Chapter 46 — The Light Between Them
The night descended cold, yet the streets of the town were ablaze with warmth and noise, as though a festival could defy the turning of the seasons. Lanterns danced like fireflies above the rooftops, red silk brushing against the wind. Families gathered over clay pots of bubbling soup and sizzling skewers, children giggled with red-paper masks pressed to their cheeks, and even the oldest among them wore bright robes and content smiles.
Lingque, hands clasped behind her head like a victorious general, had dragged Tang Tang through half the streets already. "Show me something good," she declared, nose in the air. And so Tang Tang, slightly winded and trying not to trip on her own sleeves, led her from stall to stall, declaring, "This one! This one's the best!" until both girls were sitting cross-legged before a feast of dumplings and candied fruit, their laughter lost in the crowd.
Elsewhere, at the far edge of the square where the din softened into the distance, a small wooden table had been placed under a lantern tree. There sat Hua Ling and Chen Xinyu, bathed in a pool of red-gold light.
The table was littered with scraps of red paper and thin bamboo strips—the makings of a sky lantern—but Xinyu's hands trembled, his fingers clumsy and stiff. He'd always been good at swordsmanship, terrible at crafts.
Across from him, Hua Ling said nothing.
There was a rustle of silk, and before Xinyu could glance up, a warm hand came to rest over his.
Xinyu froze. A bead of sweat broke at his temple and rolled down his neck. The touch was steady, graceful, unhurried. Hua Ling guided his fingers with the patience of someone folding moonlight.
"This goes here," the prince murmured, voice low enough to brush the ear like wind through pine leaves.
Their hands moved together. Paper smoothed, corners tucked. A lantern took shape between them.
Xinyu dared not breathe. He did not look at Hua Ling—he looked at their hands, then the light, then nothing at all. His heart had betrayed him entirely; it pounded in his chest as though trying to break out.
"Xinyu," Hua Ling said, gently.
He snapped his head up. Their eyes met.
It was only for a moment. Xinyu managed a smile, lips barely curved, and quickly looked away again. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said, voice strained.
They lit the lantern together. One side bore Xinyu's wish—words written in slanted, crooked brushstrokes. The other side was Hua Ling's, composed in calm, elegant lines. Neither asked what the other had written.
As they stood to release it, Xinyu held the lantern's base with both hands, arms stretched to the sky. Then Hua Ling stepped close behind him and placed his hand on top of Xinyu's.
The lantern rose.
Hua Ling watched it. Xinyu watched him.
The red light reflected off Hua Ling's face, turning his pale skin warm like spring peach blossoms. His features were as fine as carved jade, and for once—not from habit, not from duty—his lips had tilted, just slightly, at the corners.
Xinyu had never seen him smile. Not really.
His chest twisted.
What's wrong with me?
He pressed a hand to his sternum.
"Xinyu?" Hua Ling turned to him, brow furrowed slightly. "You alright?"
Xinyu looked up and smiled again, weaker this time. "Yes," he said. But in his heart, he whispered, No. I'm clearly not.
Their moment was broken.
A sharp elbow jabbed Xinyu's side.
Lingque grinned at him, arms crossed. "What did you do with His Highness just now?"
"Why do you need to know everything?" Xinyu muttered, glancing away.
Lingque huffed. "Tsk. Can't even ask."
Tang Tang, as ever, clung to Xinyu's sleeve and announced, "Let's go to the big boat! The one everyone talks about! She'll be performing tonight!"
Hua Ling gave a small nod. "We should head there."
They left.
—
The boat was grand, anchored in the middle of the canal like a floating palace. Its decks were lined in gold-trimmed wood, its lanterns brighter than the stars. Music drifted from the windows.
Inside, a servant was already trying to usher Mochen out.
"These are paid seats, young master—"
Silver clinked on the table. The servant bowed. "Please enjoy your stay."
Mochen flopped into the nearest cushioned seat with a sigh and poured himself a drink. He had no intention of searching tonight. His head hurt. His heart—worse.
Then—
"Shidi?"
He turned. Nearly choked on his wine.
"Yu'ge!" he exclaimed, voice too loud. "You always find me!"
"I could ask the same." Xinyu sat beside him.
"I'm just here to rest," Mochen said quickly. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the wine cup. So he's not leaving. Great. Now I have to act normal.
Soon, the others arrived.
Hua Ling entered last, silent as shadow. He took the far seat, his gaze unreadable.
The performance began.
The dancers were like waves, their silk sleeves rippling across the stage in slow, synchronized motions. Their eyes were half-lowered, steps precise. The entire hall held its breath.
Xinyu sat beside Mochen. The tension between them had not yet thinned.
"You were drunk yesterday," Xinyu said quietly. "I took you to your room."
Mochen winced. "Ah. I… I said some things."
Xinyu tilted his head. "Something about me stealing everything from you?"
Mochen's hand trembled.
He wanted to say, My heart. My peace. My mind.
Instead, he smiled bitterly. "Just nonsense. Don't worry about it."
The curtain lifted.
The girl everyone had spoken of—half rumor, half legend—was seated before a guqin. Her robes trailed across the floor like water, her expression serene and knowing. As she played, she began to sing.
The voice did not belong to a mortal.
It was soft and clear at first, then soared, then broke. It cracked through the silence and reached for the heart's hidden places.
The room was still.
Even Mochen stopped drinking.
At the far edge of the hall, behind a half-curtained alcove, a man sat at a table alone. He had a servant behind him and a cup of wine before him.
He smiled faintly, as if all this had been prepared for him.
Xinyu's gaze locked on him.
The man did not look back.
Xinyu narrowed his eyes.
"Xinyu!" Lingque whispered sharply. "Watch! You're missing the best part."
He looked away and nodded absently.
But Hua Ling was not watching either.
His hand rose to his forehead. A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes, sudden and blinding.
Without a word, he stood and left the room.
Xinyu frowned. He followed.
The lantern light outside had dimmed. Somewhere far above them, their shared lantern floated higher, carrying two unseen wishes into the night.
—