Shen Tang stepped right over it without even looking.
The bluebird tilted its head, flapped its wings, and flew low for a few steps before blocking Shen Tang's path once more. This time, Shen Tang's foot didn't pass over it. Instead, it rapidly grew larger and larger above the bird's head—just as she was about to step on it, Shen Tang noticed that the sensation beneath her foot felt different. She lifted her foot and looked down to check whether she'd stepped in dog shit, only to find an angry little bird flapping its wings and letting out a rapid string of chirps.
The gray feathers covering its plump body puffed up too.
Shen Tang braced her hands on her knees and bent down to look closely.
She smiled. "...Whose bluebird are you?"
She'd never seen a bluebird so ugly and inconspicuous.
The angry little bird was still worked up, chirping away as it scolded Shen Tang for nearly crushing it. Shen Tang crouched and poked its head with her right index finger. "All right, all right, all right. I was wrong. I didn't notice you there. Let me offer you a sincere apology, okay? Good bird, don't be mad. First, let me see what message you brought."
Creatures formed from literary or martial energy weren't living beings, but they still carried a trace of their master's nature and could be a little temperamental. Motorcycle was proof enough of that. Shen Tang soothed the bird with a few strokes, and its ruffled feathers smoothed down.
It gave a little hop, flapped its tiny wings, and lightly landed on her fingertip.
It turned into a round ball of literary energy, unfurled, and stretched into a flower-patterned letter.
In the lower-right corner of the letter was a tiny Knife Fan.
A few