The Prettiest Flower on the Pond

Water whispered against the wooden hull as Chengyu navigated the slender boat through the serpentine canals of the village, each stroke of his oar a silent command to move forward. The moon hung like a pale lantern in the sky, casting a delicate glow over his clandestine task. He'd been collecting fingerprints with the stealth of a shadow, pressing small squares of parchment onto objects handled daily by the villagers - a teapot here, a doorknob there.

"Chengyu," Hua's voice cut through the silence, his figure perched precariously on the edge of the canal. "It might take months at the rate we've moving. As such, I've been thinking. What if we stage something... Like a raffle? Announce the prize as an evening with the village's most exquisite lady?"

"Raffle?" Chengyu echoed, amused by the absurdity. "How would that help? And just who would this 'beautiful lady' be?"

"You, of course," Hua tried to maintain a serious face, but a smirk betrayed him.

"Me?" Chengyu stopped rowing, letting the boat drift. "Why on earth wouldn't it be you? Sure, you're strong, but you're smaller, more... delicate. Graceful as a dance, they'd believe you're the lady as you are right now before they'd suspect me."

Hua squirmed under Chengyu's incredulous gaze.

"Delicate?" He repeated, scoffing.

"It's your plan. If you think it's ludicrous enough to work, then you do it. Besides, we're strangers here. They wouldn't know better."

"Fine," Hua relented, and Chengyu mockingly praised him.

Inside, laughter bubbled at the thought of Hua, broad-shouldered and formidable, attempting to mimic the demureness of a maiden. He resumed rowing, thinking how ancient traditions could sometimes be stranger than fiction to his modern mind.

"Let's gather what we need then," Chengyu said, a plan forming. He skimmed past the backyards and balconies lining the canal, eyes sharp for the fabrics of opportunity.

"Here," he pointed to a clothesline adorned with a cascade of garments fluttering like colorful flags of surrender. Without hesitation, he reached out, snagging a flowing skirt and a blouse that shimmered like the surface of the water at dawn.

"You have become a thief now?" teased Hua, catching the bundle of clothes tossed his way.

"Desperate times," Chengyu said with a shrug, his eyes catching a glimpse of rouge and powder left to dry on a balcony. A quick maneuver brought them within reach, and with the deftness of a pickpocket, Chengyu claimed the bounty.

"Makeup, too?" Hua raised an eyebrow, stifling a chuckle.

"Essential for your transformation, my lady," Chengyu replied, the corners of his mouth twitching with mirth.

Docking the boat and tying it to a post, Chengyu tucked his supplies beneath his arms and dragged Hua into an alley. Setting it all out, worked with a focus he reserved for deciphering the most cryptic of scrolls. He draped the skirt around Hua's waist, cinching it tight, and slipped the blouse over broad shoulders that seemed to challenge the fabric's limits.

Chengyu draped a thin shawl around Hua's shoulders to hide the strain and settled a veil over his head before plopping a hat down. It was an odd jumble of laundry, but odd enough to look foreign.

"Does this make us conspirators or lunatics?" Hua mused aloud, his voice betraying trepidation beneath the humor.

"Perhaps both," Chengyu admitted as he dusted Hua's cheeks with rouge, transforming the dancer's stoic visage into a parody of village beauty. The make up looked a tad too modern, but it would have to suffice. Worst case scenario, he would simply claim Hua as a foreign beauty. He stepped back, tilting his head. "Well, look at you."

"Stop gawking," Hua grumbled, yet there was no bite behind the words. "Let's just get this over with."

"Agreed," Chengyu nodded, hiding his own unease. It was one thing to concoct a plan; another to see it dressed up and staring back at him. But necessity spurred invention, and in their quest for truth, even the bizarre became a tool at their disposal.

***

The village square buzzed with the vivacity of a beehive, the afternoon sun casting long shadows that seemed to dance among the cobblestones. Chengyu wove through the throng of villagers, the weight of their plan settling on his shoulders like a finely embroidered cloak — one he feared might strangle him should it snag on the splintered edge of reality.

"Friends," Chengyu called out, his voice carrying over the din of barter and banter, "we bring tidings from the celestial realms!" He gestured grandly toward Hua, who stood resplendent in the borrowed finery, a convincing illusion of delicate femininity save for the breadth of his chest and the coiled strength in his stance.

"Behold," Hua intoned, his pitch elevated into an otherworldly cadence, "the cosmos has whispered its secrets into our ears. It is written in the stars that each soul, scattered across the firmament, yearns to reconnect with its celestial twin."

A ripple of curiosity undulated through the crowd as Chengyu unfurled a scroll, aged parchment crackling in his hands. "Our palms," he continued, imbuing his words with the mystique of ancient lore, "bear the unique stardust of our creation. Find one whose lines echo yours, and you have found your destiny's counterpart."

There was skepticism in some eyes, wonder in others, but all were ensnared by the theater of the moment. Hua stepped forward with practiced grace, extending a hand adorned with rings that caught the sunlight and refracted it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"Let us divine your cosmic kin," Hua offered, and the first of the villagers approached, palm outstretched.

Chengyu watched from the corner of his eye, marveling at how effortlessly Hua had slipped into the role. Each person's hand was a new puzzle, lines and creases interwoven like the threads of life itself. And as Hua's fingers brushed against theirs, collecting the precious prints they sought, a part of Chengyu — a part he kept locked away — whispered of admiration. For despite the absurdity of their ruse, there was beauty in the belief that somewhere, amidst the chaos of existence, connections awaited discovery.

"Such fair skin," an elderly woman crooned, her eyes lingering on Hua's disguised form. "Like porcelain crafted by the gods."

"Indeed," Chengyu agreed, his tone infused with the southern lilt they'd rehearsed. "The sun graces us differently in the lands whence we hail."

As more villagers queued, eager for the chance to touch the divine, Chengyu felt the tenuous thread of their deception stretch taut. But the murmurs of amazement, the gasps of awe — they fed the illusion, giving it life beyond their own machinations.

"Could it be?" someone breathed, their excitement a palpable force. "Have I found my star-crossed love?"

"Perhaps," Hua replied, the lightness of his voice belying the tension Chengyu knew gripped him. "But the universe does not reveal its secrets lightly."

And so they danced, Chengyu and Hua, a ballet of mystics spinning tales as old as time. With every palm print pressed to parchment, they wove themselves deeper into the fabric of the village tapestry, threads indistinguishable from the truth they imitated.

"Is this deception?" Chengyu pondered inwardly, the question a stone cast into the still waters of his conscience. "Or are we merely players on a stage set by fate?"

He didn't have the answer, but as he looked upon Hua, laughter bubbling from those around them, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the stars were watching over them after all.

The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sweat, a tapestry woven from the threads of eager villagers pressing close to witness the spectacle before them. Chengyu watched through half-lidded eyes, the warm hues of the setting sun painting the square in a golden glow, as Hua, draped in the guise of southern mystique, charmed the crowd. Each palm revealed its tale; each crease a whisper of destiny.

"Such strong arms for a lady," remarked a rough-hewn villager, his eyes lingering on Hua's shoulders, where the shawl had slipped and revealed his muscles. The words slithered into the silence, casting ripples of doubt across the gathered throng.

"Ah, but you see..." Chengyu interjected smoothly, his voice a practiced melody of reassurance, "where we come from, strength is beauty. Our women are as sturdy as the oak—nurturers of the earth, cultivators of life."

Hua caught his eye, a shared gleam of mischief sparking between them. They laughed, a light, tinkling sound that seemed to reassure the crowd as effectively. How simple it was, Chengyu mused, to weave a narrative so enchanting that even the implausible became gospel.

Ramming an elbow into Chengyu's side, Hua grabbed his sleeve and dragged him closer. "The man with paper sheet 43 has prints that match those at the library."

"Let's call him," suggested Chengyu, eyes searching for their guard, who had mysterious disappeared into the chaos.

"Come forth, good sir with print set 43," called Hua, his voice now a dulcet entreaty. "See who the stars have decreed as your divine match."

The man approached, his gait that of one already ensnared by the promise of cosmic companionship. As he reached out, fingers grazing Hua's wrist, his intentions morphed — a lecherous shadow flitting across his features.

Panic flashed across Hua's face, a crack in the porcelain facade they had so carefully constructed. But before the situation could unravel, a guard, his armor glinting like a dragon's scales under the twilight, stepped forward. With swift precision, he apprehended the overzealous suitor.

"Thank you," Chengyu whispered, his gratitude genuine as they left the would-be Lothario in the guard's capable hands. Together, he and Hua slipped away, rushing back to the library.

Along the way, Hua shed bits of his disguise, so when they returned to the hallowed quiet of the library, he donned a tight-fitting blouse that exposed his stomach and a skirt that constricted his movements.

The musty aroma of ancient tomes embraced them like an old friend. The librarian, a wizened figure who seemed as much a part of the shelves as the books themselves, greeted them with a nod.

"Your quest has borne fruit, I trust?" Her voice was a soft rustle, like the turn of a page long undisturbed.

"Indeed," Chengyu replied, feeling the weight of success settle upon his shoulders. He presented the curated collection of fingerprints as if offering sacred relics upon an altar.

"The owner said you should take this," she said, pressing a coin purse into his hand, its contents clinking with the promise of comfort. "For your lodgings. There is an inn overlooking the valley — its view rivals that of the heavens."

Chengyu accepted the gift, warmth blooming in his chest. A place to rest, to reflect upon the day's masquerade, and perhaps, to dream of stardust and destiny intertwining their fates, just as they had promised those hopeful villagers.

"Thank you," he murmured, bowing deeply, the gesture imbued with the respect he felt for the keeper of knowledge. With the precious books secured beneath his arm, he turned to leave, anticipation for the night's reprieve guiding his steps.

As they exited, the cool embrace of evening enveloped them, the first stars beginning to wink into existence above. What tales would they tell tonight, Chengyu wondered? And would anyone believe them?

Chengyu's fingers brushed the silk coin purse with gentle reverence, feeling the weight of coins shift with every step. They returned to where they had left the guard and saw him handing off the perpetrator to men in black robes.

Signaling for him, he excused himself and stalked toward them. Settled into the boat, he guided them along the weaving paths until at last, they came before their lodgings.

The inn that rose before them was a grand tapestry woven from the dreams of weary travelers—a place where moonlight danced on carved eaves and the scent of pine mingled with the crisp mountain air.

"Look at that," Hua murmured beside him, his voice tinged with awe as they crossed the threshold into the warm glow of the reception.

"Like glimpsing the fabled palaces from old tales," Chengyu agreed, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the wooden beams above.

They secured a room with little more than a nod and a handful of coins. Their luggage, containing disguises and books heavy with secrets, found its resting place against the wall of their room like silent sentinels guarding the day's escapades.

"Come," Chengyu said, slipping off his outer robe. "Let us wash away the grime of deceit."

Together, they stepped out to the steaming embrace of the hot springs nestled at the inn's edge. A natural basin cradled by stone, it welcomed them into its depths. The guard—still clad in his uniform—hovered at the periphery, unsure of how to navigate this sudden intimacy.

"Join us," Hua called out, his laughter echoing against the water's surface. "It's not every day we share such luxuries."

"If you're so inclined to request," the guard replied, the discomfort clear in his voice as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing arms marked by the honest toil of sword and shield.

Immersed in the spring's caress, Chengyu felt the day's tension seep from his muscles, the heat unfurling them like the petals of a lotus at dawn. Hua leaned back, his eyes closing in contentment, and began to hum. A melody rose, soft and tentative at first, then growing in confidence as it filled the night air.

"Your voice," Chengyu remarked, the steam curling around them like wraiths in the twilight, "it could charm the stars from the sky."

"Perhaps it could," Hua chuckled, "but I'd rather have it soothe our spirits after today's charade."

The guard, now settled across from them, watched with a mixture of fascination and relief. Perhaps he saw in their camaraderie a semblance of the brotherhood forged in his own ranks.

"Back home," the guard started, his voice a deep timbre resonating with the memory of distant lands, "we sing a ballad of the sea — of ships guided by constellations and the hearts of those who brave the waves."

"Sing it for us," Chengyu urged, feeling the pull of a story untold, a song unheard. It was an offering of sorts, a bridge between worlds.

And so, under a canopy of stars that might have listened intently, the guard sang. His ballad spun a tale of adventure and longing, of sailors yearning for the warmth of hearth and home, their voices carried through storms by the unyielding power of hope.

Chengyu lost himself in the narrative woven by the guard's sonorous tones, the song a vessel sailing through the waters of his thoughts. He pondered the places he had yet to see, the mysteries that lay hidden within the pages they had recovered. In the resonance of the guard's ballad, he found echoes of his own quest—a search for answers as boundless as the sea.

"Beautiful," Chengyu breathed out once the final note dwindled into silence.

"Life," Hua mused, opening his eyes to the spectacle of the night sky, "is much like a ballad, isn't it? Full of unexpected verses and choruses that repeat when we least expect them."

"Indeed," Chengyu replied, the words coming from a place deep within, "and tonight, we add our own refrain."