Chapter 2: Threads Converge
The Celestial Blessing Festival had transformed Xianzhou into something from a fever dream. Red lanterns bobbed like drops of blood against the night sky, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims and merchants. The air thrummed with life—children shrieking with delight as they chased paper dragons, vendors hawking everything from candied lotus seeds to blessed amulets, musicians playing traditional melodies that competed with the constant pop and crackle of firecrackers.
It was exactly the kind of chaos Devran had spent most of his adult life avoiding.
He shouldered through the crowd with the grim determination of a man heading to his own execution, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened with each burst of laughter, each family group huddled together around steaming bowls of noodles. The festival was supposed to celebrate the moment when heaven touched earth, when mortals could petition the gods for blessings and forgiveness.
What a joke.
If the gods were listening, they had a sick sense of humor. Why else would they keep putting him in situations that reminded him of everything he'd lost?
A string of firecrackers exploded nearby, the sharp cracks making him flinch despite himself. His hand moved instinctively to his sword hilt—old reflexes die hard—before he caught himself. Just festival noise. Just celebration.
Just memories of other explosions, other fires, other nights when the sky had burned.
He forced his breathing to steady and pushed deeper into the crowd, following the scent of roasted meat toward the food stalls. His stomach had been gnawing at itself for hours, but he'd been putting off eating, reluctant to wade into the festival atmosphere. Now hunger was winning over antisocial tendencies.
The vendor's stall was doing brisk business, smoke rising from sizzling skewers of beef and chicken glazed with honey and five-spice. Devran's mouth watered despite his mood. He'd been living on trail rations and whatever he could forage for weeks. Real food, hot food, felt like a luxury he'd almost forgotten.
He was reaching for his coin purse when someone slammed into him from behind.
Hard.
Devran stumbled forward, catching himself against the vendor's table. Hot oil splattered, hissing against the wooden surface. The vendor cursed colorfully in three different dialects.
"Ugh! Can't you watch where you're going, you clumsy oaf?"
The voice was like winter wind through mountain passes—cold, sharp, and instantly recognizable. Devran's jaw clenched as he turned around.
Of course.
Tianlan stood behind him, brushing at his pristine white robes as if Devran had somehow contaminated them through proximity. Even in the warm glow of the festival lanterns, he looked carved from ice and moonlight. His dark hair was swept back in an elaborate style held by silver pins that probably cost more than most people made in a year. Everything about him screamed wealth, privilege, and complete disdain for anyone beneath his social station.
Which, apparently, included everyone.
"You," Devran said flatly. "Wonderful. Just what I needed to ruin my evening."
Tianlan's pale eyes narrowed as they swept over Devran's travel-stained clothes and roughly tied hair. "Still wandering around like a wild dog, I see. Haven't learned basic social graces? Or perhaps your parents never taught you to walk without colliding into your betters?"
The casual cruelty in his tone made something hot and ugly unfurl in Devran's chest. He'd dealt with plenty of aristocrats over the years—spoiled lords' sons who thought their birth made them superior to everyone else. But there was something about Tianlan's particular brand of cold arrogance that got under his skin like splinters.
"My parents are dead," Devran said quietly. "But thanks for bringing them up."
For just a moment, something flickered across Tianlan's perfect features. Surprise, maybe. Or the faintest shadow of regret. But it was gone so quickly Devran might have imagined it.
"My condolences," Tianlan said, his tone suggesting the opposite. "Perhaps if they'd lived longer, they could have taught you some manners."
Devran's hands clenched into fists. Around them, the festival continued—laughter and music and the smell of spiced wine—but he felt suddenly isolated, as if he and Tianlan were locked in their own private bubble of mutual hostility.
"At least I earned my place in the world," Devran shot back. "Instead of having daddy's money smooth the way for me."
Tianlan's composure cracked slightly, a flush of color appearing high on his pale cheekbones. "You know nothing about my life."
"I know enough. Rich merchant's son playing at being important. Bet you've never worked a day in your life, never had to choose between food and shelter, never—"
"Enough."
The word cut through the air like a blade. Tianlan had gone completely still, and there was something in his eyes now that made Devran's instincts prickle with warning. Not just anger—something deeper, more dangerous.
"You think you understand me?" Tianlan continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "You think wealth makes life simple? Makes everything easy?"
There was pain buried in those words, hidden beneath layers of ice and pride. For a heartbeat, Devran caught a glimpse of something fragile behind Tianlan's perfect mask.
Then the moment shattered.
"Ah, fate must be having quite the laugh tonight!"
Both men turned to find Saanvi approaching through the crowd, her arms full of festival treats and a knowing smile playing at her lips. She wore robes of deep blue silk embroidered with silver stars, and her hair was adorned with small charms that chimed softly as she moved. Even in the chaos of the festival, she seemed to glide rather than walk, untouched by the pressing crowd.
"The mysterious lady from the tea house," Devran said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. There was something about Saanvi that felt safe, calming. Like finding shelter in a storm.
"Still following us around?" Tianlan asked, but his tone had lost its sharp edge.
Saanvi laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Following you? My dear boys, this is my home. You're the ones who keep appearing in my path." She gestured at the space between them with a candied apple. "Still at each other's throats, I see."
"We are not together," they said in perfect unison, then glared at each other for the synchronicity.
Saanvi's smile widened. "Of course not. Just two complete strangers who happen to keep bumping into each other. The gods do love their little coincidences."
"I don't believe in coincidences," Tianlan said stiffly.
"Or gods," Devran added.
"How wonderfully cynical," Saanvi said cheerfully. "And yet here you are, at a festival celebrating divine blessing, in a city known for miraculous encounters. Either you're both terrible at avoiding things you don't believe in, or..."
She let the sentence hang, still smiling that mysterious smile.
"Or what?" Devran demanded.
"Or maybe what you believe doesn't matter as much as what believes in you."
Before either man could ask what that meant, she was already moving away, disappearing into the crowd with that same effortless grace. But her laughter lingered, and with it, the uncomfortable feeling that she knew something they didn't.
Something important.
---
On the other side of the festival grounds, Prince Wei Zhan stood like a statue in the middle of chaos, his dark robes a sharp contrast to the colorful celebration around him. His jaw was set in the expression his tutors had always called "royal displeasure"—the look that made servants scurry and courtiers bow deeper.
He hated festivals. Hated the noise, the crowds, the forced merriment. Hated the way people looked at him, either with fawning adoration or calculating interest. Most of all, he hated that he was required to attend, to smile and wave and pretend he gave a damn about divine blessings when his own prayers had gone unanswered for years.
But duty was duty, even when it felt like wearing shoes made of broken glass.
He'd managed to find a relatively quiet corner near the temple steps, away from the worst of the crowd. From here, he could observe without being observed, fulfill his obligation to "show the royal presence" without actually having to interact with anyone.
Perfect.
"Your Highness."
Wei Zhan's perfect solitude evaporated like morning mist. He turned to see Xie Lian approaching with that same measured stride he used in the palace corridors—each step precise, purposeful, utterly professional.
His new bodyguard cut an impressive figure even in civilian clothes. The formal court robes he wore were impeccably tailored, dark blue silk with silver embroidery that caught the lantern light. His hair was pulled back in the severe style favored by the imperial guard, not a strand out of place. Everything about him radiated competence and control.
It was irritating as hell.
"I told you to stay at the palace," Wei Zhan said without turning around.
"And I told you that I go where you go, Your Highness. Those were the Emperor's explicit orders."
Xie Lian came to stand beside him, close enough to intervene if necessary but far enough to maintain proper protocol. His dark eyes swept the crowd with the systematic efficiency of someone trained to spot threats in any environment.
"You could have at least worn something less... conspicuous," Wei Zhan muttered.
"I am dressed appropriately for a public function, Your Highness. Unlike some people."
Wei Zhan glanced down at his own clothes—simple black robes, minimal ornamentation, nothing that screamed "royalty" to casual observers. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"You're trying to blend in. That's not appropriate behavior for a crown prince."
"Says who?"
"Protocol. Tradition. Common sense."
Xie Lian's tone was perfectly neutral, but Wei Zhan could hear the disapproval underneath. It was the same tone his tutors had used when correcting his posture or his penmanship—polite, professional, and completely inflexible.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion on my wardrobe," Wei Zhan said coldly.
"You didn't need to ask, Your Highness. It's my job to ensure you conduct yourself in a manner befitting your station."
"Your job is to keep me alive. Not to lecture me about fashion."
"The two are often related, Your Highness."
Wei Zhan turned to stare at him. "Excuse me?"
Xie Lian's expression didn't change. "A prince who fails to maintain proper dignity invites disrespect. Disrespect leads to challenges. Challenges can become threats. Therefore, proper conduct is a security issue."
The logic was flawless and completely infuriating. Wei Zhan had dealt with plenty of bodyguards over the years—some obsequious, some intimidating, some simply invisible. But he'd never had one who treated royal protocol like military strategy.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said.
"With respect, Your Highness, your previous guards might disagree. If they were still employed."
The words were delivered without inflection, but the implication was clear. Wei Zhan's track record with bodyguards was... problematic. Most lasted a few months before requesting reassignment or simply disappearing in the middle of the night.
He'd thought that was a feature, not a bug.
"Are you threatening me?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"I'm stating facts, Your Highness. I was hired because your father believes you need someone who won't be easily dismissed or intimidated."
"And you think that's you?"
"I know it is, Your Highness."
There was no arrogance in the statement, no bravado. Just quiet, absolute certainty. It reminded Wei Zhan of the way career soldiers spoke about their duties—matter-of-fact acceptance of responsibility that couldn't be argued with or reasoned away.
"We'll see," Wei Zhan said finally.
They stood in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, watching the festival flow around them like a river around stones. Children ran past clutching paper toys, their parents calling after them with fond exasperation. Couples walked hand in hand, sharing candied fruit and quiet laughter. Elderly grandparents sat on temple steps, telling stories to wide-eyed grandchildren.
All the normal human connections that felt as foreign to Wei Zhan as flight.
"Do you have family?" he asked suddenly.
Xie Lian's head turned slightly. "Your Highness?"
"Family. Parents, siblings, children. People who matter to you."
"Why do you ask, Your Highness?"
"Answer the question."
For a moment, Xie Lian said nothing. Then: "I had a younger sister. She died three years ago."
The simple words carried a weight that made Wei Zhan's chest tight. He recognized that particular flavor of loss—the kind that never really healed, just learned to live with the scar tissue.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Another silence, less uncomfortable this time.
"Is that why you took this job?" Wei Zhan asked. "Because you understand duty to family?"
Xie Lian was quiet for so long that Wei Zhan thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.
"I took this job because the Emperor pays well and I have debts to settle. Nothing more."
The words were cold, professional. But Wei Zhan had spent years learning to read people—courtiers, rivals, potential allies. He knew the difference between truth and carefully constructed deflection.
Xie Lian was hiding something. Something that hurt.
"Your Highness."
Wei Zhan looked up to find Saanvi approaching through the crowd, her festival robes swirling around her like captured starlight. She moved with the same otherworldly grace he remembered from their few previous encounters, as if she existed slightly outside the normal flow of time and space.
"Miss Saanvi," he said, offering a formal nod. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"The Oracle Temple always participates in the Celestial Blessing Festival," she replied with a warm smile. "We provide fortune readings and spiritual guidance to festival-goers. It's quite popular."
Her gaze shifted to Xie Lian, who had stepped slightly forward—not quite in front of Wei Zhan, but close enough to intervene if necessary. His entire posture had changed, becoming more alert, more focused.
"And you must be the famous new bodyguard," Saanvi continued. "I've heard interesting things about you."
"Have you," Xie Lian said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"Oh yes. Word travels quickly in the palace. They say you're very... dedicated to your duties."
Something in her tone made Wei Zhan look more closely at his bodyguard. Xie Lian's expression had gone completely neutral—the kind of careful blankness that meant he was working hard to hide a reaction.
"I do my job, nothing more," Xie Lian said.
"Of course," Saanvi agreed, but her smile suggested she didn't believe him. "I'm Saanvi, by the way. Oracle Temple advisor and part-time fortune teller."
"Xie Lian. Royal Guard."
"Just Royal Guard? How wonderfully modest."
Wei Zhan watched the exchange with growing interest. Most people were either intimidated by Xie Lian's professional demeanor or tried too hard to charm him. But Saanvi seemed genuinely amused, as if she found his rigid formality entertaining rather than off-putting.
"Would you like your fortune read?" she asked brightly. "I'm quite good at seeing hidden truths."
"No thank you," Xie Lian said quickly. Too quickly.
Saanvi's smile widened. "Afraid of what I might see?"
"I don't believe in fortune telling."
"Ah, a practical man. How refreshing." She turned to Wei Zhan. "What about you, Your Highness? Curious about what the future holds?"
Wei Zhan considered it. He'd never put much stock in prophecy or divination—too many variables, too much room for interpretation. But there was something about Saanvi that made him wonder if she might actually see things others missed.
"Why not," he said, ignoring Xie Lian's sharp look.
Saanvi clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! But not here—too much noise and distraction. There's a quieter pavilion near the temple gardens. Follow me."
She turned and began walking, clearly expecting them to follow. Wei Zhan fell into step beside her, partly out of curiosity and partly because it would annoy his overly protective bodyguard.
Sure enough, Xie Lian moved to his other side, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Your Highness, I don't think this is wise."
"Since when do you make tactical decisions for me?"
"Since it became my job to keep you safe from potential threats."
"You think a temple advisor is a threat?"
"I think anyone who claims to read the future bears watching, Your Highness."
Wei Zhan glanced at him, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. "You really don't like fortune tellers."
"I don't like people who prey on others' hopes and fears."
There was something personal in that statement—old pain, carefully buried but not forgotten. Wei Zhan filed it away for later consideration.
The pavilion Saanvi led them to was exactly as she'd described—a small, open structure surrounded by carefully tended gardens, far enough from the main festival to provide relative quiet. Paper lanterns hung from the eaves, casting warm, steady light over a low table set with tea implements and what looked like fortune-telling tools.
"Please, sit," Saanvi said, settling gracefully onto a cushion. "Tea first, then we'll see what the spirits have to say."
Wei Zhan took the cushion across from her, while Xie Lian remained standing just behind his right shoulder. Close enough to act, far enough to maintain protocol.
"Your guard is very dedicated," Saanvi observed as she prepared the tea. "Does he ever relax?"
"Not that I've noticed," Wei Zhan said dryly.
"Relaxation is a luxury I can't afford, Your Highness," Xie Lian said stiffly.
Saanvi looked up at him with what might have been sympathy. "That sounds like a very lonely way to live."
"I'm not paid to have feelings about my work."
"No, but you're human. Humans have feelings whether they're paid for them or not."
Xie Lian's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Wei Zhan found himself studying his bodyguard's profile, wondering what had carved those lines of tension around his eyes, what had taught him to lock his emotions away so completely.
"Here we are," Saanvi said, pouring fragrant tea into delicate porcelain cups. "Jasmine and rose, perfect for opening the mind to possibility."
The tea was excellent—subtle, soothing, with an aftertaste that seemed to linger longer than it should. Wei Zhan felt some of the tension leave his shoulders despite himself.
"Now then," Saanvi said, producing a small wooden box from her robes. "Let's see what fate has in store."
She opened the box to reveal a set of carved jade tiles, each inscribed with symbols Wei Zhan didn't recognize. They seemed to glow faintly in the lantern light, though that might have been a trick of the polished stone.
"Give me your hand," she said to Wei Zhan.
He extended his right hand, palm up. Saanvi's fingers were cool against his skin as she traced the lines with delicate precision.
"Interesting," she murmured after a moment. "Very interesting indeed."
"What do you see?" Wei Zhan asked, genuinely curious now.
"Crossroads. Choices that will define not just your future, but the future of many others." She selected three tiles from the box and placed them face-down on the table. "Past, present, future. Shall we see?"
Wei Zhan nodded.
Saanvi turned over the first tile. The symbol carved into its surface looked like two swords crossed over a crown.
"Conflict," she said. "Struggle for power, for identity, for purpose. The past has been shaped by battles—some won, some lost, all leaving scars."
She turned the second tile. This one showed a figure standing at the center of intersecting paths.
"The present. You stand at a crossroads, torn between duty and desire, between what others expect and what your heart knows to be true. The choice you make here will echo through all your tomorrows."
The final tile showed two figures reaching toward each other across what looked like a vast distance.
"The future," Saanvi said softly. "Connection. Understanding. Love, perhaps, though not in the way you might expect. But—" She paused, frowning. "There's something else. A shadow. Danger approaching from an unexpected quarter."
She looked up at Wei Zhan, her expression suddenly serious. "Be careful who you trust, Your Highness. Not everyone who claims to serve your interests actually does."
"That's hardly a revelation," Wei Zhan said with a bitter smile. "I've known that since childhood."
"Have you?" Saanvi's gaze shifted briefly to Xie Lian, who had gone very still. "Sometimes the greatest dangers come from those we never think to suspect."
The words hung in the air like incense smoke, heavy with implication. Wei Zhan felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the evening air.
"Your Highness," Xie Lian said quietly. "We should return to the palace. It's getting late."
Wei Zhan looked at his bodyguard, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested casually near his weapon. "In a moment."
He turned back to Saanvi. "What kind of danger?"
But she was already packing away her tiles, her expression unreadable. "The kind that comes from within, Your Highness. The kind that's hardest to defend against because you never see it coming."
She stood gracefully, smoothing her robes. "Thank you for the interesting evening. I hope you found it... enlightening."
Before Wei Zhan could ask what she meant, she was gone, disappearing into the festival crowd with that same effortless grace.
"We should go," Xie Lian said again, and this time there was an edge to his voice that made Wei Zhan look at him sharply.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" Wei Zhan asked.
"No, Your Highness. Nothing at all."
But as they walked back toward the palace, Wei Zhan couldn't shake the feeling that his bodyguard was lying. And that Saanvi's warning had been directed as much at Xie Lian as at him.
The festival continued around them—laughter and music and the warm glow of lanterns—but Wei Zhan felt suddenly cold, as if shadows were gathering at the edges of his vision.
Sometimes the greatest dangers come from those we never think to suspect.
He glanced at Xie Lian walking beside him, professionally alert, perfectly controlled.
Perfectly unknowable.
---
Later that night, as the last of the festival-goers made their way home and the lanterns began to dim, Saanvi stood alone in her pavilion, staring at the three jade tiles she'd used for Wei Zhan's reading.
But these weren't the tiles she'd shown him. These were different—older, carved from a jade so dark it was almost black. And the symbols they bore...
The first showed a dragon wreathed in flames.
The second, a phoenix rising from ashes.
The third, two figures bound together by chains of light.
"The real reading," she murmured to herself. "The one I couldn't show them. Not yet."
She gathered the tiles carefully, wrapping them in silk before tucking them away. Outside, the night air carried the scent of dying fires and fading magic.
The Celestial Blessing Festival was over.
But the real story—the one written in threads of fate and sealed with ancient promises—was just beginning.
And somewhere in the city, four souls continued their dance around each other, drawn by forces they didn't understand toward a destiny none of them were prepared for.
The heavens watched. And waited.
And began to weave their tapestry in earnest.