The Message
The wind howled through the narrow alleyways of Qinhe Street, rattling the red paper lanterns strung along the eaves. The night market had come alive under their flickering glow, hawkers shouting prices, the aroma of spiced pork buns mingling with the bitter tang of burning incense. In the shadows, amidst the throng of merchants and gamblers, walked Li Wei—a man who didn’t belong, and yet, had nowhere else to be.
Li Wei was lean, his face gaunt but not unattractive, with sharp cheekbones that caught the light when he turned his head. His hair, gathered into a high, flowing topknot, gleamed black as ink. He wore a narrow-sleeved robe of deep crimson, a color considered both fortuitous and bold in the Tang Dynasty. The robe was finely embroidered with gold thread depicting dragons chasing clouds, though the fabric had begun to fray at the edges—an illusion of wealth that had long since faded.
His fingers fidgeted with a folded parchment tucked into his sash. It carried a single line of calligraphy, written in vermilion ink: “The Dragon’s Whisper lies beneath the Red Lantern.” Cryptic, like all the messages he’d received from the mysterious benefactor who called themselves the Silent Blade. This wasn’t the first; for months, Wei had been following their riddles, attempting to piece together the puzzle of his past—a past he could barely remember.
Wei stopped outside a teahouse at the edge of the market, its entrance marked by a garish red lantern unlike the others. It was larger, its red paper lined with blackened characters that spoke of “patronage” and “protectors of the Emperor” in a language of thinly disguised threats. A bouncer, his arms thick as an ox’s, leaned on a spear at the door, sizing up anyone who dared approach.
“You dare bring that ragged robe out here, scholar?” the man barked, his eyes narrowing at Wei’s once-grand attire.
Wei offered a shallow, sarcastic bow. “And yet, here I am. Does this Red Lantern not welcome all?”
The bouncer sneered but stepped aside after a tense moment. Wei entered, his heart hammering like the temple drums at dawn.
The Red Lantern’s Shadows
Inside, the teahouse reeked of strong liquor and desperation. Round tables were crowded with scheming merchants and off-duty soldiers, their laughter both hollow and cruel. A guzheng player strummed softly in the corner, her notes nearly drowned by the cacophony.
Wei’s gaze fell on a lone figure at a table near the back, cloaked in shadow. A single, crimson lantern hung low over this stranger’s head—but it wasn’t the lantern that caught Wei’s attention. It was the gleam of a small jade pendant resting on the table, carved in the shape of a dragon clutching a pearl.
It almost stopped Wei in his tracks. That pendant was unmistakable—it was the same one he had seen in fevered fragments of memory, the only constant in a haze of blood, betrayal, and anguish. It was why he had followed the Silent Blade’s riddles across the empire: to find the truth of what had happened to him and his family.
The figure gestured for Wei to sit with a single flick of their wrist. The hand was gloved, pale leather stretched taut over too-thin fingers.
Wei approached cautiously, every nerve on edge as he slid into the chair opposite. The stranger lifted their head slightly, revealing eyes like chips of onyx under the rim of a conical hat.
“Li Wei,” the voice was low, lilting, and female. “Or should I call you the Ghost of Yanli Pass?”
Wei blinked. Few outside the Imperial Guard used that title anymore, and he had wanted it buried along with his previous life.
“I prefer plain Li Wei,” he replied flatly. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” she said, her thin smile not reaching her eyes. “I was sent by someone who thinks you deserve answers. Tell me, do you still dream of the fire?”
His throat tightened. “What fire?”
The woman leaned forward, her gloved hand sliding the jade dragon across the table toward him. “The one that devoured your past, of course.”
The Burnt Past
The memories surged unbidden. Flames consuming the family shrine, the thick, choking heat of smoke, and the screams of those he’d loved—their voices blending with the clatter of Imperial soldiers raiding the compound. Wei gripped the edge of the table to steady himself, his crimson sleeves hiding the trembling in his fingers.
“It was you,” he said hoarsely, glaring at her. “You sent me to these fragments—to these lanterns and cryptic messages.”
“Not I,” she corrected smoothly. “But I serve the one who did. And now you’re ready to confront the Dragon’s Whisper.”
She gestured towards the jade pendant. “A map lies within. A clue to where the Emperor’s loyal Shadow Guard hides the truth of your family’s fall. But you must decide, Wei. Justice, or vengeance?”
Her words hung in the air like the scent of incense curling in slow spirals. Wei’s chest burned with remembered grief and rage, yet beneath the chaos was something quieter but no less potent: hope.
The Path Forward
Wei took the jade dragon and rose to his feet. “I’ve no use for riddles anymore. Tell me where to go.”
The woman’s smile sharpened, enigmatic as ever. “Under the old cypress at Changshui Temple. Midnight. Whether you seek revenge or redemption… that is for you to decide.”
Li Wei pressed the pendant into his sash and turned towards the door. The night outside was no less chaotic than before, but it had changed; the air seemed charged, alive with distant thunder. It welcomed him now. The Ghost of Yanli Pass was ready to return to the world—and this time, neither fire nor shadow would consume him.
As the Red Lantern faded into the distance, he could almost hear a whisper on the wind, as if the night itself foresaw the storm that was yet to come.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Smoking - Anatomy of the Addiction Industry
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