The streets of Chang'an were alive with the vibrant energy of Chinese New Year. Lanterns in every shape and size—dragons, lotus flowers, cranes—hung overhead, glowing like a sea of fireflies in the cool night air. The sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional burst of firecrackers filled the streets, while the sweet, warm smell of dumplings and sticky rice cakes wafted through the crowd. Everywhere Chi Yu looked, there was celebration—brimming with life, color, and joy.
But as she stood at the edge of the festivities, her heart felt both light and heavy. 11 years old Chi Yu knew her life was about to change in ways she couldn't yet understand. Tomorrow, her family would leave for Sizhou, and everything she'd known—the streets, the faces, the laughter—would be left behind. The weight of the impending departure made the revelry around her feel distant, like something she couldn't quite touch.
She lingered behind her parents as the crowd surged around her. In the distance, she noticed a young man standing near a particularly ornate lantern, its crimson light casting a soft glow on his dark changshan. He was leaning against a pillar, watching the crowds with a quiet intensity that made him stand out. There was an aloofness to him, but also something magnetic—something that made Chi Yu want to step closer. His gaze, dark and thoughtful, seemed to pierce through the noise and commotion, as if he existed in a world apart from the chaos of the festival.
She found herself drawn to him, curious despite herself. She hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, her heart racing as she approached him.
"Excuse me," she called out, her voice tentative but clear.
The young man's eyes shifted toward her, locking with hers in a way that startled her. For a moment, they just stood there, staring at each other in silence. His gaze was intense—almost too intense—and Chi Yu had the strangest feeling that he was seeing more than just her face. He seemed to look straight through her, as though he knew everything she hadn't said.
"Hm?" he replied, his voice low and smooth, like the rumble of thunder in the distance.
Chi Yu swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I—I just wanted to know," she stammered, "what is your name?"
A smile flickered across his face, small but genuine, transforming his serious expression into something warmer. "Huayiang," he said, his voice almost conspiratorial. "And you?"
"Chi Yu," she answered, her voice gaining strength.
There was something about him, something in the way he carried himself, that made her feel like she was talking to someone much older, someone who had seen far more of the world than she ever would. It wasn't arrogance, just a quiet confidence, and it intrigued her.
For a moment, they stood in the soft light of the lanterns, the crowd moving around them, but it felt like they were in their own little world.
Huayiang's gaze softened, and without a word, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a delicate bracelet. The metal was fine, the beads a mix of maroon, green, and gold, twisting together in a way that almost seemed alive. He held it out to her, his expression unusually serious.
"From Xinghua Mountain," he explained quietly, his fingers brushing hers as he placed the bracelet in her palm. "They say… all happy events have a return."
Chi Yu stared at the bracelet, feeling its warmth against her skin, as though it had absorbed something of his quiet energy. She looked up at him, her heart suddenly lighter than it had been in days. The weight of her family's departure, the sorrow she had carried, seemed to lift, even if only for a moment.
"Thank you," she whispered, her fingers tracing the intricate beads. The gift felt strangely significant, as though it marked something she couldn't fully understand.
Huayiang gave her another smile, this one more playful, with a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Neither will I," he said, his words holding a hint of promise, though she couldn't quite decipher what he meant.
A loud burst of firecrackers went off nearby, and they both laughed, the noise making the moment feel lighter. Chi Yu could feel the joy of the night coursing through her—the festival, the food, the laughter—every part of it seemed to be a gift from the city she was about to leave.
"Shall we?" Huayiang asked, his eyes twinkling as he gestured toward the food stalls, where the sweet aroma of rice cakes filled the air. "There are rice cakes over there, just begging to be eaten."
Chi Yu smiled, her stomach already rumbling at the thought of all the delicious treats. She had always loved the food at New Year's—the crispy dumplings, the sweet pastries. And sharing them with this strange but intriguing young man made everything feel even more magical.
Together, they wandered through the crowd, sampling skewers of grilled meat, laughing as they tried to avoid children with sparklers that lit up the night like fireflies. They played games—ring toss, darts at balloons—Chi Yu laughed harder than she had in a long time, feeling free, the weight of her worries momentarily forgotten. Huayiang even won her a small plush rabbit, which she clutched to her chest, her smile wide and genuine.
As the night wore on, they sat down for a while to rest. The distant crackling of firecrackers was the only sound around them as they sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. Chi Yu knew, deep down, that this was probably the last time she'd ever see him. The thought made her heart ache, a sorrow she couldn't shake.
"We're leaving for Sizhou," she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. "I… I won't see you again."
Huayiang's expression softened, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—something like understanding, or maybe even regret. He didn't ask why she was leaving; he didn't need to. The weight of it was enough.
"Chi Yu!" Her mother's voice called out, urgent and sharp. "We have to go, we're leaving for Sizhou early."
Chi Yu turned to Huayiang, meeting his gaze one last time. It was a silent goodbye, one that carried all the unspoken words neither of them could say.
"It's okay," Huayiang said, his voice soft but steady. "Maybe we'll see each other again. We just have to wait."
Chi Yu nodded, feeling an unexpected wave of hope despite the sadness. She reached into her sleeve, pulling out the hairpin her uncle had made for her. Without a word, she pressed it into his hand. "No matter what happens, find me," she said, her voice firm with the weight of the promise.
With a final glance at Huayiang, Chi Yu turned and hurried toward her mother, her heart still racing. Behind her, Huayiang stood alone under the lanterns, the sounds of the festival fading as she disappeared into the crowd. The bracelet, still warm against her skin, was a silent reminder of the promise they'd made—a promise that, for now, was all they had.