( Missing)
Zhang Lin stepped out of the inn with slow, deliberate grace, his presence cutting cleanly through the restless morning air. His robe was a deep charcoal layered with subtle silver embroidery along the sleeves and collar—patterns of flowing clouds stitched so finely they only revealed themselves when the light struck just right. The inner layer was a muted jade, barely visible at the neckline, adding a quiet refinement to his already composed figure. His hair was tied high, secured with a simple yet elegant pin, leaving no strand out of place.
He looked calm.
Too calm for the chaos waiting outside.
Not far from the entrance, the others stood gathered—and the moment he saw them, he knew.
Something was wrong.
The disciples, usually disciplined and upright, now stood unevenly spaced, their formation broken. Their robes—light gray with blue sashes marking their rank—were creased and dusted with dirt from rushing through narrow alleys and crowded paths. One had a tear along his sleeve, another's sash hung loose as though hastily retied. Their hands twitched at their sides, betraying the anxiety they tried so hard to hide.
Beside them stood his younger sisters.
Even in distress, their beauty did not diminish—it only changed.
Sang Sang wore a soft peach robe layered with translucent outer silk, embroidered with tiny blossoms that now clung unevenly to her form. The fabric had lost its neat drape, wrinkled slightly from constant movement. A few strands of her dark hair had escaped their careful pins, framing her face in a way that made her look softer… younger. But her eyes—her eyes were restless, scanning, searching, unable to settle.
The other stood in pale lavender, her robe more structured, tied tightly at the waist with a silver-threaded ribbon. Yet even that order had faltered; the ribbon had loosened slightly, the knot no longer perfect. Her lips were pressed thin, her fingers gripping the edge of her sleeve so tightly the knuckles beneath turned pale.
"Any luck?"
Sang Sang stepped forward the moment Zhang Lin approached, her voice steady—but her breathing wasn't.
Zhang Lin paused.
Then shook his head.
The reaction was immediate.
Sang Sang's shoulders stiffened before subtly dropping, as though she had been holding onto a fragile thread of hope that had just snapped. The girl in lavender turned her face slightly away, biting her lower lip, her composure cracking at the edges.
"Where did that boy run off to…" Elder Mi's voice came low, almost swallowed by the noise of the street.
He stood slightly apart, his elder robes darker and heavier than the rest—deep brown with gold lining along the hems, symbolizing his position. Yet even he was not untouched by the situation. His usually pristine appearance had dulled; dust clung to the bottom of his robe, and the sleeve he kept folded behind his back trembled ever so faintly.
"He's not anywhere near the market. I checked."
Zhang Lie approached, his voice firm—but his expression betrayed him.
His robe was a striking deep blue, trimmed with black, designed to emphasize strength and presence. Now, however, it bore the marks of urgency. The hem was slightly damp, his boots carried streaks of mud, and the outer layer of his robe had shifted out of place from constant movement. His hair, usually tied neatly, had loosened just enough to fall across his forehead.
His eyes were sharp.
Too sharp.
Because beneath that sharpness was fear.
A heavy silence fell.
Each of them stood in their own thoughts—but all roads led to the same place.
Kidnapped.
Sold.
Lost.
"Sister-in-law—"
The call broke through the tension.
All heads turned.
And then—
They saw her.
Mrs. Bi stood amidst the bustling crowd like a figure carved from stillness. Her robe was exquisite—layers of deep midnight blue fading into black at the edges, embroidered with faint, almost ghost-like patterns that seemed to shift when she moved. The fabric was rich, flowing with a quiet authority that demanded space without asking for it.
Her long dim-blue hair cascaded freely, unbound yet impossibly neat, catching light in a way that made it seem almost unreal.
But it wasn't her beauty that stilled them.
It was what she held.
"…Zhang Wei."
The name left Zhang Lin's lips, quieter this time.
The group moved forward quickly, their earlier restraint forgotten.
Zhang Wei lay in her arms, small—far too small.
His robe, once light and delicate, now clung to his body, soaked through and streaked with dirt. The pale fabric had turned slightly translucent in places, revealing just how thin it was. His long hair, usually adorned with colorful strings, now hung loose and tangled, the strings dulled and clinging to wet strands.
His skin looked pale.
Almost fragile.
Sang Sang's breath caught audibly, her hands rising instinctively before stopping mid-air, as if afraid to touch him and confirm what she feared. The girl in lavender took a step back instead, her eyes widening, her composure completely shattered.
Zhang Lie's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides so hard the fabric of his sleeves strained.
"What happened to him?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.
Mrs. Bi's gaze passed over them all.
Calm.
Unmoved.
"You should look after him," she said simply. "The traders here aren't very kind when it comes to things that attract attention."
Her lips curved faintly.
Sang Sang's expression hardened at that, her earlier anxiety twisting into something sharper—anger mixed with fear.
"If I hadn't passed through Music Dream… a place of pleasure…" Mrs. Bi continued, her tone almost casual.
The words hit like a blade.
The disciples stiffened immediately. One visibly swallowed, another looked away, discomfort flashing across his face. Even Elder Mi's brows drew together deeply, the implications not lost on him.
"He would have been sold," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly, "for something worth arguing over."
Her gaze dropped briefly to Zhang Wei.
"All because he looks like a delicate… beautiful rabbit."
Zhang Lin's grip tightened almost imperceptibly.
Before anyone could respond—
She tossed him forward.
"!"
Zhang Lin stepped in instantly, catching Zhang Wei against his chest. The sudden contact made his robe darken slightly where the dampness spread, but he didn't care. One arm wrapped securely around Zhang Wei's back, the other supporting his head with careful precision.
He was light.
Too light.
Sang Sang finally stepped closer, her hands hovering before gently touching Zhang Wei's sleeve, as if reassuring herself he was real. Her fingers trembled.
"He's cold…" she whispered.
Zhang Lie exhaled sharply, turning his face away for a brief second, his usual composure breaking under the weight of it. His hand dragged down his face before he forced himself to look back.
Elder Mi stepped forward, his voice quieter now—but firm.
"Take him back."
No one argued.
Zhang Lin didn't look up.
His calm exterior had cracked—not visibly to all, but enough that those closest to him could feel it.
Behind him, the group gathered tightly, their earlier disorder now replaced with a singular focus.
Protect him.
As for Mrs. Bi—
By the time they looked again—
She was already gone, her dark figure swallowed by the crowd, leaving behind only the faint echo of her presence… and the weight of what could have been.