Chapter 13

Chapter 13: A Rainy Night

Rain poured in sheets outside. Sky and earth blurred into one. Lightning flashed. Thunder hammered the world.

Qi Shan had barely fallen asleep in his clothes when the pounding woke him.

He rose, straightened his collar, and was about to slip on his wooden clogs when Shen Tang opened the door first.

A figure stood outside in a bamboo hat and straw raincoat, face tense with panic.

It was the village head of Qian Jia Village.

“Come in,” Shen Tang said, stepping aside. “The rain’s too heavy to talk out there.”

The village head waved her off, voice shaking. “No, no.”

Qi Shan stepped forward. “Old sir, you look anxious. What happened?”

“Have either of you young lords seen A Yan?” Rainwater streamed down the village head’s face, dripping from his chin. He didn’t even wipe it away. “That child… I looked away for a moment, and he was gone!”

Shen Tang frowned. “A Yan?”

“The child who was playing with the little young lord earlier.”

Shen Tang understood immediately. The blank-looking boy.

“We’ve been inside,” she said. “We haven’t seen him. When did he go missing?”

“Just now. No more than fifteen minutes.”

Shen Tang’s expression tightened.

Fifteen minutes.

In rain like this, even a straw raincoat and hat barely helped. Wind screamed through the darkness, and somewhere in the mountains, beasts howled.

A child missing in weather like this… the village head wasn’t wrong to fear the worst.

“If he ran out to play, maybe it’s nothing,” the village head said, voice breaking. “But if a tiger came down the mountain…”

Drought and war had starved the village. The beasts were starving too. They came down to hunt more often now.

If they dragged off livestock, it was bad.

If they dragged off a child…

Tragedies like that had already happened three times in the last two years.

Qi Shan took a bamboo hat from the wall and tied it under his chin. “Old sir, don’t panic. I’ll help search. We’ll find him.

“If we look on the bright side, maybe the manor servants took him back.”

The village head sighed, because he wanted to believe that, but he knew how thin the hope was.

A Yan was not valued. At the manor, he was kept alive—nothing more. Half a month ago he’d stayed in the village for four or five days before anyone came, and that was only because someone reminded the servants.

With a storm like this, who would come looking?

“I’ll search too,” Shen Tang said.

Qi Shan cut her a look. “No. Look at the weather.”

“I’m not going to get lost,” Shen Tang shot back. “And it’s better than making villagers stumble around in the dark.”

The village head reluctantly lent her a raincoat and hat, and then, still uneasy, pressed a woodcutting knife into her hands. “If you run into trouble… at least you’ll have something.”

They split up.

Mud sucked at Shen Tang’s feet. Puddles hid in the dark. By the time she’d searched the fields near the village, her hems were splattered filthy—and she still hadn’t seen a trace of A Yan.

The villagers had no luck either.

The longer it went, the more despair crept in.

Qi Shan asked where the manor was. Even if the chance was small, he needed to check.

“I’ll go,” Shen Tang said.

The village head bowed, grateful. “Then I’ll trouble you both.”

As other villagers searched toward the mountains—the place where previous children had been taken—Qi Shan and Shen Tang set off down a muddy path.

Shen Tang huddled under her raincoat, shivering with the cold cling of wet fabric. “Word-spirit are supposed to be magical. Why don’t they have a ‘stay dry’ function?”

“Maybe some do,” Qi Shan said. “There are countless word-spirit.”

He paused, then added, “Even if one exists, it doesn’t mean anyone can use it. If you want to stay dry, wear more rain gear.”

Shen Tang panted as she jogged to keep up. “Then what about a light source that doesn’t get soaked? Marching in rain, walking at night—it would help.”

Qi Shan didn’t answer.

After about half an hour, they reached the manor.

A low wall enclosed the compound. Dark tiles and pale walls loomed in the storm. No lights. No sound. From a distance it looked like some crouched beast, holding its breath.

Shen Tang stepped forward and knocked.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lightning leaped through the clouds, lighting half the sky, and thunder hit right after. She raised her fist and hammered harder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

At last, an annoyed male voice answered from inside. “Who is it, knocking like that?”

The gate opened.

A middle-aged man stood there in a short brown robe and headscarf. He looked irritated at being dragged from sleep, but when he saw they were young—one taller, one shorter—his face smoothed into something closer to politeness.

“And you two are?”

“We’re travelers lodging in Qian Jia Village,” Shen Tang said. “The village head said a child named A Yan is from this manor. He was playing in the village today and didn’t go back. He went missing not long ago.

“The village head is afraid he was taken by a tiger. Everyone is searching.”

The man’s shoulders eased. “Oh. A Yan has already been brought back. Thank you for worrying.”

Brought back?

Shen Tang’s eyes narrowed slightly beneath the brim of her hat. She let her expression settle again.

Qi Shan clasped his hands politely. “We’re relieved the young lord is safe. But the road is narrow and it’s dark, and the storm is fierce. Could we shelter here for a moment, just until the rain calms?”

The man hesitated—briefly—but stepped aside. “You ran through the rain for the child’s sake. If you’re only sheltering, of course.

“It’s just very late. The servants are asleep. We can’t host you properly. Please forgive us.”

“No need,” Qi Shan said. “A roof is enough.”

They followed him inside the Little Academy.

Trees stood in the courtyard. A rope for drying clothes was strung between trunks, and garments hung there—seven or eight sets of a lord’s clothes, and one patched child’s outfit, washed so many times the color had nearly bled away.

Shen Tang’s gaze flicked over it, then slid away as if she’d seen nothing at all.