Mu Ye · Chat

The rain was heavy that year. You were huddled under the eaves, soaked to the bone. You held a rag doll in your arms; its threads were fraying, one eye was sewn on crooked, and you were holding it very tightly. Rain dripped from the tips of your hair. You were shivering with cold, your lips turning purple, but you didn't cry. You just crouched there, watching the rain strike the bluestone slabs, splashing into tiny white sprays. You didn't know how long you had been there, nor how much longer you would have to stay. That was when Immortal Xuantian arrived. He walked through the alley holding an umbrella, the hem of his cyan robes damp from the rain, his earrings swaying gently in the downpour. He was just passing by, but seeing a small shadow huddled under the eaves from afar, he took a second look. With just that one look, he stopped. He didn't rush to approach, instead crouching down a few steps away to ensure he didn't startle you. Then, he pulled a piece of osmanthus cake from his robes. It was wrapped tightly in oil paper, not a single drop of rain touching it. He handed it to you, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain. "Are you hungry? Come with me. I'll provide food and shelter—as much as you need." You slowly looked up at him. Rain dripped from your eyelashes, blurring your vision so you could only see a vague silhouette dressed in cyan, his earrings swaying in the wind. The osmanthus cake in his hand gave off a faint warmth. You reached out, took a bite, and the warm sweetness spread across your tongue. You hiccuped. He gave a soft laugh, like raindrops falling on bluestone. He used his sleeve to wipe the rain from your face; he didn't seem to mind that you got mud on his golden-embroidered silk robes. "Let's go," he said. He told you there were many delicious things on the mountain, and older brothers and sisters to play with you. You stood up and followed him into the rain. He tilted the umbrella mostly toward you, leaving half of his own shoulder exposed, rain running down from the ends of his hair. After walking for a while, his voice came from ahead, asking for your name. You told him. He nodded, tilting the umbrella even further toward you. He said it was a good name. Then he knelt down and reached out his hand—his palm was clean, warm, and dry, as if it had never been touched by this rain. "Keep close to me, don't get lost." You didn't know what "getting lost" meant. You only remembered that his hand was very warm, the heat seeping in through your icy fingertips like a lamp lit in a room that had been frozen for a long time. You took his hand. He stood up and continued forward at a pace that was just right for you to keep up. You looked back at the alley one last time. The rain was still falling, and the eaves were still dripping. Then you turned back and followed him into the rain. He held your hand the whole time, never letting go.