The Golden Hairpin

Officials from the Dali Temple came to inquire about the incident, recording the details before questioning the monks who had helped extinguish the fire and the bailiffs from the nearby yamen who had assisted in maintaining order. It was clear that another round of busy work was about to begin.

Li Shubai bid farewell to Cui Chunzhan and left the temple with Huang Zixiao. Despite the earlier chaos, the carriage from the Kui Prince's residence remained dutifully parked at the temple gate. The coachman, Yuan Bo, had already covered the carriage roof with oilcloth to prevent rainwater from seeping in.

The rain was heavy. On the streets of Chang'an, some people scurried about with their heads covered, others strolled leisurely under umbrellas, while a few stood anxiously beneath trees or by wells, gazing at the sky.

The carriage moved steadily forward. When they reached Pingkang Lane, it should have turned onto North Street, but Yuan Bo suddenly reined in the horses, bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt.

The sudden jolt caught Huang Zixiao off guard as she sat on the small stool inside. She lurched forward, nearly crashing into the carriage wall. Fortunately, Li Shubai reacted swiftly, pressing a hand to her shoulder and stopping her just before her forehead could hit the wood.

Heart still pounding, Huang Zixiao rubbed her forehead and thanked Li Shubai before leaning out into the rain to ask the coachman, "Uncle Yuan, why did we stop so suddenly?"

The coachman quickly replied, "There's someone blocking the road ahead."

Huang Zixiao could hear faint commotion in the distance. She grabbed an umbrella from the carriage and said to Li Shubai, "I'll go take a look," before stepping out under the shelter of the umbrella.

Ahead was the intersection of East Market and Pingkang Lane. A few onlookers stood scattered by the roadside, while in the middle of the road lay a small child, no more than four or five years old, unconscious in the rain. It was unclear whether the child was alive or dead.

Though many had gathered to watch, the child's tattered, filthy clothing suggested they were a beggar, and their prone form in the mud deterred anyone from stepping forward to help.

Hesitating for a moment, Huang Zixiao was about to approach when the crowd suddenly stirred, turning their attention toward the front.

A young man emerged from Sheng Ye Temple. Spotting the little beggar on the ground, he strode forward without hesitation, balancing his umbrella on his shoulder to free his hands as he gently lifted the unconscious child.

The man wore a plain white gauze robe embroidered with faint silver patterns of heartvine grass. The green oil-paper umbrella accentuated his tall, slender figure, pure as the newly risen moon. Despite the beggar's mud-soaked, grimy state, he cradled the child tenderly in his arms, heedless of the filth.

The onlookers exchanged bewildered glances, astonished that such an elegant man would treat a lowly, dirty beggar with such kindness.

When he raised his head, those nearby caught sight of his face and involuntarily drew sharp breaths.

The rain pattered down, drenching all of Chang'an. Yet the man's features seemed only more luminous under the downpour, as if the raindrops enhanced his clarity. His exquisitely handsome features, flawless brows and eyes, and the delicate charm between youth and adulthood made him appear as fresh as newly sprouted grass, as pristine as morning mist after rain, and as delightful as the first blue light of dawn.In the city of Chang'an with its million inhabitants, there was only one such figure who could captivate all with his presence. Throughout the three hundred years of the Tang Dynasty, only one soul had been refined to such a transcendent clarity.

Those around him were momentarily spellbound by his beauty and aura, forgetting even to offer assistance.

The downpour continued relentlessly, driving people to huddle under eaves and awnings. The rain blurred the surroundings, leaving only the faint outlines of buildings submerged behind the rows of pagoda trees, their shades deepening and lightening. The murky world dissolved into a misty haze, as if the entire universe existed solely to accentuate his presence.

Huang Zixiang stood holding an umbrella, gazing at him through the dense curtain of rain.

She watched the droplets clinging to his temples, his eyes veiled by lowered lashes, the elegant curve of his profile like an ink painting. She forgot to breathe, forgot the rain splashing onto her clothes, forgot to step aside. She stood there motionless, as if the world had ceased to exist.

And—it was heart-wrenching, painful, sorrowful, suffocating.

Never had she imagined meeting him again under such circumstances, in such a torrential rain.

Her hand trembled violently as she clutched the umbrella, her entire body chilled by the icy rain. Yet her body felt colder still than the rain outside.

The man carrying the little beggar walked toward her. He struggled to shield the child with his umbrella, while droplets from his own hair trickled down his fair, slender neck into his collar. Yet he appeared anything but disheveled—there was only that crystalline clarity, like glazed porcelain, striking awe into the heart.

As he approached with the child, he asked, "Could you tell me where the nearest clinic is—"

The pounding rain drowned out all sound. His gaze fixed on her face, and his words abruptly halted.

He stood frozen before her.

The rain was so heavy, its roar nearly overwhelming. Yet amidst the deluge, she heard the silent wail in her chest, louder than the storm itself.

A daze as if lifetimes had passed.

And then he looked away. Lowering his head to protect the child, he stepped past her. Rain lashed his face, but he paid it no heed, walking coldly by her side.

As they brushed past each other, Huang Zixiang heard his voice, sharp as a blade: "You'd better be gone before I return from the clinic."

Her throat tightened, her body rigid. She willed herself to regain composure, but it was futile—for she faced him, the one who had claimed her soul long ago.

His icy gaze flickered back to her face: "Otherwise, I will take your ashes to console your parents in the afterlife."

Huang Zixiang bit her lip hard, her heart racing. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. For she knew—one utterance, and she would shatter completely, unable to stand in this world any longer.The umbrella in her hand was utterly inadequate against the torrential downpour, soaking Huang Zixiang's clothes. She trembled uncontrollably, barely able to grip the oil-paper umbrella. Her entire body swayed unsteadily, the pain radiating from her heart nearly tearing her apart, splitting her in two.

At that moment, a hand slowly rested on her shoulder, shielding her.

The hand was so strong that it instantly gave her the strength to steady herself. That strength spread from her shoulder throughout her body, like a deliverance, finally allowing her to break free from the invisible hands that had been choking her throat and gripping her heart. She exhaled for the first time in what felt like ages.

The owner of that hand, Li Shubai, stood behind her, his gaze calm and steady as he looked at the young man across from them. He spoke unhurriedly, "No need to return. You can go report to the authorities now and have them demand the person from Prince Kui."

The young man's gaze slowly shifted to him, as if connecting him with the rumors from the capital. His strikingly handsome face paled slightly.

Li Shubai subtly shifted his stance, shielding Huang Zixiang.

Huang Zixiang finally snapped out of her daze. Clenching her teeth, she forced out a few strained words, "I am Yang Chonggu, a eunuch of Prince Kui's household. May I ask who you are, brother?"

He didn't answer, only staring fixedly at her through the drizzling rain of Chang'an.

Once, those clear eyes had held tenderness, indulgence, a light as bright as stars when gazing at her, and a quiet depth like autumn water in moments of helplessness. But now, there was only a coldness as deep as an abyss of ice, making her heart feel as though it were plummeting endlessly into that dark void.

Fortunately, Li Shubai's composed voice sounded softly in her ear, "Chonggu, let's go."

The refined and clear-eyed young man, seeing Li Shubai's protective stance and Huang Zixiang's natural acceptance of his shelter, finally dimmed his gaze.

But only for a moment. Holding the little beggar, he bowed slightly, his voice unruffled. "My apologies. I mistook the eunuch by Your Highness's side for a heinous enemy. Since Your Highness has spoken, I must have been mistaken."

With that, he didn't spare Huang Zixiang another glance, turning into the alley with the little beggar in his arms, never looking back.

Huang Zixiang stood alone in the rain, gripping the umbrella handle, feeling waves of coldness wash over her.

Li Shubai said coldly beside her, "He's gone. How much longer do you plan to stand here?"

His tone was sharp and icy, a stark contrast to his earlier calm. In her daze, she suddenly noticed that parts of his upper body were already soaked by the rain.

Why had he gotten out of the carriage to find her in the rain? Why had he shielded and supported her without hesitation?

Gritting her teeth, she raised her umbrella higher to cover him.

Standing under the same umbrella, their breaths mingled. Li Shubai looked down at her quietly, his gaze icy beneath his long, thick lashes.

Countless raindrops pounded from the sky, rustling against the umbrella. The rain grew heavier, blurring the streets and alleys around them into faint, shadowy outlines of grayish-blue, the whole world a hazy blur.

Amidst this disorienting haze, Huang Zixiang heard Li Shubai's voice, distant yet close: "Yu Xuan?"Huang Ziyao stood silently, mechanically holding the umbrella half a step ahead of him, neither speaking nor making a sound. Though the umbrella was large enough, she had been holding it up for him all this time, leaving the back half of her body thoroughly drenched by the rain.

Her body trembled slightly, her grip on the umbrella so tight that her knuckles turned white, yet she stubbornly refused to loosen her hold even a little.

Li Shubai reached out and grasped the umbrella in her hand. She looked up at him in confusion as he took the umbrella from her and took her hand, saying softly, "Let's go."

Huang Ziyao seemed not to understand what was happening, letting herself be pulled along as she turned her face toward Li Shubai in bewilderment.

He held the umbrella for her, walking slowly through the rain-soaked streets, leading her toward the carriage waiting at the intersection.

The downpour was shut out, and the Seventy-Two Districts stood quietly in the heavy rain, the clamor of the world distant and muffled.

Her hand was cold and soft, resting motionless in his grasp.