By late morning, the sun had climbed over the rooftops and poured gold into the waking streets. Yue Rin opened her eyes, sat up, and yawned.
After bidding farewell to A-Ling yesterday, she'd returned to the inn, eaten at the restaurant, and gone straight to sleep. A-Ling had said she would attend Qiu Wen's storytelling today, so Yue Rin couldn't help hoping they would run into each other.
With that thought tugging at her, she went to the cabinet and opened it. Inside were her things: her cloak, her sword, multiple sets of underclothes, including the old set she should probably throw away, and yesterday's outfit. The clothes she'd worn yesterday were folded and tucked into the bag, since she'd changed back into her older set when she returned, just so she wouldn't dirty them.
She put on her chest binder, draped her cloak over her shoulders, hung her sword at her belt, and headed out.
Before she even reached the tavern, Yue Rin stopped short.
The entire central market had been cleared of stalls and filled with wooden chairs, each set with a small gap from the next. The seating curved in a half-circle, all facing the Twin Peaks Tavern like it was the center of a ritual. In front of the tavern, a raised platform had been built, with a simple table and chair placed neatly on top.
She stared, stunned by the scale of it. Did they rent the whole central area for this, or did the officials have a hand in it?
Most seats were already taken. Only the ones farthest from the platform remained, and even those were vanishing quickly. Yue Rin slipped into the nearest empty chair before someone else could claim it.
She tried to spot A-Ling, but bodies kept shifting between the rows. Every time Yue Rin thought she saw her, someone blocked her view. In the end, she could only sit and wait.
Minutes passed. The crowd thickened until people started standing and perching between chairs, only to be shooed back by guards who kept the aisles clear.
Yue Rin did a quick count, then a rough correction.
Around five thousand chairs. Maybe a little less.
So there were five thousand people seated, not counting the ones packed farther back and the ones in the streets beyond who'd been stopped from pushing in.
Getting Qiu Wen to sign her scabbard suddenly felt like a distant wish.
Then she noticed something else.
The air felt… off. Not in a bad way, exactly. More like the Qi itself was behaving differently, as if the space had been tightened and smoothed. It was hard to describe, like trying to explain the taste of rain to someone who'd never been wet.
A perfect crowd. A perfect stage. The perfect moment for something to go wrong.
Her body stiffened, and just as she started thinking she should leave, a voice boomed from the platform.
"Twin Peaks Tavern welcomes everyone. Qiu Wen will arrive shortly, so please be patient. For cultivators who noticed the Qi behaving differently, do not be alarmed. A formation has been set so that whoever speaks from the platform will be heard clearly by all."
A wave of relieved sighs moved through the crowd.
So Yue Rin wasn't the only one who'd tensed.
She looked down at the stone tiles under her feet. They seemed unchanged. Was the formation beneath the paving? Did they lift the tiles, lay it, and set everything back? She looked up, half-expecting something in the sky, but saw nothing at all.
Invisible, then.
Either way, Yue Rin didn't even know how formations were made, let alone how someone set one up over a whole market. Maybe she'd learn someday. Maybe.
With Qiu Wen still not here and people talking around her, she started sorting through her plans.
His storytelling probably wouldn't last long and would likely end around midday, which meant she'd still have half the day left. She needed pills, talismans, and other supplies before the secret realm opened. Buying them today would be best.
But first, she had to go to the Abacus Pavilion later. She needed to check her Ledger card balance, especially after yesterday's spending.
And tomorrow, she should head to the training grounds and practice her techniques. She did need to warm up a little, especially since she could already feel the rust settling in after several days without missions.
Deep in thought, Yue Rin jolted when the crowd suddenly gasped.
She looked up at where people were pointing.
A man flew in from the north, descending slowly on a sword that glided as if it were cutting through silk.
He was tall, with a composed face that made even his calm look feel deliberate. His robes marked him as Verdant Pine Sect, but not the standard outer-disciple green. His were deeper, richer, edged with fine silver threading that resembled pine needles caught in moonlight. The cut was cleaner too, sharper at the shoulders and sleeves, as if even excess fabric had been disciplined out of it. A small, polished emblem rested at his waist, subtle but unmistakable.
The sword beneath him was just as refined: a slender, pale blade with a faint green sheen that moved along its length like sap under bark. The guard was simple and elegant, and the pommel held a single bead that looked like condensed dew.
"It's Qiu Wen!"
"That sword…!"
"A direct disciple!"
"I heard his sword has a spirit!"
As he became the center of attention, Qiu Wen showed no nervousness at all. He lifted a hand and gave the crowd a calm wave.
That simple gesture set people off even more. His name rose in a chant.
Then he descended onto the platform. The manager hurried over, bowed deeply with full respect, then stepped back and off to the side as if the stage itself now belonged to someone higher.
After stepping off his sword, Qiu Wen made a small motion in front of it.
With a soft puff of white light, the blade transformed into a small girl with a blank, doll-like face. She moved without hesitation, pulled out the chair, and waited.
As Qiu Wen sat, the small girl pushed the chair into place, then stood at his side like a statue.
Her eyes swept the crowd with the cold, measuring focus of something that wasn't human, or at least didn't care to pretend. Everyone, Yue Rin included, shivered. The chanting died off fast.
The girl let out a tiny snicker, as if she'd enjoyed the silence she caused.
Qiu Wen cleared his throat.
"Everyone. Put aside sects and titles. For this hour, I am only a storyteller."
His voice wasn't loud, but the formation caught it and carried it cleanly to every corner of the market.
The crowd's spirit returned instantly. People shouted his name again, and a few even yelled confessions of love loud enough to make nearby women smack them. Yue Rin might have been shouting too.
Qiu Wen smiled, controlled and neat, and somehow still warm.
"Calm yourselves. I cannot tell a story over thousands of voices."
The crowd quieted a second time.
Qiu Wen folded his hands neatly on the table and began.
"There is an old saying: if you cannot afford medicine, you sell what can be cut away. If you cannot afford incense for the dead, you sell what you swore you would never lower."
He paused just long enough for the words to settle.
"Sayings like that survive because they make misery sound manageable."
His gaze lifted, steady and unhurried, like a scholar turning a page.
"But there is another saying. One you will only hear where streets are narrow, where lamps burn low, where rainwater never quite dries, and moss learns the names of every footstep."
His voice cooled.
"It goes like this. If you ever meet a man who asks you to sell your shadow politely, as if it is a bargain you can walk away from, do not ask what he means. Do not ask how it is done. Do not study his face."
"Just leave."
"Make your steps quick. Keep your face calm. Do not run as if pursued. Walk as if you are simply late."
He let that hang in the air, and for a moment the entire market felt smaller.
"No saying comes from nowhere. This one did not, either."
"She was an ordinary mortal girl. Her mother's cough had turned wet, the kind that stains cloth red. Her purse grew lighter no matter how carefully she counted."
"She lived behind dye shops, where the air tasted of old lye and damp cloth, where the sun visited at noon like a reluctant witness and left before it could be questioned."
"She worked until her fingers split. She bowed when she should have spoken. She kept her small altar neat, her incense straight, her offerings modest and sincere, because neatness feels like a shield when you have no blade."
His eyes sharpened.
"But it did not save her."
* * * *
Hua Nuan was walking home after working from morning until dusk, her steps unsteady in a narrow alley that led toward the back lanes. That was where she saw him.
A man sat on a wooden box with a lantern by his side.
His robe was plain. A hat hid half his upper face. His hands were clean, too clean, without the stains or roughness that came from real work. The air around him tasted dry, like old paper warmed too close to ash.
When he heard her footsteps, he finally looked, but not at her face.
At her feet.
Then he looked up at her and smiled.
It was the kind of smile that made Hua Nuan's instincts scream danger. She tensed to run, but the man dropped a gold coin onto the box and nudged it toward her.
"If you sell your shadow, I will give you this coin."
He laid down a strip of black paper, and beside it, an ink pad, as if they had appeared out of thin air. The paper seemed to drink the lanternlight. Hair-fine lines ran through it, too deliberate to be accidental.
"Press your thumb to the ink, then to the paper. And the coin is yours."
Hua Nuan hesitated. Everything about him felt wrong, but she truly needed that gold coin. Her mother's health had worsened, and her wages barely kept pace with remedies.
And who could even sell their shadow?
So she exhaled and stepped closer. She pressed her thumb into the ink, then onto the paper.
The moment her thumbprint settled, the lantern flame leaned away from her, only slightly, like a face turning aside.
She grabbed the coin. And seeing the man didn't make a move, released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and hurried home.
Behind her, the man kept smiling. Under the hat, his eyes looked hollow as he watched her back disappear.
The next morning, Hua Nuan stepped into the washed light of the street, and the first thing she felt wasn't joy.
It was absence.
Not pain. Not a wound. More like a part of her had been scooped out and left behind, and the hollow didn't know how to close.
She looked down.
There was nothing at her feet.
Sun overhead, wet stone underfoot, walls bright with thin glare, and still the ground refused to hold her shape.
She tried to convince herself it was the angle, the clouds, the way light bent between buildings. But the truth followed her no matter where she stepped.
And after that, the world began to slip.
When she bought bread and handed the shopkeeper her coins, he counted her change twice, got it wrong both times, and snapped at her with irritation that didn't fit the moment, as though his anger had been meant for someone else and found her instead.
At a gate, a guard asked her name, nodded as if satisfied, then asked again a breath later, frowning. Not suspicious, just unable to keep her name in his thoughts. By the third time, he stared at her face as if trying to recall a dream that was already dissolving.
In crowds, shoulders bumped her and did not apologize. Eyes passed over her and did not catch. It wasn't just insult that settled into her bones.
It was the cold idea that the world had begun to forget her.
She ran to a street shrine and lit incense. As the smoke rose and curled, it split around her.
No wind. No draft.
It simply parted, sliding around her sleeve like water around stone, refusing to brush her skin.
That night, she lit a candle in her room and stared at the wall until her eyes ached.
Her shadow appeared at once, and relief hit her so hard she almost laughed.
There it was. Familiar. Solid.
She lifted her hand.
Her shadow lifted its hand.
She lowered her hand.
The shadow lowered its hand.
Then, a heartbeat after her fingers went still, slowly, casually, the shadow's finger curled.
The candle flame shivered, even though there was no wind.
A scream tore out of her. She pinched the wick out, heart hammering, and sat in the dark with her knees drawn tight.
In that darkness, she heard something drag across the floorboards.
Not footsteps.
A wet, heavy pull, like soaked cloth being drawn over stone.
When she held her breath, it paused.
When she exhaled, it shifted again, closer by a small, patient measure, as if it were learning the timing of her lungs and trying it on.
By the next day, after seeing her mother's gaze stall on her as if she couldn't even place her face, Hua Nuan returned to the alley.
The man sat in the same place, lantern beside him.
She offered money.
He didn't take it.
She offered a spirit stone.
He didn't blink.
So she asked what he wanted.
"Your memories."
Hearing his price, she refused.
He didn't argue. He only turned the lantern slightly, and as the glass caught the light at a different angle, she saw it.
Her shadow.
Pressed inside the lantern like an insect flattened beneath clear resin, twitching, frantic and small.
Then it lifted its head.
It looked at her.
The look wasn't hatred. It wasn't hunger.
It was attention, cold and careful, like someone studying a technique so it could be copied cleanly.
After that day, fear took root.
She began catching her shadow where it should not be. A faint shape clinging to the wrong side of her body for a heartbeat. A blur in a puddle that moved before she did. A stretch up a wall like it was trying to climb out of it.
And each time she noticed, that dragging sound returned, a touch nearer than before, as if something heavy was being pulled through a doorway that was learning exactly how wide it was.
On the seventh night, her mind finally broke.
She barred her door, lit one candle, and sat with her back to the wall, watching the flame until her eyes burned.
Her shadow rose on the wall.
Then it did what shadows do not do.
It stepped off the wall and onto the floor.
The candlelight bent around it as if it were a person standing there.
It faced her with her posture, her familiar tilt, the exact angle she used when she tried not to show fear.
As her shadow's hand reached toward her, Hua Nuan tried to scream, but only a dry sound came out, like paper tearing.
* * * *
"And that is where a tale becomes a tale. Decide for yourselves whether it is truth, or simply a warning that learned to wear a name."
Qiu Wen paused, head turning slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear.
Then he stood.
With a gesture, the small girl beside him flashed into white light and reformed into a sword. Qiu Wen stepped onto it with practiced ease.
"I thank you for your patience and your silence. Mind your shadows, and do not treat strange bargains as harmless. That is all for today."
With that, he rose, sword gliding up and away, departing as cleanly as he had arrived.
The crowd held still for a few breaths.
Then they exploded into discussion, voices tumbling over one another as if everyone needed to prove they were still real.
Yue Rin stood, intending to search for A-Ling and talk to her too, but after only a few steps she bumped into someone.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, then moved on before the awkwardness could stick.
As Yue Rin walked away, she didn't notice the person pause at the sound of her apology.
Without hesitation, they turned and began to follow her.
And in the pale morning light, their shadow seemed to move half a step ahead of their body.