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Yanqing walked alone through the bustling crowd. As lanterns began to glow, street vendors on both sides displayed their unique skills, with rare and exotic items filling the stalls, yet he found no joy in it. It was all Jing Yuan’s fault. He had promised to accompany him to the temple fair, and Yanqing had eagerly waited all day. But when Jing Yuan finally finished his duties, all Yanqing received was an apologetic face.
"Yanqing, I’m sorry, but official duties have been overwhelming." Jing Yuan spread his hands helplessly over a table full of documents, then patted his head—a gesture Yanqing found increasingly irritating. He was no longer a child who could be placated with a casual pat. His displeasure was evident, and Jing Yuan caught on, withdrawing his hand with a sigh. "I’ll find you a companion. If you spot a good sword today, it’s on me. How’s that?"
Yanqing refused the substitute. Did Jing Yuan, with all his strategic brilliance, really think a randomly chosen guard could take his place? Of course, Yanqing had no ill feelings toward the Cloud Knight often stationed at the entrance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. They were even somewhat familiar. But at that moment, Yanqing only wanted to leave Jing Yuan’s sight and disappear into the bustling crowd for the evening.
Wandering aimlessly, he squeezed through the crowd, drawing annoyed stares from passersby. Recognizing his face, they began whispering among themselves. Naturally, many on the Luofu knew who he was—after all, he held a notable title: the general’s guard. The thought only fueled his frustration. Even among his fellow Cloud Knights, he was never seen as anything but a kid. No matter how many times he proved himself with his sword, people always saw him that way. When would he finally be acknowledged as an adult? When could he shed the title of a mere guard and become "the youngest Sword Champion in history," or perhaps... something even more?
He couldn't recall the last time he went out alone with Jing Yuan. Recently, the General had been particularly busy, mostly engaged in discussions with Fu Xuan, the Diviner. When Yanqing visited the Seat of Divine Foresight earlier that day, Fu Xuan was standing by Jing Yuan’s side, giving Yanqing a disapproving look. If Jing Yuan hadn’t been there, Yanqing might have stuck out his tongue at her. A promise was a promise—Jing Yuan had taught him that since childhood. And now, having broken his word, how could Jing Yuan lecture him about honor and integrity in the future?
Even so, Yanqing wished Jing Yuan were here. If he were, Jing Yuan would accompany him to try all the snacks he’d been talking about. Though Jing Yuan was usually laid-back, today he would humor Yanqing by playing the games that interested him. Of course, people would recognize them along the way. Yanqing would chase off anyone who tried to bother Jing Yuan. If someone dared take photos (rumor had it the Luofu was flooded with photos of Jing Yuan), Yanqing would firmly claim his spot next to the general, even managing to frustrate Jing Yuan’s most obsessive fans—a word Yanqing had recently learned. Ah, it was all the fault of that unreliable general!
A loud voice interrupted his thoughts: “Come try your luck! Exquisite clay figures, handcrafted with care! Every throw wins a prize!”
In front of him was a ring-toss booth filled with charming clay figurines. Each was intricately crafted, with vibrant colors and lifelike expressions. The vendor, a young foxian man with rings hanging from his arms, lit up when Yanqing stopped to look. “Care to try, young man? Thirty strale for five rings. If you land a ring, it’s yours to keep!”
Yanqing shook his head. He really wasn’t in the mood to play right now. Instead, he planned to find a snack stall, grab something sweet, and drink a cup of Immortal's Delight. If he couldn’t rid himself of his sadness, he could at least get rid of his hunger. But just as he took a step forward, he suddenly stopped—a flash of white tucked away in the corner caught his eye.
It was a familiar figure—a miniature Jing Yuan. The little clay general, dressed in red, sat cross-legged, dozing with his chin propped on his hand. The craftsmanship was exquisite; even the strands of hair seemed to sway slightly. Perched on the figure’s shoulders were a few small birds. Then, to Yanqing’s amazement, one golden eye of the clay figure suddenly opened and winked at him.
Without thinking, he pointed at it. “This… this is General Jing Yuan, isn’t it?”
“Indeed! Our noble Jing Yuan!” The foxian vendor beamed. “Look at the craftsmanship! It’s as good as any fan-made merchandise you’d find out there!”
The claim wasn’t far from the truth. Jing Yuan was a living legend in the Luofu, with fans everywhere thanks to his striking looks and heroic deeds. Naturally, fan merchandise—figurines, photos, and trinkets—followed. Jing Yuan didn’t mind his likeness being used in such ways, often laughing it off. Yanqing would never admit it, but he’d once joined one of those fan groups just to buy a Jing Yuan keychain. The keychain was really well-made—so much so that he didn't care that the group’s admin turned out to be Tingyun.
Yanqing scanned the booth. Most of the figurines had several copies, but the Jing Yuan one stood alone in the corner. The vendor, sensing his interest, leaned in with a sly grin. “This is our grand prize—only one available! If you like it, you’d better not miss your chance!”
Yanqing's gaze returned to the clay general. It was rare to see Jing Yuan at peace these days. The general used to nap whenever he could, earning the nickname “The Dozing General.” But lately, all Yanqing saw was exhaustion etched into his mentor’s face. Yanqing had hoped to drag him out today for some fun and an early night’s rest, but that plan had failed... and his annoyance resurfaced, though now it was tinged with something more.
Still, the figurine was undeniably charming. No reason to hold a grudge against such a beautifully made piece, right?
He patted his wallet and made a bold decision. “Five rings, please!”
Yanqing was confident in his skills. After all, he’d bested Jing Yuan at similar games before. Though the figurine’s placement was tricky, it shouldn’t be a problem. He was beginning to think the vendor was honest—until the foxian added, “Ah, but all five rings must be thrown at once! We call it the ‘Scatter of the Celestial Maiden.’ If you manage to land all five, you’ll have five blessings at once!”
Yanqing froze. This was the first time he had encountered such a rule—throwing multiple rings at once might seem like casting a wide net to catch more prizes, but in reality, it was much harder to control than throwing a single ring, especially for someone like him with a specific target in mind. On reflection, it made sense. These clay figures were far more valuable than typical prizes, and thirty strale for five rings was already a bargain. Without such an unexpected twist, the vendor would surely be operating at a loss—wait a minute, why was he making excuses for the vendor? Truly, this was just what one would expect from a foxian. The thought reminded him of Miss Tingyun once again...
No matter what, retreating at the last moment was not an option. Besides, the more he looked at the clay figurine, the more irresistible it became. If he couldn’t bring it home, he would probably spend the entire night tossing and turning, thinking about it. It was just a ring-toss game, wasn’t it? Whether he tossed one ring or five, he refused to believe that a simple game could defeat him.
With that thought, Yanqing took five rings from the foxian vendor and tested their weight in his hands. He rolled up his sleeves, stood firm with his feet set in the stance he used during sword practice, and prepared himself. His breath settled deep in his abdomen, his mind focused, and his movements followed his intent. He adjusted his arms and fingers with precision—
And then, with smooth, deliberate motion, he sent the rings flying.
The rings flew erratically and clattered to the ground. Only one managed to hook onto a rabbit’s ear before slipping off.
"Ah, so close! What a pity," the foxian vendor said with a look of sincere regret. "But for your first try, young master, your aim is already quite good. Why, I once had a customer who threw all five rings at once—and every single one of them ended up outside the booth!"
Indeed, although some of his rings had landed within the designated area, this gave him no comfort. His target was the figurine of the general, and not a single ring had even come close to that corner. It was proving to be more challenging than he had imagined—but challenges were exactly what Yanqing craved most. He didn’t even feel embarrassed by his failure. With a determined wave, he declared, “Five more!”
The second attempt was just as unsuccessful as the first, and so were the third and fourth. Frustration started to creep in, but his competitive spirit surged, quickly dispelling any doubts. The ring-tossing technique was trickier than it looked. Although Yanqing had honed his swordsmanship and could effortlessly control multiple blades at once, these lightweight and slippery rings required an entirely different skill. The technique reminded him of hidden weapons he had read about in martial arts novels. If only he had asked the general to teach him a trick or two! Then again, Jing Yuan’s combat style was grand and straightforward, leaving little room for such precision maneuvers.
Yanqing was naturally captivated by martial techniques, and to his surprise, he found the game intriguing. He wasn’t one to quit without mastering something. At some point, the surroundings seemed to blur; it was as if he was no longer at a temple fair but in a self-guided exploration of new martial techniques. His focus scattered across the rings, and he kept adjusting the strength and angle of his throws. To him, the Jing Yuan figurine had become a target—one he had to capture by placing a ring securely over its head.
Jing Yuan had once praised him for his exceptional talent, and to say that Yanqing didn’t feel a bit proud would be a lie. Who among the young would not feel elated by their own abilities? Yanqing had never doubted that he could meet Jing Yuan’s expectations, and it seemed his talent extended even to games. Soon, one ring began landing on prizes, followed by two, then three, and eventually four. His accuracy steadily improved with each throw.
The booth was located slightly off from the main thoroughfare, where foot traffic was lighter. Initially, business was slow, but as Yanqing threw himself wholeheartedly into the game, a crowd began to form around him. Some recognized him and stopped to watch the commotion. Others found his focus and seriousness endearing and decided to stick around to see how he’d do. Gradually, more people stepped forward to try their luck. For ordinary visitors, it was just a fun diversion. Some even got lucky, landing a prize with a casual toss, which drew even more players. The foxian vendor, seeing the growing crowd, was beaming with delight.
Suddenly, a girl’s voice exclaimed, “Look! It’s the general! What a beautiful figurine!”
Before Yanqing could react, a group of excited fans swarmed the booth. They, too, wanted the Jing Yuan figurine.
He whipped his head around just in time to be jostled aside by a group of excited girls. Their eyes sparkled as they fixated on the drowsy Jing Yuan figurine nestled in the corner. After whispering among themselves, they hurried to buy rings from the vendor. Others, noticing the grand prize, eagerly joined in. It seemed that everyone was suddenly interested in the clay general, and soon the booth was crowded with people itching to win. The foxian vendor had to step in to maintain order.
Yanqing had never hated Jing Yuan’s popularity on the Luofu more than he did at this moment. He had found the figurine first... Even though he was confident that these random passersby couldn’t outdo him in skill, their sheer numbers made him nervous. What if someone got ridiculously lucky and tossed a ring onto the figurine by pure chance? He’d probably cough up three liters of blood from sheer frustration. They didn’t really care about Jing Yuan—otherwise, why had they only now noticed the clay figure? Only he had the ability to spot Jing Yuan at a glance among the figurines. There was no way he could let these interlopers steal it from under his nose!
Taking a deep breath, Yanqing forced himself to calm down and pushed his way back to the front of the crowd. The five rings in his hand had grown warm, reminding him of the familiar weight of his sword’s hilt during practice. The Jing Yuan figurine remained still, seemingly unbothered by the intense stares it attracted. Meanwhile, the sound of missed attempts and disappointed sighs filled the air. Yanqing focused on the tiny figure. He was getting closer to success—he had already worked out most of the technique. All that was left was to act with sharp eyes, steady hands, and a clear mind. There was no reason to fail this time.
A surge of youthful pride swelled in his chest. It’s just a game—if I can’t even win this, how could I dream of becoming the youngest Sword Champion? How could I expect anyone to stop treating me like a child?
Holding his breath, Yanqing channeled his strength into his fingertips. He extended his arm, his wrist flicking gracefully—
The rings flew smoothly, fluttering through the air like a butterfly toward the clay general’s head. One of the rings clipped the figure’s shoulder, teetering precariously for a heart-stopping moment. Yanqing’s breath caught in his throat—
Then, with a delicate sway, the ring slid perfectly into place. It landed around the figurine with a soft clink, coming to rest gracefully on its shoulders. Dust floated up gently from the ground, marking the final, flawless outcome.
Yanqing couldn’t contain an excited cheer. The foxian vendor was the first to clap. “Well done! Hard work pays off!” A small pile of prizes from Yanqing’s earlier attempts was already stacked at his feet. Bending down, the vendor carefully lifted the clay general and ceremoniously handed it to Yanqing with both hands, as if presenting an award. Yanqing calmly accepted it, and the surrounding crowd looked on, some envious, others frustrated by their own failure. Meeting their gazes with a casual air, Yanqing lifted his chin, puffed out his chest, and flashed a confident smile. “Sorry, it’s mine now.”
After this display of triumph, Yanqing lowered his head to inspect his hard-earned prize. As if responding to his gaze, the clay figure’s golden eye blinked again, this time with an even lighter, more playful expression. A tingle of satisfaction welled up in Yanqing’s chest, and he reluctantly tore his eyes away. Reaching for his wallet, he felt its reassuring weight—inside were all the strale Jing Yuan had given him before he left. Yanqing had accepted them without question, intending to save them for a new sword. But now, in high spirits, he stuffed the entire wallet into the foxian’s hands and eagerly set off toward the Seat of Divine Foresight—he couldn’t wait to show Jing Yuan his prize.
“If that’s not enough, come find me at the Seat of Divine Foresight. I’m Yanqing, the general’s guard.” Whether intentionally or not, the last sentence came out especially loud and clear.
“Young man, wait!” the foxian called after him. “You’re leaving all your other prizes behind!”
“Whoever wants them—take them all!” Yanqing shouted without looking back.
Jing Yuan’s window was dark. Yanqing stood in the courtyard, trying to steady his breath from having run all the way. The cool night breeze gently brushed against his face, gradually sweeping away the lingering heat from his cheeks. It was only then that he remembered—he was still mad at Jing Yuan. And now, he was also mad at himself: why had he run all this way, eager to show off a beloved trinket, like a child desperate for praise? He decided that he wouldn’t show Jing Yuan the figurine—after all, wasn’t it Jing Yuan who had broken his promise?
Carefully, Yanqing took the clay figure from his arms and examined it for a moment. The moonlight was bright tonight, casting softly shifting shadows from the trees in the courtyard. The clay general had its eyes peacefully closed, and even the small birds perched on its shoulder seemed to be lost in pleasant dreams. Yanqing couldn't help but reach out, stroking the snowy-white hair. Naturally, it didn’t feel like Jing Yuan’s real hair, but it was still as soft as silk beneath his fingertips. A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He imagined that if Jing Yuan had heard, he would have laughed and ruffled Yanqing’s hair, asking, “What’s on your mind, little one?”
Before turning to leave, Yanqing glanced once more at the dimly lit window. It wasn’t too late yet—he wondered if Jing Yuan was still occupied with meetings or if he had already gone to sleep. If it was the latter, that would be quite unusual... As he reached a fork in the corridor, he paused, hesitating for a moment. Finally, with a sigh and a clenched jaw, he decided not to look toward the council room and ran straight back to his quarters.
However, his own window was lit. Without hesitation, Yanqing hurried up the steps and pushed the door open in one swift motion.
“General?”
Jing Yuan stood up from where he had been seated at Yanqing’s desk. His usual armor was gone, replaced by light, casual clothing. His hair was undone, falling freely around his shoulders, with only a simple red cord tied at the ends. He looked especially relaxed and at ease. On the desk lay several picture books—Yanqing’s usual reading material—which Jing Yuan had probably flipped through while waiting. His golden eyes curved gently with a smile. “You’re back.”
Yanqing instinctively hid the clay figurine behind his back. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like showing it to Jing Yuan. The man before him was so vividly alive—his loosely draped collar revealed a glimpse of fair skin, and the warm lamplight reflected in his beautiful eyes, shadowed by long lashes. A faint, dreamy fatigue softened his features, even blurring the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye. It had been quite a while since Jing Yuan visited Yanqing’s room. He had said it was to give him personal space, but now that he was here, waiting for him to return, Yanqing couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through his chest. The anger that had simmered within him wavered, unwilling but fading.
“Mm.” He made a small sound from his nose, not knowing what else to say. He still couldn’t bring himself to apologize or make peace, so he awkwardly stood there, turning his head away to avoid meeting Jing Yuan’s gaze.
Jing Yuan chuckled softly and let out a light sigh. "Still mad?" His robes rustled as he stepped closer, enveloping Yanqing with his presence. Gently, Jing Yuan reached out and tucked a stray lock of Yanqing’s hair behind his ear. “It was my fault today. Once this busy period is over, I’ll make sure to take a break and spend two whole days with you. How does that sound?”
Yanqing suddenly brightened. “Really?” he asked, only to deflate a second later, muttering, “You always say that, but when the time comes, won’t you just bail again…?”
He remembered how Jing Yuan used to spend time with him when he was younger. Although the General of the Seat of Divine Foresight was always busy managing affairs on the Luofu, Jing Yuan had insisted on taking personal care of him, both as his disciple and adoptive son. Yanqing had grown up at Jing Yuan’s side, never once feeling deprived of attention or affection. During festivals, Jing Yuan would carry him through the streets, buying so many snacks and toys that Yanqing’s hands couldn’t hold them all, and his pockets would be stuffed full. As he grew older, and carrying him was no longer practical, Jing Yuan would put him down to walk on his own. Yanqing would dart through the crowd, and even the renowned general would have no choice but to trail behind like any ordinary parent, calling after him to slow down.
In time, Yanqing told himself to stop clinging to Jing Yuan so much, to stop giving the general reasons to treat him like a child. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help acting a little spoiled now and then—how could anyone let go of such cherished closeness so easily?
“A gentleman’s word is as good as gold,” Jing Yuan said solemnly, extending his hand toward Yanqing. “If I break my promise again, I’ll make it up to you with ten fine swords. Deal?”
Yanqing’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He wanted to refuse in frustration—it was just another trick to appease a child. But the sight of Jing Yuan’s pale, jade-like finger dangling before him made him inexplicably reach out. He hooked his pinky around Jing Yuan’s without thinking. His hand was slender and cool to the touch, and Yanqing found the sensation surprisingly comforting. With a pout, Yanqing silently berated himself for being too softhearted. “I know you’re busy these days, General. Why not let me help more…” he grumbled. As he glanced up, he noticed Jing Yuan about to say something he didn’t want to hear. Quickly, Yanqing raised his voice, cutting him off. “I’m not a kid anymore! Don’t brush me off!”
Jing Yuan paused, then finally chuckled. “Alright.” It was as if a weight had been lifted from the room. The air around him felt lighter, and he let out a soft yawn, his weariness briefly showing. With a gentle ruffle of Yanqing’s hair, he passed by and stepped out the door. “It’s late. Get some rest.”
Yanqing watched his mentor’s retreating figure, wanting to call out to him but struggling to find a reason. Just as he hesitated, Jing Yuan suddenly stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Did you find anything interesting today?”
Caught off guard, Yanqing clenched the figurine hidden in his left hand. Meeting the amused glimmer in Jing Yuan’s golden eyes, he felt his ears burn. “N-no... nothing.”
A few days later, Yanqing unexpectedly received a package. The plain delivery box bore the label “Seat of Divine Foresight – Yanqing,” but there was no information about the sender. The package wasn’t heavy, nor was it large. Although it had passed security screening, Yanqing still opened it cautiously, remaining alert.
Inside was a clay figure—of himself. One hand clutched five rings, poised in mid-throw, with a posture no less commanding than when he practiced swordplay. While the craftsmanship wasn’t as refined as that of the Jing Yuan figurine, it was still lively and expressive, especially with the serious, battle-ready look on its face. Did I really look that focused at the time? Yanqing wondered.
Tucked inside the package was also a note: “Thank you, young master, for bringing me customers. Please accept this small gift—it matches the other one perfectly, so they won’t have to feel lonely.” The note was signed with a charmingly drawn fox head, smiling mischievously.
Yanqing read the note twice, then couldn’t help but smile. That foxian guy isn’t half bad. Maybe they could even become friends if they met again in the future. He examined the miniature version of himself again, then reached over to the table and picked up the Jing Yuan figurine.
The golden-haired, blue-clad youth and the white-haired, red-clad general were now side by side, sitting closely together. Thanks to their different postures—one standing and the other sitting—the youthful figure was finally taller than the general. Yanqing’s hand, clutching the rings, hovered just above Jing Yuan’s head. The little general’s single golden eye opened again, blinking curiously, as if sensing something. The two figurines looked harmonious and endearing together.
Yanqing admired them for a long while, reluctant to set them down. Eventually, he arranged the two clay figures neatly on his desk. The general’s figure was fine to display, but seeing his own felt slightly strange. He quietly made a decision: when Jing Yuan finally stopped treating him like a child, he would give this clay Yanqing to him as a keepsake, so he could always be by the general’s side. But until that day came, the two figures could keep each other company and ward off loneliness.