Chapter 23: Fireworks Part 2

Strange—Gao Qiu, dubbed Kaifeng’s First Handsome Man, failed to interest Chaosheng? Though over thirty, Gao Qiu was a cuju master and Forbidden Army Coach, holding the rank of Grand Commandant—a man who drew crowds on the street.

Xiao Kun had heard of him back in Liao: a pretty face hiding an empty shell, no battle merits, risen solely through cuju and currying favor with Zhao Ji. Xiao Kun despised him deep down.

For Xiang Xian’s sake, Xiao Kun exchanged polite pleasantries seriously.

“You’ll come to the cuju tournament the day after tomorrow, right!” Gao Qiu clearly fancied the dashing, heroic youth, slapping Xiao Kun’s arm repeatedly and trying to hook Xiang Xian’s neck. Xiang Xian disliked the closeness—it was too embarrassing—and subtly pushed him away.

“Since the Grand Commandant invites us,” Xiao Kun said gravely, “we’ll surely attend.”

“Good! Good! Excellent!” Gao Qiu raised his cup and went to greet others behind the screens.

The entire court was full of such trash—why hadn’t Song fallen yet? Xiao Kun racked his brains but couldn’t fathom why Liao had perished instead.

Moments later, more officials approached, forcing them to rise again. By late night, the third-floor booths buzzed with drunken nobles mingling.

“Full?” Xiang Xian asked them. “Let’s walk it off?”

So the group left Fanlou early. Xiang Xian suggested walking back, but by the second watch, Chaosheng was so sleepy his eyes barely opened, dozing on Wu Yingzong’s back.

“I’ll take him to Ming Tower,” Wu Yingzong said. “He can nap on the way, wake for the fireworks.”

“Go ahead,” Xiang Xian said. “Where’s A Huang?”

A Huang had flown off with the parrot at some point.

Kaifeng City’s lights still blazed, the revelry fading into scattered silk-and-string music, like a grand dream of peaceful prosperity.

“On the way home?” Xiao Kun said. “I don’t recall that.”

Xiao Kun and Xiang Xian walked side by side down the avenue. Xiang Xian said solemnly, “Taking you to a great spot for fireworks.”

Dragon Pavilion Lakeside had a bridge aglow with colorful lanterns reflecting in rainbow hues, glass lamps hanging from the trees.

“I bet you’re thinking,” Xiang Xian teased, “how much did these lamps cost?”

Xiao Kun replied seriously, “I didn’t speak up to avoid spoiling the mood. I am indeed a dull, mood-ruining sort.”

Xiao Kun had never witnessed such extravagance since birth. Over a decade since Liao’s fall, Shangjing’s coffers emptied; northern disasters, Jin raids, court corruption, and military costs left the treasury bare.

Xiang Xian placed a hand on Xiao Kun’s shoulder. They leaned over the bridge at Longting Lake.

A painted boat passed below the high bridge, its occupants drinking and reveling through the night.

“You’re interesting—where’s the dullness?” Xiang Xian said.

In this odd shoulder-clasp, their faces drew close, breaths mingling.

Xiang Xian’s eyes held a trace of loneliness. “New Year’s past were lively for everyone—only I came alone to Dragon Pavilion Lakeside. That was dull. Like… as a kid, sitting home studying while outside kids played wildly, but you couldn’t join. Skip studying to play? Guilt gnaws, and who knows if it’s even fun.”

Xiao Kun laughed at the metaphor—rare for him.

Xiang Xian playfully scraped his cheek. Xiao Kun crooked a finger and flicked Xiang Xian’s forehead. Xiang Xian dramatically clutched it and yelled.

Xiao Kun vaulted onto the stone railing, sitting atop it, gazing at Longting Lake’s waters mirroring the brilliant lights.

“Why recommend me as Chief Emissary of the Exorcism Division?” Xiao Kun asked. The question had lingered long.

Xiang Xian didn’t answer, staring at the water instead. “Truth is, even now, the Wisdom Sword hasn’t acknowledged me.”

Xiao Kun’s heart stirred; he furrowed his brow, watching Xiang Xian.

“It’s frustrating,” Xiang Xian said, revealing rare balefulness. “I’m scared, you know? Scared I’ll fail against the Heavenly Demon, die—fine—but doom Shenzhou’s people, botch the mission? What then?”

“Don’t tease,” Xiao Kun said, puzzled. “What did you use against Ba She?”

“No teasing.” Xiang Xian explained, “You think the Wisdom Sword powerful, right? But true divine weapons are beyond that. Past Great Dharma Protector Martial Gods wielding it summoned Saint Immovable Venerable’s Divine Descent, wielding godlike power freely to slay demons effortlessly. Me? Every swing costs my divine sense—I black out, slashing wildly.”

Xiao Kun recalled the last time Xiang Xian drew it and nodded.

“Why?” Xiao Kun asked.

“I don’t know,” Xiang Xian said. “Maybe Acalanatha doesn’t recognize me? Just letting me hold it till the true fated one claims it?”

“Impossible,” Xiao Kun shot back without thinking. “No one’s more suited.”

Xiao Kun remembered hearing of Xiang Xian years ago: a young southern exorcist of great power, slaying many monsters, though unnamed then.

He wanted to comfort but struggled with words.

“Maybe your heart’s divided—cultivate steadily, and it’ll come,” Xiao Kun said lightly. “Since it chose you, you’ll master it in time. Don’t worry.”

Xiang Xian smiled at him, resuming his carefree air.

“Put it this way: even if I master it, deep down, I feel unworthy of the burden.” Xiang Xian said.

“Don’t think that,” Xiao Kun said earnestly. “Grand Demon-Exorcists have always held the Heart Lamp; Great Dharma Protector Martial Gods, the Wisdom Sword. Look at me—no Heart Lamp either. Just demon blood and Ghost Fire. Good for little demons or wounding the Demon Race, but Bone Phosphorus Light pales against the Heart Lamp.”

Xiang Xian considered. Xiao Kun continued, “Besides, I’m half-demon. Exorcists wouldn’t obey if they knew. Only you and Chaosheng do.”

Xiang Xian gazed at Xiao Kun, expression suggesting unspoken words.