The livestream image jolted.
For some reason, the cameraman suddenly swung the camera aside.
The shot that had been following Pei Yubai abruptly turned toward the Tree of Fate.
Its enormous crown looked like an open umbrella in the orange-red light. Red cords hung all over the tree, swaying gently when the wind blew.
Layers of branches split into countless twigs, reaching into the night sky.
Someone sat on one of those branches.
Dark red robes, long silver hair.
He leaned against the branch, one leg bent with his foot planted on it, the other dangling and swinging in midair.
His posture was languid, as though he were reclining in his own courtyard to enjoy the cool air.
He held something in his hand, though it was impossible to make out what. He looked down at it, his silver hair falling to hide half his face.
Light from the sky lanterns shone up from below, outlining him in soft yet distinct lines.
His dark red robes fluttered slightly in the wind, as did his silver hair, as though he might be carried away at any moment.
Then he raised his head.
As though sensing the camera, he looked straight toward it.
In that instant, everyone in the livestream saw his face clearly.
A high brow ridge, upturned eyes that seemed veiled in a thin mist.
His skin was almost translucently pale, his lips nearly colorless. Silver hair spilled over his dark red clothes, and with the light shining from below, he looked as though he had stepped out of a painting, or descended from the heavens.
Not a human. An immortal. A wisp of spirit born of this mountain, this tree, this night.
After a brief silence, the bullet comments exploded.
[Qiguan Yuan!!!! Aaaaaah!!!!]
[Why is he up in the tree!!!]
[What kind of heavenly shot is this]
[I took a screenshot I took a screenshot I took a screenshot]
[He's sitting in a tree watching the lanterns, and I'm watching him on my phone]
[I'll remember this shot for the rest of my life]
[That's Yue Lao himself, right? That's literally Yue Lao, right?]
[He looked over he's looking at the camera]
The cameraman's hand shook, and the image shook with it.
Then, as though feeling guilty, he moved the camera away and pointed it back toward the departing guests.
Only the moon gate and Pei Yubai's retreating figure remained in the shot. His white long gown flickered in the light before disappearing behind the gate.
The bullet comments were still going wild.
[Cameraman what are you doing!!!]
[Turn back turn back turn back, don't make me beg!]
[I want to see the beauty I want to see the beauty]
[Pei Yubai left, but Qiguan Yuan is still in the tree]
[Cameraman are you scared the beauty's looks will slay you]
Up in the tree, Qiguan Yuan watched the camera turn away without saying anything.
He withdrew his gaze from the moon gate and looked down at what he held.
It was a marriage lot, its edges worn smooth.
Three characters were written on its face.
He gently rubbed his thumb over the surface, then tucked the lot into his sleeve.
"Qiguan Yuan."
A voice came from beneath the tree.
Qiguan Yuan lowered his head and looked down.
The monk stood beneath the tree, looking up at him. His red robes looked dark in the light, his bald head reflected it, and his expression was a little helpless.
Qiguan Yuan gave a languid "Hm?" with a rising lilt.
The monk glanced at the branch he was sitting on, then at the slight curve where his weight bent it, and sighed.
"Even if the Yue Lao Temple is yours, this Tree of Fate can't take that sort of abuse. Don't snap a branch. It's very hard to prune, you know. It takes a lot of work on my part."
Qiguan Yuan looked down at the branch beneath him, then at the monk's expression.
The corner of his mouth moved-not quite a smile, just a slight curve.
Without speaking, he pushed against the branch and flipped down from the tree.
He moved quickly, but landed softly, like a cat jumping off a wall. Even his robes barely stirred.
He straightened and walked around to the other side of the Tree of Fate. More red cords hung on this side, packed so closely together that they rustled whenever the wind blew.
He took the marriage lot from his sleeve and tied it to the nearest branch.
His movements were slow. After tying it, he tugged on it to make sure it was secure.
As he tied the lot, several worshippers stood nearby beneath the tree.
Seeing his face, they all smiled and greeted him warmly.
"Mr. Qiguan."
Qiguan Yuan turned, glanced at them, and nodded.
It was a small gesture, but natural, as though he had done it many times before.
"Here to pray for a match?"
The worshipper who had greeted him was a middle-aged woman in the dark clothing of the locals, holding a vermilion brush and a lot.
She shook her head and said with a smile, "Not for a match. I reckoned it was about time for you to come up the mountain, so I came to have you interpret my lot."
Qiguan Yuan said, "Oh," and glanced down at the lot in her hand. There was writing on it, too indistinct to read, but he did not ask what it said.
"The usual rules for interpreting lots. Come find me tomorrow. It's late. Go back and rest."
His tone was neither warm nor cold, but the middle-aged woman was visibly pleased to have his assurance, and her smile grew.
She nodded repeatedly, put away her lot, and turned to leave. After a few steps, she looked back and waved with a smile.
Qiguan Yuan did not look at her, instead lowering his head to straighten his cuffs.
The monk came over and stood beside him. Shoulder to shoulder beneath the Tree of Fate, one bald and dressed in red, the other silver-haired and dressed in red, they looked as though they had always belonged in this painting, beneath the tree full of red cords and the sky full of lanterns.
The monk spoke first.
"Why so early this year? You usually come a few days later."
Qiguan Yuan finished straightening his cuffs, raised his head, and looked at the sky lanterns.
One lantern was rising from behind the tree. Its orange-red light swept over his face, then moved away.
"I encountered some things I couldn't make sense of, so I went looking for answers. It was almost time anyway, so I came up early."
He spoke very softly, as though discussing something unimportant.
The monk glanced at him. He did not ask what those things were, or whether he had found his answers.
He merely nodded, then looked away, also watching the lanterns in the sky. "The courtyard you usually stay in has been tidied up. Since you'll be interpreting lots tomorrow, get to bed early."
Qiguan Yuan did not reply.
He stood there for a while. The wind blew, lifting his silver hair and tangling it in a red cord beside him.
He reached up and freed his hair from the cord, his movements gentle and unhurried.
Once he had untangled it, he turned and headed toward the temple entrance.
After two steps, he stopped and turned his head toward the moon gate.
Beyond the moon gate was the courtyard where the guests were staying. Lights shone inside, and Shen Yuzhou's voice was faintly audible, though he was too far away to make out the words.
Qiguan Yuan watched for two seconds, then turned back and continued walking.
The monk stayed where he was, watching him go. His dark red robes slowly receded in the light, passing through the moon gate and the covered walkway before disappearing behind the temple entrance.
The monk withdrew his gaze and looked up at the sky lanterns.
The lanterns had scattered, no longer as dense as before, drifting sparsely through the night sky. Some had floated so high that it was impossible to tell whether they were lanterns or stars.
He lowered his head, pressed his palms together, and softly recited something. His voice was very quiet, scattered by the wind.
The bullet comments kept streaming past. Although the shot had already returned to the guests on their way to the rear courtyard, the discussion had lost none of its fervor.
On the livestream, the guests had reached the rear courtyard. Shen Yuzhou stood before a wooden door, studying its lock.
Cheng Yanqiu stood beside him, rolled her eyes, and reached out to push the lock aside. It had not been locked at all.
Shen Yuzhou said, "Oh," and pushed the door open to go inside.
Pei Yubai brought up the rear. He went around the communal sleeping quarters, walked some distance, and stopped at the entrance to his private courtyard. He pushed the door open, went inside, and shut it behind him.
The sound of the door closing was not loud, but it was clear in the quiet courtyard.
The bell of the Yue Lao Temple rang.
The sound was low and muted, emerging from the temple and slowly spreading through the mountains. The bell rang again and again, unhurried, as though someone were offering a reminder.
The sky lanterns were still drifting. As the last lantern rose, the red silk hanging beneath it caught on a branch in the wind and did not float away.
The red silk slowly turned in the wind, winding around once, then again, binding the branch and the red cords together.
No one remained in the clearing beneath the tree. The vermilion brushes still lay on the long table, the cinnabar on their tips already dry, a dark red.
A few marriage lots remained on the table, flipping back and forth in the wind with a clatter.
The monk had left at some point.
The clearing was still and quiet, with only the tree full of red cords swaying gently in the wind.