The puppet play at Jiuyuan Tower today was indeed not the same act they had seen in Rongzhou City.

A patch of gleaming white light reflected from the bronze mirror truly resembled cold moonlight, shining upon the string puppet dressed in ornate embroidered robes and skirts. Black silk hair arranged in cloudlike coils was adorned with swaying hair ornaments and silk flowers. The bleak music trickled like flowing water, and the strings controlled every movement of the puppet—watch its sleeves flutter sharply, watch it turn back for a distant gaze. In that instant, it seemed as though it had truly become Chang’e flying to the moon.

“Susu, the pickled green plums here are really quite good, hurry and taste them.” Mengshi had only eaten one plum when he found the flavor excellent, so he pushed the porcelain dish toward Shang Rong and Zhezhu.

Zhezhu rested his elbow against the corner of the table. Hearing this, he glanced at the porcelain dish before him, casually picked up one and bit into it. The sweet-and-sour taste made his brows lift. He looked at the little girl beside him who had been staring at the stage in rapt attention, then picked up another and held it to her lips.

Shang Rong opened her mouth and bit down almost instinctively.

Without warning, her soft lips brushed against the pad of his finger—only the lightest touch—but Zhezhu curled his fingers slightly, then glanced at her again for no reason.

Shang Rong was unaware of anything. Her gaze merely shifted gradually from the puppet, slowly moving to the pair of hands controlling it. With only such a pair of hands, no matter whether beneath the strings it was Chang’e or anyone else, it was always just a heap of wood to be arranged at will.

After three acts, the sky outside Jiuyuan Tower had already grown dark.

They had stayed in the building from afternoon until now. Lantern after lantern was lit along the streets before they finally stepped out of Jiuyuan Tower.

Along the banks of the Yangliu River, the night breeze drifted gently.

The river embankment was covered with lanterns of every color, their interwoven lights rippling upon the water. The street was packed shoulder to shoulder with people, lively beyond measure.

Shang Rong followed the youth forward. The lanterns at tonight’s festival were far more numerous than those at the small temple fair in Taoxi Village—some arranged in neat rows upon tall wooden frames, some swaying lightly beneath the eaves, some flickering across the bridge.

Rich colors, varied forms—dazzling to the eyes.

“Today is the Beginning of Spring. I’ve heard the Shuqing people often hold lantern festivals around these days,” Mengshi’s legs were injured and he walked more slowly, yet it did not dampen his good mood tonight. He pointed toward a lantern tower built from bamboo poles not far away and said to the two of them, “Look, most of those lanterns are shaped like flowers.”

Within the crowd, Shang Rong lifted her head to look at that tall lantern tower. She discovered that it seemed every flower that could bloom in spring was gathered upon that tower.

She wanted to get closer, but there were even more people beneath it.

Several children dashed wildly about. Zhezhu reacted quickly, reaching out to shield her behind him, but Mengshi, who was looking around distractedly, was struck head-on by one of the children in front.

He staggered back two steps, and before he could even see clearly, the children had already skipped around him and run off.

“Uncle Mengshi, are you alright?”

Shang Rong remembered that his leg was still injured.

Mengshi rubbed his stomach where he had been hit and shook his head at Shang Rong, but the wound in his leg was indeed aching again. He said, “I’ll go sit over there for a while. If you get tired from walking later, come find me, and we’ll rent a boat to eat together.”

There were quite a few black-canopied boats on the river tonight, for people to have late-night meals upon the water and listen to the musician ladies in the painted boats playing instruments and singing songs.

“Alright.”

Shang Rong nodded.

The wind tonight was very gentle. The moon’s radiant glow cast upon the human world was far less brilliant and dazzling than such a lantern tower. Those countless colors seemed like all the flavors of the mortal world.

Unlike the solitary, aloof moon, forever untouched by worldly smoke and fire.

Shang Rong followed closely in his footsteps as they walked forward. Lights and shadows of every hue swayed before her eyes, while the youth lowered his lashes slightly, seeming somewhat absent-minded between his brows. His fingers curled and stretched within his sleeves, hidden in the dense shadows blocked by the sea of people.

Suddenly, a warm, soft hand lightly hooked around his fingers.

A faint shimmer stirred in the youth’s pitch-black eyes. He turned his head, yet saw only her profile. Only afterward did he follow her gaze—beneath the lantern tower, through the gaps in the sea of people, the liveliness within faintly revealed itself.

Three bronze pots were placed in the center. A man with a thick beard was pointing to the long arrows set nearby, calling people over to compete.

It was pitch-pot.

The youth had played it countless times in the marketplaces.

“You want to play?”

A few more traces of brightness appeared in his refined brows and eyes.

“I…”

Hearing the bearded man say that the prize was a begonia flower lantern, Shang Rong hesitated slightly. But the next moment, the youth’s slightly cool palm wrapped around her fingers. A light breeze brushed her face. Within this dazzling array of strange and shifting lights, Shang Rong looked up at the youth’s profile, passively pulled along as he led her through the crowd, running toward that noisy place.

“What do you want?”

His eyes were always so clear and full of vitality.

“I want to do it myself.”

Shang Rong tried hard to suppress her unease at the many gazes around her and said this to him.

Hearing this, a bit more interest appeared on the youth’s face. He drew an arrow from the side and handed it to her.

Shang Rong took it from him, turned to look at the bronze pot not far away. Hearing many people whispering around her, she held the arrow, glanced once at the youth beside her.

He was looking at the bronze pot.

Shang Rong raised her hand lightly. Amid the clamor of voices, the arrow in her hand flew out, cutting through the wind. At the instant everyone’s eyes gathered on the bronze pot, the arrow struck the mouth of the pot neatly and precisely.

“Impressive!”

Someone in the crowd shouted, followed immediately by a burst of applause.

Shang Rong secretly let out a breath of relief. She turned her face, meeting his gaze directly—and his eyes curved slightly, faintly smiling.

“Miss, the begonia has five petals. If you want this begonia lantern of mine, you must hit it five times in a row,” the bearded man reminded from the side, extending a hand.

Here, when playing pitch-pot, however many petals the flower had, that many throws were needed to win the lantern.

The youth silently handed her another arrow.

Shang Rong took it, raised her hand, and without much hesitation threw again. Four times in succession—she had not even let go of his hand once yet without exception, every throw struck true.

“Not to mention a young lady—among the men tonight, I haven’t seen anyone with aim better than yours,” the bearded man praised Shang Rong generously. He then turned back, lit the candle inside the begonia lantern, and handed it to her. “Miss, my wife made this by hand. It’s yours now.”

Shang Rong examined the begonia lantern in her hand. It was indeed exquisitely crafted—the pink petals with clearly defined veins, almost real enough to be mistaken for true.

A small candle stand in the center shielded the flame from exposure, and the hazy warm glow illuminated the luxuriant blossom, making it all the more charming.

“For whom is it?”

The youth led her out from the crowd, glancing lightly at the crown of her dark hair.

“How did you know I was giving it to someone?”

Shang Rong lifted her head.

“When have you ever thought of anything for yourself?” the youth spoke lightly.

Shang Rong was startled. After quite a while, she lowered her eyes and said, “I heard Uncle Mengshi say that his daughter, Yaoyao, likes lanterns. And she was born in the fourth or fifth month, when begonia flowers are in full bloom. So I wanted to give this to Uncle Mengshi.”

She remembered that the lanterns at the small temple fair in Taoxi Village were used to light the stage—they were not especially beautiful.

“Oh.”

The youth responded casually, yet suddenly stopped. When she looked at him in confusion, he released her hand and said, “Stand here and wait for me.”

Shang Rong did not understand. Before she could ask anything, she saw him turn and leave, his frost-white robes swiftly disappearing into the crowd they had just walked out from.

Holding the begonia lantern, Shang Rong obediently stood where she was and waited. She did not know what had happened, but more and more people gathered in that place. The dense sea of people completely blocked what was happening inside—she could not see anything at all.

By now, it was impossible to squeeze back into the crowd.

Fortunately, before long, Shang Rong saw the youth emerge from within. Almost everyone around him was looking at the white tanhua lantern in his hand, and she could not help staring at it as well.

The tanhua that blooms and closes only at night—however many people miss its midnight elegance, that many cannot forget it.

The tanhua had twenty or thirty petals.

Which meant that to obtain this tanhua lantern, he must have hit the target twenty or thirty times in succession.

Zhezhu lifted his head and saw that she truly had not moved from where she had stood before. His brows rose slightly. Walking to her, he handed her the lantern. “Take it.”

Shang Rong stared blankly at the beautifully defined lines of his hand. The clamor all around seemed far less than the inexplicable turmoil surging in her heart at this moment.

“Don’t like it?” Zhezhu asked in puzzlement.

“I like it.”

Shang Rong came back to herself and shook her head lightly. She reached out to take the white tanhua lantern, then could not help lifting her head to look at him.

“When did you play pitch-pot?”

Zhezhu took the begonia lantern from her hands and asked.

“When I was ten, Sister Danshuang took me to play,” Shang Rong answered honestly. Eating the candied fruit he had bought for her, she held his hand and walked with him. “In the temple, aside from copying Qingci and Daoist scriptures, I only read books. She said my life was very dull, so every time she came, she would play with me the games people outside usually play.”

“She taught you well.” Zhezhu responded.

He had already learned about Xue Danshuang from her on the night he first arrived in Taoxi Village. So now, when Shang Rong mentioned Danshuang again, she did not guard herself. Hearing him say this, she continued, “I am very grateful to her. Because of her, my days in the temple were not only suffering.”

She suddenly stopped walking.

“Zhezhu.”

She looked at him. “I am also very grateful to you.”

Aside from Xue Danshuang, no one cared whether she was happy. No one cared whether she liked anything. Even she herself had gradually, without realizing it, stopped expecting, stopped wanting, stopped daring to want.

But he… was different.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

On the Yangliu River, the broken notes of the pipa fell like rain. Mengshi had already found a boat by the riverbank. As soon as Shang Rong and Zhezhu boarded, a table of late-night dishes was served. The boatman rowed them through the painted bridge arch, the bamboo pole striking the water as they drew closer to the flower boats.

Shang Rong saw that the boat was adorned all over with flower lanterns. Several musician ladies with gauze veils covering their faces wore hairpins full of blossoms. Amid the sounds of water and shifting lantern light, some cradled zithers, some held flutes. The music intertwined and harmonized—a single tune contending for spring.

The fish soup in the bowl was still warm. The minced fish formed into small balls carried the springy texture of mushrooms. Shang Rong’s eyes were filled with the colorful fireworks bursting in the night sky.

Perhaps the sweet rice wine Mengshi had poured for her was somewhat intoxicating. She stared blankly as the fireworks split apart and scattered, streaks falling one by one—her gaze falling with them.

She lay against the bow of the boat. Beside her were the white tanhua lantern and the begonia lantern, their light cast upon the clear rippling water, shimmering brightly. Her thoughts were sluggish, yet her hand reached out.

Her fingertips touched the surface of the water. Ripples moved. Her sleeves were soaked through.

“Susu, be careful—don’t fall in.”

Seeing her reaching into the water to poke at the reflections of lantern light, Mengshi called to her with a smile.

Shang Rong did not respond. Slowly, within that cool-toned weave of water’s shimmer and lantern reflections, she faintly glimpsed the youth’s face.

She looked and sensed the scent of bamboo leaves drawing near.

He was right behind her. His pale, slender fingers caught her delicate wrist, lifting her sleeve from the water, droplets falling in a steady dripping sound.

Just as she was about to close her eyes to the rhythm of the water’s sound and the distant strings, his damp palm pressed in time against the hard wooden plank. Thus, her cheek came to rest against his palm.

She opened her eyes again and stared at him.

“Zhezhu.”

She called softly.

The sound of fireworks still burst in the air, and above and below the bridge was filled with lively voices. Her soft call was drowned in the noise.

But seeing her lips move slightly, he knew she was calling him.

Yet before he could respond, she had already closed her eyes.

Moonlight and lantern glow filled the boat, fireworks flickering. His hand remained beneath her cheek. Zhezhu said nothing, lifting the hot tea on the table and taking a sip.

Mengshi saw everything clearly, yet only smiled without speaking.

As the night deepened, the boat reached the shore.

Zhezhu carried the sleeping girl on his back and walked with Mengshi into the quiet streets. Unlike the lively riverbank of the Yangliu River, only a few scattered lanterns hung beneath the eaves here.

“Young Master Zhezhu, there are some words I don’t know whether I should say or not.”

Mengshi walked slowly beside him and suddenly spoke.

“When did you become so hesitant?”

Zhezhu did not even look at him.

“After all, this is not my matter, but the matter of you and Susu,” Mengshi said as he walked, carrying a flower lantern in one hand. “Young Master and Susu—after all, the man is unmarried and the woman unwed… ahem. I have thought it over again and again. For Susu’s sake, I still wish to say—since you are traveling outside, staying in one room is nothing, but some matters… perhaps require attention.”

Previously, the bamboo grove courtyard had only two rooms. Mengshi feared that if she, a young girl, stayed in the cold side room, she might fall ill. So the two of them sharing the main room had not seemed anything to him. But this morning, when he knocked on Shang Rong’s door for a long time with no response, he later learned that she had once again been in Zhezhu’s room.

This pair of young boy and girl were still very young. Mengshi thought it over repeatedly and felt that as the elder, he should say something.

“Some matters?”

Zhezhu stopped walking. By his ear was Shang Rong’s steady, gentle breathing. He looked at Mengshi in puzzlement.

“…Nothing.”

Mengshi froze. He stared at the youth’s clear and unblemished eyes. After a moment, he realized he had completely worried for nothing.