Chapter 15: Silver Wings and Silk Threads

The ethnic crafts fair buzzed like a human beehive. Shangguan's grip tightened as we navigated through stalls overflowing with indigo-dyed fabrics and jingling silver ornaments. At a Bai minority booth, sunlight fractured through a butterfly-shaped hairpin, casting prismatic shadows on my palm. 

"Two hundred," I haggled with the vendor, adopting my mother's market-day squint. "Final offer." 

The silversmith chuckled, wrinkles deepening around her moon-shaped face. "For you, special price - 190. But keep the change for bus fare, girl." 

As she wrapped the hairpin in rice paper, Shangguan's gaze locked onto a pair of intertwined silver bracelets. "Love chains," the vendor explained, polishing the links with her apron. "Man buys, woman wears. No discounts - bad luck." 

"Two hundred sixty," I translated, watching his Adam's apple bob. When he pulled out crisp bills without hesitation, the vendor winked at me. 

We drifted through the labyrinth of stalls, our purchases accumulating - batik shirts smelling of beeswax, a peacock-feather embroidery that cost more than my monthly rent. At a Dong minority textile stall, a collision sent me stumbling into Shangguan's chest. 

"Well well," drawled a familiar British accent. David, my former language exchange partner, stood grinning beside his bride-to-be. "Didn't peg you for the PDAs-in-crowds type, Yu." 

His fiancée Ayi examined Shangguan like a museum exhibit. "Government official?" she guessed in Mandarin. 

"Worse," I laughed, extracting myself. "My boss." 

The afternoon dissolved into plans for tomorrow's seaside cycling trip. As we parted, David whispered in my ear: "That man looks at you like you're the last train to Tokyo Station." 

**Text Message Log** 

*Mama @18:47*: 你爸说那小子买了个屏风? 

*Me*: 工作需要 

*Mama*: 工作需要你教他砍价! 

Back at the hotel, Shangguan pressed a paper bag into my hands - inside, the cursed love chains glinted accusingly. The concierge's smirk followed me all the way to the taxi stand.