The cloud-pattern bronze mirror on the workbench was finally repaired. The gaps had been filled with raw lacquer and polished over a dozen times; unless one looked closely, the traces were nearly imperceptible. Moonlight filtered through the window paper, falling on the mirror's surface—cold and still, like a pool of frozen water.
I stared at the mirror for a long time. The mirror was round, and the moon was round. Yet, something felt missing in my heart.
The thirtieth day of the tenth month, seventh year of the Former Yuan era. Winter had arrived in Chang'an. Charcoal burned in the workshop, and a thin layer of frost coated the window paper. I turned the bronze mirror over, back side up, and stopped looking at it.
In Florence, Halloween was the only day that made me want to go out. Not because I liked the crowds, but because there would be pumpkin lanterns on the streets. Orange light shone through the carved eyes, warming the entire street. Someone in the international student group always organized a party, but I never went. However, I would stand by the window for a while, watching the children pass by downstairs, dressed in strange costumes, carrying baskets, going door-to-door asking for candy.Trick or treat.
Back then, I thought it was noisy. Now, thinking about it, it suddenly seemed a bit cute.
"Qingxing."
She poked her head in from outside. "Lady Lu?"
"Does the kitchen have a golden melon (pumpkin)?"
"Yes. What does Lady Lu want to do with it?"
"Bring me one. Also, malt sugar, honey, rice wine, plums, and dried osmanthus."
Although Qingxing looked confused, she ran off. I stood up, put away the tools on the workbench, and cleared a space. The charcoal fire crackled, and warmth spread from the soles of my feet upward.
Qingxing returned quickly, followed by two young eunuchs carrying a golden melon, a jar of rice wine, a jar of honey, a plate of malt sugar, a plate of dried osmanthus, and a plate of salted plums.
"Lady Lu, what are you going to do with these?"
"Make a few things." I took the golden melon, my palm pressing against its cool skin. "Help me wash the melon, cut a lid off the top, and scoop out the pulp inside."
Qingxing agreed, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. I picked up a plum, chopped it into fine pieces, and put them into a coarse pottery bowl. The knife tip hit the cutting board with a steadydu-du rhythm. I added a little honey and some rice wine, stirring until mixed. I took a sip—sweet and sour. The tongue first touched the sweetness of the honey, then the sourness of the plum, and finally the lingering sweetness of the rice wine. In Florence, a classmate had taught me how to mix drinks. She said the simplest cocktail is just a base spirit with a balance of sweet and sour. Rice wine was too light, but adding plums and honey brought out layers of flavor.
I poured another bowl of rice wine, adding osmanthus and honey. The dried osmanthus floated on the surface, golden yellow, like the last bit of color left by autumn.
"Lady Lu, the melon is ready." Qingxing handed over the hollowed-out golden melon. The skin was bright yellow, the inner wall smooth, emitting a clear, sweet fragrance.
I picked up a carving knife. The tip pressed against the melon skin; I hesitated for a moment, then applied forcescreech. The golden skin was shaved away, revealing the white flesh underneath. Triangular eyes, a grinning mouth. Exactly like the ones in my memory.Ugly. But the corners of my mouth curled up.
Qingxing watched from the side, her eyes wide. "Lady Lu, what... what is this?"
"A pumpkin lantern," I said. I cut a candle short, placed it inside the melon, and lit it. Orange light shone through the triangular eyes, casting a warm patch of light on the workbench, warming my hands as well.
"In my world, today is a festival."
"What festival?"
"Halloween." I put down the carving knife and looked at the lantern. "Children wear strange clothes and go door-to-door asking for candy. Trick or treat."
Qingxing paused, then covered her mouth and laughed. "So Lady Lu is celebrating this festival for His Highness?"
My hand paused mid-action. "Who said it's for him?"
She didn't speak, just smiled and retreated to the corner. I lowered my head; my ears felt hot.
Wind rose outside; frost flowers rustled against the window paper. The flame of the pumpkin lantern flickered, then steadied.Hai hour (9 PM - 11 PM). The workshop door was pushed open.
Liu Che stood at the doorway, wearing court robes, his hair crown still on. He looked somewhat exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. But when he saw that cluster of orange light in the workshop, his steps halted.
"What is this?"
He walked in and squatted before the pumpkin lantern. The orange light hit his face, softening the exhaustion in his eyes. He leaned in to look closely, his nose almost touching the melon skin.
"Carved really ugly," he said.
"...Could Your Highness say something nicer?"
The corner of his mouth curved. He stood up and saw the bowls of wine and plates of sugar on the workbench.
"What is this?"
"Wine. Mixed. Plum honey wine, Osmanthus honey wine." I pointed to the two bowls. "Try it."
He lifted the plum wine and took a sip, his tongue pausing against the rim for an instant. The sweet and sour flavor melted in his mouth; he raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad."
"Could Your Highness use a different word?"
He glanced at me. "Very good."
"...Still just 'not bad' is fine."
He chuckled and sat down opposite me. Today he didn't sit on the ground but on a cushion Qingxing had brought—probably because wearing court robes made sitting on the floor inconvenient. He lifted the osmanthus honey wine and took another sip, this time a larger one; his Adam's apple bobbed.
"You just said Halloween is a festival in your world," he held the wine bowl, his gaze falling on the pumpkin lantern. "How is it celebrated?"
"Children wear strange costumes and go door-to-door asking for candy."
"Asking for candy?"
"Yes. They say 'Trick or Treat'. If you don't give candy, they play tricks."
Trick or treat?" He repeated, his pronunciation wildly off, turning "treat" into Cui-te."
I laughed. My shoulders relaxed, and the laughter escaped my throat on its own.
"What does it mean?"
"It means 'Trick or Treat'."
"Play tricks?" He raised an eyebrow, light entering his eyes. "What kind of tricks?"
"For example—throwing eggs at your door, or smashing the pumpkin lantern."
He paused, then burst into laughter. The sound echoed through the workshop; the charcoal fire seemed to jump along with it. "Interesting. The children in your world are quite bold."
"Was Your Highness like this when you were young?"
He thought for a moment, his finger tracing the rim of the wine bowl. "When I was young, no one dared refuse me candy."
"...Then Your Highness was the one saying 'Trick or Treat'."
He glared at me, but the corners of his mouth were curved, and a thin layer of red rose from his earroots. The alcohol was taking effect.
"Your Highness," I picked up my wine bowl, "would you like to learn a game from my world?"
"What game?"
Fifteen-Twenty. Two people extend their fists simultaneously. You can show zero, five, ten, fifteen, or twenty fingers total. Whoever guesses the total number of fingers shown by both wins."
He frowned. "So complicated?"
"Not hard. Come on."
I extended my hand. He hesitated, then extended his. First round: he showed a fist (0), I showed five fingers. Total: 5. He guessed ten; I guessed five. I won.
"Again."
Second round: he showed five, I showed five. Total: 10. He guessed ten; I guessed fifteen. He won.
His frown eased slightly. "Again."
We played round after round. He frowned when he lost and smiled when he won. Bowl after bowl of wine emptied; he poured another. The osmanthus honey wine was sweeter than the plum wine; he drank fast. The thin redness on his face deepened, spreading from his earroots to his cheekbones, even coloring his neck.
"I won." He put down his hand, the corners of his mouth curving high, his eyes bright as the fire in the pumpkin lantern.
"Your Highness won."
"Again."
We played a few more rounds. His movements slowed; his fingers trembled slightly when extending his fist. I reached out and held his wrist.
"Your Highness, you've drunk too much."
"No," he said, but his eyes were already somewhat hazy. His gaze shifted from the pumpkin lantern to my face, paused for an instant, then moved away.
"Again." He pulled his hand away and extended it again.
I showed five. He showed five. Total: 10. Both of us said "Ten" simultaneously. A draw.
He put down his hand and leaned against the pillar. The collar of his court robe was loosened slightly, revealing his collarbone. He looked at me; the alcohol had softened his gaze, making it less sharp than usual.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Why are you celebrating this festival?"
I paused.
"Today, over there," he said, his voice slightly slurred, each word seeming soaked in wine, "how did you spend it alone?"
I said nothing.
"You said you don't celebrate anything," he looked at me. "No Dragon Boat Festival, no Mid-Autumn, no Spring Festival. So this Halloween—did you celebrate it before?"
I was silent for a moment. "No."
"Then why celebrate it today?"
Outside the window, frost flowers rustled in the wind. The pumpkin lantern's flame flickered, casting his swaying shadow on the wall.
"Because—" I paused, my fingers gripping the edge of the wine bowl. "Because I wanted to show you."
He said nothing.
"In my world, this festival is very lively," I lowered my head, looking at the half-bowl of wine remaining. "Pumpkin lanterns everywhere on the streets, children running around. I used to think it was noisy. Now—"
I stopped. Something blocked my throat.
"Now I think, a little noise is quite nice."
He was silent for a long time. The charcoal fire crackled; a piece of wood collapsed, sending out sparks.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Were you very lonely before?"
I looked up. He was looking at me, his gaze serious. The alcohol hadn't made him confused; instead, it made him more direct. Beneath that thin layer of redness in his eyes was something very clear.
"It was okay," I said.
"Liar."
I didn't answer.
"You said you don't celebrate anything," he said, his voice growing lower. "Eating alone, repairing things alone, bearing everything alone."
He reached out, took the wine bowl from my hand, and placed it on the workbench. His fingers brushed against mine—cool for a moment. His fingertips were cold, unlike mine.
"How did you get through it all alone?"
I looked into his eyes. The workshop was quiet; the charcoal fire occasionally crackled, and the candle in the pumpkin lantern burned. Those things I had always suppressed, softened by the alcohol, seeped out little by little through the cracks.
"I just... got through it," I said. My voice was hoarse.
He looked at me, not pressing further. He simply placed my hand on the workbench and covered it with his. His palm was warm; his fingertips were cool.
"Lu Xingye," he said, "where exactly are you from?"
I took a deep breath. My lungs filled with the sweetness of osmanthus wine and the smoke of the charcoal fire.
"Your Highness," I said, "if I tell you, will you believe me?"
"Yes."
"What if you don't?"
"I will." He didn't hesitate. "Whatever you say, I will believe."
I looked at his hand covering mine. His fingers were longer than mine, with distinct knuckles and thin calluses on the pads—from drawing the bow.
"I come from more than two thousand years in the future."
He said nothing. His expression didn't change.
"The place I come from is called Shanghai. In my era, Shanghai is a huge city with over twenty million people. There are very tall buildings, cars—vehicles that don't need horses to pull them, they run on their own. And airplanes—things that can fly in the sky, traveling from one country to another in just a few hours."
He listened. His gaze never left my face.
"I studied in Italy. Italy is a very, very far country in the West. The cities there are old, with many buildings and artifacts hundreds of years old. I studied artifact restoration there—putting broken things back together so they can live for a few hundred years more."
I paused.
"That tripod of Yours was repaired using the methods I learned there."
He was silent for a long time. His fingers tightened slightly on the back of my hand.
"You say you come from two thousand years in the future," his voice was low. "Then... do you know what happens in the future?"
My heart skipped a beat. "I know some things. But I dare not change them."
"Why?"
"Because if changed, it might affect many things. Maybe you wouldn't be you anymore, and this place wouldn't be this place."
He looked at me, his gaze complex. Not scrutinizing, not doubting, but something else—like someone had unfolded a huge map before him, and he didn't know where to look first.
"Then... how did you get here?"
"I don't know. One day I was repairing something in the studio, then I fainted. When I woke up, I was in a broken temple."
"Can you not go back?"
"I don't know." I lowered my head. "Maybe I can, maybe I can't."
He said nothing. The workshop was so quiet one could hear both our breaths. His hand still covered mine, not letting go.
"In that place," he suddenly asked, "do you have family?"
"Yes."
"Don't they look for you?"
"They will think I am dead," I said, my voice hoarse. "They may have already held my funeral."
His fingers tightened on the back of my hand, his knuckles turning white.
"Your Highness—"
"When you were young," he interrupted, his voice slightly hurried, "over there, what was your childhood like?"
I looked up. He was looking at me, his eyes very bright. The alcohol had softened his gaze, but something burned beneath it.
"When I was young," I said, "I lived with my grandmother. Her home was in a small city with a river. There were many plane trees along the riverbank. In summer, my grandmother would put a bamboo chair in the courtyard, sit on it, and fan herself. I would lie beside her, looking at the stars in the sky. She would point them out to me, telling me which was the Cowherd Star and which was the Weaver Girl Star."
"Was your grandmother good to you?"
"Yes. Very good."
"Then why don't you go back to find her?"
"She passed away when I was very young," I said. "After that, I was alone."
He said nothing. His fingers tightened on the back of my hand, then released.
"And then?" he asked.
"Then I went to school. I took university entrance exams, graduate school exams. Then I went to Italy."
"Italy," he repeated. "You said that place is very far."
"Very far. It takes over ten hours by plane."
"By plane?"
"It's... something that flies in the sky. Like a bird."
He frowned, unable to imagine it, but didn't press further.
"What is it like there?" he asked.
"Very beautiful. Many mountains, many seas. The houses are made of stone, very old, some hundreds of years old. There are many sculptures and fountains on the streets. The coffee smells great, and the ice cream is delicious."
"Coffee?"
"It's... a drink. Bitter, but very fragrant. Drinking it keeps you from getting sleepy."
He thought for a moment. "Like tea?"
"Not quite. Tea is clear; coffee is strong."
"Do you like it there?"
I thought about it. "Yes. There are many artifacts there; I could learn a lot. But—"
"But what?"
I looked into his eyes. The orange light of the pumpkin lantern flickered on his face, outlining him warmly. His fingers still covered mine, his thumb resting on my pulse.
"But there is no Your Highness there."
As soon as I said this, I was startled myself. He was also startled. His thumb pressed lightly on my pulse, feeling the beating beneath.
"Your heartbeat is very fast," he said.
"I drank wine," I said.
"Liar."
I didn't refute him.
He looked at me, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. That thin redness spread from his earroots to his cheekbones; there was light in his eyes.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"In that place, was anyone good to you?"
I thought about it. "No."
"Not a single person?"
"Not a single person."
He was silent for a moment.
"Then in the future," he said, "I will be good to you."
His voice was low, carrying the scent of wine, but every word was clear. The flame of the pumpkin lantern jumped; his shadow swayed on the wall.
I looked into his eyes. My nose stung; something surged up from my chest, blocking my throat.
"Your Highness," I said, "you've drunk too much."
"No."
"Yes."
"Even if I have," he said, "what I say is true."
My tears fell. Silently, streaming down my cheeks. He saw them, reached out, and wiped one away with his thumb. His fingers were a bit cool, but very light, as if afraid of breaking something.
"You're crying," he said.
"No."
"Yes."
I said nothing. He said nothing.
"Your Highness," I spoke, my voice so hoarse it didn't sound like my own, "aren't you afraid I really am from two thousand years in the future?"
"No."
"Aren't you afraid I might suddenly go back one day?"
His fingers tightened sharply on the back of my hand.
"No," he said.
"Your Highness—"
"You are not allowed to go back." He looked at me, his gaze suddenly becoming very serious, the alcohol suppressed by several degrees. The thin redness remained in his eyes, but beneath it was something clear and burning. "Did you hear me? You are not allowed to go back."
"Your Highness, this is not something I can decide—"
"Then find a way," he said, his voice slightly hurried. "You are someone who repairs things. You can repair anything. Repair yourself—keep yourself here. Fix it."
I looked into his eyes. Fifteen years old, the alcohol not yet faded, a thin redness on his face. When he said these words, his tone was serious, as if discussing something of utmost importance.
Tears fell again. He didn't wipe them this time; he just covered my hand with his, his palm pressing against the back of my hand, his thumb resting on my pulse. The beating beneath was fast; I didn't know if it was his or mine.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"You spent so long alone over there," he said, his voice lowering. "Now you don't have to."
He released my hand but didn't pull it away. His hand rested on the workbench, right beside mine. Very close.
"In the future, you will celebrate festivals here. Dragon Boat, Mid-Autumn, Spring Festival—" He paused. "Halloween."
I laughed, tears still hanging on my face. "Your Highness, Halloween is not a festival here."
"Then let it become one," he said. "You said it yourself: from broken to whole. From nothing to something."
I looked at him. The light of the pumpkin lantern flickered on his face, making his eyes shine brightly.
"Okay," I said.
He smiled. Very faint, very real. Like the light in the pumpkin lantern.
Night deepened. He leaned against the pillar, eyes closed. The collar of his court robe was open, his hair crown askew. I thought he had fallen asleep.
"Lu Xingye," he suddenly spoke without opening his eyes.
"I am here."
"That Shanghai you mentioned," he kept his eyes closed, "the place you lived as a child, what was it like?"
"There was a river called Suzhou Creek. Many plane trees lined the banks. In autumn, the leaves turned yellow and fell to the ground; they made a sound when stepped on."
"Like the fallen leaves in Chang'an?"
"About the same."
"Did you have friends over there?"
"A few."
"Don't they look for you?"
"They probably would. But they can't find me."
He said nothing. Another piece of charcoal collapsed, sending out sparks that quickly died.
"Your Highness," I said, "it's time to go back. You have early court tomorrow."
He didn't move.
"Sit a while longer."
"Your Highness—"
"I'm afraid you'll go back."
His voice was very low, as if squeezed out of his throat.
I froze.
"You said you are from two thousand years in the future," he didn't open his eyes, his eyelashes trembling slightly. "You said maybe you can go back, maybe you can't. I'm afraid—"
He didn't finish. His fingers clenched on the workbench, knuckles white.
I looked at him. Eyes closed, leaning against the pillar, a fifteen-year-old boy in court robes, hair crown askew, a thin redness of alcohol still on his face. When he said "I'm afraid," his voice trembled.
"Your Highness," I said, "I will not go back."
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Really?"
"Really."
He looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled. Very light, very faint. As if he had breathed a sigh of relief. That breath exhaled from his chest softened his entire being.
"Good," he said.
He stood up and walked to the door. He stopped, not turning around. Moonlight streamed in from outside, outlining his court robes clearly.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"That Halloween you mentioned," he said, "we will celebrate it next year too."
"Okay."
"And the year after."
"Okay."
"Every year."
I looked at his back standing at the door. Moonlight fell on him, stretching his shadow long, reaching into the workshop, all the way to my feet.
"Okay," I said.
He pushed the door open and walked out.
Moonlight followed him, paving the ground.
The workshop fell silent. The charcoal fire still burned, occasionally crackling. The candle in the pumpkin lantern was nearly burnt out; the orange light flickered, bright and dim.
I looked down at the bronze mirror on the workbench. Moonlight and candlelight overlapped on it; the mirror surface glowed with a faint light. The gaps remained, but the mirror was whole.
I reached out and touched the spot where his hand had covered mine. The warmth was still there on the back of my hand, now cooled, but not completely gone.Every year, he said.
I picked up the unfinished bowl of osmanthus honey wine and took a sip. It was cold, but still sweet.
Outside the window, the moon rose to its highest point. Large, round, like a bronze mirror without a flaw.
I blew out the pumpkin lantern. The workshop darkened, leaving only the moonlight from outside.Every year.
[End of Chapter 11]