Rain combed the city into lines, washing alley and avenue with the same indifferent hand; lanterns blurred into amber moons in puddles the way memories blur into excuses . Tian walked without destination, the weight in his chest not only the seal but the knowledge that silence is a crowd's favorite song .
"Look," a drunk said, pointing with the generosity of malice. "The golden heir's turned tin" . A friend laughed, then looked away when Tian's eyes lifted—shame is a skittish animal, gone before it can be named .
Under an eave, he leaned against wet wood, the smell of old smoke wed to rain. "Even if the heavens fall," he whispered, "I will rise" . The promise hung in steam and breath and vanished, but he did not .
A shadow lingered at the far end of the alley, an old man's silhouette holding a worry like a bowl he had carried too far to set down . Loyalty sometimes waits where pride refuses to look .