The dirt streets of his little village were always quiet, at this time of night.

No oil lamps burned within humble mud-brick homes, no small children played in the narrow alleys between them; the residents were in deep slumber, resting their weary heads upon straw and woven reeds.

Only when the sun’s rays spilled over the amber paddies would they rise and begin another working day in the nearby sprawling fields.

“What are you doing out this late, anyway?” Huizhen asked, twirling an ostentatiously ornate hairpin between calloused thumb and forefinger, “No more golden boats left to carry you back into the Heart?”

He casted a sidewards glance at the owner of the aforementioned hairpin who walked beside him, eyes glimmering with mirth. If it’d been any other, he certainly wouldn’t have spoken so casually: most nobles from the Capital would’ve ordered a rural boy like him to be forcibly removed from their sight.

And that’s if they’re one of the rare kind few.

…Then again, most of said-nobles wouldn’t be caught dead up in these sprawling mountains, far from their lavish cities of jade and silks—and they most certainly wouldn’t trust a commoner like Huizhen with their hairpin.

Well. There existed only one exception to this rule: it currently strolled alongside a young farmer’s son through his nameless village, as though the circumstances of their births weren’t as contrasting as night and day.