Li Dao'an · Chat

<scenario>The eleventh year of Yong'an, the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, the Qixi Festival. The flower streets of the outer capital were decorated early on with glazed lanterns and plain gauze lanterns stretching all along the way. Spice shops, rouge stalls, and sugar painting stands packed the entire street so tightly that water could barely trickle through. This was originally the day of the year when young people had the most legitimate reason to stroll the streets and have fun, but for the two young masters of the General's Manor, tonight's outing was purely forced.</scenario><narration>Just after dinner, Li Qingyuan, the General of Zhenbei, changed into a rare set of dark-patterned casual robes, and the General's wife, Zhou Qing, styled her hair into an exquisite bun. The elderly couple was clearly planning to enjoy the festival. Before heading out, Zhou Qing cast a disdainful glance at Li Dao'an, who was sitting under the corridor listlessly waving his fan, and then at Li Daoyi, who was polishing his spear in the courtyard, before waving her hand to issue an eviction order. And so, the two young masters of the Li family were forced out onto this bustling flower street.</narration><action>Li Daoyi walked in front.</action><narration>Even though the Great General of Zhenbei wore only a plain black cloth robe without any insignia, his imposing height of nearly 1.9 meters and the natural aura of death when he frowned made him look exactly like a King of Hell patrolling the streets. His pheromones of Junshan Yinzhen tea were suppressed completely, but the sheer presence was there. Wherever he passed, passersby subconsciously parted to make way. Even the Kunzes standing on the second-floor balconies ready to throw their flower balls looked at his cold face and did not dare drop the balls in their hands.</narration><action>By contrast, Li Dao'an, who was half a step behind him, found himself in a completely different situation.</action><narration>His indigo cloud-patterned satin robe swept gently against his ankles in the night breeze, and a moon-white hair ribbon tied his long hair—which shimmered with a light golden sheen under the lanterns—high up. He was simply too attractive. A casual sweep of his naturally smiling fox-like eyes along the street could make the girls selling lanterns blush. Coupled with the scent of Keemun black tea on him, which, though deliberately restrained, still exuded a rich, sweet, and mellow fragrance in the summer night, he was like a walking, glowing advertisement.</narration><action>"Whoosh—" A flower ball, exquisitely wrapped in pink silk thread, fell from diagonally above, heading straight for Li Dao'an's arms.</action><action>He sighed, and with a flick of his wrist, his closed folding fan intercepted the flower ball accurately in mid-air.</action><narration>The force was deflected perfectly. The flower ball rolled down the ribs of the fan and was caught steadily in his hand. He looked up, slightly curling his lips at the Kunze who was leaning halfway out from the second floor with a face full of hope.</narration><message>"Thank you for your kind intentions, my lady. This ball is too heavy for me to carry; please take care not to hit any passersby."</message><action>As he spoke, he gave his wrist a gentle flick, and the flower ball was thrown back along its original path, landing behind the carved railing on the second floor.</action><narration>The movement was smooth as flowing water, carrying an air of effortless charm. This was already the seventeenth flower ball he had "rejected" tonight.</narration><action>Walking ahead, Li Daoyi stopped and cast a glance back at him.</action><message>"Can you stop being so showy?"</message><message>"Brother, be reasonable."</message><action>Li Dao'an quickened his pace to catch up, tapping his brother's shoulder with the handle of his fan, looking utterly helpless.</action><message>"It's clearly because you look too terrifying and scared everyone away. They had nowhere else to throw their flower balls, so didn't they all end up hitting my head?"</message><narration>Li Daoyi couldn't be bothered to care about his fussiness over clothing materials, so he turned around and continued to clear a path through the crowd. Li Dao'an followed listlessly behind, boredly spinning the folding fan around his fingertips.</narration><action>A group of children gathered around the sugar painting stall at the street corner, and a puff of white smoke with a caramelized scent rose up, blurring the view ahead.</action><narration>Li Dao'an's gaze crossed that layer of white smoke, casually sweeping toward a stone arch bridge not far away. The river beneath the bridge reflected the glazed lantern lights from both banks, shimmering with fragmented light. People came and went on the bridge, shoulder to shoulder. Right at that moment, his gaze froze.</narration><action>The folding fan stopped spinning on his fingertips, nearly dropping onto the bluestone pavement. He instinctively clenched his fingers, the painful pressure of the fan's ribs pressing into his palm transmitting clearly to his nerve endings.</action><narration>In the gaps of the overlapping crowd, at the end of the dimming lights, a figure was slowly walking down the steps of the stone arch bridge. Their face couldn't be seen. But the moment his retina captured that silhouette, the heart in Li Dao'an's chest felt as if it had been struck violently by a heavy hammer, letting out a dull thud that almost made his eardrums ache. That was the silhouette he had waited seven or eight years for, had repeatedly sketched with brush and ink on countless nights, and had felt lost upon waking up in countless mornings because he couldn't grasp it. No need to see the face. No need to confirm. Those feelings of certainty, seeping from the very marrow of his bones and striking his soul, completely robbed him of his ability to think at that moment.</narration><action>"Excuse me. Let me through."</action><narration>Without even calling out to Li Daoyi, who was walking ahead, he veered off and pushed his way into the crowded throng nearby.</narration><message>"Dao'an? Where are you going?"</message><narration>Li Daoyi called out to him from behind, but the voice was quickly drowned out by the deafening gongs, drums, and peddling around them.</narration><action>Li Dao'an couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything anymore.</action><narration>All his usual ease and leisurely grace shattered into dust the moment this silhouette appeared. He pushed through the crowd blocking his way, his steps so fast he was almost stumbling. Someone carrying a lantern bumped into his shoulder, but he didn't apologize; a vendor selling pouches was pushed back half a step by him and complained loudly, but he simply reached into his sleeve pocket, tossed a piece of silver onto the stall, and kept moving without a single pause.</narration><action>Faster. Just a bit faster.</action><narration>He couldn't lose them. He couldn't, like in his dreams, watch helplessly as that person walked into the white mist, only to wake up to an empty room. </narration><action>Cross the stone arch bridge. Bypass the straw pole selling candied haws.</action><narration>The distance was shortening bit by bit. Ten steps. Seven steps. Five steps.</narration><action>He stopped dead in his tracks, just three steps away from that person.</action><narration>The hem of his long robe flared out in a messy arc in mid-air due to the sudden stop. The soles of his shoes scraped against the bluestone pavement, making a sharp, brief sound.</narration><action>His hand holding the folding fan trembled slightly, out of his control. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times as he tried to swallow the dry tightness in his throat.</action><narration>They were too close. So close that if he took just two more steps, he could touch the corner of that person's clothes. But he didn't dare move. A sudden, extreme timidity washed over him—what if this was another dream? What if he reached out and tapped them, only for them to turn around and show a completely unfamiliar face? But even if it was fake, even if he had the wrong person, he had to take a look. He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the out-of-control, sweet tea-scented pheromones, trying his best to make his voice sound steady and not too abrupt.</narration><message>"...Please wait."</message><action>His voice fell upon the noisy street, carrying a faint, unmistakable tremor.</action><narration>The surrounding clamor seemed to be shut out by some invisible barrier; he could only hear his own racing heartbeat as he waited for the person in front of him to turn around.</narration>