Open Market Dreams

Chengyu's footsteps echoed in the silvery sheen of Shanghai, the neon lights a garish canopy over the sleepless city. He walked along a road he should have known, but the familiar hum of life was absent. Skyscrapers twisted into grotesque shapes as he passed, steel and glass contorting like the limbs of colossal, slumbering creatures. The air was thick, laden with an unnameable scent that teased the edge of memory—a blend of incense and ozone, perhaps.

"Strange," he murmured to himself, his breath forming clouds that lingered longer than they should. "Am I alone here?"

His voice seemed to fracture, splintering off into the night, and the world trembled at the sound. A billboard flickered overhead, cycling through ads before freezing on an image of a jade pendant, its glow unnatural, pulsating with an almost sentient hunger.

How beautiful. Nevermind how it was the only light in sight, save for the half-moon curled just over its head.

As he stopped to ponder the image, a shadow detached itself from the alleyway, dark and indistinct yet undeniably sentient. It advanced with purpose, the clink of the jade against unseen flesh a sinister chime in the stillness. Chengyu's instincts screamed, and he turned on his heel, sprinting towards the serpentine backstreets that writhed away from the Bund.

His mind was a maelstrom of panic and fragmented logic as he ran, stumbling into an alley shrouded in darkness. Ahead, sitting beneath a flickering streetlight, the stark contrast of a white and black cat caught his eye. It sat with feline poise, watching him with eyes like twin moons.

"Help me," he pleaded, though he knew not why he sought aid from this creature.

The cat replied with a yowl that resonated in the marrow of Chengyu's bones. Its body began to expand, fur bristling outwards, muscles bulging beneath the monochrome coat. The world contracted around them, reality bending to accommodate the impossibility of the transformation.

Although the beast remained a cat, its eyes looked like those of his father's. Chengyu's thoughts were a jumbled prayer, a silent scream for mercy as it encroached.

There was no escape. The alley had become a void, the cat now a monstrous entity that dwarfed him as he stood trembling before it. With a roar that shattered the dream's fragile veneer, the beast lunged. The cat's jaws closed around him, and darkness swallowed Chengyu whole, plunging him into an abyss far deeper than sleep.

***

Chengyu woke up in a cold sweat, with the first light of dawn trickling in through the paper-thin walls of Xiuqin's home, painting it in hues of muted gold. The tranquility was pierced by a lilting melody—a voice, clear and high, that seemed to ride the very rays of the morning sun into his consciousness. Hua perched at the foot of Chengyu's makeshift bed like a nightingale, his fingers dancing over the strings of a pipa, serenading him with ancient verses of awakening.

Where did he even get that from? And how did he find where I'm staying?! Ah, whatever...

Chengyu felt a jolt of panic, but he didn't want to alert the man to his presence just yet.

"Rise, like the phoenix from slumber," he sang, his eyes shut in artistic fervor.

Chengyu stirred beneath his quilt, eyelids fluttering open to find Xiangcui standing beside Hua, her lips curved in a knowing smile. He sat up, pushing back the memories of last night's dreams, which had been filled with cryptic scrolls and elusive shadows roaming the streets of Shanghai.

His voice, still carrying the gravel of sleep, sounded rough and terse. "Where did this idiot come from?"

Xiangcui shrugged, head turned sideways as she laughed. "Sincerest apologies," she said without a hint of remorse. "I thought he was something you dragged in and mistakenly permitted him inside."

"Is this the local custom?" he asked, finding the situation both bizarre and endearing. All these new experiences and sensations, and yet, his first scraps of affection come from practical strangers.

"He is not local, so perhaps it is a custom in his land." Xiangcui replied, her voice laced with mirth as she offered him a hand.

From the doorway, Xiuqin's chuckle broke through the music, as warm and comforting as the steam rising from a pot of fresh tea. "Quite the peculiar rooster you have chosen," she said, her eyes crinkling with delight.

"I didn't choose him. I don't want him. In fact, send him back to wherever he came from," Chengyu responded, his cheeks warming slightly under their attention. He couldn't help but acknowledge the thread of appreciation weaving through his confusion. Their efforts were clumsy, yet they spoke of an earnest desire to draw nearer to him, to include him within their fold.

"Enough dawdling," Xiuqin announced, clapping her hands together. "Breakfast awaits."

"Yay!" Hua cheered and plopped down, shamelessly stuffing his face before Xiuqin could even take a bite.

They gathered around the modest table, where a spread of mantou buns, pickled vegetables, and soft-boiled eggs lay waiting. As they ate, the conversation flowed as gently as the nearby stream outside their window.

"Your presence has brought a certain liveliness to my home," Xiuqin said between bites, casting a glance at Chengyu. "It's been too quiet for too long."

"Quietness has its own charm," Chengyu mused, poking at an egg with his chopsticks. He gave Hua—who choked on a noodle, spat it up, then put it back into his mouth when he thought no one was looking—the craziest side-eye imaginable.

He could feel the weight of stories untold lingering on Xiuqin's tongue, the silent echoes of past laughter and sorrow. "Sometimes, it allows one to hear the whispers of the world more clearly."

"Whispers can be misleading," Xiangcui interjected, a shadow crossing her expression for a fleeting moment. "But your company is a melody that breaks the monotony."

"Let us hope that it is a tune that lingers," Hua added playfully. Although no one found his attempt at a joke funny, his own laughter filled the room, as warm and airy as the morning light streaming in.

With breakfast concluded, they stood, ready to embark on the day's adventures.

Practically dragged along, Chengyu trailed behind the chatty pair, a sense of anticipation mingling with the remnants of his earlier disquietude. Though he didn't fully understand the depths of their intentions, he found himself eager to see where this path would lead. He was pleased to discover their first stop was an area he hadn't had the time to visit yet.

The village market stretched out before Chengyu, glinting with the vibrant hues of silk and porcelain. Paper lanterns swung overhead, painting the bustling crowd in warm, amber tones. The tang of spices hung ripe in the air, mingling with the symphony of haggling voices and the sharp clack of abacus beads tallying sales.

"Look at you," Xiangcui teased, her eyes twinkling as they stopped by a clothing stall draped with robes of every conceivable color. "You'll be the talk of the town in these."

"Hardly an ambition of mine," Chengyu muttered, but he couldn't suppress the twitch of his lips. Hua held up a robe against him—a cascade of indigo with threads of silver snaking across the fabric like rivulets of moonlight.

"Go on, give us a spin," Hua urged, winking conspiratorially.

With a resigned sigh, Chengyu stepped behind the changing screen. He struggled to layer and fasten the thing—he had only worn hanfu a handful of times in his life and mostly stuck to jeans. More recently, his uniform, and now, whatever clothes he could scavenge from scraps of Xiuqin's wardrobe.

He emerged to approving nods from the vendors and an unexpected flutter in his chest—perhaps from the snug fit of the silk or the curious glances it drew. He caught sight of his reflection in a polished bronze mirror and, for a moment, saw not himself but a character from one of those grand tales his mother used to recount, full of valor and romance.

"Xiuqin has quite the eye for fashion, but this... It's on another level." Chengyu remarked, trying to sound casual as he changed back into his borrowed attire. Secondhand indeed, but still stylish.

Handing the bundle over to Hua, Chengyu's focus rested of Xiangcui, whose expression had suddenly turned solemn.

"Her son shared her passion for sewing," Xiangcui said softly, the smile fading from her lips. "She and her husband lived separately, so the son would ferry between them and would bring back fabrics from his travels. After… Well, her home became my refuge when I had none," she continued, her voice a mere whisper lost amid the clamor of the market. "She clothed me, fed me, when the plague took my parents. She is more mother than benefactress to me."

Chengyu's hands stilled, the fabric of the robe feeling suddenly heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. He felt the urge to reach out, to offer some semblance of comfort, but the words lodged in his throat, stubborn and inadequate.

"When did she take up life as an apothecary?"

"Just a little while before he—"

"Here," Hua interrupted, handing Chengyu a neatly folded garment, a simple yet elegant design. If Chengyu was delusional enough, he'd say that it helped to bridge the gap between who he was and who he might become in this place. "Consider it a gift. And Miss Xiangcui, I may also purchase you something if you wish."

"May?"

"Yes, miss. May. As in, may or may not, but my willingness to do so depends on your willingness to ask."

"Then I shall ask."

"Ask what of me, miss?" Hua beamed.

A strained smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Shall you purchase me robes, good sir?"

As Hua held a finger to his lips, he adopted a contemplative look. Then, with the same levity that one would announce a funeral, he gravely said, "No. You are a stranger. I don't think I shall."

"And Chengyu is not?"

"Of course not! And if it appears too soon to have built any sort of camraderie, I met him a few days ago at a banquet and stalked him on his path home so I could find and seek his friendship. But how things work to me, as far as I am aware, we were friends the moment I set my eyes on him. And these clothes—they mean he is now indebted to me."

I need to return these, thought Chengyu, shivering. He made a mental note to avoid Hua and also to be more vigilant.

Xiangcui balked and glared. Hua beamed back. They laughed and elbowed each other. It was friendly, yet had he not known it was their first time meeting, Chengyu would have been led to believe they had always been friends.

"Thank you," Chengyu murmured, bowing slightly in gratitude. He sensed the delicate balance of their relationships shifting, a complex web woven from threads of loss, kindness, and the tentative beginnings of friendship.

They left the lively market behind, making their way to the town square where food vendors hawked their wares with boisterous calls. The aroma of roasted duck and steamed buns beckoned them closer. Hua, ever the performer and impatient, began to sing once more, a playful tune about a wandering hero finding his way.

Chengyu rolled his eyes. The only thing he wanted to find was what the hawker was selling to attract such a crowd.

"Enough with the serenading," Chengyu chided half-heartedly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him, lifting into an amused smile.

"Ah, but life is too short for silence, my friend!" Hua exclaimed, sweeping Chengyu into an impromptu dance, much to the delight of the onlookers.

"Join us, Xiangcui!" Chengyu called, extending his hand. Her laughter, light and unrestrained, filled the air as she spun into the circle they made, her movements graceful and fluid like ink on parchment.

In that moment, amidst the twirling bodies and the music of life, Chengyu felt a rare ease within him, a sense of belonging that was as intoxicating as it was unfamiliar. The dance was a declaration, a defiance against the stillness of sorrow, and he surrendered to its rhythm, allowing himself to be swept away on the currents of joy and connection, if only for a little while.

Hua retreated to play his pipa, and with his music accompanying, the dance unfolded like a dream beneath the lantern light, with Chengyu's feet finding their rhythm amid laughter and playful jests. The square thrummed with life, the air punctuated by the scents of sizzling meats and sweetcakes, the voices of vendors rising and falling in a chaotic symphony.

"Chengyu, you move with unexpected grace," Xiangcui teased.

"Perhaps there's more to me than meets the eye," Chengyu replied, his movements mirroring hers, as if each step were words in a silent conversation between them.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Hua's grin, wide and unapologetic, as he sang another verse about heroes and heartbeats. Through the music and mirth, Chengyu felt the weight of his past loosen, threads unwinding, giving way to something lighter, something like hope.

But then, like the sudden drop of a storm cloud on a clear day, discordant shouts and the sound of smashed glass fractured the harmony. Across the square, near the periphery where a perfume store exhaled its floral breath into the evening, figures clashed—swift, urgent.

"Thief!" The cry was sharp, rising above the clangor.

Chengyu immediately pulled away from Xiangcui. Without meaning too, he found himself rushing to the shop, feet pounding against the cobblestone path. Before he even approached, he caught a whiff of an overwhelming perfume.

Upon reaching the storefront, he saw a distressed old woman hobbling over, leaning on a cane. "He tried nabbing that vial, but during his struggle, spilled and dropped it on himself!" she cried, voice quivering with rage. "It took a hundred flowers to make a palmful! That was a month of labor and wages. What a great disservice to me!"

Sweeping her free hand into his, Chengyu leaned down to meet her gaze. He saw milky eyes—asking her for a description wouldn't work, so he'd have to find another way to identify the culprit.

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'll find him and make him pay." He swore, earnestly shaking his head. Without a second thought or plan in mind, Chengyu turned and entered the throng, determination his only driving force.