In the bustling city of Hangzhou, nestled along a labyrinth of canals and mist-shrouded streets, lies the enigmatic district of Yùshuǐ Jiē (玉水街), or Jade Water Street. The district earned its name from the jade-green waters that weave through its narrow passageways, flowing beneath arched stone bridges and alongside ancient storefronts with faded red lanterns swaying in the breeze. It's a place where the boundary between reality and myth blurs—where the water holds secrets and whispers of old stories.
Today, the canals of Yùshuǐ Jiē seem particularly lively. The mist is thick, the air carrying a damp chill that clings to the skin. Yet amidst this cold, a warm glow radiates from the water's surface as a pair of vibrant, shimmering creatures glide beneath the jade-green depths. With scales that glint like molten copper and tails that flow like ribbons of flame, the creatures resemble enormous koi, but their shapes twist and shift as if part fish, part ethereal dragon. Locals call them "Shuǐ Yú Lóng" (水鱼龙) or Waterfish Dragons, and sightings are considered a sign of change—good or bad, that's up to interpretation.
On the water's edge, a woman in white, her dress flowing like a waterfall, leans over with a small pot, pouring fresh tea into the canal. Steam mingles with the mist, and she whispers words lost to the chill breeze. Some say she's an old spirit, a guardian of the canal, while others think she's merely a devoted worshipper offering to the water. But as she murmurs, the Shuǐ Yú Lóng's vibrant forms twist below, their eyes glimmering with a strange intelligence.
Xuan Jing, Jiăn Lí, and Feng Hao, having left the arena behind, find themselves drawn to this mysterious part of the city. Xuan Jing, in particular, seems almost entranced by the sight of the Waterfish Dragons gliding through the water, their movements strangely synchronized with the rhythms of the city itself. As they approach the canal's edge, the mist thickens, curling around their ankles like tendrils of some living thing.
"This place..." Feng Hao speaks up, his voice cutting through the eerie silence, "it's always had an odd vibe. I heard people go missing around here. Some say the water pulls them in."
Jiăn Lí snorts, crossing his arms. "Yeah? Well, they say a lot of things. It's just mist and old legends."
But Xuan Jing's gaze remains fixed on the water. He feels something—an unease creeping along his spine. The water reflects his face, distorted and twisted like the memories that Guŏ Suàn had dredged up earlier. He bends down, reaching a hand towards the surface, almost daring to touch the shimmer below.
The moment his fingertips brush the water, everything shifts. The canal ripples violently, and the mist thickens to the point where Jiăn Lí and Feng Hao can barely see a foot in front of them. Xuan Jing jerks his hand back, but it's too late—one of the Waterfish Dragons surges up, its head rising above the waterline, eyes like molten embers locked onto him.
"You…" a voice, ancient and deep, seems to echo from the depths of the canal, reverberating through Xuan Jing's bones. It's not just a voice; it's a feeling, pressing into his mind like the weight of the water itself. "You carry the scent of death... and the stain of old blood."
Xuan Jing stumbles back, his breath catching in his throat as the woman in white suddenly turns towards them. Her eyes are hidden beneath a veil, but her mouth curves into a knowing smile. "The river remembers," she says softly, her words barely above a whisper. "It remembers those who have crossed it, those who have given and taken."
Feng Hao steps forward, a hand on Xuan Jing's arm, his grip firm. "Hey, lady, I don't know what game you're playing, but we're not looking for trouble."
The woman's smile only widens. "Trouble finds those who seek answers, boy. And your friend here," she gestures toward Xuan Jing, "he has many questions, doesn't he?"
Xuan Jing's jaw tightens, but before he can respond, the Waterfish Dragon dives back into the canal, sending a spray of icy water over the stone path. For a moment, the mist parts, and Xuan Jing catches a glimpse of something beneath the surface—a shadow, a figure with eyes like his, reaching up from the depths as if calling to him. But just as quickly, it vanishes, leaving only ripples in its wake.
Jiăn Lí, who had been trying to wave away the mist with exaggerated gestures, finally catches sight of Xuan Jing's expression and frowns. "Okay, so that was weird as hell. We should go. Like, right now."
But Xuan Jing shakes his head, his gaze lingering on the woman and the canal. There's a thread connecting him to this place, something he can't ignore. He turns back to the woman, the frost from the arena still lingering in his veins, blending with the cold air of Yùshuǐ Jiē.
"What does the river remember about me?" he asks, his voice steady, but there's a sharpness beneath it—like a knife hidden in velvet.
The woman tilts her head, considering him for a moment longer, and then she lets out a breathy laugh, as if she's heard something amusing. "More than you think. But beware, Xuan Jing... sometimes, the things that call from the deep are better left unanswered."
With that, she pours the last of her tea into the canal, and the mist thickens once more, enveloping her until she's no more than a silhouette in the fog. The Waterfish Dragons vanish beneath the jade waters, their glow fading into darkness.
Xuan Jing watches her disappear, a thousand unspoken questions burning in his mind. But even as he turns away, following Jiăn Lí and Feng Hao back into the winding streets of Yùshuǐ Jiē, he knows one thing for certain: This seems like his business but he's too lazy to do something.