The night fell. Wearing black brocade robe, with his dark hair bunched high, Leng Qingtang was hanging around the faintly lighted street, dressed as an ordinary young man.
The downtown street was busy. There was a grand lantern festival on North Street, and businesses of the other blocks were also unwilling to miss the profit opportunities during annual Girls' Day.
In front of restaurants and inns, lights were hung up to greet visitors. Even those shops that usually closed their doors at sunset, such as rouge, drapery, and pastry shops, were open late tonight.
As he walked, Leng Qingtang would hang some of his red ropes on the trees along the street.
During the one year of Yunxi's disappearance, he wove more than 500 red ropes with his own hands without stopping every day.
Tonight, he
