Outside the ancestral estate of the Li Clan, firecrackers burst relentlessly, scattering red confetti across the stone road. Crowds pressed close around the main gate, palms stretched outward, hoping to snag a few pieces of wedding candy—if one could not share in wealth, at least share in auspice.
Everyone knew—even though she never flaunted it—that Keqing bore the Li surname. The Li Clan's eldest daughter, holder of the position of Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing, brilliant, distant, and untouchably proud.
But today was not about her.
Today, the Li Clan's second young miss was marrying the eldest son of the Kun Clan, whose family head currently held the seat of Yaoguang among the Qixing. A union not of affection—but of politics.
And if not for Keqing's iron-willed resistance, that bride… might very well have been her.
Keqing let out a quiet breath as she supported her cousin—today's bride—whose snow-pale face was composed only by layers of rouge and ceremony.
"…Keqing-jiejie," the bride whispered, voice small and calm in the way of someone who has already surrendered. "Please… take care of Baitang for me after I'm gone."
Baitang was her little white puppy. The Kun Clan forbade pets within their household. Even small attachments had to be left at the door.
Keqing's throat tightened. "…I'll come back when I can. I promise."
Whether she could keep that promise was another matter. Her duties pulled her everywhere except home. And her family—anxious to arrange her marriage next—made every visit unwelcome.
But the bride only smiled. She knew.
A promise said aloud was already a kindness.
Suddenly, the herald's voice rang out—
"The Kun Clan Patriarch arrives—!"
The bride went still. Her complexion, beneath the pigments and powder, turned ashen.
Keqing swallowed hard, guided her into the bridal chambers, and left her there to wait—alone—for the man she had never met.
Stepping back outside, Keqing prepared to greet the procession—only to spot, at the edge of the crowd, a familiar nuisance.
Ji Ming.
What in Rex Lapis's name was he doing here?
Her tail twitched. She turned away sharply. The wedding was invitation-only. And if one did not hold an invitation—one was expected to offer no less than 500,000 Mora in congratulations.
No rabble-rouser would pay that.
But then, Ji Ming looked up, grinned, and lifted something in his hand…
A smoky, polished, gold-filigree pipe.
Keqing froze.
That was Ningguang's personal pipe.
He'd brought that to her family's wedding?
Meanwhile, Ji Ming had already walked over to join the crowd outside the gate. A middle-aged man with his arms tucked into his sleeves leaned in to gossip:
"Hey lad, you wouldn't be chasing after Lady Yuheng, would you?"
Ji Ming smiled. "And what if I am?"
The man cackled. "Forget it, kid. Look over there—see those peacocks dressed in silk? All of them are already chasing her, and none have succeeded. You think you can?"
"Of course." Ji Ming brushed imaginary lint off his lapel. "I'm here today to court the Lady Yuheng—and enjoy the Li Clan's festivities while I'm at it."
The man wiped a tear of laughter. "Well then, you'd better prepare your wallet. Showing your face here costs five hundred thousand Mora."
Ji Ming blinked innocently.
Then raised his voice:
"The Ji Clan of Liyue offers one million in congratulatory gifts!"
The crowd gasped.
Li Clan servants swarmed instantly.
"Please this way! Make room! Make room for Young Master Ji!"
Li Clan's Patriarch and Kun Clan's Patriarch both turned at the commotion.
A young man—dressed simply, yet holding a pipe that was unmistakably Ningguang's—was being escorted in like honored kin.
Keqing nearly cracked her teeth.
Ji Ming gave her a pleasant, infuriating smile as he passed.
"Greetings to both Patriarchs. I am Ji Ming, son of the Ji family of Liyue, and a humble admirer of Lady Yuheng. I have come to extend my felicitations."
And to irritate the purple cat, though that went unspoken.
Keqing hissed under her breath, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged him inside, because if this idiot made a scene on her cousin's wedding day she'd personally throw him off Mt. Tianheng.
Meanwhile—
The Kun Clan Patriarch narrowed his gaze.
"…Is that not Ningguang's pipe?"
The Li Clan Patriarch stiffened. "Are you certain?"
"I have worked beside Lady Tianquan for years. She never thinks without that pipe in hand."
Li Patriarch whispered, horrified: "Then this young man is—?"
"No," said the Kun Patriarch, eyes following Ji Ming's retreating back. "Not of noble house. I've seen his name. Street-born. Once involved with the Old Nine Gates."
"…A gangster?"
"A gangster, yes. But a gangster who can walk away with Ningguang's personal pipe…"
The patriarch's voice dropped low:
"Such a one—if caught by the winds—may well become a dragon."
The Li Patriarch swallowed.
"So what should we do?"
"We do nothing."
The Kun Patriarch clasped his hands behind his back.
"We watch."
A gambler with courage—
A street wolf with backing—
A man favored, or tolerated, or used by Ningguang—
To strike carelessly would be to strike a blade in the dark with one's own hand as the stake.
Better to make space.
Better to observe.
For dragons are dangerous when ignored—
but far more useful when they soar on your side.
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