Yokai Tea Party

Reclining on a lounge chair, Xiao Xiao rested a hand loosely against his forehead, his eyes half-open, half-closed.

Overhead, interlacing branches screened out the overly brilliant sunlight.

White plum blossoms gleamed with translucent purity, their cool fragrance crisp and clear.

A plain sleeve hung down from above.

From the Chinese parasol tree on the other side of the courtyard, soft chirps and little whimpers occasionally drifted through the air.

Now and then, a giggling call mingled with them, like a young child's laughter, yet inexplicably tinged with something eerie.

A soft touch against his cheek brought a smile to his lips. Half-asleep, he thought, Before I knew it, the courtyard had become so lively.

We could hold a tea party now.