...Gone!

At first light, Lingcai woke with the sense she’d lost something, like a dew bead vanishing in morning haze.

As she thought and slid a hand into her pocket, a faint wrongness stirred, like a shy ripple under still water.

That melancholy drift lingered into the next day, until she told Scarlet Leaf she’d met the Little Moon Sage. Then it cracked into panic, like ice under a heel.

“And then Grand Sage Zhuoyue gave me that heptagram pendant... I’ll show you— huh? Ah... it’s— it’s gone?! Where’s my pendant?” Her breath scattered like sparrows.

Lingcai panicked on the spot, ants under hot sun. But panic changed nothing. The pendant had fallen amid the ruins, and LilyBell had picked it up, like a blossom lifted by wind.

Cold sweat beaded like rain as she searched every corner of her pack, but it was all sand through fingers.

It wasn’t the pendant’s price that weighed, but the meaning sealed inside it, like a signet in wax.

When the Little Moon Sage placed it in her palm, it was a charge to bear the name, like a torch passed at dusk.

Lingcai let it slip in a careless moment, like a leaf on a gust.

Never mind failing the great sage’s hope; some might brand her a traitor to her line, mud on a shrine.

Great— trouble bloomed everywhere, brambles crossing the path.

“Could it be you left it in the palace?” Scarlet Leaf’s voice fell soft as spring rain, trying to trace the trail.

Lingcai shook hard, a willow in wind. “Impossible. I kept it on me. No one’s touched me lately...”

Scarlet Leaf decided to comfort her, laying a warm cloak over frost.

“Let it be. What won’t be found now won’t be found in a hurry.” Her tone rocked like a boat on a calm lake. “When you forget it, it often shows up on its own, like a cat at dusk.”

That’s how lost things work in this world, rivers circling back to sea.

Besides, it’s not something you urgently need, water in a fire. Apart from flashing your identity now and then, it does little else, a badge catching sunlight.

The material wasn’t costly; it wouldn’t fetch much, tin among silver. What was heavy was the meaning, a stone in the heart.

Lingcai knew fretting was useless, beating wings in a cage. Yet unease kept fluttering, a moth at a lamp.

Even as she chatted with Scarlet Leaf and recounted these days, her mind drifted like mist off a pond.

“Oh, right. One more thing.” Her words tapped the air like a pebble on water.

Lingcai suddenly remembered Princess Sia’s commission, a lantern flicking back on. The probe into the cannon barrels had stalled, so she pinned her hope on Scarlet Leaf, a letter tied to a bird.

“Leaf, can you figure out where a batch of steel came from?” Her voice drew taut like a bowstring.

Scarlet Leaf found it odd, a knot in smooth rope. She didn’t press. She answered offhand, tossing a twig into a stream.

“Probably... no problem... I guess?” Her words drifted like dandelion fluff.

Lingcai knew Scarlet Leaf disliked nobles in the palace— even a touch disgusted, bitter tea on the tongue. So she asked gently, steps on fresh snow.

“Do me a favor... no, do the country a favor. There’s a batch of steel we need to trace. It’s in the palace. Could you take a look?” Her plea waved like a white flag.

Scarlet Leaf’s face fell at once, a cloud blotting the sun. The bunny hairpin on her head drooped too, wilted ears after rain.

“No. I’ve told you it’s not worth bleeding for those people.” Her words fell cold as rain on stone.

As expected, a script you’ve read before.

“Hey... it’s not bleeding out... It’s state business. It touches us common folk too...” Her plea bent like a reed in wind.

Lingcai tried to sway her with proper reasons, stones stacked into a dam, but the water slipped through.

“Not going. Just not going. Because of that lot, I almost lost my husband. Not going.” Her refusal slammed like a door in a storm.

She said it and scooped Lingcai up, cheeks puffed like a pouting cat, holding her close like a warm bundle.

Knowing Leaf’s temper, Lingcai cut straight to three plain words, a baited hook flicked to the current.

“There’s money in it.” The words gleamed like a coin in lantern light.

“How much?” The bunny-ear hairpiece twitched, grass ears in a breeze.

“Gold.” Lingcai raised two fingers with her right hand, a sharp V cutting air.

“We go.” The word snapped like a dry branch.

At the word gold, Scarlet Leaf’s face changed, dawn breaking over hills. Her pout vanished in a blink, and she began packing the bags at her side, hands quick as swallows.

We’re common folk; who turns away from money, a hungry stomach from a hot bowl of rice.

They call money the root of all evil, greed in bright skin, a bastard with a turtle shell— yet no one lives without it, a fire without fuel.

At least, that’s how Scarlet Leaf saw it, a creed carved on bamboo.

“Back to it— how big? Two pieces? Two taels?” Her voice flicked like a fish tail.

Before she finished packing, Scarlet Leaf tossed two more questions over her shoulder, pebbles skipping a pond.

“I figure royal folks won’t hand over tiny bits of gold, right?” Her grin flashed like sun on water.

Lingcai lifted her hand and showed the size. “An ingot. You know, a chunk this big.” The memory shone like a brick of sunlight. “It feels heavy in the hand; I’ve held one.”

In silence, Scarlet Leaf poked Lingcai with the sheath of her Crimson Cherry Blossom Blade, tapping like a soft drum.

“Nonsense. When is gold not heavy? Forget ingots. If they hand me gold bricks, I won’t complain.” Her laugh rang like metal in a bowl.

Heh, you do dream pretty, castles painted in clouds.

Seeing her wife all starry-eyed over coin, Lingcai rolled her eyes, vinegar in her voice like sour plums.

“Tell me then. If they offered you two gold bricks to trade for me, and I’d never come home again, would you take it?” Her words fell like stones into a well.

“Who says? No way! Ten bricks and I still wouldn’t trade! My A-Cai’s a treasure beyond price!” She spoke like beating a war drum.

Scarlet Leaf pulled Lingcai’s small body into her arms and squeezed, a bear hug warm as a winter quilt.

Mm. Satisfied, sweet as the first sip of tea.

That was exactly what Lingcai wanted to hear, a bell struck true. The hug was a touch too real, a tide of warmth almost hard to bear.

“What about a hundred?” Buoyed by that old-married bliss, Lingcai asked again, her voice floating like a kite.

This time, she didn’t get the answer she wanted, a note gone flat in the air.

Scarlet Leaf went silent, a pond with the wind gone. Her face said it all, as if a mountain of gold stood before her, weighed against the girl in her arms.

“...Then I’d have to think about it.” The words crawled out like reluctant turtles.

“Didn’t you say I’m priceless?!” Not expecting her to wobble, Lingcai butted her chin with her forehead, a sparrow pecking a peach.

“...But those are gold bricks. A hundred would pile into a little hill.” Scarlet Leaf’s reply came with a pout, rain under an eave. “And a trade doesn’t mean we never meet. Worst case, I move to the royal capital to see you. Even a priceless treasure earns a rental fee, right?” Her logic stacked like tiles.

Lingcai wriggled free, hugged her knees, and tucked herself into a corner, curled like an autumn leaf. Her voice turned sour as a whole jar of vinegar.

“...Then I don’t want you. Go remarry. From now on, pretend I don’t exist, pretend I’ve been sold off.” Her words sulked like a rainy day.

Oh, these old spouses tossing childlike tantrums, two kittens batting yarn.

Scarlet Leaf crept up behind her, quiet as catsteps, and tugged her sleeve hem, light as a breeze.

“All right, all right... not selling, not selling... no one could buy you... Are you truly mad?” Her whisper was soft as moth wings.

“I’m not mad. Not mad. Why would I be mad.” The words crossed their arms like a sulking child.

Her tone screamed a pout, ink clear as a red stamp on white silk.

Even so, since Lingcai became a girl, Scarlet Leaf felt her temper had grown cuter, spring shoots after snow.

Before, Lingcai wouldn’t pout, but big or small, she’d bottle everything, wind sealed in a jar.

So Scarlet Leaf glided up from behind, then slipped to her front, and half-forcefully pinned her to the wall with a soft thud, a leaf pressed in a book.

The sudden boldness startled Lingcai, a sparrow jolted by thunder.

“...What are you doing?” Her breath hitched like a caught fish.

She tried to curl up like a pillbug, but Scarlet Leaf gave no chance, steady as a mountain.

Leaf pressed her knees to pin Lingcai’s legs, one hand cupping her face, the other lifting the golden fringe at her brow, parting reeds by a stream.

Then she kissed her forehead, light as a falling petal.

“...Still mad?” Her words rose warm as tea steam.

Lingcai’s cheeks flushed rosy at once, ripe peaches under sun. She turned away, all awkward petals, and answered in a tiny voice, like a mouse peeping.

“...I’m not mad anymore.” The words floated down like a settled feather.

So honest, a clear pond under moonlight.