The journey to the Imperial City would have taken five days for normal travelers. Mingyu's group managed it in seven, largely due to what he called "strategic rest stops" and what everyone else called "falling asleep in increasingly improbable locations."
"The branch of a peach tree is perfectly reasonable," he argued, currently sprawled across the said branch like a well-fed cat. "The fruit is within arm's reach."
Li Xuan, who had maintained a stoic facade for most of the journey, finally cracked. "We've traveled ten steps since breakfast!"
"Exactly. We're making excellent time."
Rui Lin, perched on a nearby rock, was keeping a list titled "Places Mingyu Can Nap." It now included: standing up, while walking, during a bandit attack (the bandits had politely waited for him to finish his nap before surrendering), and, most impressively, while falling down a hill.
"The trick," he'd explained afterward, "is to relax completely. The ground will catch you eventually."
Bao Ping had tried to replicate this technique, resulting in several new bruises and one very confused rabbit that had broken his fall. The rabbit now followed them, apparently convinced it had found its calling as a safety cushion.
"I shall name him Assistant Justice!" Bao Ping declared.
"You mean Assistant Fluffy Pillow," Mingyu corrected, reaching down to scratch the rabbit's ears.
Elder Yan, who had insisted on coming along to document everything, was running out of scrolls. "The synchronicity between man and nature! The passive absorption of ambient Qi through strategic inertia! The... are you actually sleeping while I'm theorizing?"
"Multitasking," Mingyu mumbled.
As they crested the final hill, the Imperial City spread before them like a painter's masterpiece—if the painter had been obsessed with stairs. Towers spiraled into the clouds, bridges arched between buildings like frozen rainbows, and everywhere, everywhere, there were steps.
The sight stirred something in Mingyu's usually drowsy eyes. "It hasn't changed much," he murmured. "Still as vertical as ever."
"You mentioned visiting centuries ago," Rui Lin prompted, noting the unusual alertness in his voice.
"Mmm. Back when that tower was just a pavilion." He pointed to the Tower of Celestial Records, its nine tiers stretching skyward. "Used to be my favorite napping spot. Until they decided to 'improve' it by adding eight more floors."
Li Xuan's eyes widened. "That tower was built during the reign of Emperor Yao the Ambitious... five hundred years ago."
"Terrible emperor," Mingyu yawned. "Always building things upward. Never understood the profound wisdom of horizontal expansion."
The city walls, ancient and imposing, bore scars from countless battles. But as they drew closer, Mingyu pointed out marks that weren't in any historical record.
"That crack there? Made it during the Night Beast invasion of the Golden Dynasty. Was trying to reach my favorite dumpling stall before it closed." He chuckled. "The beasts were quite understanding once I shared the dumplings."
The guards at the gate snapped to attention—then did a double-take at their unusual group: a frost-wielding warrior, a fire-dancing exile, a dumpling-armed chef, a scroll-buried scholar, an enthusiastic youth with a rabbit, and a rotund man who appeared to be sleeping while walking.
"Halt! State your—"
"Too loud," Mingyu mumbled, waving a hand. Golden light rippled out, and the guards suddenly found themselves feeling very understanding about the importance of proper nap etiquette.
As they entered, the city's layers revealed themselves. The outer ring bustled with merchants and craftsmen, their shops built into structures that had witnessed dynasties rise and fall. The middle ring housed noble mansions and government offices, where officials scurried about like important ants.
"The Ministry of Celestial Harmony used to be a tea house," Mingyu commented, pointing to an imposing building. "Best afternoon naps in the city. Then some minister decided harmonizing the heavens was more important than perfect brewing temperature."
The streets were a maze of activity, but a curious thing happened as they passed. The usual chaos of a capital city seemed to smooth out around them, like ripples settling in a pond. Street vendors lowered their voices, arguments paused mid-shout, and even the notorious palace pigeons seemed to coo more melodiously.
"The city remembers," Elder Yan whispered, furiously scribbling. "The stones themselves recognize the Tiger's presence!"
Indeed, as they walked, subtle changes rippled through the crowds. Old grandmothers nodded knowingly, as if greeting a familiar spirit. Children pointed at the golden light that occasionally shimmered around Mingyu. Even the city's countless cats emerged from their hiding spots to follow their procession, tails held high like honor guards.
They passed the Ancient Archives, where scholars had documented the empire's history for millennia. Mingyu actually opened both eyes to look at it.
"Still have my reading nook in there," he mused. "Behind the Chronicles of the Spring Dynasty. Most comfortable spot for contemplating the nature of existence while dozing."
"You're in the chronicles?" Elder Yan nearly dropped his scrolls.
"Probably. Look under 'mysterious benefactor who solved the Great Crisis by taking a particularly well-timed nap.'" He paused. "Though they might have recorded it as 'divine intervention through strategic inaction.'"
Finally, they reached the base of the Imperial Palace steps—all nine hundred and ninety-nine of them. The palace itself was a marvel of architecture, its golden roofs catching the sunlight like scales on a celestial dragon.
"Absolutely not," Mingyu stated, eyeing the stairs with personal offense.
"It's tradition," Li Xuan explained. "Each step represents—"
"Each step represents someone who really enjoyed making other people climb stairs." He looked around thoughtfully. "There's always another way."
Before anyone could stop him, he walked to the base of the stairs, lay down on his back, and closed his eyes. The Tiger's mark began to glow.
"Should we... do something?" Bao Ping asked.
"Shh," Rui Lin smiled. "Watch."
The golden light spread, forming the shape of a massive, lounging tiger that filled the entire staircase. Palace guards reached for their weapons, then mysteriously decided it was time for their break. Court officials hurrying up and down the stairs found themselves taking the scenic route.
And then, defying every law of dignity and protocol, Mingyu began to slide upward, as if the stairs themselves had decided to become the world's most elaborate reclining chair.
"He's ascending the Divine Steps... while napping," Elder Yan breathed, his brush moving so fast it caught fire. Rui Lin helpfully extinguished it.
By the time they reached the top (taking the stairs like normal people), they found Mingyu sitting up, looking refreshed and somehow even more relaxed.
"The trick," he said, as if continuing a lecture no one had asked for, "is to let the universe do the work. It's had billions of years of practice moving things around."
The palace gates opened, revealing a young court official who took one look at them and dropped his scroll of introductions. His eyes fixed on Mingyu with a mix of awe and ancestral memory.
"The Sleeping Tiger returns," he whispered, then caught himself. "The Emperor will see you now. Though... perhaps we should bring cushions?"
"Now you're thinking properly," Mingyu approved, his eyes twinkling with centuries of secrets. "The last emperor who didn't provide proper seating had a very uncomfortable reign. Coincidentally, of course."
As they were led through halls that had witnessed thousands of years of history, Rui Lin leaned close to Mingyu.
"You know something about what's coming, don't you?"
He yawned, but his eyes held that ancient gleam. "Let's just say some old friends need reminding that the best power naps take centuries of practice."
"And the Night Beasts?"
"Just the wake-up call." He stretched, and for a moment, the golden light showed images of battles long past, of tigers dancing through stars, of powers that understood that true strength sometimes meant knowing when to rest.
"Now," he said, as the throne room doors began to open, "who's ready for an imperial audience that might accidentally turn into naptime?"