Only vagrants and outsiders wander the streets on the eve of the Dùshuò Festival.
In front of each threshold, sparking fires burn below colorful decorations laid out in the dark night, peering out at each other from across sandy gravel roads that have not yet dried from the rain.
Bessmert and Yenisei continue their advance toward the Zhící in the quiet, gentle light.
Bessmert: This place ...
Bessmert: ... looks so different than it does in the daytime. It's so quiet and empty.
Bessmert: As if it's waiting for us.
Yenisei stops to cast her reflection into a puddle of water, attempting to comfort Bessmert.
Yenisei: It's nighttime now. They have lit the braziers. There is cloth of different colors around them.
Yenisei: Remember our New Years? We put up tar barrels and made festive fires. There were also decorations on the houses.
Bessmert: Yes, I remember that.
Bessmert: Perhaps people here also stay with their families at this time of year, like we do on New Year's Eve.
Bessmert: A heartwarming custom.
Yenisei: Yeah ...
Bessmert: Shush, quiet.
Bessmert stops to listen carefully to the sound. A moment later, a line of night patrolmen pass by from the corner ahead.
They march at ease without stopping, clearly ready for their shift change and the chance to get home.
It isn't until they disappear completely that Yenisei's figure reappears in the puddle.
Yenisei: The guards here are more reliable than ours in the empire. At least they don't get drunk on New Year's Eve.
Yenisei: Madam, we are close to the Zhící.
Bessmert: We didn't prepare anything other than these bottles. Don't cast any skills for now. You need to rest. We don't know what's ahead of us ...
Bessmert: Hold on. I heard something.
Unlike the neat footsteps of the previous patrol, the distant sound they hear this time is of slower and wearier footsteps.
The woman and the Lùshǔ hurriedly dart into the shadow of the nearby eaves.
Bessmert: Staggering footsteps, almost limping. Sounds like this person just tripped and fell, or drunk.
Yenisei follows the sound described by Bessmert and looks around.
Yenisei: Jiǔ Niángzǐ? What is she doing here?
Not far from them, Jiǔ Niángzǐ hobbles along. She takes one step, then pauses, two steps, then pauses, and finally stops as she prepares to turn down a narrow alley.
She looks completely broken down, as though she has just been in a fight, or perhaps she's just drunk.
Jiu Niangzi: Why ...
They can hear her talking to herself in the darkness, her voice echoing intermittently against the silently festive street.
Jiu Niangzi: Why ... no answers for me ...
Jiu Niangzi: How long do I have to wait ... before I ...
Yenisei: What is she saying? I don't understand at all. Madam, what about you ...
Bessmert: Shh.
Jiu Niangzi: sobbing
They cannot see whether she's crying or not, but there is a soft sobbing that comes out like a whisper.
Even so, she clenches her fists, as if tightly gripping something.
Jiu Niangzi: Is this ...
Jiu Niangzi: ... a mistake?
Jiu Niangzi: ...
Amid her silent sobbing, Jiǔ Niángzǐ relaxes her hand. A long object falls from it and into a puddle on the ground.
Yenisei: Oh ... She dropped something and left.
Bessmert: Where did she go?
Yenisei: I don't know if she's going to the tavern, but she has left the port. That's for sure. We should go find out what she dropped.
Yenisei's figure disappears from the puddle. She takes two steps, turns around and bites on Bessmert's hem, half dragging, half guiding her toward the corner of the alley's entrance, where the light and darkness intersect.
Approaching the water, she finally lets go of Bessmert and goes around to the other side. Yenisei then lowers her head as though to drink from the puddle, and deftly removes a piece of wood from it.
She shakes the water off the wooden slab and leans toward Bessmert's hand until her friend can grasp it.
Bessmert: It is ... a wooden chip. Rough surface, and some carvings on it. Is this an inscribed text?
Yenisei: Maybe. Please hold it. I'll check the other side.
Yenisei: Starting from the round end, there is a ... mmm ... a person, I guess, at the top; then there is another person holding a bowl in the middle ...
Yenisei: Hmm ...
Bessmert: A person holding a bowl in the middle, and ... and then?
Yenisei: Then there is a striped ... horse? At the bottom?
Yenisei: What does it mean?
Bessmert: A striped horse ...
Bessmert: Gětiān once said that a Lùshǔ has a red mane and the markings of a tiger.
Yenisei: You mean this is a Lùshǔ? But it has no colors.
Yenisei: Even if it is a Lùshǔ, why was she crying?
Yenisei: From my perspective, Jiǔ Niángzǐ is not a bad person. I think she did all these things for a reason—some kind of burden only known to herself.
Bessmert: Burden?
Yenisei: I'm only guessing. Since we didn't catch her words clearly, there is no conclusion, Madam.
That being said, the two of them fall into a shared silence. Since entering the city, the dark cloud of their uncertain future has followed them like a shadow.
Bessmert: Well, there's no easy answer to any question here. We should meet with Mr. Gětiān before making any further arrangements.
Yenisei: Sure.
The woman and the Lùshǔ walk forward at pace.
The two increase their speed, arriving outside the gray walls of the Zhící courtyard before they might be discovered by another team of night patrollers.
The streets in this area are built with high walls surrounding their homes on all sides, so that people walking by can see nothing but stacked bricks.
Bessmert: Stop here. I hear ...
It is at this moment that Gětiān flies over the Zhící courtyard's walls.
His wings flutter lighter—lighter than the previous few times, and he has no intention of stopping until he notices the figure at the foot of the wall.
Bessmert: ...!
Bessmert: Mr. Gětiān?
Or perhaps, he had no intention of staying until he heard Bessmert's voice.
Getian: It's you?
Gětiān perches on a tree by the roadside, tightly clutching branches bearing leaves that have only just begun to wither. The tree's shadow sways. But he goes silent, only stopping as he recognizes the two figures below.
The ground nearby is flat and long dried. Without a puddle, Yenisei can only grab hold of Bessmert's hem and tug on it lightly to confirm her guess.
Bessmert, though, quickly understands. She listens to the sound and walks forward and to one side, eagerly reaching around beneath the tree.
Bessmert: Mr. Gětiān ...
Getian: Why are you here?
Bessmert: Did they let you go? Have you seen Jiǔ Niángzǐ? She was on the street just now ...
Getian: Whatever speculation you are making, I am leaving.
Bessmert: Leaving? Are you going after her?
Getian: No. I was not meant to be here in the first place. It's only natural that I should return to the mountain.
Bessmert: Return? But we're not done with Jiǔ Niángzǐ yet. Yenisei and the others are still in the shape of Lùshǔ ...
Bessmert: She was turned into a Lùshǔ in front of you. Are you going to just let her be?
Getian: She has told you everything.
Bessmert: Yes, she did! Now you're the only one who can persuade others to go after Jiǔ Niángzǐ ... We are foreigners here. People won't listen to us.
Getian: I am left with no other options. Today, at the Zhící, none of us would have gotten away if I hadn't surrendered.
This is a fact that, as an observer of the entire scene, Yenisei cannot deny.
Getian: They will only see me as a greater threat if I insist on raising doubts about her.
Getian: They have known her for a long time but know nothing about me. My words have no greater effect than yours, for I'm also ...
Getian: A foreigner here.
His voice is light, but as gloomy as the night.
Bessmert: Still, you're going to just give it all up before exhausting every possible way to end this?
A wave of swaying tree shadows causes Gětiān to fly up on alert. He seems to have finally made up his mind to leave.
Getian: You need not prick my pride. Gětiāns and Mièméngs are never meant to get involved in this.
Before a response is issued, the sound of rhythmic footsteps sounds, one after another.
Whether it is the patrol or some other city personnel, it is enough to immediately alert the vigilant trio.
Yenisei: ...!
Gětiān though, does not leave. His actions are seemingly not in line with his tongue.
Getian: There are people coming. You ...
???: I knew it.
A bold and imposing voice sounds out from the spot the footsteps had been moving toward.
Facao: You two are in it together. The merchant identity was only an excuse you made up to enter the city.
Facao: Isn't that so?
Bessmert: No, please listen to me ...
Facao: The stories you told Lǐzhèng made no sense at all. How dare you come back like you did nothing and break into the jail?!
Getian: You go first.
Bessmert: Mr. Gětiān!
Bessmert intuits that she shouldn't just run away. At that moment, the only one who can help her confirm her assumption is Gětiān.
The one being sought for help does not make a sound. He dives from the tree, spreading his wings to cast an immense shadow over the scene.
He flies between the patrol and Bessmert, turning his back to them, then spreads his wings even wider until they completely block the view of those behind him.
At this moment, he truly seems like a bird of prey.
Getian: Lùshǔs are fleet-footed creatures. Get on her back and leave. I will join you shortly.
Getian: Go!
Facao: Don't you run! Catch them!
COMBAT
Thanks to Gětiān's cover, the two successfully run from the neighborhood and arrive at the shallow shore on the city outskirts, where Yenisei has now stopped twice before.
At this moment, the night seems to have become even darker, without a single star to light the sky, and only faint moonlight trails scattered across the riverbank.
Yenisei: It's been quite a while. Is he ...
Yenisei cannot help but think of Gětiān's experience at the Zhící that same morning.
Bessmert: Have faith in him, child. He is able to defend himself, since he managed to escape without others' help.
Bessmert: I believe ...
Bessmert: I believe he is not aggressive. He left his wand behind when he tried to save you.
A long period of waiting, pregnant with anxiety, is finally broken by the sound of flapping wings.
Bessmert: ...!
Yenisei: Madam!
Gětiān crosses over them and stops along the twisted vines, folding his wings and tightly gripping the edges of the tree with his talons.
The garment on his head must have split during his fight, and now fully reveals his previously covered expression, one both baffled and tense.
Bessmert: You're here!
Bessmert: You seem fine. Do you still intend to leave? Or, have you changed your mind?
Bessmert follows the sound of movement, turning her head toward where Gětiān landed.
Getian: No. I'm here for one last thing.
Getian: When I was imprisoned in Zhící, I heard that Jiǔ Niángzǐ would hold a banquet at the tavern tonight, and the Fǎcáo was also invited.
Getian: I'll take the opportunity and get those half Lùshǔs out of there.
Bessmert: Please wait a second, Sir.
Getian: Yes?
Bessmert: We're not going anywhere. We must release them from the arcane skill and bring them back.
Getian: If you don't flee tonight, I'm afraid there will be no better chance for you to leave.
Getian: Though her true intention is beyond my speculation, I fear the consequences of her action will be severe.
Bessmert: You know full well the consequences.
Getian: Mm? Certainly.
Bessmert: But you won't help us stop her.
Getian: That is not my problem to address. I have done my part.
Bessmert: Then why did you help us get rid of the soldiers and offer to help again?
This question surprises Gětiān. He had never thought about it until that moment. He lifts his wings, forming a posture similar to cupping his face, sinking into contemplation.
After a moment, he conjures up an explanation.
Getian: It doesn't suggest my further involvement in this matter.
Bessmert: You are contradicting your own words, Sir.
Gětiān lowers his head and looks towards the drying earth near the embankment out across the river's calm surface.
Getian: Very well. I will put it differently. Look at the street. It is empty tonight.
Getian: There was a time when people sent lanterns down the river on New Year's Eve. Even the simplest lantern would glow like the moon on the water.
Getian: Those lanterns, carrying people's wishes, floated down the river. The further they went, the more wishes were granted.
Getian: Some would cast arcane skills on their lanterns to keep them from getting wet. But most of the lanterns still disappeared in the depths of the mountains or at the waterfalls.
Getian: I used to look down at the city from the mountain top, watching those lanterns float down the streams and merge into a light belt in the dark.
Getian: They were more brilliant and vibrant than the bonfires that were lit up all night in this city.
Bessmert: ...
The Lùshǔ follows Gětiān's gaze and looks towards the river, only to see the bare and narrowing "river" looking more and more like a stream in her eyes.
This sad reality of the present makes it difficult to imagine the scene described in Gětiān's words, despite the nostalgia overflowing from his tone.
Bessmert feels it too, but the safety of her companions remains a constant concern in her mind.
Bessmert: I'm sorry. I don't understand what you mean. Time is against us ...
Getian: Now, the river has dried up, and the water no longer has vitality. Rainfall is getting scarce, accelerating the dying process.
Getian: What was given does not compensate for what was lost. So, people no longer show up by the river and send their wishes at night.
Getian: And I have lost my opportunity to watch the light belt.
Getian: Even so, to this day, I haven't fully understood why I was impelled to leave the mountain. I once thought I couldn't bear the sight of those humans being turned into other creatures.
Bessmert: And now you think it's no longer worth the effort to put things back in order?
Getian: Yes. You people are no more than passengers in my life, drifting past me like those lanterns in the river.
Getian: What's more, what is my purpose here if the Gods of Shètí they serve don't intend to intervene?
Gětiān's words are so full of perplexity that they are almost painful. He poses questions like cutting meat to feed a tiger, knowing that there will be no reward after throwing them out, but still he insists.
Yenisei, who has been silent on one side for a long time, seems to understand his feelings. And so she continues to remain silent, only looking at the pitch-black surface of the river.
The river too looks back with its own quieting babble.
Getian: The lights in the river are gone, and there will be no more in the future.
Yenisei gazes at her reflection of Lùshǔ.
It isn't until Gětiān says "there will be no more" that she suddenly lifts her hooves and steps into the silent river.
Getian: Mm? What is she doing?
Of course, Bessmert can also hear the sound of her entering the water, but she only shakes her head.
She knows what the girl is going to do. The moment has arrived for her to offer her assistance.
Getian: Even shallow water could also be dangerous. She ...
Bessmert: Trust her. She knows what she's doing.
The water begins to engulf half of Yenisei's body. At the same time, her song begins.
Getian: What is this?
Colorful dots of light suddenly ignited in the narrow river in front of them, burning like intense flames along the water's surface.
Then, the dots of light meandered to the soft riverbank, drifting with the song, like travelers on the long river, journeying without end.
The place where the light passes through now shines brighter than all the decorations in the city streets, more than many years worth of river lanterns that had passed through the mountains.
Bessmert: There are river lanterns, yes? I can't see them, but I can feel the light.
Bessmert: Are you appreciating them with your own eyes?
Getian: I ... don't ...
Faced with such a scene, Gětiān is struck dumb. He can sense Yenisei's arcanist origins in her bones, but he cannot even begin to imagine what is happening at this moment.
Bessmert: Mr. Gětiān ...
Bessmert: The fact is ... you've seen too many people and grown attached to too many things since you left the mountain.
Bessmert: They float in your mind, glistening like the river lanterns.
Bessmert: And you're saddened by the idea that they will be gone one day, like the lanterns drifting away from your sight.
Getian: ...!
Bessmert: But have you thought that those bright, agile, and hope-rising flakes of light would gleam once again?
Bessmert: The path of destiny is not always a dead end.
Getian: ...
Bessmert: It's too soon to give up, Mr. Gětiān.
Bessmert: Here ... It is your wand. Put it away, and please give this another thought.