The King's procession finally drew to a close as twilight descended.
The last trace of sunset glow on the horizon was diffused by the inky blue night mist, resembling a watercolor painting washed with light ink.
And that magnificent procession, under such a sky, slowly disappeared at the end of the street like a long, glittering snake.
The attendant at the very end of the procession carried a glazed lamp; the light shone through the colored lamp walls, casting flickering spots on the cobblestone road, as if leaving the final set of footprints for this grand outing.
When the last bit of golden-red robe corner was swallowed by the street corner, even the jewelry luster floating in the air seemed to be mostly drained away, becoming dim.
Recalling the sights along the way, the words "opulence" and "extravagance" were truly etched into its very essence—the King's long robe, studded with jewels, made one dizzy with every step; the rubies resembled solidified drops of blood, the sapphires looked like ice-cold lake water, and the diamonds burst forth with fragmented light in the twilight, making people almost hold their breath.
The Knights' cloaks unfurled large swaths of rainbow colors in the wind; the fabric woven from peacock feathers rose and fell with their steps, as if countless small birds were flapping their wings on the cloth.
Even the mouthpieces of the band's horns were plated with thin gold; the golden light trembled with the melody when played, flashing with every step. In a trance, it seemed as if half the national treasury was draped over them, ostentatious and extravagant.
The excitement was truly palpable.
The cheers and discussions of the crowd swept over the entire street like a rising tide. People in the front rows stood on their toes, pushing forward, while those in the back lifted children onto their shoulders. Even the old man selling candy forgot to hawk his wares, focusing only on craning his neck to look.
The children were even more excited, running after the procession while holding their candies. The syrup spun into crystal threads in the wind, and they didn't mind having it smeared all over their faces. Their crisp laughter sounded like scattered silver beans, rolling all over the street.
The Calico Cat on the wall was also startled by this spectacle.
It had been curled up napping in the gaps between the blue bricks, front paws holding its head, tail wrapped around its body, forming a fuzzy tricolored ball. Even its ears were drooping, completely ignoring the human noises below the wall.
But when the first string of firecrackers exploded with a "crackling" sound, it suddenly sprang up as if pricked by a needle. Its back instantly arched into a small mountain, and all its fur stood on end, the tricolored coat bristling like an exploded ball of yarn.
Only after seeing clearly the dense crowd and the dazzling procession below did it slowly relax, yet it remained vigilant, squatting on the wall top, its two round, amber eyes wide open, staring intently downwards.
Its ears perked up like two small radars, their pointed tips rotating with the sounds—the clatter of the Knights' boots, the blare of the band's horns, the cheers of the crowd, and even the distant cries of vendors were accurately captured by its ears.
It couldn't help but make a "purring" sound in its throat, like an old spinning wheel turning softly, or perhaps humming along to the rhythm of the crowd, seemingly adding to the excitement of the grand ceremony.
Its tabby-patterned tail gently patted the rough bricks, once and then again, with a kind of nonchalant laziness.
The tip of its tail occasionally hooked onto the Foxtail Grass growing in the wall crevices, causing the blades to sway, yet it didn't even raise its eyelids, focusing intently only on the dazzling robe in the center of the procession.
Whenever the King's figure passed by, it would suddenly tilt its head, the left ear flopping down while the right ear perked up, as if pondering what those shiny things actually were—sweet candy blocks that could be licked? Or something more scratch-resistant than a ball of yarn?
For a moment, a strong beam of light reflected off the diamonds on the King's robe corner, shining directly into its eyes.
The Calico Cat shrank back in fright, its whiskers trembling. Then, gathering its courage, it crept forward again, sniffing the bright spot with its nose, as if trying to figure out what it was.
Probably deciding that the jewels neither smelled like dried fish nor were as fun as the Dandelions in the corner, it yawned, revealing a pink tongue and tiny sharp teeth, but its tail continued to pat the brick wall.
"Pat, pat," like it was keeping time for the excitement.
But even the most lively show must eventually end.
When the crisp sound of the last Knight's boot sole hitting the corner cobblestones completely vanished, the sound seemed to have been swallowed by the night into a bottomless pit, leaving not even an echo.
When the last golden-red shadow of the jewel-studded long robe was swept into the alley entrance by the twilight, the entire street seemed to have its backbone suddenly pulled out; the clamor instantly ceased, and silence reigned over most of the area.
Even the wind seemed to slow its pace, swirling up a crumpled candy wrapper on the ground before gently letting it fall, as if emitting a soft sigh for this grand finale.
First, the old man who had been standing on his toes in the front row sighed.
The old man's back was hunched like a crescent moon bent by time, and his shoulder blades slightly protruded beneath his cloth shirt, resembling two hard stones hidden underneath.
Just now, in order to clearly see the King's procession, he had practically turned his toes into compass points, his heels half an inch off the ground, his legs taut like drawn bows, straining his neck forward until the veins on his forehead bulged.
Now that the procession had dispersed, he suddenly relaxed, and a piercing soreness and numbness shot through his ankles, as if countless small ants were crawling through his bones. His body swayed, and he stumbled, nearly falling.
His rough palms rubbed repeatedly against the corner of his clothing, a gesture carrying a childlike stubbornness.
The old Woman beside him quickly reached out and steadied his arm.
The old Woman's hands were like withered branches, covered in crisscrossing calluses, firmly supporting the old man's arm.
She wore a brightly polished silver bracelet on her wrist, which now gently tapped against the old man's sleeve with her movements, making a faint "clinking" sound.
"Walk slowly, watch your step."
The old Woman's voice was slightly hoarse, but it was warm, as if wrapped in a layer of cotton wool.
The old man hummed in acknowledgment, steadying himself with the old Woman's strength, and placed his other hand on hers, grasping her wrist.
The two walked hand-in-hand toward the alley.
The street lamp at the alley entrance flickered, stretching their shadows long, which then overlapped at the corner.
The old man walked slowly, so the old Woman slowed her pace to match him, occasionally turning her head to glance at him. The concern in her eyes was like the moonlight in the alley—faint yet enduring.
Near the end of the alley, the old man suddenly stopped, looked back toward the direction where the King's procession had vanished, and then pulled a crumpled paper packet from his chest. He carefully opened it; inside was a piece of fruit candy.
"Here," he pressed the candy into the old Woman's hand, "I saw you staring at the candy stall a few times just now."
The Woman holding the child lowered her head and patted the little one in her arms.
The little fellow was about three or four years old. He had been watching without blinking just now, his small face pressed into the Woman's neck, not even noticing the drool running down his chin.
Now that the procession was gone, he still had his small mouth open, his eyes slightly dazed, as if he hadn't fully recovered.
The Woman pulled out a piece of blue cloth handkerchief and gently wiped the drool from the child. Her fingertip brushed the child's soft cheek, which still had some baby fat—warm and tender.
"Time to go home," her voice was soft, like a feather brushing the tip of a heart.
"Mama will make you bread, sweeter than the jewels on the King's robe."
With that, she gathered the child's hat string, which had been ruffled by the wind, and turned to walk toward home.
The child's small fists were still unconsciously grasping at the air, as if trying to catch the dazzling lights that had vanished. He mumbled "Candy... candy..." from his small mouth.
This made the Woman laugh out loud, and her steps became lighter.
The candy vendor quickly packed up his small stall.
He looked back in the direction where the King had disappeared and curled his lip. His expression was unclear whether he was savoring the recent excitement or calculating today's income—perhaps the money earned from selling candy wasn't even enough to stud half a small diamond onto the King's robe.
His shadow was stretched long by the street lamp, swaying with his steps as he crossed a puddle on the cobblestone road.
This shattered the small amount of light, which eventually melted into the twilight at the street corner, leaving only a blurred silhouette.
The crowd dispersed in waves, like a receding tide.
The young fellow in the blue cloth shirt was an apprentice at the Silk Shop who had sneaked out to watch the excitement. Now, fearing he might be discovered by his boss, he walked quickly but couldn't help glancing back as he went.
He nudged his companion with his elbow. The companion was a boy who sharpened scissors, carrying a toolbox on his shoulder that made a soft "clanging" sound.
"Did you see that?"
The young fellow's voice was very low, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.
"The diamonds on the King's robe must have been the size of pigeon eggs! I've never seen anything so bright in my life!"
His companion nodded repeatedly, his rough hand gesturing in the air, likely mimicking the size of the jewels. Their laughter sounded like scattered beans, rolling far away before being crushed by the evening wind at the alley entrance.
The flower girl squatted down, picking up the scattered roses one by one.
Her basket had originally been full of freshly picked roses—red, pink, and white—but they were spilled all over the ground by the recent surge of people.
The petals were covered in dust, and a few were trodden upon and slightly wilted. Yet, she treasured them, gently brushing off the dust with her fingertips and blowing on the petals, as if this could restore their freshness.
She placed the recovered roses into the bamboo basket, her movements gentle as if nurturing a fragile dream, even though she knew these flowers probably wouldn't fetch a good price.
But there was no annoyance on her face. She simply patted the dirt off her skirt and carried the basket toward the Night Market—perhaps there would be late-returning passersby there who might buy a rose for someone waiting at home.
The pub owner nearby was directing his staff to clear the tables and chairs.
A wooden 'Closed' sign hung on the pub's wooden door, the lettering already somewhat faded. The staff were carrying long benches indoors, their legs scraping against the cobblestones with a "creaking" sound.
Empty wine jars were stacked high, more than half a person's height. The staff tied ropes around the jar mouths, producing dull "thudding" sounds. The scent of wine drifted over with the evening breeze, carrying a slightly tipsy warmth, as if trying to hold onto the lingering excitement.
The owner was a slightly plump middle-aged man. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time; the watch cover was somewhat mottled but polished brightly. Then he shouted to his staff:
"Hurry up! Finish cleaning and go home to rest. You have to get up early tomorrow!"
His voice was booming, exceptionally clear on the now-quiet street.
Soon, scattered remnants were left on the cobblestone road:
Crumpled candy wrappers rolled everywhere in the wind, some stuck in the cobblestone cracks, others hanging on roadside weeds.
A Sparrow landed on the half-eaten biscuit crumbs. It pecked twice, looked around warily, and then fluttered its wings and flew away.
Just like a grand feast ending amidst scattered dishes, there are always people quietly cleaning up, wiping tables, setting out bowls and chopsticks, preparing for tomorrow's sunrise and three meals.
The wind carried the last hint of gunpowder smell past the silk banners with a "whoosh," like someone gently turning a page.
The dazzling silk fabrics of the day turned into blurred color blocks in the night: red like dark fire, green like deep water, swaying gently with the wind, as if narrating the day's clamor.
The street slowly emptied, leaving only the street lamps swaying in the wind.
Light passed through the colored cloth lampshades, casting brilliant spots on the ground—red, yellow, and blue—like a spilled palette.
It was so quiet that one could hear the sound of coughing coming from distant windows, and the barking of dogs even further away, sound after sound rippling out into the night.
The excitement, which had just been filled with jewels and cheers, felt like a dream from which one wakes quickly.
In the dream, there were dazzling jewels, flying cloaks, and deafening firecrackers, but upon waking, only the street's mess and the deepening twilight remained, as if that brilliance had never existed.
When Gwof jumped down from Ben's shoulder, his ankles were still a little numb.
Ben's shoulders were wide and hard, making the backs of Gwof's knees sore. He rubbed his ankles, his fingertips touching the dust on the fabric—likely picked up when he was jostled by the crowd just now.
He looked up at the sky; the stars had begun to peep out, scattered sparsely like crushed diamonds sprinkled on inky blue velvet.
Then he turned around, looking at the gradually thinning crowd and listening to the sounds of stalls closing, conversations, and footsteps drifting from afar. These sounds mingled together, trivial yet real.
"Let's go, time to find a place to rest."
Ben patted his shoulder, his palm broad and warm, with a slightly rough texture.
His voice carried a hint of fatigue—he was probably tired because he had held Gwof up for too long, making his arms sore—but the smile in his eyes was undeniable. He likely felt the excitement had been worth watching, and holding Gwof up had been worth the effort.
Beads of sweat still clung to his forehead, glistening under the lantern light, like an un-wiped star.
Leah also slid down from Little Bottle's shoulder.
She lost her balance when she jumped down and stumbled, quickly grabbing Little Bottle's arm to keep from falling.
Her hair tips were a bit messy and dusty, but she didn't bother fixing it. In her hand, she clutched a feather she had picked up sometime earlier.
The feather was golden, with fine gold thread wrapped around its base. It had likely fallen from the corner of the King's robe, and it gave off a soft glow in the lamplight.
She waved the feather and smiled at Lettuce, her eyes curved like crescent moons, filled with sparkling light: "Lettuce, look! Doesn't it look like a little sun?"
Lettuce nodded, the light and shadows from earlier still reflected in her eyes, as if she had captured the brilliance of the jewels and the warmth of the lanterns within her gaze.
Her voice was very soft, carrying a hint of fatigue but also satisfaction: "It was really beautiful... just a little tiring."
There had been too much excitement today, from the silk city walls to the King's magnificent attire. Everything felt novel to her, but after the novelty, a faint weariness crept up, like a Traveler who had journeyed for a long time and finally wanted to find a place to rest.
Little Bottle stood nearby, scratching his newly grown golden curls. The hair was a light honey color, soft and slightly messy from Leah grabbing it earlier.
He looked at Gwof and Ben and whispered, "The inn isn't far from here. I memorized the way just now. We go this way."
After speaking, he pointed to the alley on the left, where the lanterns were brighter. One could vaguely see the sign for "Cai Xian Eatery" swaying in the wind—the place where they had eaten during the day, and the inn where they planned to rest tonight.