Chasing Dreams - Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The bright white gown flapped violently in the wind. Like a white bird, the young girl plunged from the waterside pavilion, crashing straight into Tang Qianzi’s arms. Unable to support the impact, he staggered back several steps, on the verge of tumbling off the bridge. Fortunately, Ji Chang sidestepped and braced them with his shoulder, causing all three to collapse into a tangled heap, nearly falling into the water. Luckily, this small bridge was tucked away in a quiet spot near the crown prince’s sleeping quarters, preventing a commotion. It was late spring when plants sprouted; throughout the royal city, groups of heavily made-up palace attendants walked outward, carrying the fragrant scent of perfumes.
"Big guy, you're really useless," Tilan hopped up, giving Tang Qianzi a kick.
The young man smiled as he stood up and pulled Ji Chang to his feet. "How am I any sort of big guy? His Highness Prince Chang has been taller than me for a long time." "Is that so? ...Oh, really?" With her eyes still bound by a satin ribbon, Tilan reached out with both hands to blindly grope their shoulders. Her expression and demeanor closely resembled a little girl playing hide-and-seek, yet her originally childish lips had grown so plump and rich, curling into a smile that bloomed petal by petal like a wild rosebud. The climate in Zunian was warm, and all things flourished early; for a fourteen-year-old girl like her, her figure and expressions already possessed the grace and charm of a sixteen-year-old girl from the Eastern Land.
Ji Chang brushed the dust from her clothes. "This set of palace attendant clothes actually fits well. Are they Gongye’s? Didn't she stop you?" Tilan smiled. "I gave the girls a holiday, and they happily ran off to watch the festival, leaving only Gongye wearing my clothes and pretending to sleep in the room." "I've never seen someone so inconsiderate," Ji Chang also smiled. "What if Gongye has a sweetheart and can't go out to watch the festival together? She'll probably resent you to death." "Gongye is someone I bought; since when is it your turn to feel sorry for her? Besides, I've never seen the Nectar Rain Festival, but Gongye gets to see it every year," Tilan retorted. Knowing she was being willful, her face flushed red. Changing her tone, she asked, "What kind of clothes are you wearing?" "Zhenchu is wearing his usual outfit, and I got a set of Imperial Guard robes to disguise myself as his subordinate. It actually looks quite convincing," Ji Chang replied. Suddenly, he narrowed his clear, handsome eyes, listening to the faint drumbeats echoing from outside the royal city. Then he grabbed Tilan’s hand and said, "If we delay any longer, there won't be any boats left. Let's go!" Yet Tilan lingered, refusing to move half a step, and playfully brushed his hand away. "Right now, you aren't an imperial prince from the Eastern Land, and I'm not Tilan, the most arrogant princess in the entire royal city. We're just a guard and a maidservant." With that, she turned toward Tang Qianzi and smiled brilliantly. "General Tang, after you." Tang Qianzi shook his head with a wry smile and had no choice but to walk in the lead. Tilan and Ji Chang followed closely behind with lowered heads, occasionally stealing glances at each other while bumping elbows and giggling. After walking only a few steps, Tang Qianzi abruptly halted, turned back to study Tilan for a moment, and stepped forward to untie the satin ribbon blindfolding her. "You're the only one in the entire royal city wearing this trinket. If we go out like this, won't our cover be blown?" He folded the five-foot-long plain white ribbon, tucked it into his tunic, and turned to leave. Tilan stood frozen in place, her tightly closed eyelashes dark and heavy, resting on her face like dewdrops wetting a butterfly's wings.
"Silly girl, open your eyes," Ji Chang rubbed her hair. "Who walks with their eyes closed?" Tilan’s brow furrowed, her whole body seeming to strain. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as if burdened with unbearable weight, and after quite a long while, she finally forced them open with a struggle.
Having known each other for nearly nine years, this was the second time he had laid eyes on her pupils. Those completely lusterless eyes possessed an astonishing beauty, awakening countless lingering images from Ji Chang's childhood memories.
Lotus flowers blooming in an instant.
A white bird beating its wings and flying.
Flames swirling and soaring fiercely in the darkness.
All fleeting, unrecoverable fragments of brilliance drifted to the surface like a string of sparkling bubbles.
"Even if I open them, I can't see anything. Zhenchu?" Tilan called out Tang Qianzi’s courtesy name, groping blindly until she caught hold of the tassel on his saber.
Ji Chang lowered his eyes; no one could discern the mystical light swirling within them.
The guards at the royal city's side gate held humble positions and had almost never seen the faces of Ji Chang and Tilan. Without conducting a careful inspection, they bowed to Tang Qianzi and let the three of them pass. Tang Qianzi entered and exited the royal city daily, and everyone knew he was a trusted confidant of Prince Chang, like a limb to his body. Some of the guards who had given him a hard time in the earlier years had now been promoted to minor squad leaders, and they appeared exceptionally respectful and well-behaved upon seeing him.
The civil war in the Eastern Land had already lasted nearly five years. Back when the imperial army was in its most difficult and desperate plight, the usurper Chu Fengyi occupied Quanming, blocking all shipping routes east of Minzhong. The western imperial army's transport supplies could only be shipped via the perilous Yingge Strait to the west—a dangerous route plagued by sudden white tides and sea pirates. Zunian and the Zheng Dynasty had an existing alliance; the sole consort of King Xu was Zizan, the younger sister of the King of Junliang. Once King Xu ascended the throne, Zizan would become the empress of the Eastern Land. However, Junliang had already become a living corpse, and the Great Monarch of Yingjia, who held the reins of state power, might not have been happy to see Zizan crowned as empress. Coupled with the murky situation in the Eastern Land, the people of Zunian used the blocked waterways as an excuse to delay fulfilling the treaty, while secretly instructing merchants to transport grain and weapons to the Northern Land, selling them at exorbitant prices to the exiled imperial army for a profit. Prince Chang, then residing in Zunian at the age of fourteen, had the audacity to march straight into the presence of the Great Monarch of Yingjia and deliver an impassionate speech. Only then did the Great Monarch hand over the originally promised supplies to Prince Chang, for him to transport using a fleet he hired himself. During those two or three years, a good portion of the imperial army's rations and military pay was shipped from the Port of Bibo to Shuanghuan City in the Northern Land. Later on, as the usurper suffered repeated defeats and Chu Zhongxu increasingly revealed the demeanor of an overlord—on the verge of reclaiming the orthodox imperial throne—Prince Chang's faction was bound to become the second most powerful force in the Zheng Dynasty next to the emperor himself. Consequently, this bodyguard general who was both mentor and friend was someone best not offended.
Behind Tang Qianzi, the young Zheng Dynasty imperial guardsman glanced sideways at the saluting Zunian guards with a stern expression, the corners of his lips twitching with an almost imperceptible cold smile.
"Zhenchu, look at these faces. When they see power and wealth, even if it has nothing to do with them, they scramble to crowd around; but the moment one falls from grace, anyone is ready to kick them while they're down," he said in a low voice, speaking the language of the Eastern Land.
Tang Qianzi smiled faintly. "It is simply the inherent nature of worldly people to seek advantage and avoid harm, Your Highness." Ji Chang nodded slightly.
Outside the city wall, the noise of the crowd was deafening, accompanied by the faint sound of flutes and drums. Having never heard such a spectacle, Tilan shrank a step closer to Ji Chang’s side, and he took her hand, saying softly, "Don't be afraid, we're here." The side gate of the royal city slowly opened before them, and a vast torrent of thousands of fragrances and colors rushed over them head-on. On the Papal River, where previously only vessels specially authorized by the royal family were allowed to pass, every available space was jammed with variously decorated colorful boats. Floating in the water alongside the hulls were nothing but flower petals—magenta, dark cyan, bright yellow, moss green, and sunset red. It was like a brilliant piece of brocade suddenly shaken out, with every pattern, color, and rainbow imaginable stirring together, twisting, turning, and coiling repeatedly. Countless warp and woof threads densely wove an overwhelming luxury.
According to the Eastern Land calendar, this was the spring of the thirty-third year of Lintai of the Zheng Dynasty. Tang Qianzi was already a twenty-three-year-old young man, Chu Jichang was nineteen, and in a few months, Tilan would celebrate her fifteenth birthday.
Chu Zhongxu had established Shuanghuan City in Hanzhou of the Northern Land as the secondary capital, holding his ground to resist for nearly six years, yet he had never ascended the throne as emperor. The Lintai era name used by his late father, Emperor Xiu, had thus been passed down continuously. While there was already a glimmer of dawn on the horizon, it was a dawn as bleak and bloody as gore. Many villages and towns in the Zheng State could no longer find a single adult male; wherever the massive army passed, graves piled up, soon to be dug open entirely by starving jackals. Yet even such emaciated corpses were not enough to feed the jackals.
For the people of the Port of Bibo, however, this was an exceptionally fine year. Last autumn, the beans and wheat yielded an abundant harvest, and by late spring, the new wine, having aged through the winter, had grown mellow and rich. The new rainy season would soon arrive on schedule. This was the Nectar Rain Festival, and also the liveliest day of the year in Bibo.
Starting from early morning, all the small boats in the city were newly decorated with colorful ornaments, shuttling through the spiderweb-like waterways to sell spices, fresh flowers, cosmetics, fireworks, and all sorts of delightful little trinkets. After that, Bibo began its heavily adorned day.
From young maidens to elderly crones, every impoverished woman decorated herself like an exotic princess or empress using cheap, oversized fake jewelry and brightly colored fabrics. The men rubbed pomade blended from orange blossoms, frankincense, and pine resin into their beards, combing them into swaggering, curled shapes, while merchants eager to display their wealth would even weave gold threads into them. Wandering artists gathered from the Three Lands and Ten States turned the rivers and buildings into a stage, where songs, acrobatics, and plays merged with the clamorous music and the clinking sound of copper coins dropping into tin bowls. The ostentatious and cheap luxury reflected on the foul-smelling, narrow water surface, rippling endlessly. Everyone knew it was fake, but they all gladly threw themselves into this dazzling daydream, becoming its captives.
"Hurry up, if there are more people later, we won't find a boat!" Ji Chang urged loudly, waving his hand toward the river. An empty small skiff immediately turned toward them, struggling for quite a while amidst the crowded boat traffic before finally winding its way around to their feet.
The small skiff was wrapped inside and out with coarse floral cloth, and after a whole morning, the colors beneath the waterline had faded beyond recognition. The boat remained as shallow and narrow as before, capable of holding only a single person besides the boatman.
"Oh no, we came out too late; there's no way we'll find three boats right now." Ji Chang leaped lightly into the vacant seat inside the boat. After the Panxiao Incident, he had spent half a year living in the Imperial Guard camp near the port area, and this wasn't his first time seeing the Nectar Rain Festival. "Let's stake a claim on this boat first." Glancing slightly across the river, Tang Qianzi smiled faintly. He released Tilan’s hand, bent down, and said to the boatman, "Get up and make room for me." "Ah? This..." The boatman looked troubled.
Three or four gold coins clattered onto the wooden planks at his feet. "I'm buying your boat." "Then what about Tilan?" Ji Chang asked in surprise as Tang Qianzi leaped down onto the boardwalk.
Without answering, Tang Qianzi bent down, reached out, and nimbly grabbed something from afar amidst the colorful flow of boats, giving it a hard tug. That object bumped and scraped its way closer. Amidst the overwhelming chaos of colors, it turned out to be a cool, dazzling flash of white.
"My lords, buy a flower! It's best given to a young lady!" It was the familiar large wooden basin used by flower-selling children, filled to the brim with blooming white lotus flowers. A little girl poked her shoulders out from the snow-pile of blossoms, shouting in a childlike voice.
"How much for a branch?" the young man asked.
"One silver coin." Seeing that they looked like people from the Eastern Land, the little girl’s crafty, large eyes rolled as she quoted a price. Seeing the youth who had pulled her smiling and shaking his head, realizing she couldn't fool him, she quickly added, "Five branches." It was still twice as expensive as usual.
The young man reached into his tunic as if to close the deal, and the little girl happily stood up to receive payment, but the object placed in her hand startled her so much she jumped.
It was a rose spar the size of a soybean. Holding it felt as piercingly cold as an ice cube melting away. All jewelry had counterfeits, but rose crystals were impossible to forge. Not only was the blood-red color deep to the core, but even the light refracted under the sun was a dazzling rainbow. For a piece of this size and quality, the market price was close to a hundred gold coins.
"I'll buy the basin and the flowers together, do you sell?" the young man asked with a smile.
The little girl stared agape for a moment, then suddenly stuffed the spar into her mouth, leaped out of the wooden basin with a start, and squeezed her way out through the tightly packed boats to swim away, presumably fearing that this lavishly generous Eastern Land person would change his mind. Ji Chang watched, laughing uncontrollably.
"Your Highness, forgive me." Tang Qianzi steadied himself in the boat, gripped Tilan’s waist with both hands, and lifted her down. Ji Chang steadied the large wooden basin with one hand while leading Tilan over with the other.
Stepping onto the foot-deep pile of flowers, Tilan let out a low "Ah" and burst into laughter. It was the final mild and pleasant late spring weather before the arrival of the rainy season; the sunlight baked people's bones until they felt soft, and the gentle breeze brushed against their faces carrying a warm, woolen-like coziness. Her white dress was caught by this wind, causing thousands of pleats to suddenly flutter open like a brand-new sail. On her head, she wore a palm-sized flower beaten from pure red gold, looking astonishingly lifelike. Fine gold threads resembling moth feelers protruded from the pistil, weighted down at the ends by needle-tip-sized red gemstone fragments, trembling and curving downward. As a gentle breeze blew past, it made a chiming sound. Tang Qianzi recognized the flower—it was called Xieluo, something people frequently peddled at the port.
Tiling sat with her skirt gathered up, the large, pristine flower buds in the wooden basin reaching right up to her knees. She tilted her head back, letting the sunlight iron out her delicate, tanned face. The basin drifted gently, embraced by ripples, tapping against the side of the boat time and again, causing the hearts of the people on board to flutter along with it. Tang Qianzi and Ji Chang each firmly held one of her hands. Without oars or poles, the small skiff and the wooden basin drifted downstream together along the sluggish current.
"Where are we going? Aren't we watching the painted boat parade?" Tilan asked.
"The painted boats don't come out until nighttime. Right now, we're floating downstream with the current; by the time we reach the place where it flows into the sea, it'll be the port area. As long as it exists in this world, there's nothing you can't buy in the port. Whatever you want, I'll buy it for you," Ji Chang said, glowing with spirit.
Tilan pretended to think for a moment, then said with a beaming smile, "I wonder if the port sells little dairy puddings?" Ji Chang’s face flushed red with embarrassment, and he turned his head away, ignoring her.
"Ah, what is this? Quick, brush it away!" Tilan cried out in alarm, slapping wildly at the air as clusters of soft, delicate white fuzz balls spun lightly about with her movements. It turned out that a mischievous child on a neighboring boat had taken a dandelion branch and blown forcefully at Tilan, sending all the fluff landing on her.
Ji Chang couldn't help laughing, and while brushing it off for her, he offered soothing words, "Don't be afraid, this thing is a lot of fun. They sell them in the port—they use bamboo paper bags to carefully cover the whole branch, and when you open it and blow, they all fly up into the sky. It's just that not many people sell them; we'll look for some in a moment." Tang Qianzi watched them silently.
Ji Chang had been a gloomy and depressed child since youth. After turning thirteen, his originally weak and timid nature had gradually undergone a complete transformation, and he was now a handsome young man. His manners in advancing and retreating were languid and leisurely, and his smile often made people feel as if bathed in a spring breeze. Yet the powerful nobles and ministers of the Zunian court respected him merely because his father was the deceased emperor of the Eastern Land, and his older brother was about to become the emperor of the Eastern Land—nothing more. Not a single one of them could tell that even while smiling, the mystical light flashing in the depths of this Eastern Land young prince's phoenix eyes remained cold and mocking.
He knew that only when he was with Tilan and him did Ji Chang wear such a childlike expression.
The place where Tilan’s raven-black hair had just brushed across her face seemed to retain the fluffy, slightly itchy touch of that instant. Tang Qianzi reached out and touched it.
The three of them went ashore in the port area, walking through the crowds all afternoon without yet finding the vendor selling dandelions.
Although Ji Chang and Tang Qianzi shielded her on both sides, Tilan still walked with the stumbling gait of a blind person, leaving her no choice but to link arms with them one on each side.
"Young lady, let me read your fortune!" Sailors reeking of alcohol frequently stepped forward, playfully trying to drape an arm over Tilan’s shoulders, whereupon she would dodge behind her two tall companions with a look of disgust.
"They all take you for a blind singer," Ji Chang said with a smile. "How can you Zunian people believe that blind people can foretell human fates? The hundred or so blind singers I've seen setting up stalls on the street are even less reliable than astrologers—talk about the blind leading the blind." Tilan’s expression instantly darkened, and she gave his arm a fierce pinch, snapping, "Where is the dandelion you promised me? Go find it!" Ji Chang smiled and begged for mercy, only to have his soul hooked a moment later by a shadow play on the roadside, dragging Tilan as he dashed into a twelve-cornered cowhide tent.
The tent was originally a gathering place for the Kuafu to drink, exceptionally bright and spacious. Today, however, thick cowhide curtains hung heavily at the entrance. In pitch blackness, people were crammed shoulder to shoulder; the steaming scent of sweat penetrated clothing and clung directly to the skin. Against the far wall, a stage had been erected, flanked by large braziers that blazed to illuminate the performance.
"Ah, it's already halfway through!" Ji Chang pushed straight forward through the gaps in the crowd, holding a paper bag full of snacks high in one hand, while Tang Qianzi protected Tilan, barely able to keep up with him.
The backdrop behind the stage was a black cloth covered in mildew spots. The play was right at its climax: a Halu woman in brightly colored clothes was running back and forth in front of the backdrop in a panic, holding something in her arms, chased by three or four men dressed as soldiers, all with curled, fierce mustaches painted on their lips with greasepaint. The Halu woman was petite and moved with flying speed, while the soldiers feigned a posture a few steps behind, making murderous expressions. After circling a few more times, people in the audience began to cheer, presumably appreciating their energetic performance.
"Listen, Tilan, there are several people singing long ballads beside the stage, telling a story," Ji Chang said enthusiastically.
Tilan couldn't see what was happening on stage, and the sound of the long ballad was completely overwhelmed by the roaring cheers of hundreds of people below. She could only stare blankly with a pair of richly beautiful eyes, while Tang Qianzi held her hand, suddenly feeling a sense of desolation for her. Such a wonderful girl was destined to be incomplete for the rest of her life.
While running, the Halu woman looked back at her pursuers. The eyes of the Halu people were naturally large and bright, and having been traced thickly with greasepaint, she looked just like a local Zunian. Suddenly, she faked a fall to the ground, and the object in her arms rolled out. The tent fell completely silent, save for a series of dull, hollow clatters of wood striking wood—it turned out that what rolled out of the female character’s arms was a puppet, crudely wrapped in a layer of coarse satin to serve as swaddling clothes. Its oversized wooden head struck the stage floor and bounced all the way across. Crawling forward, the Halu woman made all kinds of difficult and painful expressions to reach the puppet, while the soldiers behind her raised wooden sabers wrapped in sheet iron. Yet the Halu woman was extremely nimble; with a nimble roll, she picked up the puppet and rushed backstage, with the soldiers chasing after her.
Beside the stage, the crude and lively long ballad sharply piped up: "Ah! Ah! Younger brother! Sister will definitely make you live on!" Tilan’s slender shoulders jerked upward abruptly as if struck by a whip. Tang Qianzi sensed that the small hand he was holding had instantly gone dead, sinking downward with an icy, heavy weight. A chilling coldness crept into Tang Qianzi’s heart, and Ji Chang turned back to exchange a glance with him, both seeing the look of astonishment in each other's eyes. Because children grew taller within a few years and training replacements was too troublesome, child roles in plays were often played by Halu; it turned out the female character was playing a young girl, and the object in her arms was an infant.
Before they had time to react, the dirty black backdrop rolled up with a creaking sound, revealing a deeper half-stage behind it.
The backing layer of the backdrop had a scorched-yellow hue, whether due to age or years of being smoked and scorched by fire. The thin fabric was painted with mechanical yet exquisite pillars and walls, resembling a palace, which trembled ominously in the hot smoke of the flames.
Behind a desk at the top of the stage sat a man and a woman dressed in royal attire, with desks set up on their left and right. On one side was a fully armored Halu, and on the other was a youth in lavish robes, depicting a scene of feasting and drinking.
The man at the top had his face heavily caked with white powder. Speaking in a southern mountain village accent, he shouted loudly without a care for those around him: "How hateful! I am the lord of a glorious nation, how can I be ordered about by such a cripple!" Yet at the same time, he heaped his face with smiles, raised his cup to the Halu on the left, and said in a ringing voice, "Brother of my beloved wife, I wish you health and longevity." The audience burst into laughter, while the people on stage remained extremely calm, acting as if they hadn't heard the king's harsh words just now. The Halu man, presumably playing the cripple, smiled coldly and drained the empty cup made of gold paper in his hand.
The king raised his cup again toward the youth on the right, saying, "My eldest son, a treasure precious as my eyeballs! My kingdom shall belong to you alone in the future, and your brothers shall all submit to you!" The youth was quite handsome, except that the rouge on his face was a bit heavy, presumably meant to indicate drunkenness.
Then the king turned to the woman beside him, wrapping one arm around her shoulder so that the huge, vulgar fake gem necklace on her neck rattled, and said softly, "My wife, the rose of my heart! Today is a joyous and celebratory reunion, and I have prepared a wonderful gift for you!" The woman gazed back at him tenderly and drained the wine in her hand. Even though his expression immediately changed as he sang loudly before her, "Ah! What a hateful woman! Her family is devouring my throne!", she still happily leaned her head against his neck, looking completely oblivious.
At this moment, a commotion stirred in the audience. People gradually realized who the play was alluding to, whispering excitedly and endlessly, while some began to push their way out in indignation. Amidst the surging crowd, Tang Qianzi and Tilan were swept far back, while Ji Chang was isolated five or six rows ahead in the front.
"Your Highness... Your Highness!" Tang Qianzi called out softly in Tilan’s ear, clumsily reaching out to support her chin.
With unusual docility, Tilan raised her head, bringing up two heavy, scorching tears that smashed onto his hand with a faint sting.
"Let's go, Your Highness, don't watch anymore." Tang Qianzi shook her by the shoulders, feeling as though they had stumbled into an absurd and cruel dream, thinking only of escaping this tent and returning to the bright daylight outside.
Tilan’s complexion was dead white, and her delicate lower lip trembled uncontrollably, looking ready to lose her soul at any moment, yet she shook her head very slowly and firmly.
The crowd pushed against them like a silent, pitch-black forest at night, featureless except for the moment when they were illuminated by the bewitching red firelight from both sides of the stage, revealing sharp, distorted facial features. At that moment, Tang Qianzi began to rejoice that Tilan was blind; she couldn't see such a horrifying sight. She trembled in his arms like a newly hatched pigeon. The distance between them and Ji Chang grew wider and wider. Across countless surging heads, Ji Chang tried hard to stretch out his hand, but he could never reach them.
The king's shrill voice shouted from the stage: "Someone come! Someone come! Bring my gift!" It was the same three soldiers from the previous scene, rushing up with a clamor as if they represented an army of thousands, still wielding wooden sabers wrapped in sheet iron. They lunged toward the Halu man and placed their blades against his neck.
Only then did the woman wake from her dream, rushing forward to tug at the soldiers while crying dryly, "Your Majesty! Why have we lost your favor?" One of the soldiers shoved the woman to the ground, pointing a gleaming blade at her. Crawling back to the king's desk, the woman grasped the king's hand and said, "What crime have I committed? Can bearing three lovely children for you not redeem it?" The youth on the right drew his sword and cried out in a hoarse voice, "Mother!" The king trembled exaggeratedly, but finally let out a long sigh and pushed the woman violently toward the soldiers.
The besieged Halu man cried out in grief and indignation: "Your Majesty, have you forgotten that if our family hadn't served you back then, how could you have seized the throne!" The king leaped onto the desk, his face ferocious, "You never cease to remind me of this at every moment and in every place, which is why you deserve to die!" Holding his long sword, the youth rushed over to fight the soldier attacking the woman. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, the soldier took a sword thrust through his abdomen and tumbled to the ground.
Stamping his feet on the desk, the king shouted, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" The long ballad beside the stage sounded once more, this time singing: "Ah! Ah! The king's mind is made up, all the consort's children must die, even though half the king's blood flows in their veins!" Another soldier released the Halu man and swung his wooden saber at the youth. The woman, who had previously collapsed to the ground, sprang up like a fierce beast, blocking the space between the youth and the soldier.
The youth cried out in another shrill tone, "Mother!" The soldier thrust the blade past their armpits, exposing the tip of the knife to imply piercing both the youth and the woman through, and then pulled it back with a ferocious expression, causing mother and son to collapse together.
At that moment, a gasp of astonishment rose from the audience, partly because of the murderous plot, and partly because a giant had suddenly rushed out from backstage. Although much smaller than a Kuafu, he was quite burly among humans, more than enough to impersonate a Kuafu on stage.
"Master! I've come to save you!" The giant brushed aside two soldiers with one hand and dropped to his knees before the Halu man with deliberate theatricality.
"O bearer of a sullied name, he is not a rebel! It is fickle fate toying with him!" The tune of the long ballad rose sharply, so high that the singer's voice cracked.
The audience broke into an uproar. The most favored trick of shadow plays was precisely this sort of plot: the enlightened ruler recorded in history books actually drank the fresh blood of a child every day; the death row inmate personally sentenced by the judge turned out to be his long-lost biological son; the singing girl who swore never to marry and waited years for her lover to return from the sea—hailed as a romantic tale—actually saw that handsome feathered sailor die in a storm long ago, and what returned was merely a demon attached to his short dagger.
In a shadow play, all scenes were flat and hollow drawings on a backdrop, and people held their breath waiting for those gorgeous curtains to be pulled back one layer after another. Whether the ending hidden in the deepest layer was true or false, they didn't care.
Amidst the uproarious noise, Tilan’s moan was so faint as to be almost imperceptible. She slumped backward, collapsing into Tang Qianzi’s arms, her wildly manic, pitch-black eyes staring straight at the tent roof as the fierce flames of the brazier danced on her cheeks.
"Your Highness! Your Highness!" The young general gripped the princess's slender shoulders, which felt as if they were about to snap, and called out to her.
Ji Chang was still trapped deep within the tent and unable to break free. Raising his gaze, Tang Qianzi saw the face of his young master through the distant gaps in the crowd.
Under the firelight, the sharp bridge of the nose split Ji Chang's face into cleanly cut sections of red and black. He nodded slightly to Tang Qianzi, who then shielded Tilan against his chest, stepping backward while pushing the crowd apart with his shoulders and back to squeeze outward. The exit of the theater tent was right behind them, and that streak of light was bright, sharp, and blinding to look at, like dawn breaking through a gap in the clouds.
Ji Chang watched them go out, and the curtain fell shut tightly once more, plunging everything into darkness.
The clear blue sky turned to a dim azure, and a chilly evening wind swept through the alley, carrying the faint sounds of the outside world. The city, which had rejoiced all day, fell into an eerie silence in the dusk.
"Your Highness... Your Highness!" Pressing against Tilan’s shoulders, Tang Qianzi pinned her against the wall like a long robe. She was so light she had no weight and lacked any support, as if the moment he let go, her whole body would drop to the ground and pile up into a heap of fabric.
Tilan had not fainted; she remained completely awake, her eyes staring upward like two bottomless wells, pitch-black and facing the sky.
"Your Highness, can you hear me?" He gripped Tilan’s arms, shaking her gently. "Listen to me, it's all a play, it's all fake." "No, it's not, Zhenchu." The young girl lowered her blinded eyes to look at him, her wild, curly hair covering her entire face. "That day, I saw it." The young general’s hazel pupils contracted sharply. "You saw..." Tilan said in an inaudible voice, "I saw." Three syllables, light as a sigh, resonated deep within Tang Qianzi’s heart alongside the ominous drumbeats drifting from the depths of the market.
The young girl stood in a realm of void darkness, yet she felt no fear. From the moment she was born, the only world she could see was one devoid of light and color. Sometimes, in her dreams, chaotic lights would flow across her vision, possessing varying temperatures and scents, and she guessed those were the so-called "colors" she had never laid eyes on.
Yet the dream of that day frightened her. A patch of color wound its way toward her from the depths of the darkness, burning and dense, carrying a warm, iron-like stench like a malicious living thing. But halfway through, it gradually grew cold and withered. Only a dying tentacle brushed against her skirt, and the color rapidly climbed up thread by thread. She retreated, yet could never escape the entanglements of that color.
She saw a beautiful woman tumble into that thick mass of color, her hair fluttering like the finest silk ribbon as she stretched her hands out into the empty air in vain.
"King, my king! Why has Lingjia so angered you? Even after bearing three such lovely children for you, can I not redeem Lingjia’s crimes?" And so the young girl curled up in terror within her dream. She recognized that the beautiful woman was her mother. She wanted to wake up, but the dream held her in a firm grip, refusing to release her.
A man walked toward her mother, and that color crawled onto the hem of his garments as well. The young girl had never seen anyone's face, but she knew that was her royal father. The arms that so often embraced her and her mother were now simply holding himself tight, as if unable to bear the cold.
The angry words of Uncle Yingjia and Crown Prince brother echoed in the darkness, mixed with the sound of clashing steel. The father looked down at his mother with an expression that was both cold and cowardly. He couldn't even answer her question, simply turning his head away to speak to someone in the void: "Go find Tilan and Solan—leave no survivors, bring me their heads for a reward." Crown Prince brother stood in the distant darkness with a sword in hand, a fresh pool of color spreading beneath his feet. Uncle Yingjia snatched up a glazed lamp and hurled it into the void, causing the scorching color to erupt overwhelmingly from beneath her mother and brother, swallowing even the chaotic darkness. It was the painful color that bled when a finger was pricked, and it was the color of fire. Later on, someone told her that color was what they called "red."
"After that, I woke up. I cried and begged my mother not to leave, not to go see my father. Sighing, mother told me I was the silliest child in the world, that the Western Land hadn't seen a true blind singer in over four hundred years, and that listening too much to palace maids' comforting stories made me dream such strange things. She pinned fresh, fragrant flowers in her hair because Uncle Yingjia was coming that night. I held onto Solan and refused to let go, so she had no choice but to leave both Solan and me in the sleeping quarters. I kept leaning out the window, waiting to hear her return to the palace. Suddenly, a huge wind blew outside, and the sunlight felt scorching on my face, but it was already nighttime. That wasn't sunlight, that was fire," Tilan recounted intermittently, her wide-open, hollow eyes terrifyingly vacant.
"Later on, I secretly ran out holding Solan. Zhenchu, you were the one who saved me. When I asked Uncle Yingjia later what happened that night, he refused to talk about it." The final thread of the setting sun sank beneath the horizon.
In the gathering twilight, three deafening rolls of drums shook the air like the robust heartbeat of the earth. The murky dust floating above Bibo suddenly plummeted, and the whole city fell silent.
From the distant horizon, a desolate, winding male voice drifted over on the wind. It was the High Priest chanting the seasonal blessings atop the sacrificial tower, praying for abundant rains, peaceful seas, and the Dragon-Tail God’s protection over all shipping. To please the deities, they were willing to offer the twenty-four-hour revelry of hundreds of thousands of people as a sacrifice.
The singing subsided, and the drumbeats started up again, this time fierce as a storm. A wild and joyful rhythm skipped through the crisp air, urging people to light every lamp around them. Thousands of dark-iron braziers lined up along the banks of the Papal River ignited, and the entire city lit up with a roar.
A massive painted boat moved slowly across the river surface, bright as day in the night. Every person and object cast dancing, giant shadows onto the river surface and the buildings along both banks. Two tall Kuafu women with bronze-toned skin wore short leather vests, dancing seductively against each other. Daggers with outward-facing tips were bound to their elbows and ankles, and the razor-thin blades constantly grazed each other's throats and waists without causing the slightest injury. Twenty singing girls, identically dressed, sat at the edge of the boat, singing an enchanting melody in unison. Their delicate feet dipping into the water were painted with auspicious dragon-scale patterns using walnut flower juice.
"Mother and Crown Prince brother are both dead. Though I cannot see what my royal father looks like, his scent is clearly that of a dead man. If I had stopped mother back then, things might not have turned out this way—or perhaps, as long as I didn't have that dream, none of this would have happened..." Crystal tears welled up in Tilan’s hollow eyes, refracting the gorgeous, mixed floating-world lights outside the alley like a tiny crystal. "I'm afraid. Every night when I close my eyes, I'm afraid of dreaming. But I dare not tell anyone else, not even Uncle Yingjia." Clinging to the young general's lapel like a drowning person clutching a straw, she was completely unaware that there was only a dangerous inch of space between her face and Tang Qianzi's. "Sooner or later, you're going back to the Eastern Land. Once you leave, I won't be able to stay in this royal city for even a single day either. Zhenchu, I want to leave with you." Only after she finished speaking did a feverish flush spread across her death-white face.
Tang Qianzi slowly inhaled a breath; the spring night air filled with the fragrance of white lotuses felt as though it would scorch his chest.
"Your Highness, this subordinate is truly terrified." Hearing him refer to himself as a subordinate, the young girl abruptly let go with both hands and leaned back against the doorway of a residential alley. The Xieluo flowers pinned at her temples gave a crisp, crystalline chime as the ruby accents struck the brilliant golden petals. Lifting her eyelashes, she looked at him with an expression of desperate, unfocused supplication.
"You were the one who saved me back then. The only one who can save me now is you. But it turns out you don't understand either." Stricken with a cold dread, he could only turn his head away, having no response.
Fireworks exploded over the river, drawing golden and emerald trails in the night sky like permanent burn marks, yet they scattered just as quickly, and a sky full of twinkling embers drifted down over Bibo.
The windows above them popped open one after another, and the clamorous voices and aromas of food drifted into the dark narrow alley. Then came a splashing sound as something was poured down overhead. Yet Tilan stood there blankly without dodging, getting half-soaked. Tang Qianzi pulled her by the shoulders, forcefully dragging her out of the alley all the way to the riverbank, though they remained enveloped in a downpour-like cascade of water. Only then did he belatedly realize that it wasn't rainwater. The amber-colored liquid, sweet and fragrant, being poured onto the streets from all directions splashed into the braziers, causing the flames to leap over a foot high and release a mesmerizing scent.
Only at this moment did the Nectar Rain Festival truly begin.
Ordinary Zunian families never kept wine for more than two summers. At the Nectar Rain Festival around the turn of spring and summer each year, last year's wine was brought out to be drunk heartily, and whatever could not be finished was poured out of the windows, signifying the casting away of the old to welcome the new.
In this city, there was never joy without cost, but as long as one had enough silver, there was no joy that could not be bought. Only on the day of the Nectar Rain Festival would this cold, calculating city act like a generous drunkard, showering the sweet rain of revelry and intoxication over everyone's heads in handfuls.
Amidst the general jubilation, only Tilan’s smile was broken. Her tanned, lustrous face was streaked with honey-like wine, washed clean by tears, pooling at the tip of her sharp chin and dripping down drop by drop.
"Zhenchu, I know I'm making things difficult for you. In this world, everything has its constraints and rules. Even though you and I are noble as a general and a princess, there are many things we cannot do." Her white dress and raven-black curly hair were soaked through with wine, clinging miserably to her skin. She smiled faintly on lips resembling wild roses, yet every single word she spat out was desolate. Having finished, tears gathered in her eyes once more, but she stubbornly endured them, biting down hard on the first joint of her index finger.
The intense aroma of wine was warmed into heat by body heat, creeping into the nostrils until their souls felt as though they were about to break free from their shells and float away. Tang Qianzi stared fixedly at Tilan, finally letting out a sigh as he reached out to move her finger away from between her teeth. After quite a long while, he said in a deep voice: "I will take you away. One day, I will take you away." Sitting together by the bustling Papal River, they watched a three-story-high golden-lacquered dragon-tail god parade boat float downstream before them, followed by tens of thousands of people along the bank who cheered and leaped with joy. In the god's hands rested a white jade lotus leaf platter three feet in diameter, upon which sat the city's most exquisite young flute player. Flute music resembling the warbling of a hundred birds echoed all the way from the royal city gates to the port area. Young women standing at the windows and wind-terraces on both banks scooped wine in shallow bowls and splashed it toward the flute player, though falling short every time, they vainly stretched colorful rainbows across the air.
This was the annual celebration, a massive, fruitless flower of lies that suddenly bloomed amidst a greasy, smoky life.
The sweet and spicy taste of wine between Tang Qianzi’s lips gradually faded, allowing him to perceive other flavors—after all, the tears of a girl sweet as nectar were ultimately salty and bitter. Blood surged through his veins, and deep down he knew he was drunk.
"Let's go, A-Pen, send me back to the palace," Ji Chang bent down and said into the Kuafu's ear. This Kuafu was none other than the one who had destroyed the tavern in the port area six years ago. Surrounded by Tang Qianzi’s subordinates at the time, he hadn't backed down even after taking a dozen blades, yet his employer had abandoned him and fled. Admiring A-Pen's backbone, the crowd had pleaded with Tang Qianzi, dragged him off to recover in one of those two small towers in the city, and eventually recruited him outright to become a night thief.
The Kuafu blinked his eyes. "Your Highness, there's still an Eastern Land shadow play coming up." Stroking the feathers of the Three-Path Falcon, the youth's gaze fell far away to the opposite bank of the Papal River. Across the dancing, clamorous painted boats, he could faintly make out the figure of the girl in white as pure as snow on the other side. After a long while, he said absentmindedly, "I won't watch it." "Are you not going to send the letter to the general either?" Ji Chang flicked his wrist, sending the Three-Path Falcon flying into the fire-reddened sky.
"It's not like we can't bear to be apart for a single moment; let him play by himself a little longer. Let's go now." A-Pen gave a muffled assent and turned to walk carefully out of the crowd.
Sitting on the Kuafu's shoulder, Ji Chang slowly opened the oversized bamboo paper bag resting on his knees and pulled out a dozen particularly dense dandelions. Without even needing to blow, as the night wind swept past, they fluttered and drifted away like a snowfall until every last one of them fell.