The girl’s pale white skirts flapped wildly in the wind as she leaped from the waterside pavilion like a white bird, landing squarely in Tang Qianzi’s arms. Unable to bear the impact, he staggered backward several steps, nearly tumbling off the bridge. Fortunately, Ji Chang braced them with his shoulder, and the three collapsed into a heap, almost falling into the water. Luckily, the small bridge was tucked away in a quiet corner near the Crown Prince’s quarters, so the commotion went unnoticed. It was late spring, when plants and trees were bursting into bud, and throughout the royal palace, groups of exquisitely dressed court ladies drifted by, their fragrant scents carried on the breeze.
“You’re useless, big guy,” Tilan said, hopping to her feet and giving Tang Qianzi a playful kick.
The young man chuckled as he stood, helping Ji Chang up as well. “He’s not the ‘big guy’ anymore—Prince Chang has long since outgrown me.” “Really? …Oh, it’s true.” Tilan, still blindfolded with a silk ribbon, reached out to clumsily feel their shoulders, her expression that of a little girl playing hide-and-seek. Yet her once-childish lips had now grown full and vivid, blooming like wild rosebuds unfurling petal by petal when she smiled. In the warm climate of Zhenni, everything matured early; at just fourteen, her figure and demeanor already carried the grace of a sixteen-year-old maiden from the Eastern Lands.
Ji Chang brushed the dust from her clothes. “This court lady’s outfit fits you well—is it Gongye’s? She didn’t try to stop you?” Tilan laughed. “I gave all the girls the day off. They were overjoyed to go watch the festival, so only Gongye is left, wearing my clothes and pretending to sleep in my room.” “I’ve never seen anyone so inconsiderate,” Ji Chang teased. “What if Gongye had a sweetheart and couldn’t go see the festival with him? She’d resent you to death.” “Gongye is my servant—since when do you get to worry about her? Besides, I’ve never seen the Liyu Festival, while Gongye gets to see it every year,” Tilan retorted, knowing full well how willful she sounded. Her face flushed, and she quickly changed the subject. “What are you two wearing?” “Zhenchu is in his usual clothes. I got myself a set of Imperial Guard armor to pose as his subordinate—looks pretty convincing, doesn’t it?” Ji Chang replied. Suddenly, he narrowed his handsome eyes, listening to the faint drumbeats drifting from beyond the palace walls. Grabbing Tilan’s hand, he urged, “If we’re any later, there won’t be any boats left. Let’s go!” But Tilan stubbornly refused to move, laughing as she pushed his hand away. “Right now, you’re not a prince from the Eastern Lands, and I’m not the most spoiled princess in the entire palace, Tilan. We’re just a guard and a servant girl.” Turning toward Tang Qianzi with a clever smile, she added, “General Tang, you lead the way.” Shaking his head with a wry smile, Tang Qianzi had no choice but to walk ahead, while Tilan and Ji Chang followed meekly behind, occasionally nudging each other and giggling under their breath.
After only a few steps, Tang Qianzi suddenly halted, turned to study Tilan for a moment, then stepped forward and untied the silk ribbon from her eyes. “You’re the only one in the entire palace wearing this thing. Going out like this would give us away.” He folded the five-foot-long plain white ribbon and tucked it into his robe before turning to leave. Tilan stood frozen in place, her tightly shut eyelashes dark and heavy, resting on her cheeks like dew-kissed butterfly wings."Silly, open your eyes." Ji Chang ruffled her hair. "No one walks with their eyes closed." Tilán's brows furrowed, her entire body tensing as if gathering strength. Her lashes fluttered faintly, as if weighed down by an immense burden. After a long moment, they finally struggled open with difficulty.
It had been nearly nine years since they first met, and this was only the second time he had seen her pupils. Those utterly lifeless eyes held a startling beauty, evoking countless images preserved in Ji Chang's childhood memories.
A lotus blooming in an instant.
A white bird taking flight.
Flames whirling and dancing as they rose in the darkness.
All those fleeting, irrecoverable fragments of radiance surfaced one after another like strings of glistening bubbles.
"Even if I open them, I still can't see. Zhènchū?" Tilán called Tāng Qiánzì by his courtesy name, groping until she found the tassel on his saber.
Ji Chang lowered his gaze, and no one could discern the shifting emotions within.
The guards at the side gate of the royal city held lowly positions and had almost never seen Ji Chang or Tilán's faces. Without conducting a thorough inspection, they saluted Tāng Qiánzì and allowed the three to pass. Tāng Qiánzì came and went through the royal city daily, and everyone knew he was as close to Prince Chǎng as a brother. Some of the guards who had given him trouble in the past had since been promoted to minor commanders and now treated him with extra deference and caution.
The civil war in the Eastern Continent had raged for nearly five years. During the most difficult and desperate times for the royal forces, the usurper Chǔ Fèngyí occupied Quánmíng and blockaded all sea routes east of Mǐnzhōng. The royal forces of the Western Continent had no choice but to transport supplies via the Yīnggē Strait to the west—a perilous route plagued by frequent white tides and pirates. Zhùniǎn and the Zhēng Dynasty had an existing alliance, and the only consort of King Xù was Zǐzān, the sister of the Jūnliáng King. Once King Xù ascended the throne, Zǐzān would become the empress of the Eastern Continent. However, the Jūnliáng King had long been reduced to a living corpse, and the Great Lord Yīngjiā, who held the reins of the nation, was unlikely to welcome Zǐzān's enthronement as empress. With the situation in the Eastern Continent still uncertain, the people of Zhùniǎn used the excuse of impassable sea routes to delay fulfilling their commitments. Secretly, they directed merchants to transport provisions and weapons to the Northern Continent, selling them at high prices to the exiled royal forces for profit. Prince Chǎng, who was residing in Zhùniǎn at the time, was only fourteen years old. Yet, he mustered the courage to confront the Great Lord Yīngjiā directly, pleading his case with fervor. Only then did the Great Lord Yīngjiā release the promised supplies to Prince Chǎng, who then hired his own fleet to transport them. Over the next two to three years, nearly half of the royal forces' provisions and military pay were shipped from the Bìbōluó Port to the city of Shuānghuán in the Northern Continent. As the usurper suffered repeated defeats and Chǔ Zhòngxù began to reveal his aura of a hegemon, it became clear that he would soon reclaim the legitimate throne. Prince Chǎng's faction would inevitably become the second most powerful force in the Zhēng Dynasty, second only to the emperor. Even this guard, who was both a mentor and a friend, was not to be offended.
The young Yǔlín army soldier from the Zhēng Dynasty behind Tāng Qiánzì cast a sidelong glance at the solemnly saluting Zhùniǎn guards, a faint, almost imperceptible sneer tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Zhènchū, look at their faces. When they see power and wealth, even if it has nothing to do with them, they rush to flock to it. But if one falls from grace, everyone is quick to kick them while they're down," he muttered in a low voice, speaking in the Eastern Continent's language.
Tāng Qiánzì smiled faintly. "It's human nature to seek advantage and avoid harm, Your Highness." Ji Chang nodded slightly.Outside the city walls, the clamor of voices mingled with the faint strains of flutes and drums. Tilan, unaccustomed to such a spectacle, shrank a step closer to Ji Chang, who took her hand and whispered softly, "Don't be afraid, we're here with you." The side gate of the royal city slowly swung open before them, and a vast, fragrant, multicolored torrent swept over them, overwhelming their senses.
On the Papal River, where only vessels with royal permission were typically allowed, the view was now crammed with all manner of gaily decorated boats. The water along their sides floated thick with petals and leaves—lavender, azure, delicate yellow, moss green, sunset red—like a brilliant brocade suddenly unfurled. Every pattern and hue imaginable, every iridescent shade, swirled together, twisting and coiling in endless turns. Across countless warp and weft threads, an extravagant tapestry of overwhelming luxury was densely woven.
According to the Eastern Continent's calendar, it was the spring of the thirty-third year of the Lin Tai era of the Zheng dynasty. Tang Qianzi was already a young man of twenty-three, while Chu Ji Chang had reached nineteen. In a few more months, Tilan would celebrate her fifteenth birthday.
Chu Zhongxu had established Shuanghuan City in the northern continent's Han Province as a secondary capital, holding out against the enemy for nearly six years. Yet he had never ascended the throne as emperor, and the Lin Tai era name used by his late father, Emperor Xiu, continued to be passed down. Although a glimmer of dawn had begun to appear in the situation, it was a dawn stained with the bleakness of blood. Many villages and towns in the Zheng kingdom could no longer find adult men; where the army passed, graves lay in heaps, soon to be dug up again by hungry jackals. Yet even those emaciated corpses could not sate the jackals' hunger.
For the people of Bipoluo Harbor, however, this was an exceptionally prosperous year. Last autumn's harvest of beans and wheat had been abundant, and by late spring, the new wine, stored through the winter, had matured into a rich and rounded flavor. The new rainy season would soon arrive as promised. This was the Sweet Rain Festival, the liveliest day of the year in Bipoluo City.
Since dawn, all the small boats in the city had been freshly adorned with decorations, weaving through the crisscrossing waterways like a spider's web, selling incense, herbs, flowers, cosmetics, fireworks, and every kind of trinket meant to delight. And so, Bipoluo City began its day of splendid attire.
From young girls to elderly women, every commoner adorned herself with cheap, oversized fake jewels and bright fabrics, dressing like princesses and queens from foreign lands. Men smeared their mustaches with pomade blended from orange blossoms, frankincense, and pine resin, styling them into jaunty, curled shapes. Wealthy merchants showing off their riches even twisted gold threads into theirs. Wandering performers from three continents and ten nations turned the rivers and buildings into stages, with singing, dancing, acrobatics, and plays blending together with the clamor of music and the clinking of copper coins tossed into tin bowls. This gaudy, cheap opulence reflected on the narrow, foul-smelling water, rippling endlessly. Everyone knew it was an illusion, yet they gladly threw themselves into this dazzling daydream, becoming its captives.
"Hurry, the crowd will only grow thicker, and we won't find a boat!" Ji Chang urged loudly, waving toward the river. An empty skiff turned toward them, struggling for a while through the congested flow of boats before finally maneuvering clumsily to their feet.
The skiff was wrapped inside and out in coarse, floral cloth, its colors beneath the waterline already faded beyond recognition after a morning afloat. The boat remained as narrow as ever, barely large enough to hold one passenger besides the boatman."Oh no, we're too late—we definitely won't find three boats now." Ji Chang nimbly leaped into an empty spot in the boat. After the Panxiao Incident, he had lived for half a year in the Yulin Army camp near the harbor district and had seen the Libation Rain Festival more than once. "Let's secure this one first." Tang Qianzi glanced briefly over the river and smiled faintly. Releasing Tilan's hand, he leaned down and said to the boatman, "You come up and make room for me." "Huh? But..." The boatman looked troubled.
Three or four gold coins clattered onto the wooden planks at his feet. "I'm buying this boat." "What about Tilan?" Ji Chang asked in surprise as Tang Qianzi jumped off the pier.
Tang Qianzi didn't answer but bent down and reached out, deftly pulling something from the colorful stream of boats in the distance. With a firm tug, the object bumped its way closer. Amid the riot of colors, it was a cool, dazzling white.
"Gentlemen, buy a flower! They're perfect for the ladies!" It turned out to be the large wooden basin commonly used by flower-selling children, brimming with half-opened white lotuses. A little girl emerged from the snowy heap of blossoms, her childish voice ringing out.
"How much for one?" the young man asked.
"One silver coin." The girl, noticing they were from the Eastern Continent, slyly rolled her big eyes and named a price. Seeing the young man who had pulled her over shake his head with a smile, she realized she couldn't fool him and quickly added, "Five for one." Still twice the usual price.
The young man reached into his robe as if to make the deal. The girl happily stood up to take it, but what landed in her hand startled her.
It was a pea-sized rose quartz, cold and piercing to the touch like melting ice. While other gems could be counterfeited, rose quartz was impossible to fake—not only did its deep, blood-red hue penetrate to the core, but even the light it refracted in the sun was a delicate rainbow. A piece of this size and quality would easily fetch nearly a hundred gold coins on the market.
"I'll buy the whole basin, flowers and all. Will you sell?" the young man asked with a smile.
The little girl stared, speechless for a moment, then suddenly popped the crystal into her mouth, sprang out of the basin, and swam away through the crowded gaps between the boats, likely fearing the extravagant Easterner might change his mind. Ji Chang watched, laughing heartily.
"Forgive my presumption, Your Highness." Steadying himself in the boat, Tang Qianzi grasped Tilan by the waist and lifted her down. Ji Chang steadied the large wooden basin with one hand and took Tilan's hand with the other.
Tilan stepped onto the foot-thick layer of flowers, letting out a soft "ah" before breaking into laughter. It was the last clear, mild weather of late spring before the rainy season arrived, the sunlight warming one's bones to the point of languor, the fragrant breeze carrying fluffy hints of warmth against their faces. Her white dress billowed in the wind, its countless pleats spreading out like a brand-new sail. On her head, she wore a flower the size of a palm, crafted from pure gold so lifelike that fine golden threads, smooth as moth antennae, extended from its center, weighted down by tiny ruby fragments at the tips, trembling and bending with each gust of wind, chiming softly. Tang Qianzi recognized the flower—it was the Xieluo, often hawked by vendors at the harbor.Tilan sat with her skirts gathered up, the large pristine flower buds in the wooden basin submerged up to her knees. She tilted her head back, letting the sunlight warm her delicate, dusky face. The basin, embraced by ripples, spun gently, softly tapping against the side of the boat with each turn, stirring the hearts of those aboard along with it. Tang Qianzi and Ji Chang each held one of her hands firmly, and without the need for oars, the small boat and the wooden basin drifted together downstream along the sluggish current.
"Where are we going? Aren't we here to watch the parade of decorated boats?" Tilan asked.
"The decorated boats won't come out until nightfall. For now, we're drifting downstream. When we get closer to the sea, we'll reach the harbor district. You can buy anything in the world there—whatever you want, I'll get it for you," Ji Chang said, his face glowing with enthusiasm.
Tilan pretended to think for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "I wonder if they sell little crispy cheese tarts in the harbor district?" Ji Chang flushed with embarrassment, turned his head away, and ignored her.
"Ah, what is this? Get it away from me!" Tilan cried out in alarm, swatting wildly at the air as clusters of soft, fine white fluff swirled gracefully around her. It turned out that a mischievous child on a nearby boat had playfully blown a dandelion in her direction, covering her with its seeds.
Ji Chang couldn't help but laugh, brushing the fluff off her while soothing her gently. "Don't be afraid, this stuff is actually quite fun. They sell them in the harbor district—carefully packaged in bamboo paper bags. You just open one up, give it a blow, and they all fly up into the sky. They're not very common, though. We'll have to search for a vendor later." Tang Qianzi watched them silently.
Ji Chang had been a melancholy child since his youth, but after turning thirteen, his once timid and withdrawn nature gradually transformed. Now, he had grown into a handsome young man, carrying himself with a languid ease, his demeanor relaxed and his smile as refreshing as a spring breeze. Yet, the powerful ministers and nobles of the Zhuni Kingdom respected him only because his father was the late emperor of the Eastern Continent, and his elder brother was soon to ascend that same throne—nothing more. None of them could see that, even when smiling, the gleam in this young Eastern noble's phoenix eyes remained cold and mocking.
Tang Qianzi knew that only when Ji Chang was with Tilan and himself did he display such a childlike expression.
The spot where Tilan's raven-black hair had brushed against his face still seemed to carry the fleeting sensation of its soft, tickling touch. Tang Qianzi reached up and gently touched the spot.
The three of them disembarked at the harbor district and spent the afternoon wandering through the crowds, but they had yet to find a vendor selling dandelions.
Though Ji Chang and Tang Qianzi flanked her protectively, Tilan still stumbled along like a blind person, eventually linking arms with both of them for support.
"Little lady, let me tell your fortune!" From time to time, sailors reeking of alcohol would approach, grinning cheekily as they tried to sling an arm around Tilan's shoulders. She would recoil in disgust, ducking behind her two tall companions."They all think you're a blind singer," Ji Chang said with a laugh. "How could you Zhuning people believe that the blind can foretell a person's fate? The hundreds of blind singers I've seen setting up stalls on the streets are even less reliable than astrologers—truly, the blind leading the blind." Tilan’s expression darkened instantly, and she pinched his arm hard. "You promised me dandelions—where are they? Hurry up and find them!" Ji Chang laughed and pleaded for mercy, but his attention was quickly stolen by a roadside puppet show. He tugged Tilan along and ducked into a twelve-cornered leather tent.
The tent, originally a gathering place for the Kua Fu to drink, was exceptionally spacious. That day, however, a thick leather curtain hung at the entrance, plunging the interior into darkness. Despite this, the space was packed shoulder to shoulder with people, the heat and sweat soaking through their clothes and clinging to their skin. At the far end, a stage was set against the wall, flanked by large braziers that blazed brightly, illuminating the performance.
"Ah, we’ve missed half the show already!" Ji Chang squeezed through the crowd, holding a paper bag full of snacks high above his head. Tang Qianzi, who was protecting Tilan, struggled to keep up with him.
The backdrop of the stage was a black cloth speckled with mold stains. The play was at its climax: a colorfully dressed Heluo woman, clutching something in her arms, darted frantically back and forth across the stage, pursued by three or five men dressed as soldiers. Each soldier had a fierce, curly mustache painted on his upper lip with greasepaint. The Heluo woman, petite and nimble, kept just ahead of the soldiers, who brandished their weapons with exaggerated menace. After a few laps around the stage, the audience erupted in cheers, likely appreciating the actors' energetic performance.
"Tilan, listen—there are several singers beside the stage, chanting the story," Ji Chang said excitedly.
Tilan couldn’t see what was happening onstage, and the singers' voices were drowned out by the roaring applause of the hundreds in the audience. She could only stare blankly with her striking, vivid eyes. Tang Qianzi, holding her hand, suddenly felt a pang of sorrow for her. Such a beautiful girl, yet forever marked by imperfection.
As the Heluo woman ran, she glanced back at her pursuers. The Heluo people naturally had large, bright eyes, and with hers heavily outlined in paint, she looked almost like someone from Zhuning. Suddenly, she pretended to stumble and fall, and the object in her arms tumbled out. The tent fell silent, the only sound the hollow clatter of wood striking wood—it turned out the actress had been holding a puppet, clumsily wrapped in coarse satin to resemble a swaddled infant. The puppet’s oversized wooden head knocked against the stage floor, bouncing erratically. The Heluo woman crawled forward, her face contorted in pain and effort as she reached for the puppet, while the soldiers behind her raised wooden swords tipped with iron. But the woman was agile—she rolled over, snatched up the puppet, and dashed backstage, with the soldiers hot on her heels.Beside the stage, a raucous and lively song pierced the air at just the right moment: "Ah! Ah! My dear brother! Your sister will surely keep you alive!" Tilang’s slender shoulders jerked upward as if struck by a whip. Tang Qianzi felt the small hand he was holding instantly turn lifeless, cold and heavy, sinking downward. A chilling dread crept into his heart. Ji Chang turned to meet his gaze, and in that moment, they both saw the shock reflected in each other’s eyes. Because children grow too quickly within a few years, training replacements would be too troublesome, so child roles in plays were often performed by Heluo actors. It turned out the female role was actually playing a young girl, and the doll in her arms represented an infant.
Before they could react, a grimy black curtain rattled as it rolled up, revealing a deeper section of the stage behind it.
The backdrop curtain had a yellowish-brown hue, either from age or years of exposure to smoke and fire. On the thin fabric, clumsily yet meticulously painted beams, pillars, and walls suggested the interior of a palace, trembling ominously in the heat and smoke of the flames.
At the head of the stage, behind a low table, sat a man and woman dressed in royal attire. On either side, additional tables were set: one for a fully armored Heluo, the other for a lavishly dressed young man, depicting a banquet scene.
The man at the head of the table wore a thick layer of white powder on his face and spoke loudly in the accent of a southern mountain village, as if no one else were present: "How I hate this! I am the dignified ruler of a nation—how can I be manipulated by such a cripple!" Yet, even as he spoke, he plastered a wide smile on his face, raised his cup to the Heluo on his left, and toasted loudly: "To the beloved brother of my dear wife, I wish you eternal health and longevity." The audience burst into laughter, but the actors on stage remained utterly composed, pretending not to have heard the king’s earlier venomous words. The Heluo man, presumably playing the cripple, sneered and drained his empty cup, which was made of gold-paper.
The king raised his cup to the young man on his right and declared, "My eldest son, as precious as the apple of my eye! My kingdom shall belong to you alone in the future, and your brothers shall bow to you!" The youth was quite handsome, though the rouge on his face was overly heavy, likely meant to convey a drunken appearance.
Then the king turned to the woman beside him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and shaking the large, gaudy fake gemstone necklace around her neck until it jingled. Softly, he said, "My wife, the rose in my heart! Today is a joyous reunion, and I have prepared a wonderful gift for you all!" The woman gazed back at him tenderly and drained the wine in her hand. Even when he abruptly changed his expression and sang loudly before her, "Ah! What a detestable woman! Her family is gnawing away at my throne!" she still nestled her head against his neck with the same delight, seemingly oblivious.
The crowd below began to stir, gradually realizing whom this play was alluding to. Excited whispers spread like wildfire, and some started pushing their way out in frustration. Amid the surging crowd, Tang Qianzi and Tilan were swept backward a considerable distance, while Ji Chang was stranded five or six rows ahead.
"Your Highness... Your Highness!" Tang Qianzi whispered urgently into Tilan's ear, his hand clumsily cupping her chin.
Surprisingly docile, Tilan lifted her head, two heavy, scalding tears falling and stinging slightly as they landed on his hand.
"Let's go, Your Highness. Don't watch anymore." Tang Qianzi shook her shoulders, feeling as if they had stumbled into an absurd and cruel dream. His only thought was to escape this tent quickly and return to the world outside, bathed in daylight.
Tilan's face was deathly pale, her delicate lower lip trembling uncontrollably, as if her soul might flee at any moment. Yet, she shook her head slowly and resolutely.
The crowd jostled them like a silent, dark forest at night—faceless, except for the brief moments when the eerie red flames from the stage illuminated distorted, grotesque features. At that moment, Tang Qianzi felt grateful that Tilan was blind and couldn't see such a horrifying sight. She trembled in his arms like a newly hatched dove. The distance between them and Ji Chang grew wider, separated by countless surging heads. Ji Chang stretched his hand out desperately but couldn't reach them.
On stage, the king's shrill voice cried out, "Guards! Guards! Bring forth my gift!" The same three soldiers from the previous scene thundered onto the stage, as if representing an entire army, still brandishing iron-clad wooden swords. They rushed toward the Heluo man and pressed their blades against his neck.
Only then did the woman seem to awaken from a dream, lunging forward to claw at the soldiers, wailing dryly, "Your Majesty! Why have we lost your favor?" One of the soldiers shoved her to the ground, pointing his gleaming sword at her. Crawling back to the king's table, she grasped his hand and pleaded, "What crime have I committed? Can bearing you three lovely children not atone for it?" The young man on the right drew his sword and cried out hoarsely, "Mother!" The king trembled exaggeratedly but finally let out a long sigh and shoved the woman violently toward the soldiers.The besieged He Luo man cried out in sorrow and fury, "Your Majesty! Have you forgotten that if it weren't for my family's service, you would never have seized the throne?" The king leaped onto a low table, his face twisted with rage. "You never miss a chance to remind me of this—that is precisely why you deserve to die!" A youth, brandishing a longsword, rushed forward to fight the soldier attacking a woman. The soldier hesitated for a moment, and in that instant, the youth thrust his sword into the soldier's abdomen, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The king stamped his feet on the table and roared, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Beside the stage, the long song began again, this time singing, "Ah! Ah! The king's mind is made up—all the queen's children must die, even though half the blood in their veins flows from the king himself!" Another soldier released the He Luo man and swung a wooden blade at the youth. But the woman, who had collapsed weakly moments before, sprang up like a wild beast, placing herself between the youth and the soldier.
The youth let out another heart-wrenching cry, "Mother!" The soldier pressed his blade between their armpits, the tip protruding on the other side, as if to skewer both the youth and the woman together. With a savage pull, he withdrew the blade, and mother and son fell to the ground as one.
At that moment, a collective gasp arose from the audience—half in shock at the murderous scene, half at the sudden appearance of a giant man bursting from backstage. Though far shorter than a Kuafu, he was exceptionally burly among humans, enough to pass for one on the stage.
"Master! I've come to save you!" The giant man swept aside two soldiers with one hand and knelt theatrically before the He Luo man.
"O bearer of disgrace, he is no traitor! It is the cruel hand of fate that toys with him!" The long song rose to a piercing pitch, the singer's voice cracking under the strain.
The audience erupted in uproar. This was precisely the kind of drama at which the Zhangzi Opera excelled—the righteous monarch recorded in history books who actually drank the fresh blood of a child every day; the judge who sentenced a condemned man to death, only to discover he was his long-lost son; the songstress who vowed never to marry, waiting years for her lover's return from the sea, a tale celebrated far and wide, though the handsome feathered sailor had long perished in a storm, and what returned was merely a spirit clinging to his dagger.
Such was the essence of Zhangzi Opera—every scene was but a flat, hollow painting on a screen. The audience held its breath, waiting for the layers of gorgeous curtains to be drawn back one by one. Whether the final revelation hidden deepest within was true or false mattered little to them.
Amid the boiling clamor, Tilan's mournful cry was so faint it was almost inaudible. She went limp and collapsed into Tang Qianzi's arms, her frenzied, deathly dark eyes fixed on the tent's ceiling, the fierce glow of the brazier flickering across her cheeks.
"Your Highness! Your Highness!" The young general gripped the princess's slender, almost fragile shoulders, calling out to her.
Ji Chang remained trapped deep within the crowded tent, unable to break free. Tang Qianzi lifted his gaze and caught sight of his young lord's face through the distant gaps in the crowd.
Under the firelight, Ji Chang's sharp nose bridge divided his face into stark contrasts of red and black. He gave a slight nod to Tang Qianzi, who then shielded Tilan against his chest and began backing away, using his shoulders and back to push through the crowd toward the exit. The tent's opening lay just behind them—a sliver of light so brilliant and sharp it was blinding, like the first rays of dawn breaking through a gap in the clouds.
Ji Chang watched them leave. As the curtain fell back into place, the light vanished.The azure sky deepened to a somber blue-gray, and a cool evening breeze swept through the alleyways, carrying faint traces of human voices from afar. The city, which had been bustling all day, fell into an eerie silence at dusk.
"Your Highness... Your Highness!" Tang Qianzi pressed Tilan against the wall by her shoulders, pinning her like a long robe. She felt as light as if she had no weight, utterly unsupported, as though the moment he let go, she would crumple to the ground, folding into a heap of fabric.
Tilan had not fainted; she remained fully conscious, her eyes like two bottomless wells, dark and vacant as they stared upward.
"Your Highness, can you hear me?" He gripped her arms and shook her gently. "Listen to me, it was all an act, all fake." "No, Zhenchu." The girl lowered her sightless eyes to look at him, her wild, curly hair covering her face. "That day, I saw." The young general's tea-colored pupils contracted sharply. "You saw..." Tilan whispered almost inaudibly, "I saw." Those three words, as faint as a sigh, echoed deep within Tang Qianzi's heart, accompanied by the ominous drumbeats drifting from the distant streets.
The girl stood in a void of darkness, yet she felt no fear. From the moment she was born, all she had ever known was this world devoid of light and color. Sometimes, in her dreams, chaotic streams of light would flow before her eyes, each with its own temperature and scent. She guessed that these were what others called "colors," which she had never seen.
But the dream that day terrified her. A color, winding its way from the depths of the darkness, flowed toward her—intense and rich, carrying the warm, metallic scent of blood, like a malevolent living thing. Yet, halfway to her, it gradually cooled and withered. Only a dying tendril brushed against the hem of her skirt, and then the color swiftly, thread by thread, climbed upward. She retreated but could not escape the entanglement of that hue.
She saw a beautiful woman, sitting collapsed in that thick, viscous color, her hair flying like the finest silk, reaching futilely into the air.
"O King, my King! How has Lingya offended you so? Even bearing you three such lovely children, can it not atone for Lingya's sins?" The girl curled up in fear within her dream. She recognized the beautiful woman as her mother. She wanted to wake up, but the dream held her tightly, refusing to release her.
A man approached her mother, and the color crept onto the hem of his robes as well. The girl had never seen anyone's face, but she knew it was her father. The arms that often embraced her and her mother now held only himself tightly, as if he could not bear the cold.Uncle Ingkar and Crown Prince Brother’s furious words, mingled with the clashing of steel, echoed in the darkness. Father looked down at Mother, his expression both cold and cowardly. He couldn’t even answer her question, merely turning his head away to address someone unseen in the void: “Find Tilan and Solan—leave no survivors. Bring their heads for a reward.” Crown Prince Brother stood in the deeper shadows, a sword in hand, while a fresh, vivid color spread beneath his feet. Uncle Ingkar snatched up a crystal lamp and hurled it into the emptiness, and a searing hue surged upward from beneath Mother and Brother, engulfing even the chaotic darkness. It was the color of pain that flows when a finger is cut, the color of flames. Later, someone told her that color was what they called “red.”
“Then, I woke up. I cried and begged Mother not to leave, not to go to Father. Mother sighed and called me the silliest child in the world, saying that the Western Continent hadn’t seen a true blind singer in over four hundred years, and that I’d heard too many comforting tales from the palace maids, which led to such strange dreams. She adorned her hair with fresh fragrant flowers because Uncle Ingkar was coming that night. I clung to Solan, refusing to let go, so she had no choice but to leave both of us in the bedchamber. I stayed by the window, waiting to hear the sound of her return. Suddenly, a strong wind rose outside, and the sunlight on my face felt scorching hot—yet it was already night. It wasn’t sunlight; it was fire.” Tilan spoke haltingly, her wide eyes terrifyingly vacant. “I sneaked out with Solan in my arms. Zhenchu, it was you who saved me. Later, I asked Uncle Ingkar what happened that night, but he never would tell me.” The last sliver of sunset vanished below the horizon.
In the gathering dusk, three thunderous drumbeats suddenly resounded, deafening, like the mighty pulse of the earth. The hazy dust floating above Bipolo City abruptly settled, and the entire city fell into silence.
From a distant place, a man’s voice, turning desolate and solemn, was carried by the wind. It was the High Priest chanting from the top of the sacrificial tower, praying for abundant rain and peaceful seas, for the Dragon-Tail God to protect all ships. To please the deities, they offered the revelry of hundreds of thousands of people for a day and a night as sacrifice.
As the singing faded, the drums resumed, this time with the ferocity of a storm, the clear air vibrating with a wild, joyous rhythm, urging everyone to light every lamp around them. Thousands of iron braziers lining the banks of the Papal River burst into flame, and the city erupted into brilliance with a roar.
A massive decorated barge moved slowly along the river, the night illuminated as bright as day. Everything and everyone cast huge, dancing shadows on the water’s surface and the buildings on both shores. Two tall Kua-Fu women with skin like polished bronze, clad in short animal-hide garments, pressed close together in a seductive dance. Daggers were strapped to their elbows and ankles, blades pointing outward, the keen edges skimming each other’s throats and waists without leaving a scratch. Twenty identically dressed songstresses sat along the boat’s edge, singing in unison a bewitching melody, their delicate feet dipped in the water adorned with auspicious dragon-scale patterns painted in madder root juice."My mother and the Crown Prince are both dead. Though I cannot see my father’s face, his scent is unmistakably that of a corpse. If only I had stopped my mother back then, perhaps things wouldn’t have come to this—or maybe, if I hadn’t had that dream, none of this would have happened..." Tears, clear as crystal, fell from Tilan’s vacant eyes, like tiny gems refracting the dazzling, chaotic glow of the world beyond the alley. "I’m afraid. Every night when I close my eyes, I fear I’ll dream. But I dare not speak of it to anyone, not even Uncle Yingjia." She clutched the young general’s lapel like a drowning person grasping at a lifeline, unaware that her face was merely a perilous inch away from Tang Qianzi’s. "Sooner or later, you will return to the Eastern Continent. Once you’re gone, I cannot bear to stay in this royal city for even a single day. Zhenchu, I want to leave with you." As she finished speaking, a feverish flush spread across her deathly pale face.
Tang Qianzi drew a slow breath, the spring night air thick with the fragrance of white lotus blossoms, searing his chest as if it were aflame.
"Your Highness, this humble servant is deeply troubled." Hearing him refer to himself as a servant, the girl abruptly released her grip and leaned back against the door of a nearby house. The xieluo flower pinned at her temple chimed delicately, its ruby stamens striking the opulent golden petals. She lifted her gaze, her dark eyes pleading and unfocused, fixed intently on him.
"You were the one who saved me back then. Now, you are the only one who can save me. But it seems you don’t understand after all." His heart clenched with dread, yet he could only turn away, unable to respond.
Fireworks burst over the river, molten gold and flowing emerald tracing what seemed like indelible scars across the night sky, only to scatter into stardust moments later. The shimmering remnants drifted down, enveloping the city of Bipoluo.
Windows above them slammed open one after another, the clamor of voices and the aroma of feasts spilling into the dim, narrow alley. Then came a sudden splash—something poured down over them, drenching Tilan before she could react. Tang Qianzi wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her swiftly from the alley to the riverbank, yet they remained caught in the downpour-like cascade. Only then did he realize it wasn’t rain. From all directions, the streets were showered with a sweet, fragrant amber liquid. When it splashed into braziers, flames leaped feet high, releasing an intoxicating scent.
It was at this moment that the Sweet Rain Festival truly began.
Ordinary families in Zhunian never kept their brewed liquor beyond two summers. During the Sweet Rain Festival at the turn of spring and summer, the previous year’s wine was brought out for revelry, and whatever remained was tossed from windows—a symbolic gesture of discarding the old and welcoming the new.
In this city, joy never came without a price, yet with enough silver, any pleasure could be bought. Only on the day of the Sweet Rain Festival did this cold, shrewd city behave like a generous drunkard, lavishing ecstasy and intoxication upon every soul.
Amid the jubilant crowds, only Tilan’s smile was broken. Her dark, luminous face was streaked with honey-like wine, mingled with tears that gathered at the tip of her delicate chin before falling, drop by drop."I know I'm putting you in a difficult position, Zhenchu. Everything in this world has its constraints and rules. Though we hold the titles of general and princess, there are still many things beyond our reach." Her white dress and glossy black curls were drenched with wine, clinging damply to her skin. Though her wild rosebud lips curved in a faint smile, each word she uttered carried a desolate tone. As she finished speaking, tears welled up in her eyes again, yet she stubbornly held them back, biting down hard on the knuckle of her index finger.
The strong scent of wine, warmed by body heat, rose like steam to fill their nostrils, making their souls feel as if they might drift free from their bodies. Tang Qianzi gazed steadily at Tilán, finally sighed, and reached out to gently remove her finger from between her teeth. After a long silence, he said in a low voice, "I'll take you away. One day, I'll take you away." They sat by the bustling Papal River, watching as a three-story golden dragon-tailed deity float drifted downstream, followed by thousands of cheering people along the banks. The deity held a three-foot-wide white jade lotus leaf plate, upon which sat the city's most skilled young flutist. His flute notes, sweet as birdsong, echoed from the palace gates all the way to the harbor district. Girls leaning from windows and balconies along the shores poured shallow bowls of wine toward the flutist, though none reached him, instead creating fleeting rainbows in the air.
This was the annual festival—a grand, fruitless flower of deception blooming suddenly in their greasy, smoke-filled lives.
As the sweet-spicy taste of wine gradually faded from Tang Qianzi's lips, he noticed another flavor—the girl who had been sweet as fine wine now tasted of salty bitterness in her tears. His blood raced through his veins, and he knew in his heart he was drunk.
"Let's go, Apén. Take me back to the palace," Jì Fǎng bent down to whisper into the Giant's ear. This was the same Giant who six years earlier had wrecked a tavern in the harbor district. Though surrounded by Tang Qianzi's men and slashed over a dozen times, he hadn't retreated, while his employer had abandoned him and fled. Admiring Apén's courage, the men pleaded with Tang Qianzi to take him to one of the two small buildings in the city to recover, eventually recruiting him to join their band of night thieves.
The Giant blinked and said, "Your Highness, there's still Eastern Continent magic yet to come." The young man stroked the feathers of his three-path falcon while his gaze drifted across the Papal River, where he could vaguely make out the snow-white figure of a girl through the dancing spectacle of floats. After a long moment, he said absently, "I've seen enough." "Won't you send the message to the General either?" With a flick of his wrist, Jì Fǎng sent the three-path falcon soaring into the fire-lit sky.
"It's not like he can't be without me for a moment. Let him enjoy himself a while longer. We should go now." Apén acknowledged and turned to carefully make his way through the crowd.
Perched on the Giant's shoulder, Jì Fǎng slowly opened the large bamboo paper bag resting on his lap. He pulled out over a dozen particularly dense dandelions and, without bothering to blow on them, let the night wind carry their seeds away in a snowfall of white.
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