Chapter 45 – Lantern Smoke and Hidden Shadows
When Chen Xinyu opened his eyes, a dull ache pulsed in his neck. He winced, instinctively raising a hand to rub the spot, fingertips pressing against the faint throb that had become all too familiar since the Spirit Echo Cave.
"…Not this again," he muttered under his breath.
The silence of morning didn't last long.
With the force of a small hurricane, Lingque burst through his door without so much as a knock.
"Xinyu! I've been waiting for you for ages—you sure sleep like a pig!"
Still rubbing his neck, Xinyu gave her a dry look. "I'm not a chicken. Of course I don't rise at dawn like one."
She smacked his arm. "Don't call me that!"
"Alright, alright," he said lazily, reaching for his robes. "Let's go. We're supposed to meet Tang Tang, aren't we?"
As if summoned by thought alone, the door next to his creaked open. Hua Ling emerged in a long robe of moonlight silver, his hair half tied, half falling down like a waterfall of ink. His presence, no matter how muted, drew attention like a fire in snowfall. Even the air seemed to slow around him.
Lingque's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, His Highness is ready now—"
Xinyu jabbed an elbow into her ribs. "Don't call him that. No one should know."
She covered her mouth and nodded sheepishly.
They left together into the bright streets of the town, which shimmered like a gemstone under the morning sun. The air buzzed with chatter and the clamor of coins, peddlers hawking wares and children weaving through narrow paths. It was strange—too lively, too well-fed. Even the beggars looked healthy. Xinyu, who had been raised amidst schemes and pretense, narrowed his eyes.
"…How does this town thrive so much with no farmland in sight?" he murmured to himself. "And no one ever seems hungry."
Hua Ling, walking beside him, glanced around in silence, his gaze sweeping the stalls with quiet calculation. That oppressive aura he sensed last night—it still lingered. Even under sunlight, it twisted like smoke beneath the surface.
They met Tang Tang in the square. She skipped toward them, face lit up like morning dew.
"Xinyu gege!" she called, latching onto his arm. "Let me show you the most popular places here!"
Hua Ling raised a brow. Lingque sighed, exaggeratedly jealous.
"Not fair! Tang Tang likes Xinyu more than me!"
Tang Tang beamed. "That's because I feel safe with him. He's… pure."
Xinyu laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. Hua Ling glanced away, lips pressed tight.
They made their way to the riverside, where a luxurious boat was moored. Gold-inlaid panels and silk drapes made it clear—this was a place for the privileged. It was said that the young masters of the town often held their feasts here.
Inside, they were served fragrant tea. Music floated like mist from behind a gauze curtain.
Tang Tang clapped her hands. "This is the best place in town! There's a performer—a young girl who plays the guqin. Her music is heavenly, and she's so beautiful they say even the moon pauses to look at her."
Xinyu's expression shifted. His memory recalled the story from last night—the poor girl, the god, the sacrifices. It was all too familiar.
At that moment, Hua Ling stiffened. His hand trembled slightly as he set his teacup down. Then he stood, pressing his palm to his forehead.
"What's wrong, Young Master?" Xinyu asked, rising with concern.
"It's nothing," Hua Ling muttered. He moved to the edge of the boat, gripping the wooden rail.
But Xinyu followed. "Your Highness… is it the aura again?"
"Yes," Hua Ling whispered. "It's everywhere here. Especially strong on this boat."
Xinyu's gaze turned sharp. "Then we'll return tonight—when the crowd is at its peak. We might find something."
Hua Ling nodded without turning. "Be careful."
They left the boat soon after. Tang Tang still clung to Xinyu's arm, chatting brightly. Lingque walked behind them, pouting. "She likes you too much. So clingy…"
Tang Tang giggled. "I just feel safe with him."
Hua Ling looked at them, his expression unreadable.
A glimmer of jealousy flashed in his eyes—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Later, in the town's heart, a fire performance began. Two men spun flame in hypnotic patterns. At the center, a girl with her face veiled danced gracefully, her sleeves like smoke, her figure light as breath. Beside her sat a man dressed in gold-threaded robes, his posture regal, face obscured by shadow.
The men forced the girl to kneel. Fire roared at the edges of the stage.
The audience clapped and laughed when the girl was "beheaded" in a burst of red silk. A performance, yes. But in Xinyu's mind, something dark twisted.
These performances… they were more than art.
Hua Ling leaned closer. His voice was low, breath warm against Xinyu's ear. "We need to find the storyteller."
Xinyu flinched, heart skipping. The heat of Hua Ling's words brushed against his skin like a breeze laced with thunder.
He stepped back, ears pink. "I-I understand."
Down the street, children were skipping rope and singing nursery rhymes. The melody was strange—lilting, almost ominous.
A little girl bumped into Xinyu. She stumbled, and he bent to help her up.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded, brushing dust from her knees.
"Where did you learn that song?"
"The mister storyteller taught us!" she said brightly, then ran off to rejoin her friends.
Xinyu straightened, frowning. "Hua Ling. Even the children are repeating this."
Tang Tang and Lingque laughed nearby, lighting sparklers. Xinyu tapped Lingque on the head.
"Stop fooling around. We're here for clues."
She scowled. "Ow! This isn't even my mission, you ugly—"
Xinyu rolled his eyes. "You're annoying."
Elsewhere, Mochen finally stirred. He drank his hangover soup in silence, head pounding.
"What did I even say last night…?"
He winced, smacking his forehead. Regret settled into his bones.
Outside his window, men were lifting a coffin into a cart. The wood was painted red-black, marked with symbols he didn't recognize.
He squinted. The coffin was unlike anything used in the central plains.
"…Weird," he muttered, but turned away.
Night fell like ink spilled over the sky. The town transformed.
People donned silk robes, bright like butterfly wings. Children ran with lanterns. Laughter, color, movement—life pulsed through the cobbled streets like a second heartbeat.
Xinyu and Hua Ling walked side by side, their shadows long in the lantern light. They said nothing. There was no need.
Their shoulders brushed. Xinyu turned. "Sorry…"
Hua Ling gave him a look, unreadable.
"It's okay."
Xinyu hesitated. Then, glancing at the lanterns drifting upward, he asked, "Your Highness… would you like to make a wish together?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it.