CHINESE ARYA STARK meets THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.
*A Wattpad Featured story*
When everyone wears a mask, who do you trust?
In the unforgiving empire of Erden where the Imperials reign supreme, Sarna is a slave. After escaping the brothel where a m...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"An umbrella was supposed to shield one from the rain, but not the one held by the Rain Goddess. This one pours rain!"
Rain Goddess—An Investiture of High Immortals
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Jade City was a wonderful spectacle of red and gold. Cylindrical red lanterns hung from fishing ropes pulled across pillars, trees, and houses. All along the street, stalls sold all sorts of tidbits and sweets. Above the throng of people shoving each other to participate in lantern guessing games. Fireworks exploded into brilliant shades of green and vermilion. Crackers popped on the streets as children shrieked in delight, dodging between the legs of the adults in search of any rogue pennies left on the ground.
The smell of cakes lifted my sunken spirits. I slid off my horse and guided her through the crowd.
"Would you like some malt candy?" A bald man with a friendly smile on his brown face asked. "Only one bronze Credit for one delicious stick!"
My stomach grumbled. I had taken only a few nibbles of cakes and biscuits at the banquet. I felt about for my money pouch, only to realize I hadn't brought it along. The dress was a divine masterpiece, but it didn't come with pockets.
"I don't have any money," I said.
"Well, the princess Qara was kind enough to give us provisions to prepare for winter, so why not pass on the good deed?" He handed me a malt candy stick. "Enjoy!"
Grateful, I took the candy. "Thank you."
"It's mid-autumn festival!" the man said. "It's the time to give and thank the High Immortals for bountiful crops and abundant children."
"Indeed. Happy mid-autumn festival."
The man didn't reply, as a group of children swarmed his stall, waving bronze Credits in the air and squabbling over the largest malt candy.
Off to the side, men and women in vibrant costumes juggled flaming torches. Slithering in and out of the crowd was a Nian. The Nian was a mythical beast with a burning red mane, enormous yellow eyes that enabled it to see in the dark, multicolored fur, and long wicked claws. When I was younger, I believed the Nian was real. But as I grew older, I realized they were just two men inside the costume, making it prance and snap. To be honest, it was a bit of a disappointment.
The Nian danced toward me, shaking its glorious head of red mane, the bells tied to its horns jingling.
I laughed. "I don't have any food for you."
The person holding the Nian's head nudged my face with the Nian's nose in an attempt of a lick, then leaped away.
I stood in the middle of the commotion, enjoying the aromatic smell in the air where fireworks met street delicacies. All around, the happiness bubbled like a singing pot over a fire. No one was judging, no one was spreading rumors. Cheap wine flowed freely, crackers whizzed about, children ran up and down the streets with paper lanterns in their hands, couples tried their luck at the lantern guessing games.
