The storm had passed.
The clouds that had loomed heavy yesterday were now gone. A clear blue sky stretched endlessly, and sunlight spilled warmly across the land, chasing away shadows that had haunted the roads.
Along the riverbanks, men and women gathered with poles and hammers, striking the stubborn plates of ice until they cracked and drifted away in glittering shards. With every blow, the river exhaled, dark waters churning free, carrying with them the heavy slumber of the cold months. Children cheered each time the ice broke apart, their laughter echoing like bells across the awakening streets.
Two men wrestled for fun at a crossroads, tumbling into the mud while bystanders laughed and wagered on the outcome. Fishermen untied their boats, sliding them back into the water, their nets slapping against the river's edge. The city that had once held its breath now breathed in rhythm again—noisy, messy, alive.
The river, once locked beneath the cruel weight of winter, now sang again.The people stood upon its banks, their hands still red from breaking the ice, their breath curling like smoke beneath the pale sky. Where frost had clung, water now ran free, rushing as if eager to return to the sea.
Upon a raised stone altar, they set their offerings—bowls of fragrant rice, roasted meats still steaming, fruits gathered from the last store of autumn, and clay jars of deep red wine. Smoke from burning incense rose in spirals, curling toward the heavens, a bridge between mortal hands and unseen spirits.
Then she stepped forth.A girl draped in flowing white and pale blue, her sleeves as long as the wind itself. Her hair, dark as the midnight sky, was crowned with silver ornaments that chimed softly when she moved.
She raised her arms, and the ceremonial dance began.
Her steps were slow, solemn, as though tracing the rhythm of the river's thaw. Her sleeves unfurled like drifting clouds; her turns called to the winds that circled above. At each bow, the people lowered their heads in silence, for they knew the gods were watching.
And there—right in the middle—Min He pushed forward, eager to see. Her head tilted, eyes wide as if the dance would slip away if she blinked. She stumbled, her foot catching on a stray basket. Down she went, tumbling into the baskets carried in careful hands. Dried fish flew, rice scattered, a jug of wine toppled, its fragrance spilling into the earth.
Min He scrambled up, cheeks red, still craning her neck to watch, as if nothing in the world—not shame, not spilled wine—could keep her from the beauty of that dance.
To the Sun, she lifted her face, letting its pale warmth touch her brow.To the Clouds, she spread her arms wide, as though to embrace their endless veils.To the Winds, she twirled, her garments rising and falling as if guided by unseen hands.And at last, she knelt to the river itself, dipping her fingers into its cold flow, lifting droplets to scatter upon the altar.
"May the waters never cease. May the earth bore fruit. May the heavens bless us."
The wine was poured, a libation into the current. The foods were left to rest upon the stone, for mortal hunger could wait, but the gods' favor could not.
And as her dance reached its final arc, the river roared louder, the winds rose, and the first bird of spring cut across the sky.
It was said that in that moment, the gods of sun, cloud, wind, and river smiled as one.
When she bowed at last, the people clapped and cheered, not just for the girl but for the return of warmth, for the promise of life reborn.
Before the shrine of wind and river, platters of rice, roasted fish, and jugs of wine were set. The people knelt, bowing thrice, murmuring thanks to the gods of cloud, sun, and flowing waters.
Children laughed as they chased one another between narrow alleys, their bare feet quick against the snow. Street vendors shouted out prices for steaming dumplings and skewered meats, the air rich with the fragrance of roasted spices and sweet candied fruits. Inns had reopened their doors, travelers spilling onto the roads with wine cups in hand. A troupe of street performers danced with painted fans, while a man balanced on a rope above the crowd, drawing cheers with every wobble.
Fishing boats docked along the riverbank; nets glistened with silver as the morning catch was carried into the markets. Arguments broke out between stallkeepers—loud, but harmless, ending in laughter and handshakes. Even the drunkards stumbling from taverns seemed more cheerful than menacing.
But as the party moved deeper through the bustle, the liveliness began to shift.
At the edge of the market, where the sunlight did not reach so strongly, an old shrine stood half-broken, its red paint flaking like dried blood. A strange silence clung to that corner.
From behind the shrine's shadow came the sound—slow, conscious, and unusual.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A figure emerged: stiff-limbed, its body clad in decayed burial robes. Skin pale as Sheepskin, lips bruised dark purple. A yellowed talisman fluttered weakly on its forehead, its ink faded, barely restraining the creature.
A Female jiangshi.
The children's laughter ceased. One by one, vendors stopped shouting, their voices swallowed by dread. The crowd that had been full of joy just moments ago shifted into panic. Mothers pulled their children close, and stallkeepers shoved baskets aside to hide.
The jiangshi's head jerked upward, its clouded eyes fixed on the travelers. The sunlight bathed the square, but the air turned cold again.
What had seemed like a celebration of life was now the stage for something far more sinister.