Stalls of all kinds lined the streets, selling handmade trinkets, ancient-style fans, specialty snacks, and prayer items… The array was dazzling, overwhelming the senses.
Most eye-catching were the numerous osmanthus trees planted along the roadsides and within the temple grounds. They were in full bloom, clusters of golden or silvery-white tiny flowers nestled among the green leaves, releasing a rich fragrance.
This heart-refreshing osmanthus scent permeated the air, mingling with the aromas of various foods and the laughter of tourists, creating the unique romantic atmosphere of the Qixi Festival.
“Wow, it smells so good!”
Feng Miwan took a deep breath, her mood brightening with the floral fragrance and the lively bustle.
“Right? I told you it was worth coming!”
Zhao Shutong raised her chin proudly.
“Look over there! They’ve got ring toss! Let’s go play!”
“Hey, slow down…”
The two squeezed through the throng of people and stopped in front of a ring-toss stall covered with red cloth.
Feng Miwan held a plastic ring, her gaze sharpening slightly. She flicked her wrist lightly, and the ring flew out, landing steadily on the white porcelain bunny in the very center.
“Oh my god! Miwan! Are you cheating or something?”
Zhao Shutong leaned in with a gasp of admiration, mimicking her by grabbing a ring. She swung her arm back, but misjudged the force.
The ring shot straight out, grazing the edge of the candied hawthorn vendor’s straw hat next door before landing with a “thud” on the empty ground nearby.
The vendor turned back with a laugh and teased:
“Little miss, my hawthorns can’t take a hit like that!”
Everyone around burst into laughter.
Zhao Shutong quietly shoved the remaining rings at Feng Miwan: “You do it!”
Feng Miwan laughed so hard she doubled over, but she pushed the rings back:
“Hahaha… Shutong, you gotta keep trying to improve. Go on!”
Zhao Shutong had no choice but to give it another shot, naturally missing every one. She immediately dragged Feng Miwan away from the scene.
Next, they watched an ancient-style dance performance, where the dancers’ water sleeves fluttered gracefully, their postures elegant.
They paused at a sugar painting stall, watching the master artist skillfully paint dragons, phoenixes, and magpies in moments.
They were also drawn to a stall doing live embroidery, the exquisite patterns leaving them in awe.
“Shutong, look at this Fortune Plaque. I heard it’s super effective if you write your name and hang it on the tree in the Moon Elder Temple!”
Feng Miwan pointed at a stall selling prayer plaques.
Zhao Shutong leaned over for a look and teased:
“What, you want the Moon Elder to tie a Red Thread between you and Dr. Xiong?”
Feng Miwan gave her a light shove: “Get out! Can’t I just look?”
The two wandered, snacked, and bantered as they strolled, unknowingly reaching the core area of the Moon Elder Temple.
The atmosphere here carried an extra air of solemnity and devotion compared to the streets outside.
In the main hall, the Moon Elder’s statue beamed kindly, incense smoke curling from the altar. Many young men and women held joss sticks, eyes closed in focused prayer.
Beside the hall, an open space held several massive wish racks, densely covered with red prayer ribbons and wooden plaques.
Nearby stalls sold these items, with many people stopping to earnestly write their wishes.
“Shutong, look over there—so many people hanging Fortune Plaques!”
Feng Miwan pointed at the sea of red.
Zhao Shutong followed her gaze, but her eyes suddenly widened, as if she’d seen something unbelievable.
She yanked Feng Miwan’s arm hard, her voice a hushed whisper:
“Miwan! Wait! Look there! Under that biggest osmanthus tree! That person… isn’t that Dr. Xiong?! And next to her…”
Feng Miwan peered intently in the direction Zhao Shutong indicated—
There, under the most lushly blooming osmanthus tree not far away, stood Xiong Yibai’s unmistakable figure.
She wore a simple white shirt that day, her usual cool demeanor intact.
Yet beside her stood a tall, stylishly dressed guy in cargo pants and an oversized jacket, wearing a black mask, his short hair giving him a handsome, clean-cut look!
The man faced away from them, tiptoeing slightly as he stretched to hang a prepared red Fortune Plaque on a higher branch.
Xiong Yibai stood just behind his side, looking up at him, a faint smile seemingly playing on her lips?
The intimate vibe between them, one that outsiders couldn’t easily insert into, stood out sharply amid the surrounding couples.
Feng Miwan froze in place, all the surrounding clamor fading away in that instant.
Her mind went blank, assaulted repeatedly by that single image.
So… this was the “something” she had come for.
Coming to the Moon Elder Temple with someone else… to hang plaques for Qixi.
Why?
Under the moonlight, didn’t she understand what “the moonlight is so beautiful tonight” meant?
That line about “Natsume Soseki being a coward,” and that unspoken smile.
Was it all just my illusion?
When I was nervous, she showed up out of nowhere with takeout, saying the most reassuring words in her calmest tone.
Before the race, when I relied on that coin, she snatched it, tossed it in the air, changed its fate, and told me that only I could define my destiny.
Were all those just casual help between friends?
Hadn’t she even given me the cute nickname “Little Honey”?
Feng Miwan recalled her moments with Xiong Yibai.
Were all those just the closeness of good friends?
“…I don’t know.”
Feng Miwan heard her own voice come out dry and hoarse. She stared fixedly in that direction, her heart suddenly torn open like a gaping hole, cold wind pouring in—sour and bitter.
Grievance, confusion, and a thread of betrayed anger twisted together, leaving her breathless.
Zhao Shutong saw her face drain of color and her eyes go vacant, and her heart sank.
She snapped into action, grabbing Feng Miwan’s wrist and dragging her forcefully toward the crowd’s edge:
“Come on, let’s go! Too many people here, air’s stuffy—it’s suffocating! We’ll find a spot to rest and grab a drink!”
She half-dragged, half-carried the soulless Feng Miwan out of the Moon Elder Temple,
through the bustling ancient street, until they found an outdoor tea stall in a quiet corner shaded by an osmanthus tree. Only then did she press Feng Miwan’s shoulders down onto a wooden stool.
“Boss, a pot of your clearest heat-relieving chrysanthemum tea—quickly, thanks.”
Zhao Shutong ordered swiftly, then turned, worry etched on her face as she looked at Feng Miwan across from her—head bowed, silent, enveloped in a low-pressure aura:
“Miwan… y-you okay? Just now… maybe we saw wrong? Or… that guy… maybe he’s just Dr. Xiong’s regular friend? Like a brother or something?”
Feng Miwan kept her head down:
“No, that’s her. I couldn’t mistake her.”
