The last thing Whiskers remembered was tuna.
A glorious, glistening slice of imported, hand-fed, line-caught bluefin tuna resting delicately on a porcelain plate. His human had turned her back for just one second—one second—and that was all he needed.
He had trained for this moment all his life.
He narrowed his eyes. His tail twitched. The fridge hummed menacingly behind him.
One leap. One swipe. Glory.
And then...
He slipped.
It wasn't even his fault. The edge of the kitchen counter was damp from her careless tea mug. His perfect landing turned into a clumsy tumble, his claws scrambling for grip as porcelain shattered around him.
Then came the window.
And beyond the window…
Truck-kun.
It was swift. It was merciless. It smelled vaguely of fried chicken.
Just like that, Whiskers, age 5 (in human years), destroyer of curtains, bane of vacuum cleaners, and supreme ruler of apartment 11-C, was dead.
He expected nothingness. Eternal sleep. Perhaps a warm, weightless sunbeam to stretch in forever.
Instead, he awoke to screaming.
Not human screaming.
Worse.
Infant screaming.
...Wait.
Was that him?
He cracked open a golden eye, hissing softly as sunlight filtered through green leaves. The air smelled of earth, mist, and something unnervingly... magical.
He was lying on a soft patch of moss surrounded by glowing butterflies the size of sparrows. A small stream trickled nearby, and crystalline stones hummed beneath his paws with the soft vibration of qi.
Qi?
The realization hit him harder than the truck.
He had paws. Tiny, plump, snow-white paws. He wriggled them in the air. Flexed his claws. His tail flicked and shattered a boulder ten feet away.
"…Huh."
He blinked once. Then twice.
And then—
"You have been reborn, Little One," came a deep, thunderous voice inside his head. "The heavens have chosen you. You are the last descendant of the Divine Beast Clan of Bai Hu—the Celestial White Tiger."
Whiskers squinted into the fog. "I'm sorry. What?"
There was no reply.
"Listen, I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm a housecat. I nap. I ignore people. I knock things off counters for fun. That's literally my whole deal."
A glimmering spirit crane flew overhead, dropped a sparkling feather at his feet, and bowed.
Whiskers stared at it.
"…Oh no."
---------
It didn't take long for things to get weird.
His sneeze caused a shockwave that uprooted trees.
He scratched an itch and accidentally sliced a stone tablet in half.
He yawned and birds fell unconscious mid-air.
And his purrs? They vibrated through the ground and made spirit butterflies swoon.
Clearly, something was wrong.
He wasn't just alive. He was powerful.
Whiskers, being an indoor cat, handled this revelation with grace.
He immediately climbed the tallest rock he could find, declared himself Emperor of Naplandia, and began stockpiling sunbeams.
But the world had other plans.
He roamed the misty bamboo forest, sleeping under waterfalls and atop ancient relics (which, to his dismay, exploded when touched). Whenever he got too comfortable, a spirit beast would appear, challenge him, and promptly get flicked into a tree with a paw.
His reputation grew.
He overheard whispers from migrating flocks.
"The White Menace has awakened."
"He flattened a stone golem by rolling over."
"He sleeps 22 hours a day and still ascended to Nascent Soul Realm."
Whiskers didn't know what a Nascent Soul was, but it sounded like something that required too much effort.
He was perfectly happy curling up on mossy boulders, stealing fish from unattended river traps, and occasionally pouncing on lightning bugs.
Until the human showed up.
It was a teenage boy—robed in tattered Azure Cloud Sect silks, holding a chipped sword and limping through the forest like a wet noodle.
He stumbled into the clearing, looked around frantically, and gasped.
"A kitten!"
Whiskers, mid-nap, opened one eye.
"Oh no."
The boy rushed forward. "It's okay, little one! I won't hurt you!"
Whiskers hissed.
"I'm just gonna—whoa! You're glowing!"
Whiskers glared at his fur. Sure enough, soft golden light shimmered off his pristine coat. Qi practically radiated from his ears.
"Are you a spirit beast?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.
"…Are you stupid?" Whiskers muttered in Beast Tongue.
But alas, humans never bothered to learn.
The boy gently scooped him up. Whiskers considered raking his face, but the kid looked half-dead already.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you. I'll bring you to the sect. You'll be our lucky beast!"
Whiskers growled.
"I am not your mascot. I am a divine reincarnated apex predator who once ruled over a heated blanket and eight plush mice."
The boy, beaming, scratched behind his ears.
Whiskers melted instantly.
"…Damn it."
--------------
And so, Whiskers found himself in the Azure Cloud Sect, a mountain sect so obscure it didn't even show up on cultivation maps. The disciples were weak, the elders senile, and the spiritual springs barely trickled.
It was paradise.
No competition. No rules. And no one strong enough to stop him from napping wherever he pleased.
They named him "Little Snow," dressed him in silk ribbons (which he promptly tore off), and fed him scraps of spiritual herb dumplings meant for elders. He clawed the robes of the Sect Master, drank from the sacred koi pond, and peed in the Sword Pavilion.
No one could stop him.
Because when he was annoyed... things exploded.
One time, a grumpy outer sect disciple tried to kick him.
That disciple is now a crater.
But beneath the mischief and sarcasm, something stirred.
Something... ancient.
He could feel it in the moonlight. In the way the stars aligned over the mountains. In the way his fur reacted when he passed certain stones or sacred groves.
Memories that weren't his crept in like fog.
A giant tiger of white flame roaring over cities. A celestial palace made of clouds. A divine war between beast gods and cursed cultivators. A voice calling him—soft, feminine, fierce.
"Sleep now, little cub. The world will awaken with you."
Whiskers ignored it, of course.
He had more important things to do. Like test how many buns he could steal from the dining hall before being noticed (Answer: 12. They noticed at 13).
But even as he play-fought with disciples, batted at flying swords, and chased fireflies with tiny lightning tails, he knew the peace wouldn't last.
Because somewhere in the sky, a new star had begun to burn.
In the shape of a cat's paw.
And every spirit beast in a thousand-mile radius had begun migrating north...
Toward him.
-----------
Whiskers lay curled on the Sect Master's meditation pillow, chewing on a celestial peach he had stolen from the Elder Herb Garden. A junior disciple watched in horror, torn between reverence and panic.
"D-Don't tell the elders," Whiskers said around a mouthful of fruit.
Of course, the boy couldn't understand him.
But he understood the glow.
Whiskers' eyes pulsed like molten gold. His aura rolled off him like thunderclouds. The stone tiles under him crackled with suppressed qi.
The boy dropped to his knees, shaking. "S-Spirit Lord…"
Whiskers licked his paw.
"All I want," he said solemnly, "is one uninterrupted nap. Just one. Is that so much to ask?"
The ground rumbled.
The boy fainted.