the shop. From this position, he could see the mouse’s entire workspace through the doorway where the curtain had been drawn back. The early spring sunlight cast a soft glow inside, gilding the spools of thread and scraps of fabric scattered across the table.
The mouse had set to work. He moved nimbly between the wooden counter and the tool rack, his tiny hands holding the tape, the scissors, the chalk,… each task flowing into the next without a single wasted movement. Occasionally, he would let out a faint, low squeak in his throat, a habit born of deep concentration.
"Have you been in this trade for a long time?" Qi spoke, his voice deep and slow, not necessarily wanting to shatter the silence, just genuinely curious.
"Some time," the mouse replied without looking up, his hands still choosing between two dark spools of thread. Then, as if sensing the answer was a bit too brief, he paused for a moment, his ears twitching beneath the brim of his blue hat. "Since... me open shop."
Qi raised an eyebrow. A roundabout answer, but not in a deliberately evasive way; it was just that the mouse simply wasn't good at talking about himself.
"And you taught yourself everything?"
This time the mouse looked up. His tiny black eyes stared directly at Qi.
"No one teach mouse make hat. Mouse learn. Mouse do. Then know."
Qi nodded slowly, his gaze drifting across the tiny tools on the table, then resting on the mouse's hands. Those fingers were minuscule, yet they held the scissors firmly, without the slightest tremor.
"Impressive," he said. "Then you must be the finest hat-making mouse around."
The mouse didn't answer right away. He leaned down, flipped the fabric over, and drew a decisive chalk line. Then, as if Qi’s words had finally registered, he stopped his hand, looked up, and asked with a voice full of curiosity:
"What about you? What you do?"
Qi fell silent for a second. It wasn't because he didn't know how to answer, but because it had been a very long time since anyone had asked him that question. Most individuals he encountered already knew who he was. Or didn't dare to ask.
"I... do many things," he said, hesitating slightly. "But most of all… I run a casino."
The mouse’s ears perked straight up. His hands stopped completely on the fabric, and he snapped his head around to look at Qi. This was the first time during the entire session that he had completely taken his eyes off his work.
"Casino!" His eyes lit up, gleaming as if he had just stumbled upon a treasure chest. "Then you rich?"
Qi blinked. He wasn't accustomed to such stark, unvarnished bluntness. The people in the desert spoke of money through double entendres, half-smiles, and numbers left hanging in the air. But this mouse…
"You could say that," Qi said truthfully.
The mouse nodded, his expression entirely serious. Then he returned to his work, reaching for the chosen spool of thread, and spoke, his voice flat as if reading a clause from a contract:
"Good. Then no haggle with me, right?"
Qi raised an eyebrow at the question, then he smiled.
"I haven't said anything yet."
The mouse didn't reply, but the way he tilted his head slightly, his ears drooping a bit as if hiding a smile, said everything.
A stretch of silence passed. The snip-snip of scissors cutting fabric, the poke of the needle piercing the thick layers, the mouse muttering something unintelligible. Qi watched the way he smoothed the edges of the fabric, meticulous down to the last millimeter. Those tiny hands worked with a precision that even the most sophisticated machinery would envy.
"I imagine having many customers coming here must be quite interesting," Qi said, his tone casual as if pondering idly. "If it weren't, you wouldn't have asked me that question right from the start."
The mouse didn't look up, but his ears twitched.
"Yes. No one same."
Qi lightly stroked his chin, feigning thought. "Anyone special?"
The mouse set the spool of thread down, turned to face Qi, and narrowed his tiny black eyes as if weighing the matter.
"Me no talk about customers," he said, his voice slow and firm. "That... private."
Qi nodded. He respected that. But of course, he was also a man who had lived long enough to know that every conversation has a door… one just needs to find the right key.
"I understand," he said, his voice remaining as casual as before. "But I’m not asking about their secrets. I’m only asking about the things they told you." He tilted his head slightly. "If they told you, it means they didn't consider it a secret."
The mouse fell silent. His ears twitched once more. Then he tilted his head, smacking his lips as if chewing over Qi’s words in his mind.
"...You make sense," he admitted, his voice holding a touch of surprise, as though he hadn't expected to be persuaded. "Much sense."
He set his scissors down, turned his body fully toward Qi, and gave a single, decisive nod.
"Okay. Me tell."
"There is farmer, moved to town last spring," the mouse said. "Me think he bit silly."
"Is that so?" Qi tilted his head.
The mouse nodded, his face completely serious as if declaring a truth as obvious as the sun rising in the east. His voice was steady, keeping rhythm with the snip of his scissors.
"He come here first time in afternoon. Look different from other hat buyers. Others come, look at price, pay, then go. Very fast. He not like that."
The mouse paused for a beat, looking up at Qi to check if he was truly following the story. Seeing Qi's rapt attention, he nodded with satisfaction and continued.
"He point at flower hat on wall." He jerked his chin toward the crowns woven from pressed wild flowers hanging in a dim corner, untouched by the sun. "That one. Flower crown. Pretty, but no last long. Just for look."
He stitched a few more times, his tiny hands moving with practiced ease, before speaking again.
"He ask price. Me say one thousand gold."
"And then?" Qi asked, keeping his voice measured.
"And then he no pay." The mouse stopped his needle, looking straight at Qi. His tiny black eyes flashed with a confusion that remained entirely intact after all these months. "He start lecture."
Qi raised an eyebrow. "A lecture?"
"Lecture. Very long." The mouse emphasized the word "long" by stretching his arms out as far as they could go, as if measuring a monstrous fish. "He say flower crown not just hat. He say, 'It wearable ecosystem on head. Wearing it boost symbiotic link with forest plants.' He say that. He also say something about flower smell attract good bugs, good bugs help pollinate crops, pollinated crops make better veggies."
The mouse shook his head, the round ears on his blue hat swaying along.
"Me no understand. Me just sell hats. Me no sell ecosystem."
Qi exhaled softly, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
"How long did he keep talking?"
"Twenty minutes," the mouse replied without a second's hesitation, as if the number had been etched into his memory with permanent ink. "Me remember because me finish making whole hat while he talk."
"Twenty minutes," Qi repeated, his voice carrying a blend of astonishment and amusement. "Just to bargain for a hat?"
"Not to bargain. To get discount," the mouse corrected, his voice entirely dry. "He say, with all benefits he list, him wearing hat is free advertising for my shop. Other people see him wear hat, ask where buy, and me get more customers. So, he conclude, me should pay him to wear it, not other way."
Qi fell silent for a second.
Then, he laughed.
It was a deep, brief laugh, as if it had escaped before he could even catch it. But his eyes lit up, and the smile lingered on his face, lasting longer than any smile he had worn all day.
The mouse saw that smile.
It wasn't like the smiles he usually saw from other customers. They smiled out of politeness, smiled because they liked their hat, smiled to appear friendly. Those smiles were like the lining fabric inside a hat: clean, properly placed, but unnoticed.
But this man’s smile was different. It came out of nowhere, like a stitch that had strayed from the embroidery pattern but somehow created the most beautiful design. It made his eyes bright, and the features on his usually sharp, cold face softened, as if someone had just loosened a thread pulled too tight. And it stayed on his lips, as if the smile itself was reluctant to leave.
The mouse didn't know why he noticed it. Perhaps because he was a tailor. His job was to look - look at the thread, the edge of the fabric, the way a thing was made. And he had just seen something rare: a smile that hadn't been planned at all.
He looked down, pretending to adjust a spool of thread on the table, but really he was just hiding a sudden glint in his eyes. A small, strange light, as if he had just found something more precious than gold, and he intended to keep that moment for himself, at least until he figured out how to use it.
"Did he really say that?" he asked, his voice still tinged with amusement.
"Real. Completely serious." The mouse gave a firm nod, his face still holding that same look of bewilderment. But there was a spark in his eyes as he took in Qi's laughing face. The spark of a craftsman who had just discovered a rare, fine material. "Me no know what to say. No one ever do that to me."
"And what did you do?"
"Me say: 'No discount.'" The mouse shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "He quiet for bit, then dig into pocket and pay full price. Say nothing more."
Qi shook his head slowly, the smile not entirely fading. He could picture the scene with vivid clarity: the way that farmer stood in the middle of the tiny hat shop, dirt still clinging to his boots, passionately lecturing about ecosystems and free advertising to a mouse who just wanted to sell a hat. There was a strange courage in it. And a bit of madness.
"You are right," he said, his voice dropping low, almost to a murmur. "He is a bit silly."
The mouse didn't catch the nuance in his tone. He had already returned to his work, his hands swiftly weaving the needle through the cloth.
"He might come back next week," he added.
"And you still won't give him a discount?"
"No. But me might give him cup of tea. Talking too much make throat dry."
Qi looked at the mouse, then back at the flower crowns hanging quietly in the dark corner. He wondered where the farmer had stood in this room, how he had gestured with his hands, what words he had chosen. And he wondered if the boy truly wanted to buy the hat, or if he simply wanted someone to talk to on a quiet afternoon away from the farm.
Both possibilities struck him as equally delightful.
"Well," he said, his voice returning to its familiar, detached composure, though the corners of his eyes still held the crinkles of his recent laughter. "It seems I’m not your only special guest."
The mouse stopped his hands, looking up at Qi with his ink-black eyes.
"You richer. He talk more." He tilted his head, as if weighing these two metrics on an invisible scale. "Anyway, still even."
Qi let out a soft breath, almost a second laugh, and said nothing more. He simply leaned back against the tree root, his gaze drifting lazily as he watched the mouse’s hands fly across the dark fabric, letting his mind wander toward the valley farm, where a peculiar farmer was diligently watering rows of bok choy, wearing a slightly faded crown of wild flowers on his head.
"Done!"
The mouse proclaimed in his broken but proud voice, as if he had just finished a masterpiece. He stepped down from the rickety ladder, cradling the brand-new hat against his chest. The hat was nearly as large as his entire body, yet he carried it lightly and solemnly, like a master of ceremonies presenting a crown.
Qi stood up from the tree root, brushing off a few stray blades of grass clinging to his robe. He bent down slightly, just enough so the mouse wouldn't have to stand on his tiptoes, and accepted the hat from those tiny hands.
It was a perfect replica. The dark color, the wide brim, the patterns running along the crown matched the designs on his robe precisely. The fabric was thick yet supple, the stitching sharp down to the last millimeter. He turned it over to check the inside, where a thin lining of midnight-blue silk had been placed, something he hadn't requested, but the mouse had added on his own. A small detail, but one that spoke volumes about the craftsman.
"Exquisite," he said, and he meant it sincerely.
The mouse didn't reply, but the round ears on his blue hat twitched. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, looking up at Qi with an expectant gaze. Not waiting for a compliment, he had already received that. He was waiting for something else.
Qi placed the hat on his head. It fit flawlessly: not too tight, not too loose, just enough so the wind wouldn't blow it away. Exactly as he had requested. He reached up to gently adjust the brim, then let his hand fall. The hat sat upon his head as though it had been there for a very long time, as though it were born to be there.
"How much?" he asked, his hand already slipping into the pocket of his robe.
But the mouse didn't answer. He only stood there, watching him, his tiny black eyes blinking once, slowly. Then he spoke, his voice flat as if reading a newly added clause in a contract:
"You smile."
Qi paused. He looked down at the mouse, his eyebrows arching slightly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Before. When me tell about farmer." The mouse pointed at the corner of Qi’s lips with his minuscule finger. "You smile. Me see."
Qi fell silent. He recalled the moment - the deep, brief laugh that had escaped before he could even register it. He had thought it a mere passing reaction, a hairline fracture on his usually seamless surface. But the mouse had seen it. Of course he had. Fine craftsmen always notice the details others miss.
"And?" he asked, his voice guarded.
"And..." The mouse spread his arms wide, as if the answer were completely self-evident. "Free."
Qi blinked. Once. Then twice.
"Are you saying you intend to give me this hat? Because I smiled?"
"Not because you smile. Because what make you smile." The mouse corrected him seriously, his voice slow as if explaining to a child. "That farmer. He come here, say silly things, make me confused. But because of him, me have story to tell. And because of story, you smile. First time since you walk in here."
He paused for a beat, his ears drooping slightly.
"Joy spread. From him, through me, to you. Now your turn to spread." He pointed at the hat on Qi’s head. "Wear nice hat, you happy. You happy, you make others happy. Then more people come here buy hats. It is... chain."
"A chain," Qi gently corrected, though his voice had lost its usual detached air.
"Chain," the mouse nodded, entirely unbothered. "Chain of joy. Me no charge money for chain of joy."
Qi stood there, one hand still inside his robe pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side. He had lived a very long time. He had witnessed countless transactions, trades ranging from the mundane to the monumental, contracts signed in blood and promises exchanged for gold. He understood the value of all things, he defined the value of all things in his casino. Yet here he was, standing in the middle of a forest, before a mouse who didn't even reach his knees, being taught a lesson about value. That a smile could be currency. That a silly story about a farmer wearing a flower crown could be transuted into a free hat. That joy, no matter how small, was worth spreading.
Qi realized that this was not charity or a gesture of pity. This was a fair trade, in its own unique way. The mouse had given him a hat. He had given the mouse a story to tell. And the farmer, entirely unaware, had given them both a reason to smile.
A chain. A chain of joy.
Qi pulled his hand from his pocket, slowly, and for the first time that afternoon, he smiled. Not the knowing, calculated half-smile he usually wore, nor the brief, deep laugh from before. This was a true smile, small and light, but genuine all the way to the corners of his eyes.
"Thank you," he said, and he meant it sincerely, just as he had praised the hat earlier. "For the hat. And for the story."
"Welcome," the mouse replied, then pointed toward the forest gate, where the dirt path led back to the valley. "Next time farmer boy come here, me tell him about today. About you. And your smile. See if he ask for discount again."
Qi let out a soft sigh. "Perhaps you shouldn't do that. You know… customer privacy."
Then, without waiting for the mouse to reply, he turned and walked away, his new hat resting on his head, its brim casting a shadow over his face. The trail cutting through the Cindersap Forest remained as vibrantly green as when he had arrived, but something had changed. Something very small, very light, like the midnight-blue silk thread lining the inside of his hat. No one could see it. But he knew it was there.
Behind him, the mouse had already returned to his work. And somewhere in the valley, a farmer wearing a crown of wild flowers was bending down to water rows of pumpkins, completely unaware that he had just become a link in a strange chain of joy, woven together by a hat-making mouse, a casino proprietor, and a twenty-minute lecture on wearable ecosystems.
Qi slowed his pace. He reached up to touch the brim of his hat, where the threads had been meticulously stitched by the tiny hands of the mouse, and he wondered: did joy truly spread the way the mouse said it did? And if so, who would be the next link?
Perhaps he would find the answer next time, when he visited that farm.
Perhaps he would wear this hat when he did.