A Silk Band

LUO FAN

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"We're leaving?" Lan Feng asked one morning while tying a cloth around his wrist, a habit he'd picked up before his daily swim. For the past two weeks, it had become his routine to swim with Hong'er every morning, racing the boy along the shore and laughing like carefree children.

I glanced at him from the stove where I was stirring a pot of congee. "We've been here for two months already," I said. "Things have likely settled down by now."

He paused, his hand still holding the cloth. "What if they haven't? What if they're still looking for us?"

I sighed, wiping my hands on a cloth. "That's exactly why we have to go. The longer we stay here, the more likely they'll eventually find us. If that happens, the villagers could get caught in the crossfire. We can't let them suffer because of us."

Lan Feng nodded solemnly, his expression serious. "I understand, Gege," he said in a soft voice, his earlier excitement dimmed. "When do we leave?"

"In a few days," I replied, tasting the congee for seasoning. "We'll need to prepare supplies for the journey. Also, I want to do something to repay the villagers for everything they've done for us. They took us in when they didn't have to, and they've been more than kind."

He seemed to perk up at that. "I have an idea."

Curious, I turned away from the stove. "What kind of idea?"

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes that reminded me of a young boy planning something playful. "I'll tell you later. Hong'er's waiting for me."

"Be careful," I called after him as he moved toward the door.

"I will, Gege," he replied, flashing a quick smile before stepping outside.

I followed him to the doorway, leaning against the frame as I watched him stroll toward the shore. Hong'er was already there, waving enthusiastically, his small feet kicking up sand. It was amusing, in a way, how Lan Feng had bonded so deeply with an eight-year-old. They got along as if they were the same age, sharing innocent laughter and uncomplicated joys.

And perhaps that was what troubled me.

Hong'er adored Lan Feng. The boy's affection was unmistakable, and it wouldn't take much imagination to know how devastated he'd be when we left. I hated the thought of breaking his heart, but there was no helping it. This village, for all its peace, was never meant to be a permanent haven.

My mind drifted to more pressing concerns.

The Crested Sea Lily.

I had managed to preserve its potency by feeding it with a steady stream of qi each day, but that was only a temporary solution. The herb's spiritual properties, potent as they were, would begin to wane if not refined soon. And refining something of this caliber required a proper cauldron—one designed for spiritual alchemy. A rare tool, one I doubted this modest fishing village could offer.

If I waited too long, the herb's power would diminish. But seeking out a refining cauldron meant venturing into cities, towns, or perhaps sect territories—all places where danger lurked in every shadow.

As I stood there, the breeze picked up, tousling my robes and stirring Lan Feng's hair in the distance. I frowned.

His once glossy, smooth locks, which had been Ruan Yanjun's pride, were now a tangled mess. Ruan Yanjun had always kept his appearance immaculate—his hair alone could put noblewomen to shame. If he ever regained his memories and saw the state of himself now… I wouldn't be surprised if he razed a village in a fit of vanity.

The devil's pride was one thing I remembered all too clearly.

I exhaled with a sigh and shook my head, chasing the thought away.

From a distance, Lan Feng's laughter rang out like a chime in the wind. He was chasing Hong'er into the surf, both of them barefoot, their clothes soaked with seafoam. In that moment, he wasn't the feared demon of the cultivation world. He was just a boy—unburdened, joyful, alive.

For now, that was enough.

But deep in my heart, I knew this couldn't last. The quiet peace of this village was a fleeting reprieve, and soon, we would have to face the dangers that awaited us beyond its shores.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

The village square was alive with the bustling energy of barter day. Every first of the month, the villagers gathered their unused belongings to exchange or give away to others who might need them. Today was no different, with makeshift stalls lined up and people chatting animatedly as they browsed through the offerings.

I wandered through the square, scanning for something specific. Lan Feng's hair had been bothering me lately—not the hair itself, but the way it always fell into his face, wild and unkempt. If Ruan Yanjun's vanity were to ever resurface, I could only imagine his horror at seeing his once-pristine locks in such a state. A simple hairband would solve the problem.

I found a small pile of hair accessories at one of the stalls. They belonged to the village chief's daughter, but as I sifted through them, I realized none of them were sturdy enough to handle Lan Feng's thick, unruly hair.

"Priest Luo," came a warm voice from behind me.

I turned to find Li Ai walking toward me, a folded piece of deep blue silk cradled in her hands. Her smile was gentle, though her eyes, as always, carried that ever-watchful gleam.

"If you can't find one, why not make it yourself?" she offered, placing the silk into my hands. From the pouch at her hip, she retrieved a small bundle of thread and a bone needle. "This should do. My eyes aren't what they used to be, or I'd stitch it for you myself."

I accepted the gift with a grateful nod. "Thank you. This means a lot."

"You've done more than enough for us," she replied, touching my arm lightly. "Let me know if you need help threading that. I may be half-blind, but my fingers still remember the way."

I returned to the house, the silk bundle in hand, and set to work at the small wooden table near the window. The light was just right, spilling in soft and golden as I carefully threaded the needle. My stitching skills were... passable at best. I pricked my finger once, muttered a quiet curse, and resolved not to repeat the mistake.

Not long after, Lan Feng returned from his morning swim, dripping from head to toe. Water clung to his robe and hair, which had tangled into wet strands that stuck to his cheeks and jaw.

He spotted me at the table and padded over with the quiet curiosity of a child. "Gege, what are you doing?" he asked, sitting cross-legged beside me.

I didn't look up. "Making something to tie your hair with."

"For me?" he echoed, eyes widening.

"Yes, for you."

His mouth parted in a small gasp, as though I'd just offered him a precious gem. Then, without a word, he leaned closer—so close I could feel his breath on my arm—and watched my hands move with rapt attention as though I were performing some fascinating magic trick.

"What are you staring at?" I asked, unable to hide the amusement in my voice.

"I want to see how Gege makes it," he replied seriously, his gaze never leaving the silk as I worked it into shape.

"Would you like to try making one yourself?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head at once, lips pursed in a decisive little frown. "No. I like what Gege makes for me."

I smiled at his answer, finding his sincerity endearing. Despite pricking my fingers several times, I kept going, encouraged by the silent awe on his face. Finally, after much effort, the hairband was complete. The result was far from perfect. The shape was uneven, the stitching a little too visible. But it was soft and strong, and it would do the job.

I turned and held it out to him.

He took it reverently, as if I'd handed him a sacred heirloom. "Gege, could you put it on me?" he asked, clutching the cloth in both hands.

I gestured toward the towel hanging by the door. "Go dry your hair properly first. I'm not tying it while it's soaking wet."

"Yes, Gege!" he chirped, hurrying to grab the towel and rub his hair with enthusiastic fervor, like a pup shaking off after a swim.

I watched him fondly, a warmth curling in my chest despite the ache of knowing how soon we'd have to leave.

When he returned, he immediately sat on the floor before me like a child awaiting his morning grooming.

"Turn around," I said.

He immediately complied, sitting with his back to me. His obedience was so seamless that I almost forgot he wasn't truly the boy he appeared to be.

I summoned a gentle gust of warm wind to help dry the remaining moisture in his hair while I reached for the wooden comb.

His hair had once flowed like black silk, each strand smooth and luminous. Now, however, the ocean had had its way with it. Saltwater and sun had turned those pristine strands brittle and coarse, tangling them into a matted mess. The thick length of his hair made it all the more challenging to manage, and I couldn't help but wonder how he, as Ruan Yanjun, had kept it so immaculate before. Even in his worst moods, his hair had always been flawless.

I combed carefully, detangling the knots with practiced patience. He didn't wince or complain, merely sat still beneath my hands, his shoulders rising and falling with quiet breaths.

As I worked through the last of the tangles, I considered fetching coconut oil from the village storehouse. The villagers used it for their own hair, and I'd seen the results—soft, fragrant, easy to manage. Perhaps that could help restore some of the luster to Lan Feng's hair, not for vanity's sake, but for comfort and care.

Satisfied with the texture, I began smoothing the strands back with my fingers, running them from crown to tip to tame what remained of the frizz. In the soft afternoon light, the damp locks gleamed faintly like strands of obsidian, cascading down his back in thick waves.

"How do you want your hair styled?" I asked, though I already had a guess.

He turned slightly and pointed to my own ponytail. "Like Gege's. A horse's tail."

A smile tugged at my lips. "That's called a ponytail," I corrected, amused. "But alright."

With careful hands, I gathered his hair at the crown and tied it securely with the silk band I had sewn earlier. It wasn't elegant—my sewing had left the band slightly uneven, and the stitching was far from refined—but it held, snug against his hair. Against all odds, the makeshift band tamed even the thickest parts of his mane.

"Is this alright?" I asked once I'd finished, brushing my palms over the gathered ponytail to ensure it was smooth.

He stood and approached the mirror near the bed, tilting his head slightly to examine the reflection. There was a long pause—his face unreadable—before a small, content smile appeared. He didn't say much, but the way his eyes softened said enough.

With his hair pulled back, his features were clearer, more youthful. The ponytail lent him a boyish charm, so different from the cold, sharp aura of the man I once knew. I studied him for a moment longer, then let my eyes fall to the silk band, now slightly damp from his hair.

But as I admired my handiwork, an unsettling thought crept into my mind. What if the real Ruan Yanjun awoke and saw this? I could almost hear his disdainful voice mocking my efforts, calling the silk band a "peasant's trinket" before tossing it into the fire. Worse, he might strangle me with it, just to make a point.

I shuddered at the thought and shook it off. Lan Feng wasn't Ruan Yanjun—not right now. And in this moment, his gratitude was genuine.

"Gege," he said, pulling me from my thoughts. He was still looking at the mirror, but his tone was soft. "Thank you. I'll take good care of it."

I smirked, but it was a gentle one. "You better. That silk wasn't easy to stitch."

He turned back toward me, ponytail swaying with the motion, and offered one of those small, luminous smiles that made him look like the boy he believed himself to be. It was the kind of smile that made everything feel just a little bit easier, even if just for a breath.