Chapter 12: The Gu People

When he left the Riverside Pavilion, night had already deepened. Lanterns and red candles painted the lake with shimmering waves of color. On the banks, pedestrians and vendors clamored ceaselessly. Out on the water, embroidered barges drifted by with songs and laughter. Beigong Qiyi wandered idly, his gaze drifting until it settled for a moment on something. He arched his brow and walked over.

The vendor, seeing someone approach, was about to call out, but upon seeing Beigong Qiyi’s face, he froze, staring in bewilderment. Beigong Qiyi glanced at him with a faint, unconcerned smile, then reached out to pick up a piece of jade—pure green throughout. Though its quality was mediocre, its color was flawless. He weighed it in his hand and asked, “How much for this jade?”

His voice was rich and clear, with perfect cadence; even amid the noisy crowd, it was as melodious as an oriole leaving the valley, enchanting all who heard it.

“Ten... ten taels of silver...” the vendor stammered, lowering his head, cheeks flushed.

Beigong Qiyi threw him ten taels, slipped the jade into his sleeve, and walked away. The vendor stared, dazed, at the slender figure until it vanished from sight. Carefully storing the silver, he glanced once more in the direction Beigong Qiyi had departed and murmured, “What a beautiful person…”

With nothing pressing to do, Beigong Qiyi was in no hurry to return, instead strolling aimlessly. Suddenly, someone tugged at his sleeve. He looked down to see a timid little girl, about five or six years old, gazing up at him. “Pretty brother, would you buy a lantern?”

He smiled at the various lanterns in her basket, picked one at random. The little girl beamed with delight and said sweetly, “Thank you, pretty brother.”

The lakeshore, aglow with lanterns of every shape and hue, was enchanting. Beigong Qiyi placed his lantern in the water, then, after a moment’s thought, took it out again. Borrowing a brush from a nearby vendor, he began to write on the lantern’s surface. Suddenly, his hand paused, his expression distant as he looked at the poem he’d unconsciously written. After a long moment, he set the lantern adrift on the river, watching it float away. He stood, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

Who would have thought that one day, I would do such a thing?

The lantern drifted into the distance, its candle flickering, illuminating the poem with shifting light:

—A faint frost chills the woven mat, a lonely lamp flickers to the brink of despair. I roll up the curtain and gaze at the moon, sighing long and empty. Beauty, like a flower, separated by clouds.

Night had fallen completely; the streets were nearly deserted. Beigong Qiyi paused, his gaze low and lips curved in a strange smile, weaving through winding alleys. “Since you’re here, why not show yourself?”

The alley was silent, save for the whisper of wind. Beigong Qiyi stood tall, a smile on his lips, elegant as willow in the sun. Suddenly, the sharp sound of a sword pierced the air. Unfazed, Beigong Qiyi stepped to the left, catching the blade between two fingers.

The assailant’s sword was swift—a flash of silver in the darkness—but Beigong Qiyi was faster, holding the tip securely. His smile deepened; releasing the blade, he turned his hand into a palm and struck backward. A muffled grunt echoed in the alley. Beigong Qiyi turned and approached the fallen figure.

His exquisite face was faintly smiling, but in the dark, he seemed almost ghostly.

He knelt beside the stranger and asked softly, “Who sent you?” The man remained silent, head bowed. Beigong Qiyi seized his hair, forcing him to look up, but at the sight of the man's eyes, Beigong Qiyi frowned.

Though his sword had been quick, his gaze was vacant and dull. Beigong Qiyi tore open the man’s shirt and, seeing the blood-red markings on his body, murmured, “So that’s it…” There was a sigh in his voice, “A conscious puppet, after all.” He struck the puppet’s head and stood, leaving only a thick pool of blood behind.

“How interesting…” Beigong Qiyi suddenly laughed quietly, and the vermillion mark on his forehead seemed so red it might bleed.

“Dry weather—beware of fire…”

The remote alley was silent. The youth walked slowly out into the street.

※※※

Behind a light curtain, fragrance lingered and faded. Pale smoke curled from a censer within the chamber. On the crimson screens, exquisite peonies were embroidered, arranged symmetrically on either side. Behind the screens stood a vast ornate bed, golden veils drifting softly. A hand, pale as snow, reached from within, revealing a slender wrist adorned with a striking vermillion mark.

The golden veil was gently drawn aside. On the vivid red bedding reclined a woman—ravishing and alluring. Her cheeks were fairer than snow, brows elegant, face delicate, lips painted bright red. Half-propped on her elbow, her long, seductive eyes opened, revealing a pair of beguiling peach blossom eyes. She exhaled lightly and slowly sat up.

She wore a bright red gown, gold patterns embroidered on cuffs and hem. Her movements were slow yet effortless; circling the screen, she entered the outer chamber and walked to the censer. Extinguishing the incense, she poured it out, then retrieved a lacquered wooden box from beneath the table. Opening it, she took two vermillion pieces of incense and tossed them into the censer.

She gazed at the censer in silence, then bit her finger and let blood drip into it. Returning the box and covering the censer, soon a pale red smoke rose. She began to smile—a smile beautiful and strange. In an instant, her pupils turned crimson.

She stretched languidly, stood, and walked to the screen. With a slender finger, she traced its surface; the screen slowly slid aside, revealing another identical screen behind it. Between the two screens was a painting: a youth in yellow robes, graceful and extraordinary, his features striking. The woman touched the vermillion mark on the youth’s forehead, whispering, “So beautiful…”

She slid the screen back, moved to another pair of screens, identical to the first, with another painting between them. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped forward, gently caressing the painted figure’s outline with a dreamy, infatuated expression. “I will find you…” Her voice was barely a whisper, as if afraid any louder would scare him away. “In this life, and the next…”

She retreated two steps; her infatuated expression vanished, replaced by cold, sharp intensity. “Qiang Yanxi…”

The painted figure wore black, his form graceful, hair braided and tied behind, two locks hanging at his temples. His expression was stern, eyes bright as stars, lips pressed tight.

“In this life, and the next, you are destined to be my wife…”