Lian stood there, black hair blown loose by the wind, his eyes sharp with a clarity that was almost frightening. I had never seen that look on him before. It was as if he had walked out of a fog—cool, decisive, with a faint edge of nace.
“Since everything in this box-world looks different from He Ling City except for this tavern,” he said, voice low, “then this is where we should start.”
I stared at the crooked signboard reading “Deep Valley Tavern.” The character for “Deep” seed to flutter like a shadow caught in a draft, ready to fall at any mont.
Lian paused again, gaze darkening just a shade. His voice dropped even lower. “And… stay away from Senior An.”
My heart lurched. “What’s that supposed to an? You think Senior An is… off sohow?!”
Lian didn’t answer imdiately. He pressed his fingers to his temple as though the fractured mories of the silver box were still tumbling through his mind. Only after a long mont did he murmur, “I can’t explain it… but for a split second, I saw sothing wrong.”
“Sothing wrong?” I pressed.
He looked at , eyes shimring faintly. “I don’t know how to describe it.”
I froze. A chill climbed up my spine as I recalled that fleeting smile of Senior An’s. It hadn’t seed strange at the ti—now it did.
“But that can’t be… He said he was helping us investigate. And he’s with Hua—”
“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous.” Lian’s tone brooked no argunt.
“Damn it!” I slapped my forehead. “Then Hua might be in trouble! He looks quick-witted most days, but what if he believes sothing he shouldn’t—”
Lian didn’t bother replying. He simply raised his hand and pushed.
The tavern door creaked open on its own. A gust swept through the crack, lifting a thin layer of dust from the ground.
I peeked in. The entire tavern was empty. The wine jars that once filled the place, the rosewood tables—every piece had vanished. Only a single dying lantern flickered weakly in the corner.
“Soone ca before us,” Lian said.
He slipped inside without making a sound. I followed, muttering under my breath, “This tavern used to be the liveliest place in He Ling City. How does sothing like this disappear overnight?”
Lian crouched at a corner, touching a lifted tile with two fingers. His frown deepened.
“No wine. Not a trace.”
I sniffed. Indeed—not even the faintest whiff of rice wine lingered. The rich, llow scent that mixed with the old wood had evaporated entirely. It was as if the place had never brewed a drop.
“Co on. We’re going to Senior An’s,” Lian said, rising.
I hurried after him, grumbling, “Do you realize we’ve been circling the sa few places this whole ti? It’s either the bookshop, the inn, this tavern, or that broken temple—we’re going round in circles like soone’s leading us by the nose.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Lian replied without looking back.
“And also—” I wheezed, trying to keep up. “Can you slow down? I’d like to live a little longer.”
He stopped abruptly.
I nearly crashed into him nose-first. Before I could complain, he said quietly, “Sothing’s wrong.”
“What now?” I asked.
He turned toward , eyes razor-sharp. “Have you noticed? There’s no one on this street.”
I blinked and looked around. The entire stretch of road was deserted. Not even a shadow.
The bustling dayti market of Herling City was now so empty I could hear my own heartbeat.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I was just about to ntion that. It was quiet when we first ca in, but this is… too quiet.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Lian’s eyes. The sight made my stomach drop. He only ever looked like that when the silver box illusions were about to crack around him.
“Hey—” I waved a hand in front of him. “Don’t scare . We did get out of the illusion, right?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took my hand. The grip wasn’t tight, but it carried a steady certainty.
“Let’s go.”
When we reached An’s residence, the courtyard gate was half open. A thin layer of dust coated the threshold.
“Senior?” I called out. No reply.
I stepped inside. Fallen branches littered the courtyard. Several wooden chests lay open, their tools scattered haphazardly across the floor. In the house, dicine cabinets had been overturned; the table was askew, pinning a shattered vial beneath one leg.
A faint tallic tang hung in the air.
Blood.
My stomach dropped.
Lian checked the surroundings, moving toward the inner room. Deep scratch marks marred one corner of the wall, as if sothing heavy had been dragged across the floor.
“There was a fight,” he said.
“Hua—” I started, heart hamring, and made to rush out—only for Lian to pull back.
“Don’t move.” His eyes were fixed on a thin streak of blood across the floorboards. Fresh. Still sharp with its fresh iron scent.
I froze. The sll of blood seed to grow thicker by the second. The distant rumble of thunder outside made the empty house feel even colder.
“Stay,” Lian repeated, raising a hand protectively in front of .
I was about to speak—when a muffled “mmf… mmf—” sounded from a redwood cabinet inside.
The sound was small, strangled, almost like sothing with its throat clamped. Or a rat.
I instinctively shrank behind Lian, voice trembling. “T-that’s not a rat, right?”
Lian shot a sideways look—half amused, half exasperated—but said nothing. He stepped forward and opened the cabinet.
“Wait—!” I blurted, but the door had already swung wide.
Inside, curled tightly, was a small figure.
Juan.
He’d been gagged with a cloth, wrists and ankles bound. Dried blood matted his hair at the temple—he’d been struck hard. My chest clenched. I lunged forward, nearly tripping over the cabinet door.
Lian knelt, pulling out the gag and cutting the ropes with swift, clean motions. Juan collapsed into my arms, breathing weakly but steadily.
“Juan!” I patted his cheek frantically. “Wake up!”
His eyes fluttered open and he gasped out, “Go—go to the Moon-Festival altar—hurry—it’s Senior An!”
I froze, unable to believe what I’d heard. Lian’s expression darkened; sothing flickered deep in his eyes.
“The altar?” I whispered. The place carried nothing but bad ons. If Senior An was involved…
Lian and I exchanged a glance. No words needed.
“Co with us—” Lian began, but Juan suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait!”
His small hand trembled as he pulled out a crumpled scrap of cloth from his pocket. Yellowed, old, edges torn.
I frowned. “What’s this for? A handkerchief?”
Juan shook his head urgently. “No! Soone gave it to ! Outside the city—when we were trying to escape like you told us—there was a big brother who stopped . He said: ‘Take this to Nangong Gong. Tell him: wipe the silver box with this cloth, and he’ll know the truth.’”
“Wipe the box?!” I yelped. “What nonsense is that? Who told you this?”
Juan shook his head again, wide-eyed. “He said his na was… Nan Da.”
“Nan—Da?” I repeated blankly.
And then the realization hit like lightning.
“Nan-Da. Big Brother?!”
My voice cracked. Lian glanced at , puzzled.
My throat tightened. mory surged up all at once—years ago, when we sneaked out of the Nangong estate and mixed into the crowd of children, he’d tossed a pebble into the air and grinned, saying he’d call himself “Nan Da” because “Nangong Bo is too conspicuous.” A secret code. Sothing only a few brothers would know.
“My big brother ca here?” I whispered. An emotion I couldn’t na twisted in my chest. But how did he know about the silver box?
“You saw him?” I asked Juan.
Juan nodded hard—then lowered his gaze. “But… Senior An took the silver box.”
The room fell silent.
“He’s… not a good person.”
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