The Shrine
on the Outskirts

Evening settled softly over the outskirts of Kaifeng, where the noise of the markets thinned into wind and distant river-song.

Beyond a narrow dirt path half-claimed by weeds stood a shrine so modest it might have been mistaken for a woodcutter's shed. Its tiled roof sagged slightly with age. Faded red ribbons clung to the eaves, their color leeched pale by seasons of sun and rain. A pair of stone lanterns flanked the entrance - short, worn smooth, and freckled with lichen. Behind the shrine, bamboo leaned close.

Haoran approached without hurry.

His boots brushed the grass aside in lazy strokes, the hem of his dark outer robe whispering around his calves. A charcoal scarf rested loose at his neck, one end stirring in the breeze.

The last of the daylight caught on the polished edge of the sword at his hip. He paused a few paces from the shrine. Dark eyes lifted first to the roofline, then to the doorway.

A faint click of his tongue broke the quiet. "Still standing." he murmured, almost pleased. He adjusted the leather bracer at his wrist, tightening it a fraction, then stepped forward onto the worn stone threshold. The wood beneath his boot creaked in quiet protest.

Inside, the shrine's single altar was simple: an incense bowl crowded with ash, a small weathered statue barely discernible in the dimness, and offerings long since dried to husks. A thin ribbon of old smoke clung stubbornly to the beams overhead.

He listened to the wind in the bamboo, to the insects beginning their evening chorus, to the vast and patient silence between those sounds. Waiting.

For what, or who, he didn't know.

The visitor listened to the wind in the bamboo, to the insects beginning their evening chorus, to the vast and patient silence between those sounds, only broken by a small, young and teasing voice nagging him from a dark corner of the decayed shrine.

"Hush! Of course, I'm still standing,
I'm not that old, nor dead yet!
Besides, it's just a scratch, bleeding,
There is no need to fret..."

As the man's eyes would became accustomed to the changing light and ambient obscurity, the silhouette of a woman would slowly became discernible. The last fainted rays of light were seeping through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating there a shiny hair ornament, there a bare shoulder, there a leg and some more skin tainted with red drips, and some discarded clothes or travel bags arranged in a makeshift bed.

"Hem... Some privacy, please?" she asked politely. "Otherwise, I'll have to charge you a few taels for the view."

The sound of that voice - light, unbothered, irritatingly alive - slid through the hush of the shrine and caught him square between the shoulders. Slowly, he turned and spotted a woman. Dark eyes cut toward the shadowed corner she occupied, like she had claimed the place as her own personal nest. A breath left him through his nose.

Then he scoffed. "Oh, sorry," Haoran said dryly. "Didn't realize this shrine's turned into a changing room." His gaze flicked pointedly to the scattered clothes, the makeshift bedding, the general state of occupation. "Or a shelter for the homeless." Yes. He absolutely meant it. One brow lifted as he shifted his weight back onto his rear foot, posture loose, hand still resting lazily near his hip. "Taels for the view?" he echoed, faint amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. "You're optimistic." A pause. "So, are you casually bleeding on holy ground, or is this part of the shrine's new aesthetic?"

"Then next time, you'll knock or announce yourself before entering a room!
Who know what danger in the darkness awaits?
And for your information, isn't a shrine a shelter for every soul?
For the rich, the poor, the brave and the one without goal?
What more precious offering can I give
Other than the liquid that makes me live?"

She ostensibly ignored his presence and gaze, rather focusing in making an improvised bandage around her leg with the sleeve of her white shirt.

"... So... Have you made up your mind or what? If you're not going to help, better keep your mouth shut!"

Haoran stared at her. Just stared. For a long, suffering second. Then he groaned.

"Ugh. Of course." he muttered, rolling his eyes skyward. "I had to find the one who recites poetry and shit." His head tipped back down toward her, expression pinched somewhere between disbelief and regret for every life choice that had led him here. He spread his arms wide in an exaggerated, helpless gesture. "Help with what? I've got no idea how to bandage you," he added, "If that's what you're after, you should know right now--you're scraping the bottom of the barrel." His hands dropped back to his sides.

"So if you're going to ask for my help..." Haoran went on dryly, "be very aware of what you're getting yourself into. I can try."

"Lao Tian Ye! What kind of lout did you sent me? It that all I deserve for my prayers?" she complained to the skies -or here, the ceiling-. "It is because I ate all the offerings?"

Exhaling deeply, she eventually turned her face to the bottom-of-the-barrel incarnation, revealing her half-masked face and two-tone eyes which run on his body from top to bottom, several times.

"You'll do the job. Strip, please?" she commanded, her eyes still on him.
"Start with the top. Quick, before I freeze?"

Haoran squinted at her. Hard. Like if he narrowed his eyes enough, the situation would rearrange itself into something sensible. It did not. "I've never heard the 'strip' command delivered that fast," he said flatly. "Twenty-second speech. New record."

His gaze flicked up toward the ceiling briefly, as if silently asking the same heavens she had just accused. Then it hit him. Or rather... didn't. His brows pulled together. He pointed at her. Then at himself. Then back at her again.

"Wait. Wait -- what do you mean?" he demanded, suddenly far less composed. "Do you want me to strip you or should I strip myself?"

He could not believe he had just said that out loud. A slow blink. "…I cannot believe I am even asking that." he muttered under his breath.

"... What?" she let out, stunned by the question. "What do you mean, you or me? Isn't it obvious? I do cannot believe you are even asking! Oh, dear gods... Is that a savior or another punishment you sent me? Now, I'm not sure anymore... I miss you so much Dao-ge... You at least, would have acted like a real man in such situation" she lamented, shaking her head. "I guess I'll die here tonight, while this stupid monkey learns the basics of life..."

She let her head rest backward against the wooden pillar she was leaning against, eyes closed.

"Take your time, I'm not moving from here..." she added with a hint of irony.

Haoran stared at her. Seconds passed. He was still staring. More seconds passed. Still staring.

His brain visibly attempted to start, stalled, tried again, and quietly made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a wheeze. She lamented. She invoked the heavens. She compared him to someone else. She announced her imminent tragic demise. He continued to stare. Another few seconds.

"…So," he said at last. A pause. "So what do I do?"

She let out a long, so long sigh that one could believe it was her last breath or that her soul was leaving her body.

"At least, you were honest when you depicted yourself as a bottom of a barrel. But... I...". Another sigh. "I'll try to be gentle. After all... Maybe it's your first time. Remove your top, please? Then... come closer? How am I suppose to get warmer if you stay foots from me?"

Haoran rolled his eyes so hard it was a small miracle they didn't fall out of his skull. "Oh please," he scoffed. "If you're trying to imply I'm some tragic untouched monk, you're aiming low and missing wide." A beat. "Also, bold words from someone bleeding in a shrine and negotiating for warmth with a stranger." He clicked his tongue, already reaching back.

"Unbelievable. I come here looking for answers, and instead I get emotional manipulation and my manliness questioned."

With exaggerated irritation, he unhooked his cape first, letting the dark fabric slide from his shoulders. Then followed the long, coat-like outer layer, shrugging it off until he was left in a simple long-sleeved shirt. He eyed the garments in his hands. "You even deserve this?" he muttered. "Questionable." Then, with a resigned sigh:" But I guess being kind to the demented counts as a good deed. Holy ground and all that."

He walked over, crouching, and draped the long coat around her first -- not exactly tender but not careless either. The cape followed, layered on top like an improvised blanket.

He adjusted one edge, then another, brow furrowed in concentration like this was advanced mathematics. "Don't get used to it," he added. "This is a limited-time charity program." Settling back on his heels, he glanced at her face.

Then, quieter, grumbling: "…You warmer?"

She turned her face away, hiding a blush creeping into her cheeks. Fortunately, she was in a dark corner. With the sun setting outside and her half-mask, it was barely noticeable. "Y-yeah. It's still all warm from your body. And... it has your scent too..." she answered softly, tugging the heavy coat around her before clearing her throat. "Hem! And it smells terrible! Like a boar who never washed! Yet, I'll endure it to do not freeze... What? What shall I do? Ask the gods for a lighting to strike this shrine and burn everything to the ground?

Oh, sure, I would not be cold anymore!
For my corpse would not be in danger!
It's way better than asking help from a stranger!
... ... Aaand don't come any closer
Or I'll have to charge you more!" she half-grumbled, half-sang.

Now, she was looking away, not from shyness but from pride or something, eyeing at him discreetly. "Hmpf." She tried to move a bit and grimaced.

"Hem.... Could you... Hmh! Could you... oh... check my... leg... and fix the bandage I made...? Buut don't look! Or I swear to this shrine's deities that you'll find your answers in Heavens! Why would someone come to such a decrepit place for that anyways...?"

Haoran scoffed, sharp and immediate. "That's the scent of someone who travels far and wide," he said dryly, "not someone who sits on their ass bleeding out in temples. Thank you very much."

A brief pause. He shot her a sideways look, unimpressed, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. When she grimaced and stammered out her request, he sighed like a man accepting a doomed fate. "Alright. Alright. Relax. I won't watch." He lifted one hand in a lazy oath.

He moved closer and knelt beside her, deliberately keeping his eyes angled up and away. Then, carefully, he reached for her leg. His fingers worked at the improvised bandage, loosening the knotted sleeve with cautious movements. He grimaced as soon as he felt the dampness.

"You're a disaster," Haoran said flatly. "You know that, right? But...Pretty sure your leg's still attached though, so congratulations. You're exceeding expectations."

At her last question, his hands slowed. The sarcasm faded - not entirely, but enough to notice. "…I hoped I'd find something," he said. "Or someone." He tugged the cloth tighter again, adjusting it more firmly this time. "Something to help me understand the meaning of… something I saw. Or dreamed. Or thought I dreamed." A quiet scoff, this one lacking humor. "Hell if I know. It's all a mess." He secured the knot and leaned back slightly. "Hard to sleep when your head keeps chewing on questions you don't even know how to ask."

"Oh.... I'm sorry, I'm a bit wet down there..." she teased when he got blood on his hands. ""And I'm not bleeding out!... Am I? I'm too young too die, I haven't even... Well... I-Ihhhshhhh-" she hissed, grimacing while he tighten the loose knot. She exhaled and relaxed, still shivering a bit under her borrowed blankets. "I prefer to be a disaster, than... than..."

She turned her head, looking at him again, lost at words.

"You sound like a drunkard to me
Mixing up dreams and reality!
... ... Well...if someone you want to meet...
... I'm not a ghost yet.
I can still listen to you, just a way to clear my debt.
.... Do you have something to eat?"

Slowly, she pulled her leg back under the coat.

"... Who are you anyway, a bandit? Coming in remote places for security?"

Haoran snorted. Actually snorted. His eyes flicked up toward her, a brow raised at her mention of dampness. "I'm sure you are. Not the first time I hear it either." he said with a hint of jokish nature.

He reached for his canister, uncorking it with his teeth before spitting the cap neatly into his palm. Tilting it, he poured a thin stream of water over the bloodied skin of her leg, washing away grime and darkened streaks with careful fingers.

"Relax." he muttered. "You're not bleeding out. If you were, you'd be a lot quieter. And significantly paler." He glanced at the wound again, brows knitting. "How did you even manage this?" he asked.

A moment of pause, then: "I'm not a drunkard. Sometimes I wish I was." He recorked the canister. "Would make it easier to justify what I saw."

His thumb wiped excess water from his fingers onto his sleeve. "As for who I am?" He tilted his head slightly, eyes shadowed by the low light. "I'm a perfect nobody."

Then he looked at her again, more directly this time. "And I could use your opinion, I suppose." A pause, as she withdrew the leg and pulled it into the comfort of the cat's warmth.

"What does it mean to have visions?" he asked. "Why do they exist in the first place? Why show someone something they don't understand?"

Now that she was bandaged, warm, reassured... almost pampered by that stranger, she allowed herself to rest. Her body perceptibly relaxed as she curled up in the warm cocoon of coat and garments. Her eyes slowly closed as she listen to the man's voice. The last lights were slowly disappearing, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

"Not the first time? Given what a boor you are, I would have thought that the only fluids you would have been capable of producing with women would have been tears... And... How I got injured trying to get a treasure is none of your business! As if I would tell you such secret, do you think I'm dumb?"

She stayed silent for a long time after her last taunt. Did she felt asleep or did she realized she said too much? But from her slightly parted lips, in the renew silence, a soft humming could be heard. "Laobo. Could you lit some candles, maybe? I... It would warm us a bit and... ward off... ghosts... Especially if you do see weird things. Maybe you should quit sniffing Five Minerals Powder...?"

Haoran raised a brow at her remark, a faint, crooked smirk tugging at his mouth. "Tears too, admittedly." he said dryly, though the words carried a brief shadow of memory he did not linger on. He waved it off almost immediately. "But that's a minority."

When she called him laobo, his eyes rolled with theatrical exaggeration. "Did you mistake me for a house servant?" he asked sharply. "Because you seem very comfortable issuing orders for someone wrapped in my clothes. When exactly will you be done bossing me around with a thousand requests?"

Despite the complaints, he moved about the shrine, gathering what candle stubs he could salvage from dusty corners and the altar. With flint, patience, and a few muttered curses, he coaxed small flames to life, one after another, until the dim interior softened into a trembling amber glow. The light carved warmer lines along the worn wood and old stone, pushing the deeper shadows back just enough.

At her mention of powder, he exhaled through his nose. "Yes, I sniffed some." he admitted, his tone casual but not dismissive. "Once." He adjusted one candle's position so the wax would not spill too quickly.

"But I don't believe it was just that. It didn't feel like nonsense. It didn't behave like nonsense." His gaze lingered on the flickering flames before shifting back toward her. "There was something in it. A meaning. I can't explain it, but I can't ignore it either. If I wanted meaningless visions, I'd gamble more often. At least that kind of madness occasionally pays."

"A house servant? Don't be so full of yourself, I wouldn't even have you as a slave nor a pet!" she scoffed. "Please, could you now grab my journal in my bag? You'll find a quill and a vial of ink also. And my guqin" she continued to command, yet with a softer tone. "The instrument wrapped in the linen there" she found useful to clarify, in case he was uneducated to the point of not knowing what it was. What was that woman doing in a place like that? She certainly wasn't just a homeless wanderer. Her dyed hair was too neatly combed and her skin was too smooth, smelling of plum blossom now that the metallic scent had washed away.

"Also... You'll find a small gourd of wine. ... You can have some. Just a sip though! Don't you dare empty my Parting Tears or I'll sacrifice you on the altar, I swear! Maybe it will help clarify your mind a bit. What you are saying looks like nonsense to me. It's confused gibberish. Come closer and sit here instead of getting so worked up, you'll attract yaoguai if you continue... Were you awake or asleep when you... huuh... saw things?" she asked, still following him with her curious gaze.

Haoran let out a short, humorless laugh, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at her. "Wow," he said dryly. "So many compliments in one breath. I'm flattered. Truly."

He turned toward her bag anyway, crouching beside it and rummaging through with only minimal commentary under his breath. A moment later, he emerged with the journal, the quill, and the small vial of ink, setting them carefully within her reach. He retrieved the guqin next, still wrapped in its linen, before placing it beside the other items. As he did, his eyes lingered on her with the intent to study the girl and understand something more about her.

She didn't look like she belonged here. Not like the beggars, not like the desperate, not like the half-dead fools who crawled into forgotten shrines to wait for fate to make up its mind. Her skin was too smooth, her hair too neatly tended. If anything, she seemed far more out of place than he was.

Haoran exhaled softly and, after a brief internal debate, dragged himself a little closer and sat near her. In the weak candlelight, the mixed blood in his features was more apparent; the naturally darker tone of his skin setting him apart from most men of China.

He placed the small gourd of wine beside her, untouched. "As tempting as that is," he said, "I should refrain." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "If I take one sip, I won't stop. No matter how creative your threats become." He sighed, running a hand back through his dark hair.

"I was awake," Haoran said simply. Not joking now. "Wide awake."

"Mhph! .... Thank you... ... Shushu Nobody" she eventually let out, as if being nice was burning her throat. Yet, she seemed sincere. Emerging out of her nest, she took his coat and wrapped it correctly around her shoulders and body, briefly displaying her undergarment in the process. She seems so little in his warm, big clothes! Little.... and more serene now that was able to graze the guqin's strings with her left hand, while she was scribbling something on the journal she had put on her lap, her eyes going back and forth between the page and his face.

"... ... Wow. That's a moving story!" she couldn't help but mock. "Are you sure you don't want a sip to loosen your tongue? Don't be shy, I won't judge you. I already did! You cannot look any more foolish, so feel free to tale your mysterious story!"

She grinned, yet her eyes were displaying a hint of curiosity.

"In a lost shrine, by the sunset
Two wild souls, by sheer luck, met.
Under the moon, with ghosts around
After he tended to her wound
Will the traveler sing to my song?
Let your voice be tonight's sound."

Haoran's eyes narrowed - slowly, deliberately - dark gaze sharpening as the mockery continued to nibble at the thin patience he had left. The uncertainty he carried, the restless edge that had driven him here in the first place, did not mix well with being made into a punchline.

"I won't disclose my story," he said at last, voice low and stripped of its earlier playfulness, "to someone who says I could not look more foolish than this."

His gaze flicked briefly to the way his coat dwarfed her smaller frame, to the journal in her lap, to the strings beneath her fingers. Then back to her face.

"So get warm quickly," he continued evenly. "I should take my clothes back and carry on with my journey."

The candles crackled faintly between them. For a moment, he looked almost tired rather than angry, like a man who had come seeking clarity and found only another mirror that laughed at him.

An off-tuned note echoed in the shrine. The young woman froze when she heard his last sentence and stop playing the little melody she had started. She stayed silent for a moment, then, slowly, took off his coat, handing it back with a shiver. From her lips, cold words fled, yet, her gaze was warm when she looked at him, almost... pitifully?

"... But what do you care?
Either warm or cold, you came to this lair
Looking for answers, with sacred prayers,
Still hoping to find the source of your mare.
And yet, here you are, so afraid to share
The weights on your mind, afraid of my stare?
My words may be harsh, I can be unfair
But the foolish one, if we must compare
Is the one who, of being judged, is scared."

Finishing her song, she put the coat down, the weight of it being too much to be kept at arm's length. She grabbed her gourd, uncorked it and slowly enjoyed a very small sip, a few drops moistening her lips.

"If you don't want to rock me with your stories... I guess I'll make my own.".

She closed her eyes, drifting in some rest or reminiscences of her past.

"Whether you stay or go, please close the door,
Wind blows dust and dirt on the floor."

Haoran did not answer her poem. Not a single word. Whatever patience he had scraped together over the course of the day finally ran out.

The way she looked at him almost with pity was intollerable for him.

He stepped forward, picked his coat up from where she had left it, and slipped it back over his shoulders in one smooth, practiced motion. The familiar weight settled against his frame like a quiet reclamation of himself.

His jaw was set. His eyes did not linger on her face. He turned toward the shrine's entrance.

"Have fun." He said, before he walked out. The door was left exactly as it was. Open. Letting the wind carry in dust.

"... Sure will" she answered as he left, pulling the guqin on her lap to resume her melody she was improvising, before finding a famous melody beneath her fingers. The music echoed in the room, maybe even outside for a few tens of seconds before silence felt down again on the shrine.

"... What was that? Storming inside the place, exchanging taunts and leaving like a coward?
He doesn't seem used to people being froward.
But who cares? Not me, obviously!
I'm not going out in the night, dressed inappropriately!"

She resumed her practice, still talking to herself out loud.

"Such a boor! He reminds me of you, Dao-ge...
"Being proud of himself, like a dog, young and stray...
He wanted to leave, I couldn't make him stay!
...Oh snap! I forgot to make him pay!"

Looking at the door, opened, she waited. Was she expecting to see him coming back, excusing himself? Was she pondering whether she should leave the relative comfort of her shelter? "...Who cares? Not me, absolutely" she grumbled, putting her instrument away.

Fifteen minutes later, the shrine was again filled with silence and darkness, all candles blown out. In the door frame, a small silhouette carrying a large bag was inspecting the surroundings. "...Ghosts aren't real, they are stories to frighten children. Ghosts aren't real..." she whispered.

"Where the goose did he go? I swear, if I catch a cold or worse,
He'll listen to my verses until he feels remorses!"