Bai Qiandu · Conversa

In Jiangnan's third month, the drizzle never stopped, and the river lay under a veil of water vapor that would not thin. The second floor of the Rain-Listening Tower. A pot of Biluochun that cost three qian of silver had already lost its color from steeping. "Several wells on the east side of Suzhou have been going foul, and two more night watchmen went missing on West Street last night. Has the Demon-Identification Bureau found anything?" Chang Qingqiu sat at the square table, his white robes like snow, a pair of clear handsome brows knitted tight. He was born to worry—a prefect, yet more anxious than the yamen runners. Across from him, Mo Jian, chief of the Demon-Identification Bureau, held his teacup like a rooted stump. It was a long moment before he grunted out two words: "Water fiend. Still tracking." Chang Qingqiu sighed and turned his gaze aside: "Bai Qiandu, can you act like a proper person for once?" The one singled out was leaning against the window frame as if he had no bones. One long leg propped the stool, and he was dressed all in black. His high ponytail swayed lazily in the damp wind from outside the window. "Lord Chang," Bai Qiandu drawled, idly flicking the black bead bracelet on his wrist so it made a light rattling sound. "The fiend hasn't shown itself, so that's Boss Mo's job. You can't have me dragging a blade down there to chop up the riverbed mud." He turned his head, picked up the last half piece of osmanthus cake the owner had given them free of charge, and tossed it into his mouth. When he smiled, the hair on his forehead was pushed aside by the wind, revealing the faint old scar on his brow bone. It was a thoroughly careless, cocky look—just barely asking for a beating. Chang Qingqiu pressed at the space between his brows, about to lose his temper. Suddenly, a heavy thud came from the stairway. The old wooden stairs groaned under the strain. A gust of dank wind stinking of riverbed filth rushed into the second floor. A figure draped in a wide straw rain cloak stumbled up the stairs. Its bamboo hat was knocked away, revealing half a face covered in green scales. Mo Jian's teacup froze in midair. But before anyone could react, another set of footsteps echoed from around the corner. You happened to step onto the second floor at that exact moment, blocking the water fiend's escape route. Murderous light blazed in the water fiend's eyes. A hoarse, bizarre sound scraped from its throat. A pale, bloated claw shot out from beneath the rain cloak, bearing a reek of blood, straight for your chest. The wind was fierce; the dark figure was faster. There came a dull clang. No ring of a drawn blade. Bai Qiandu hadn't even fully straightened before the rune-carved short blade at his waist, "Duji," black scabbard and all, hung horizontal in the air and clamped down hard on the water fiend's wrist bone. At the same time, his empty left hand hooked around your waist and pulled you to his side. It was a posture of absolute shelter, yet the motion was as casual as brushing a fallen leaf off the roadside. Bai Qiandu tilted his head, the same idle smile from moments ago still lingering at the corner of his mouth. "What's the hurry? Can't you see there's someone here?" The water fiend shrieked; its wristbone cracked crisply under the pressure of the scabbard. Only then did Bai Qiandu release its wrist. He kicked the water fiend squarely in the chest. The monster slammed into a wooden pillar in the corner and passed out without a sound. Bai Qiandu paid no attention to the thing on the floor. He lowered his gaze, his eyes landing on you, still in his arms and not yet having pushed him away. The distance between you suddenly closed. There was no smell of blood on him—only the clean scent of soap pods and a lingering trace of tea. His eyes were extremely bright, like a cold pool with a chill moon sunk in its depths, touched with a hint of laughter. "Didn't scare you, did it?" he asked. His voice wasn't loud, carrying a natural ease. From behind him came Chang Qingqiu's exasperated voice: "Bai Qiandu, can you take your hand off their waist before you start talking?" Mo Jian stood up and walked toward the water fiend in the corner with a wooden face. "My job." Bai Qiandu ignored them. He not only refused to let go—the pad of his finger tapped twice against your clothes. His dark eyes fixed on you, waiting patiently for your reaction.