The morning sun, two days after their last visit, found Shen Qiyao and He Qing once more on the path to Zhuyin Village.
"We need more tea leaves," Shen Qiyao stated.
His voice was calm, practical.
"And perhaps some fresh ginger for the kitchen."
He Qing walked ahead, his steps light.
"Tea and ginger! Such thrilling adventures, Mr. Taller Shen!"
He spun around, a wide grin on his face.
"Are you sure we don't need a new, very shiny bell for the shrine?"
"The shrine has a bell," Shen Qiyao replied, unperturbed.
"It is sufficient."
Shen Qiyao carried a woven basket.
He Qing carried nothing but his usual playful energy.
To the world, he was a man without burdens.
To Shen Qiyao, he was a constant, lively presence.
A presence that had, in its own chaotic way, begun to pull Shen Qiyao back into the world.
As they descended, the village revealed itself.
It was no longer merely preparing.
It was a hive of vibrant, joyous activity.
More lanterns hung from every eaves.
Not just red and gold, but intricate designs of blue and green.
Paper birds and fish danced in the gentle breeze.
Children, even more numerous than before, darted through the streets.
They carried not just lanterns, but small, painted wooden toys.
Their shouts and giggles filled the air.
"Young Master Shen!"
Old Man Hu called out from his tea shop.
He was arranging pots of flowering osmanthus.
"Good morning, Old Man Hu," Shen Qiyao replied.
He offered a small, genuine smile.
"Your shop looks particularly festive today."
Old Man Hu beamed.
"Ah, Young Master, the festival spirit!"
He glanced at He Qing, who was already examining a tray of pastries.
"And your companion seems to be enjoying himself."
"He Qing has a fondness for sweet things," Shen Qiyao said.
He Qing, with a pastry already in hand, turned.
"Old Man Hu, these are even better than last time!"
"You always say that, boy!" Old Man Hu chuckled.
Shen Qiyao noticed the warmth in the old man's voice.
He Qing, the stranger, was already making friends.
They continued their walk.
The market square was a riot of color and sound.
Stalls had expanded, spilling into the lanes.
One stall sold candied fruits, glistening like jewels.
Another offered intricate paper-cut designs.
Smoke curled from roasting meat, mingling with sweet incense.
"Mr. Taller Shen! Look!" He Qing exclaimed.
He pointed to a group of young men.
They were practicing a lion dance, their movements powerful and fluid.
He Qing, in his excitement, took a step back.
He bumped squarely into a display of ceramic bowls.
Clatter!
Shen Qiyao reached out instinctively.
He caught a falling bowl just before it hit the ground.
He Qing froze, his eyes wide.
"My apologies!" He Qing cried.
He turned to the vendor, bowing deeply.
"I am a clumsy ox! Please forgive me!"
The vendor, a stern-faced woman, looked at the saved bowl.
Then at Shen Qiyao, who held it steady.
"Young Master Shen, always so quick."
She then looked at He Qing, a small smile touching her lips.
"No harm done, boy. Just watch your feet next time."
He Qing let out a relieved sigh.
"See, Mr. Taller Shen? My chaos is charming!"
Shen Qiyao merely shook his head, a faint amusement in his eyes.
He Qing's antics were a familiar, comforting part of their days.
They moved deeper into the market.
Shen Qiyao found himself greeting more people.
"Master Li, how is your wife's cough?"
Master Li, a tailor, paused his work.
"Much better, Young Master, thanks to the herbs you recommended."
He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes.
He Qing, who had been examining a bolt of silk, turned.
He watched Shen Qiyao interact.
His usual playful expression softened, becoming thoughtful.
Shen Qiyao, once so withdrawn, was speaking easily.
He was accepting gratitude, offering quiet advice.
He wasn't avoiding eye contact.
He Qing noticed the subtle shift.
Shen Qiyao was still reserved, still quiet.
But he was no longer hiding.
They stopped at a stall selling fresh vegetables.
"These radishes are particularly crisp today, Young Master Shen."
The vendor, a plump woman, offered him a sample.
"Indeed," Shen Qiyao said, taking a bite.
"They will be perfect for a clear broth."
"Always so discerning!" the woman praised.
He Qing leaned in, whispering to Shen Qiyao.
"You're quite popular, Mr. Taller Shen."
"They are simply polite," Shen Qiyao replied.
"No, no," He Qing insisted.
"They like you. You make them feel... seen."
Shen Qiyao looked at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
He Qing just grinned, then darted off to inspect a basket of persimmons.
Shen Qiyao watched him go.
He felt a quiet warmth spread through his chest.
He had spent years avoiding such interactions.
Believing himself unworthy, or simply too broken.
But here, in the bustling market, it felt natural.
He Qing returned, a persimmon in hand.
"These are ripe! We must get some!"
"We have enough fruit at the shrine," Shen Qiyao said.
"But not these persimmons!"
He Qing held it up, a golden orb in his palm.
"They are special!"
Shen Qiyao sighed, but a small smile played on his lips.
"Very well. A few."
He Qing clapped his hands, delighted.
As the morning wore on, the village grew even livelier.
More people arrived from nearby hamlets.
Their voices added to the joyful din.
Shen Qiyao found himself drawn into conversations.
He offered a suggestion for a sagging banner.
He helped a child retrieve a runaway kite.
Each interaction was small, fleeting.
But each one chipped away at the walls he had built.
He Qing watched it all, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes.
He saw Shen Qiyao, once a shadow, now engaging.
Not dramatically, but genuinely.
He saw the smiles on the villagers' faces when Shen Qiyao spoke.
He Qing felt a happiness that was deep and steady.
It wasn't his place to comment.
But he knew.
As they finally gathered their supplies, the sun was high.
The market was at its peak.
Lanterns swayed overhead, catching the light.
"We have everything," Shen Qiyao said.
He looked at the full basket.
"And more persimmons than we need."
He Qing chuckled.
"A small price to pay for such a delightful morning!"
They began to make their way out of the market.
"Young Master Shen!"
Old Woman Li, the one who sold herbs, called out.
"A moment, if you please!"
Shen Qiyao paused.
He Qing, already a few steps ahead, stopped and turned.
He watched as Shen Qiyao walked back to the herb stall.
Old Woman Li spoke in a low voice.
Shen Qiyao listened patiently.
Now and then he answered.
The conversation lasted only a few moments.
Then he offered a small bow and turned back toward the road.
He Qing was waiting nearby.
A basket of vegetables in one hand.
Three persimmons in the other.
For some reason, there were now three instead of two.
Shen Qiyao decided not to ask.
The answer would only cause trouble.
"Finished?" He Qing asked.
"Hm."
"Good."
He Qing immediately handed him one of the persimmons.
As though that settled everything.
Together they continued toward the mountain path.
Behind them, the village remained alive with preparation.
Voices drifted through the streets.
Lanterns swayed overhead.
Children laughed somewhere beyond the market square.
The festival had not yet begun.
Yet the excitement already filled every corner of Zhuyin Village.
Shen Qiyao glanced back once.
Only once.
Then followed He Qing toward the shrine.
The mountain waited quietly ahead.
And for the first time in a long while, returning to it no longer felt the same as being alone.
[End of Chapter 124]