The river ran black beneath the twilight, its surface broken only by the ripples of something vast being pulled free. Xu Liang stood at the edge of the bank, his breath shallow, skin the color of paper. Despite the illness that gnawed at him daily, his hand still gripped his sword hilt — more out of will than strength.
Rong Yue dragged the last chain from the depths, its heavy links slick with water and moss. Each clink against the rocks echoed like a knell. Even in the dying light, the chain seemed to exhale a faint, unnatural mist, the remnants of a curse that had long bound the riverbed.
Wei Zhen knelt to examine it, his skill as a detective evident even in the way he brushed away clinging weeds. "These are no ordinary fetters. Look closely — each link bears a seal, etched with blood ink. Whoever forged them bound not just iron, but grievance." His dark eyes flicked toward Xu Liang. "It's no wonder your illness worsened near the water. The curse clings to your spirit as much as your body."
Xu Liang's lips curved faintly, though the smile faltered with a cough. He pressed a cloth to his mouth, hiding the stain it carried. "Then one burden is gone." His voice was soft, but steadier than his frame suggested.
Rong Yue set the iron aside and turned, his gaze hardening as it rested on Xu Liang. He was a prince, his presence carried the weight of command, yet when he touched Xu Liang's shoulder, it was with surprising gentleness. "You push yourself too far. Every step into danger steals more time from you. Why do you insist on carrying this alone?"
Xu Liang met his eyes, quiet but unflinching. "Because it is my life that's bound. But I do not walk alone, not while the two of you stand beside me."
Wei Zhen rose smoothly, his tone edged with dry humor. "A fine sentiment. But sentiment won't cure you." He dusted off his hands, his scholar's composure never faltering. "There is one place where remedies and curses can be found. The ghost market. If you dare to trust the bargains of the dead."
At that name, even Rong Yue's expression tightened. "The market only appears when the moon is full, hidden between breaths of the living world. The living walk there at risk of being mistaken for merchandise. And every deal demands a price equal to the desire."
Xu Liang turned his gaze to the horizon. The river mist had thickened, rolling low across the ground until it blurred the line between earth and sky. "Then at dusk, we'll depart. If the market has what I need, I will pay whatever it asks."
Wei Zhen's laugh was soft, almost bitter. "That's what everyone says. Few walk away whole."
Rong Yue's hand tightened unconsciously at Xu Liang's shoulder. "We'll go together. But if the market dares ask too much, I'll burn it to ash before I let it take you."
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Xu Liang looked at him, something unreadable flickering in his fever-bright eyes, before he finally nodded.
The chains lay coiled at their feet like a dead serpent, but the true weight pressing on them was the journey ahead. The ghost market awaited — a place where shadows bargained, where desires carried teeth, and where Xu Liang's fate would be decided.
And when the river's mist swallowed the last light of dusk, the three men stood together, bound by loyalty, fear, and an unspoken promise: they would not leave the market the same as they entered it.
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By morning, the mist had thinned, but the riverbank still smelled of rust and wet stone. The chains, now sealed inside an iron coffer, had been buried beneath the shrine at the village edge. Offerings of rice wine and incense smoke curled into the dawn air, carried by villagers who had gathered to watch the three men depart.
The old village headman, stooped yet dignified, approached Xu Liang first. His hands trembled as he bowed deeply. "Gongzi… our river runs free again because of you. The chains have been lifted, and with them, our children's fever dreams. If you had not come…" His voice broke, and he pressed a pouch of dried herbs into Xu Liang's palm. "Take this. It is all I can give."
Xu Liang clasped the man's hand in return, his smile faint but sincere. "You give me more than you know. Guard your river well."
Behind him, Rong Yue accepted the villagers' bows with a prince's measured grace. Yet his eyes were on Xu Liang more than the people. To one kneeling farmer he said only, "Rise. You owe me no thanks. It is him" and here his gaze flicked to Xu Liang "who bore the burden."
Wei Zhen lingered apart, his scholar's robes catching the breeze. When a cluster of children ran up to him, holding out talismans scrawled with childish ink, he only arched a brow. "Do you even know what you've written?" he asked, but when one girl earnestly insisted, "It will keep away bad spirits," he tucked the paper into his sleeve without another word.
The villagers lined the path leading out of the settlement, their murmurs filled with both relief and unease. Word had already spread: the three would be walking into the ghost market. Some villagers whispered prayers under their breath, others looked away, as though fearing to name that place aloud.
At the gate, the headman bowed again, deeper than before. "May Heaven grant that you return whole. And if the market asks too steep a price" His eyes clouded with sorrow. "remember that the living must value their lives above all."
Xu Liang inclined his head, though his voice carried iron beneath the softness. "I will not waste the life I have left."
Wei Zhen's hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, silent promise in the gesture. Rong Yue glanced at the sky, noting the setting sun, and said simply, "It is time."
And so, beneath the watchful eyes of the villagers, the three men turned from the familiar earth of the riverbank and walked toward the shadowed road. The path bent westward, where the hills were said to open only for those willing to cross the boundary between the living and the dead.
Behind them, the villagers kept their vigil, standing in silence long after the figures of their protectors had disappeared into the morning haze.