At seven in the morning, roughly three-fifths of Kuo City's residents would normally still be in bed. Some were shopkeepers who did not open until eight, some lived off renting out houses or land inherited from their ancestors, some were freelancers, and some were men and women afflicted with congenital bed-clinging syndrome or the late-night drinking variety. In short, the people most often seen at this hour were hardworking farmers, street cleaners, and the like.
Today, however, on this special day, all those people made a rare appearance. Though they had not suddenly seen the light, the intense festive atmosphere was enough to wake them and coax them out of bed. They washed, groomed themselves, put on their cleanest clothes, and headed out to join a celebration they could not afford to miss in their lifetime.
All of Kuo City came alive that day. The streets bustled with people, the crowds outnumbering the trees in the scenery around them. They were heading nowhere other than the city's eastern district, where the celebration's opening performance would take place.
The entire day's festivities revolved around this crucial morning moment, making the importance of the performance plain to see. Not the slightest mistake could be allowed. Both the performers and the venue had been brought to their best through overtime work the previous night. Every artist focused intently, holding their breath as they awaited this moment. For them, it was a chance to prove their worth; for some of the minor performers with lofty ambitions, it was a crucial chance to spread their wings. Yet among them was one person who felt neither concern nor anticipation, only an unexpected calm that seemed wholly out of place, as incongruous as a drunk who had wandered into a horse ranch.
Fortunately, no one noticed. Even