As dusk fell, Yihan arrived at the theater entrance as promised—only to be awkwardly barred from entering.
Only nobles and wealthy merchants from Soul Valley Town could present invitations, the sort with leisure to enjoy performances on a freezing winter night. Unable to prove his identity, Yihan was bluntly turned away at the first checkpoint.
He glanced anxiously toward the distant clock tower. Lia hadn’t specified the showtime. Lingering outside meant missing it. The thought of the girl’s crushed, heartbroken expression made him want to scold himself.
*Since when did I care so much about her feelings? She’s just a figment of this dream. Why can’t I let go?*
After being ruthlessly denied entry again, Yihan seriously considered scaling the walls. It was absurd—this was *his* dream, yet he couldn’t bend it to his will like reality. Even entering a theater meant groveling to guards.
Just as he steeled himself to act, the rumble of carriage wheels echoed behind him.
An elegant carriage glided down the street, drawn by a prized frost steed—its coat luminous white, fur silken. Only someone of the highest status, like the town mayor, could afford such a mount.
The coachman opened the door with reverence. A rotund, bald man in fine robes stepped out. From the murmurs around him, Yihan recognized Soul Valley Town’s mayor. Yet this man, who commanded thousands, now bowed obsequiously toward the carriage interior, his expression laced with a trace of flattery.
Yihan frowned. *Who could warrant such deference?*
His question was answered instantly. A cloaked figure alighted from the carriage, light as a feather. Her movements carried an aristocratic grace utterly alien to this remote town. Carola’s hood was pulled low, revealing only full crimson lips and a porcelain jawline—a disguise that only amplified her enigmatic allure.
Yihan’s breath hitched. The traveler he’d imagined was far more influential than he’d guessed. No wonder she’d been so aloof. One glance at the mayor’s fawning face confirmed her extraordinary status.
A reckless idea flashed through his mind. Without hesitation, he shoved past the crowd and strode boldly toward the girl from daytime.
Guards immediately moved to intercept him.
Yihan shouted at the top of his lungs: “Miss! Over here!”
Carola’s brow furrowed as she turned. Yihan saw her shoulders tense in surprise.
“Help me get inside!” he blurted desperately as guards seized his arms. “Let me watch the show—as repayment for this afternoon!”
“Throw this brat out!” The mayor’s round face flushed crimson. *How dare commoners exploit flimsy excuses to approach a Witch Hunter?*
To everyone’s shock, Carola raised a slender, porcelain hand. “Release him,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.
The guards froze. Yihan wrenched free.
“You aided me earlier,” Carola stated coolly, all business. “It’s only fair I honor your request. I have a front-row seat. You may join me—if you don’t mind.” She turned to the mayor. “Is that acceptable?”
“Of course! Absolutely! I’ll arrange it immediately!” The mayor bobbed his head frantically. Without another word to Yihan, Carola swept toward the theater.
She hadn’t planned to attend. Only the mayor’s persistent invitations—and the chance to observe the crowd for clues—had swayed her. She’d nearly forgotten the boy from daytime until his shout.
This time, Yihan strode past the guards unchallenged, shooting them a smug, fox-riding-tiger glance. He didn’t know how much dream-time remained, but he *had* to be seen by Lia. He’d keep his promise to her.
The theater was already crowded. The layout matched his expectations: a high stage upfront, fan-shaped seating rising tier by tier. The front rows were so close performers could interact with the audience during climactic scenes.
Carola walked briskly, vanishing ahead in the packed aisle. Yihan navigated slowly, catching snippets of conversation:
“Hope this year’s show isn’t just choir and dance. I’m tired of that.”
“New here, huh? First Saint Anne’s Eve in Soul Valley? Half these people aren’t here for the performance.”
“Then what? The ball afterward?”
The man chuckled lewdly. “Know who’s performing tonight? Orphans from the local home. Dance troupes. Choir kids. Pretty boys and girls. Spot one you like? Bid for them after the show.”
Yihan’s steps faltered. His fists clenched inside his sleeves.
“Seriously?”
“Think the town donates mountains of gold to orphanages and choirs out of charity? Every investment yields returns. Nobles raise these children as… *toys*. Saint Anne’s Eve is their showcase. Bid backstage, outmaneuver rivals, and take your ‘gift’ home that very night. Who cares if unwanted kids vanish?”
“Damn. Wish I’d known about this place sooner.”
Their vulgar whispers faded as they moved away. Yihan stood rigid in the crowd, nails digging deep into his palms.
He forced slow breaths, jaw muscles twitching, swallowing the urge to shatter faces. For a fleeting moment, he craved world-shattering power—to crush these vermin with a thought. *Why must even dreams reek of filth? Is this world rotten at its core? Or did I just stumble into its darkest corner?*
Their words implied this was routine. Others nearby had overheard, yet no one flinched. All complicit. *No decent person attends this farce.*
Head bowed, Yihan trudged toward Carola’s seat. After that exchange, her silent, mysterious presence felt safer. At least she didn’t seem the type to stomach such depravity.
After the show, he’d find Lia and get her out. No packing. No belongings. Just her saved coppers. Hire a carriage, cross the mountains, ask directions later.
Even if this world was false, he refused to leave her in this cesspool. Her smile, her silhouette—they’d become a beam of moonlight in his alien reality. He’d grasp it. Protect it. Let nothing tarnish it.
