Ichou

The freezing wind carried the scent of bamboo and profound regret. Perched atop a roof in the purple-hued dawn, Ichou had a simple mission: deliver a scroll to a Panda Council member's window. A task for a ghost. But Ichou had recently decided that infiltration was inefficient. The fishing rod, they reasoned, offered unparalleled long-distance, silent delivery. The cast was fluid, the arc was beautiful. The landing, however, was squarely in the ornate hat of a diplomat enjoying their morning tea on the street below. For one silent, awful moment, the legendary messenger was just a figure in a fox beanie, connected to a very public error by a shimmering line. Their mask hid their face, but not the sheer panic in their eyes.