Two weeks later, they should have arrived a lot sooner. The journey from the desert shrine to the capital of Yanhuang had been long and merciless, not in distance but in strain. Qigai's frail health had delayed them often, forcing Daoming to call for frequent rests and treatments that barely eased the boy's pain. Despite that, Qigai had not once complained. Not when his legs trembled, not when his chest burned from coughing, not even when the sands had blistered his already scarred skin.
Now, at last, they were here.
The gates of Tianran, capital of the Yanhuang Kingdom, rose like ancient mountains carved by gods and worshipped by men. Crimson tiled roofs layered like phoenix carvings. Towering spires of ivory stone twisted with gold and flame-colored banners. The people were endless. The streets pulsed with life, and incense curled from high towers like prayers whispered to the sky.
Inside the carriage, Qigai leaned out the small, square window, his chin resting against the rim, lips slightly parted. His wooden mask caught the sunlight, and through its narrow eye slits, his eyes widened with childlike awe. His deformed fingers clenched the sill.
"So many," he whispered. "I never imagined so many people."
Daoming smiled faintly, seated across from him, arms folded inside his robes. "The capital is the heart of the Kingdom, child."
Qigai nodded without turning back. "And now my family will see me."
The words were full of wonder, not arrogance. His voice shook with reverence, as though the idea of being seen had never fully existed until now.
But their welcome was not what he had hoped.
A dozen imperial guards, clad in gleaming red lacquered armor, blocked the carriage as they turned onto the path toward the palace. Their commander, a tall man with a thick scar across his brow, rode forward and raised a gloved hand.
"This path is closed. You are not permitted to enter the palace grounds," he said, his tone sharp but without malice.
Daoming pushed the carriage door open, robes fluttering as he stepped down. He bowed low, hands folded.
"I am Daoming, High Priest of the Shrine of Eternal Ember. The boy inside this carriage is Baishen Qigai, son of the king. We come under imperial decree for the Churning. You are mistaken in denying us."
The commander remained unmoved. "You have your orders. The boy is to remain in the Temple of the Central Flame until summoned for the ceremony."
Daoming's brow creased. "And the king? Does he not wish to see his son?"
The commander gave no answer. He turned his horse and signaled to his men, who parted to let the carriage continue, though not toward the palace.
Defeated, Daoming climbed back inside. Qigai looked at him with quiet hope.
"What happened?" the boy asked.
Daoming hesitated. He took a breath. "There has been a change of plans. The king has asked that you stay at the temple in the heart of the city. He believes that if you remain close to the statue of the fire god, and spend your days in prayer, your chances of receiving a blessing will increase."
Qigai blinked. "So… they want me to bond with the god first, before meeting them?"
Daoming forced a smile and nodded. "Yes. They believe it is best."
Qigai looked out the window again, this time toward the palace walls towering in the distance. "That is where my family lives?"
Daoming followed his gaze. "Yes. That is your home, your mother is the Queen and your father the King of this kingdom."
Qigai sank into his seat grinning behind his mask.
I am in the same city as my parents, I'm breathing the same air as them and soon we will meet
The Temple of the Central Flame stood at the very center of Tianran. Its dome rose high, not with grandeur but with solemnity, built of grey stone that held the scent of ash. Red banners hung limp between the columns, and its gates were carved with the likeness of fire curling through clouds.
Yet the welcome here was colder than the palace guards had been.
The monks who greeted them wore white robes cinched in red sashes. Their heads were shaved, their foreheads bare of the red stones that marked divine rank. Their gazes slid over Daoming with recognition, but when they looked at Qigai, their eyes narrowed.
"You bring him here?" one of them said under his breath. "The cursed one?"
"Do not question the king's orders, He is the one who wants him to stay here" Daoming snapped, though he kept his tone smooth. "He is to be prepared for the Churning. This is where he will remain."
The monks, dissatisfied with the arrival of the cursed one in their holy place, gave Qigai a room near the outermost hall. It was no bigger than a pantry, with a thin mat on the floor and a single cracked window. There was no lantern, only a rusted hook where one should have hung.
Daoming's face tightened with fury when he saw the room, but Qigai touched his sleeve gently.
"It is beautiful," the boy said. "There is even a window."
Daoming said nothing.
The days passed slowly. The monks avoided him when they could, and when they could not, they spoke with short words and colder looks. Meals came late and were cold. His robes were worn and faded. Yet Qigai did not complain. To him, this place was paradise. Someone handed him food. Someone gave him a room. When he asked questions, someone answered. He had never known so much attention, even when it came with cruelty.
But on the seventh night, as he lay on the mat staring up at the shadowed ceiling, he saw something.
Light.
Dozens of glowing lanterns rising into the sky beyond the temple walls.
He sat up, hobbled to the window, and pressed his face against the glass. The lanterns came from the palace, their lights drifting like stars released from mortal hands. They floated upward in silence, soft and golden.
Qigai's heart pounded.
His family. They were thinking of him.
Perhaps they could not see him yet, but this was their sign. A celebration for his arrival. He had read of lantern festivals in the books Daoming gave him, sacred times when prayers were sent upward to reach the gods.
I can't wait any longer, I want to see them already