The streets of Qingpu District were quiet at first, broken only by the occasional burst of heated Mandarin as merchants argued over prices. The air carried the mingling scents of sizzling dumplings, sweet candied hawthorn, and faint incense from nearby temples. Vendors bustled between stalls, their hands moving with practiced efficiency as they prepared for the night’s grand event—the Lunar Spring Festival. Lanterns swayed gently above, casting warm, flickering pools of light on cobblestones that had felt the weight of centuries.

By nightfall, the district had transformed. The streets pulsed with life, a living tapestry of colors, sounds, and movement. Dancers twirled through the throngs, ribbons and dragon tails whipping like flames in the air. Merchants called out their wares, coins clinking in tin bowls, while the crowd, drawn from neighboring districts, cheered and gasped at each display. Cars rigged with flat platforms crept along the roads, carrying performers who spun and leapt, lantern light bouncing off their costumes. Inside shops, families peered through windows, savoring food and tradition in quiet celebration.

“Alright. .I got this,” The Iron Fist muttered under his breath, voice barely audible beneath the roar of the crowd. Normally he concealed his identity, but tonight he wore it openly. Tonight, he was not just Lin Lie—he was the dragon. He lifted the ornate dragon head, giving it a few experimental shakes before inhaling deeply and exhaling. “Bless me, Shou-Lao,” He whispered, a private prayer to the dragon whose power now coursed through him.

Stepping into the street, the crowd’s cheer swelled into a wave of sound. The dragon costume flowed with him, each movement precise yet fluid, as if the spirit of Shou-Lao itself guided his limbs. The dancers around him played their part, ribbons tracing arcs in the air, lanterns swinging to capture the dragon’s sinuous form. Drums pounded, cymbals clashed, and the rhythm vibrated through his bones. Lin Lie’s chest rose and fell beneath the mask as he grunted with exertion and delight, every twist, leap, and pivot transforming him into a creature of myth. The dragon roared without sound, its presence commanding the streets, and for a fleeting moment, the festival and the hero became one.