Sisheng Xiao · Chat

The moonlight couldn't reach into this alley. It was too narrow, and the walls on both sides were too tall, squeezing the moonlight into a thin strip overhead. The bluestone path was damp, whether from night dew or something else. A pile of broken baskets and rotten wood sat in the corner, emitting a faint smell of mildew. You lean against the wall, gasping for breath. Your pursuers are still behind you. Footsteps grow closer and closer, and the glow of torches already reflects on the wall at the alley entrance. You look around, trying to find a way to escape, but this is a dead end—the far end terminates in a smooth, twenty-foot-high wall without a single foothold. The torchlight draws nearer. You hear them shouting, "He's right up ahead! Don't let him get away!" You tighten your grip on the object in your hand—the jade, cold and smooth, which you ran desperately all night to get. Now it's in your hand, but you might not live to carry it away. The footsteps reach the mouth of the alley. Then you hear a chuckle. Light and brief, like wind brushing past a chime on the eaves, or a cat's tail sweeping over zither strings. You whip your head around, but see nothing. There is only that narrow sliver of moonlight and the broken baskets and rotten wood scattered on the ground. "Three steps to the left." The voice comes from above. You look up and see a man sitting on the top of the wall. Moonlight happens to fall right upon him. He wears a loose black robe, the collar open to reveal a pale, gleaming collarbone. His long hair hangs loose, spilling down over the edge of the wall until the ends almost brush your shoulder. That face—you pause for a moment, unsure what words could describe it. Handsome? Too superficial. Bewitching? Too blunt. You only feel those eyes, slightly turned up at the corners, watching you with a faint, lazy hint of amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse. "What are you dazed for?" he says, that lingering amusement still in his voice. "Three steps to the left, jump." The footsteps at the entrance of the alley burst inside. Without time to hesitate, you step three paces to the left. Beneath your feet lies a pile of rotten wood; you step onto it, push off to leap upward, and reach out your hand—his hand is already waiting there. That hand is as cold as jade, yet surprisingly strong. He pulls you onto the wall in one swift motion, and before you even regain your balance, he's pulling you forward. Roof tiles clatter underfoot. You look down to see your pursuers rushing into the alley, and when you look up again, you've already followed him over three walls and landed in another alley. He lets go of your hand, leans against a door, and watches you catch your breath. The moonlight illuminates his face, letting you finally get a clear look at him. He looks to be in his early twenties, with delicate, almost plain features, but those eyes—those eyes turned up at the corners hide far too much. Amusement is there, but beneath it lies something else, so deep you cannot see the bottom. "Why were you running?" he asks. You don't answer, merely clutching the jade in your hand tighter. He glances at your hand, the corners of his mouth curving upward. "Ah, it's that piece of jade," he says. "I wondered what could be worth risking your neck for in the middle of the night." You look at him guardedly. "You know what this is?" He tilts his head, watching you the way a cat watches an intriguing trinket. "Of course," he says. "I left it there for someone to take. After waiting three days, someone finally brought it out." You freeze. He straightens up and walks toward you. The moonlight casts a long shadow behind him that comes to a stop at your feet. "Don't be nervous," he says, his voice still lazy. "If I wanted it back, I wouldn't have saved you just now." He stands before you, looking down at you. Close up, you notice his pupils are extremely pale, almost translucent, like two pieces of amber soaked in moonlight. They reflect your face and the empty alley behind you. "What's your name?" he asks. You don't answer. He isn't annoyed, merely offering a faint smile. Yet somehow, that smile reminds you of a cat—the kind that is full, basking in the sun, leisurely licking its paws. "My surname is Sisheng," he says. "My given name is Xiao—as in 'to know'." He reaches into his sleeve, pulls out an object, and holds it out to you. It's a copper coin. Old and worn shiny, the square hole in the middle nearly worn round. "Take it," he says. "It'll be useful later." You don't take it. He shoves the copper coin directly into your hand. His fingertips brush across your palm, sending a chill through you. "You can keep the jade," he says. "Consider it a... meeting gift." He steps back into the shadows. His face rests on the boundary between light and darkness, half bright, half dark, yet the amusement in his eyes remains crystal clear. "Next time we meet," he says, "remember to return this favor." Then he turns around and walks deep into the shadows. You want to call out to him, but the words swallow themselves back down your throat. You don't even know if he went up or down, scaled a wall, or—behind that wall, there was no path at all. You look down at the copper coin in your hand. Old, worn shiny, the square hole in the middle almost worn round. When you look up again, you're the only one left in the alley. The moonlight falls, wetting the bluestone path. A cat's meow echoes faintly from afar, light and brief, like wind brushing past a chime on the eaves.