The festival night pulsed around them.
Lanterns swayed overhead, a thousand tiny moons.
Music drifted through the crowded streets.
Shen Qiyao held his rabbit lantern.
Its soft glow warmed his hand.
He Qing, beside him, was still talking.
"...and then the old man tried to sell me a 'lucky' charm!"
He Qing laughed, a bright, clear sound.
"As if I need luck when I have you, Mr. Taller Shen, to save me from myself!"
Shen Qiyao offered a small smile.
He Qing's energy was a constant, vibrant presence.
It had been a long evening.
They had eaten sweet pastries.
Watched shadow puppets dance on a screen.
And navigated the joyous chaos of the crowds.
Everything felt warm. Comfortable. Easy.
As they rounded a corner, the scent of old paper and ink reached Shen Qiyao.
He looked up.
It was the old bookshop.
Its usual quiet facade was transformed.
Lanterns, not as bright as the festival ones, but warm and inviting,
Hung from its eaves.
"Young Master Shen!"
A familiar voice boomed from the doorway.
Old Master Gao, the bookseller, stood there.
His face was wreathed in a smile.
"I thought I might see you here!"
He waved them over with a gnarled hand.
Shen Qiyao felt a genuine warmth.
"Master Gao. It is good to see you."
He Qing, ever curious, peered into the shop.
"Books! You sell books, old man?"
Master Gao chuckled. "Indeed, young man. Many stories within these walls."
"Come in, come in!"
Master Gao ushered them inside.
The shop was smaller than it appeared from outside.
Stacks of scrolls and bound volumes lined the walls.
The air was cool, smelling of aged paper and dried herbs.
"I am pleased to see you enjoying the festival, Young Master."
Master Gao's eyes twinkled.
"It has been too long since you graced these streets."
Just then, a young woman emerged from the back of the shop.
She carried a stack of freshly bound books.
She offered a polite, respectful bow.
"Grandfather, the new calligraphy sets have arrived."
"Ah, good, good, Mei Lin!"
Master Gao beamed at her.
"This is my granddaughter, Mei Lin."
He turned to Shen Qiyao.
"She is helping me tonight. It is quite a crowd!"
Mei Lin smiled, a gentle curve of her lips.
"Young Master Shen. It is an honor."
Her voice was soft and clear.
"The honor is mine, Miss Mei Lin," Shen Qiyao replied.
He returned her bow with his usual quiet dignity.
He Qing, who had been listening, stepped forward.
"And I am He Qing!"
He offered a wide, charming smile.
"A traveler, currently enjoying the hospitality of Mr. Taller Shen!"
Mei Lin smiled politely at He Qing.
"A traveler? How interesting."
She then looked back at Shen Qiyao.
"Grandfather mentioned you were looking for a specific commentary on the ancient poets?"
Shen Qiyao nodded.
"I was. It is a rare volume."
"We found it just yesterday," she said.
"Perhaps you would like to see it?"
She gestured towards a shelf of scrolls.
Shen Qiyao, ever polite, nodded.
"I would be delighted."
He turned to He Qing.
He Qing initially joined the conversation.
"Old poets? Do they write about food? Or maybe about very tall people?"
He laughed, but as the discussion continued, he gradually became quieter.
He stopped commenting.
He stopped asking questions.
He wandered a few steps away to the doorway.
He stood there, watching the lanterns sway outside.
His hand reached out, idly playing with a hanging tassel.
He seemed suddenly distracted.
Master Gao and Mei Lin engaged Shen Qiyao in conversation.
They spoke of the festival's history and the rare scroll.
Shen Qiyao, though reserved, found himself responding.
He offered insights, shared observations.
Mei Lin listened politely, her head tilted.
She was kind and well-educated, an easy conversationalist.
He Qing watched them from the doorway.
He saw the way the lantern light caught Shen Qiyao's face.
He saw the quiet respect in the way they spoke.
He felt a strange, unfamiliar tightening in his chest.
He looked away, his gaze fixed on a distant firework display.
He found himself examining the titles of books without actually reading them.
He didn't understand it.
He simply felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to be back in the quiet of the grove.
Eventually, Shen Qiyao politely excused himself.
He thanked Master Gao and Mei Lin for their hospitality.
Mei Lin offered another respectful bow.
"It was a pleasure, Young Master Shen."
"And for me as well," Shen Qiyao replied.
He was completely unaware of any deeper meaning.
They stepped back into the crowded street.
The festival continued its joyous clamor.
Lanterns glowed, music played, laughter echoed.
Everything appeared exactly the same.
Yet something had changed.
He Qing walked beside Shen Qiyao, quieter than before.
"You've been quiet," Shen Qiyao observed.
He Qing shrugged, his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Hm? Oh. I suppose I ate too many candied fruits."
"You were talking enough for three people earlier," Shen Qiyao noted.
His confusion was sincere.
"Your feet hurt? Or perhaps the crowd is too much?"
"A little of both," He Qing lied.
"This walking is exhausting, Mr. Taller Shen!"
Shen Qiyao looked at him, genuinely puzzled.
He Qing, who could scale mountains without a breath,
Was suddenly tired from a stroll through the village?
He didn't press.
He Qing was often a man of sudden whims.
But a small silence now existed where easy conversation had been before.
He Qing pointed at a particularly bright lantern.
"Look! That one looks like a very round cat!"
He laughed, and it should have made Shen Qiyao laugh as well.
But somehow, it didn't.
Not because the joke wasn't funny.
Because something felt slightly off.
Not dramatic. Not painful.
Just noticeable.
Shen Qiyao glanced toward He Qing more than once.
He Qing pretended everything was normal.
He made another joke about a clumsy dancer.
The night remained bright.
The crowd remained warm.
Only something between them felt slightly different.
[End of Chapter 126]