Kawami smelled of sweet rice cakes and rain.The festival had started hours ago, but the air was still heavy with the scent of sizzling street food, incense from the temple gates, and the dampness that clung to the cobblestones after the afternoon drizzle. Paper lanterns swayed above the narrow streets like drifting stars caught in a gentle wind, their soft orange glow competing with the neon signs of cafés and convenience stores.
Liang Zhenyu walked with his sketchbook under one arm, careful not to bump into the crowds. People moved in waves, laughter spilling into the air with the occasional sharp whistle of fireworks. Music pulsed from somewhere deeper in the festival — shamisen strings woven with the bass thump of an electric speaker — Kawami's strange, perfect blend of tradition and modern chaos.
He'd been coming to the Festival of a Thousand Lanterns since he was a boy. This year was different. Not because of the weather, or the crowd, or the way the temple bells rang off-beat tonight.But because for weeks now, he'd been drawing places that didn't exist.
A vendor waved him over."Zhenyu! You're late." The man was short and round, wearing a red happi coat and a wide grin. His table was stacked with candied fruit and skewers dripping in sauce."I wasn't coming for food," Liang said, smiling despite himself. "I'm on a job tonight.""You? Working during the festival?" The vendor laughed. "You should live a little. Draw after you've eaten something sweet."
Liang lifted his sketchbook in response and kept moving. The truth was, he'd been avoiding this part of the festival. Every time he looked at the lanterns reflected in the river, he saw things that weren't there — bridges twisting into the clouds, towers made of glass and shadow, streets lit by suns that never set.
He stopped on the edge of the river walk, where the crowd thinned. The water shimmered, a dark ribbon beneath the lanterns, carrying their reflections downstream.From here, the city seemed almost unreal. The way the lights blurred on the surface, the way the air vibrated with music and voices — it felt like one step could send him somewhere else entirely.
He flipped his sketchbook open. The last page was a pencil rendering of Kawami's old clock tower… except in his drawing, the tower's face was cracked, and instead of numbers, there were strange shapes. Seven of them, arranged in a perfect circle. He didn't remember adding that detail.
A voice broke his focus."Beautiful, isn't it?"
Liang turned to see Akane Mitsuri standing beside him. She wore a light blue yukata patterned with silver cranes, her hair pinned neatly back. Akane was a historian for the Kawami Museum, someone who could tell you the origin of every building, every alleyway, every weathered stone in the city.
"It is," Liang said, closing his sketchbook halfway.Her eyes flicked down to it. "You've been drawing the tower again.""Guilty.""I thought you hated that place," she teased. "Too many tourists, you said."
Liang hesitated. "It's… different lately. Have you noticed? The chimes are out of rhythm. And the lights around it — they flicker, like it's out of sync with the rest of the city."
Akane gave him a look he couldn't read. "You sound like one of those ghost stories from Shinkai. The ones where time slips if you walk around a building three times.""Maybe I'm just tired," he said. But he didn't believe it himself.
A shout rose from the bridge ahead, followed by laughter. A group of teenagers had released a cluster of lanterns too early; they floated low over the river before a sudden gust of wind lifted them higher.Liang watched, frowning. The wind was wrong — it came from the water's surface, pulling the lanterns upward in a slow spiral. The motion was hypnotic, almost deliberate.
"Do you see that?" he asked.Akane nodded slowly. "Lanterns don't move like that."
One lantern broke away from the rest and drifted toward the riverbank, its light bending strangely as it approached. Liang stepped closer, sketchbook still in hand. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw something through the lantern's glow — a dark silhouette, not human, standing in the reflection of the water where no one stood above it.
He blinked, and it was gone. The lantern bobbed against the bank, harmless, its flame still steady.
They walked together toward the main square, where the largest lanterns — each taller than a person — would be lit and sent into the sky at midnight. On the way, they passed the old clock tower. The crowd thinned here, as if people avoided the shadow it cast.
The hands of the clock were frozen at 11:07. Liang stopped without meaning to."It's been stuck like that all week," Akane said quietly."I know," he replied. "But look closer."
Faint, almost invisible unless you stared, the surface of the clock face rippled — just slightly, as if it were made of water. And in that ripple, for the briefest moment, Liang saw something else: seven symbols, faintly glowing, arranged in a perfect circle.
He took a step back. The image was gone. The clock was just a clock again.
They reached the square just as the first of the giant lanterns was being prepared. The air was alive with anticipation, the hum of voices rising, the warmth of light washing over the crowd. Liang should have felt comfort here — this was the heart of Kawami, the place where every year began with hope.
But his chest felt heavy. He thought about his drawings, the symbols on the clock, the way the lanterns had spiraled on the river.
"Zhenyu?" Akane's voice pulled him back. "You look pale.""I'm fine," he lied.
A bell rang from somewhere in the city — not the clock tower, but deeper, heavier, resonating in his bones.It didn't belong to Kawami.
The crowd didn't react.Akane didn't seem to hear it.
Liang gripped his sketchbook tighter, the sound still echoing in his head.
And in the river beside the square, the reflections of the lanterns began to twist again.