Year 53 of the Firefolk Era, the spring equinox.
The rain came to Ruin Abyss Alley without a sound.
Fine as silk, like stitches mending the night, it fell softly on the flagstones, on the tiles beneath the eaves, and on the old broom beside the well.
Since Sparks Enter the Alley on the night of the Double Seventh Festival, no one had picked up that broom again.
A Zhou had leaned it against the ancient well as though settling an old friend into place. The iron strip at its tail still bore traces of the sparks that had splashed onto it that night, dimmed now, but not cold. Its bamboo twigs had aged and some had splayed apart, like an old man's outstretched fingers, yet they still stubbornly held together.
People passing through the alley always gave it an extra glance.
Someone set a bowl of hot porridge beside it and said, "Brother A Zhou's broom must be hungry too."
Someone hung a little lamp and said, "To light the broom's way."
A child crouched down and touched the iron strip at its tail with a small hand. "Can it really make fire?"
No one moved it.
They only watched over it.
The spring rain fell for seven days straight.
On the morning of the eighth day, it stopped.
Something suddenly stirred beside the well.
A tender shoot emerged from a crack in the broom's bamboo handle, fine as a hair and green as firefly light, yet standing stubbornly upright. It held a dewdrop and swayed gently in the morning light.
The people of the alley noticed it in astonishment and gathered around the well.
"Is this... is this a miracle?"
"The broom... sprouted?"
"A Zhou's broom has become a spirit?"
Su Li came upon hearing the news. She