They moved on to a new section of the market. Stalls gave way to open-air displays: cultivators offering their services. Each practitioner displayed a signboard listing areas of specialty and price ranges, and customers approached or avoided according to individual need.

At a textile stall, Li Feng paused to examine a scarf woven in patterns that resembled flowing water. The merchant, a woman whose weathered hands spoke to decades of craft work, watched him finger the fabric with the knowing look of someone who recognized genuine interest.

"Azure Waters Sect?" she asked, noting his robes.

"Yes. This is beautiful work."

"My daughter's weaving. She has an eye for water patterns." The merchant glanced at Xiaolong. "And your companion has excellent taste in accessories. That headdress must have cost more than my entire stall."

"Family heirlooms," Xiaolong said, the lie flowing smoothly enough that Li Feng's mouth twitched with suppressed amusement.

"Well preserved, then." The merchant turned back to Li Feng. "The scarf?"

Li Feng bought it and immediately turned to Xiaolong, draping the fabric around her neck with careful attention to how it lay against her shoulders. His fingers lingered at her collarbone, adjusting the drape, and she stopped breathing for reasons that had nothing to do with fabric arrangement.

"There," he said. "Perfect."

The scarf was soft against her skin, the water patterns visible whenever she moved. A gift. Given without occasion or ceremony, simply because Li Feng had seen something beautiful and wanted her to have it. And now he was looking at her with a smile that said he'd made an excellent decision and was very pleased about it.

"Thank you," she said, the words inadequate for what she felt.

"You're welcome." He touched the edge of the scarf once more, tracing one of the water patterns. "Now we should find you something to give me, or the gift balance gets awkward."

The subsequent search for an appropriate gift for Li Feng revealed that Xiaolong had no idea what to buy someone she cared about.

Books? No. He had already bought one.

Tea? The sect had excellent tea, making market alternatives inadequate.

Clothing? She knew nothing about proper fit.

Cultivation tools? Even worse—implying his current equipment needed replacement.

She was contemplating whether flowers were too romantic or not romantic enough when Li Feng steered her toward a corner stall she'd walked past twice without noticing.

The merchant was an old man whose face resembled carved wood, weathered and patient. His stall contained an array of items that shared no obvious connection: a jade compass, three painted scrolls, a set of bone dice, a wooden flute, several blank journals, and a collection of small carved animals that looked designed for children's amusement.

Li Feng picked up the wooden flute and turned it over in his hands. "May I?"

The merchant nodded.

Li Feng brought the instrument to his lips and played a brief melody—something simple and flowing that matched his cultivation philosophy. The notes were clear and sweet, carrying across the market's noise with unexpected presence.

He set the flute down with obvious regret. "Beautiful tone."

"Carved from windfall bamboo," the merchant said. "Found it after a storm, let it age three years, then shaped it according to the grain."

Li Feng examined the price marking and didn't flinch, but Xiaolong recognized the calculation in his expression. The flute cost more than he'd budgeted for market purchases.

She picked it up and handed the merchant coins before Li Feng could object. "We'll take it."

"Xiaolong—"

"You gave me a gift. This is reciprocation." She placed the flute in his hands. "Also, I've heard you play Ming Lian's flute with obvious longing. You should have your own."

Li Feng's fingers closed around the instrument, his expression cycling through surprise to protest to acceptance. "This is too expensive."

"Dragons don't concern themselves with expense. We concern ourselves with whether something brings joy to people we value." She met his eyes. "Does it bring you joy?"

"Yes."

"Then the expense is irrelevant."

He tucked the flute into his sleeve with the careful movements of someone handling something precious. "Thank you."

The market's entertainment quarter occupied the square's eastern edge, where traveling performers competed for audience attention and coin. A juggler kept six knives spinning. Musicians played instruments Xiaolong couldn't name. Acrobats performed feats of balance that suggested cultivation enhancement alongside physical training.

The storyteller commanded a crowd near the fountain—an elderly woman whose voice carried theatrical range and perfect timing. She stood on a low platform, her robes dramatic sweeps of red and gold, her hands shaping the air as if sculpting invisible figures.

"And the dragon descended!" she proclaimed. "Scales gleaming like diamonds! Eyes burning with immortal fire! Its roar shook the very foundations of heaven!"

Xiaolong stopped walking. Li Feng's hand tightened around hers in warning, but she was already caught by the familiar narrative.

"The brave hero raised his sword," the storyteller continued, her voice dropping to build tension. "Though he was merely mortal, though the dragon was a god among beasts, he did not falter! 'You shall not threaten these people!' he declared. 'While I draw breath, you shall not pass!'"

The crowd leaned forward in collective anticipation.

"The dragon laughed! A sound like thunder splitting stone! 'Foolish human,' it said. 'I have lived for ten thousand years! What are you to challenge me?' But the hero's courage burned bright! He struck! His blade found the dragon's heart! And the mighty beast fell, defeated by mortal determination and righteous fury!"

Applause erupted from the assembled audience. Children cheered. Someone threw coins into the storyteller's collection basket.

Xiaolong felt Li Feng's shoulders shaking and realized he was struggling not to laugh.

"Something amusing?" she asked quietly.

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"I'm imagining that story from the dragon's perspective. 'I descended to politely discuss territorial boundaries and this human attacked me with a kitchen knife. Most inconsiderate.'"

"Dragons don't say 'most inconsiderate.'"

"What do dragons say?"

"Usually something involving threats to incinerate the offending party and their entire village. Then we get distracted by an interesting rock formation and forget about the threat entirely."

Li Feng lost the battle with laughter, the sound drawing attention from nearby market-goers. Xiaolong found herself smiling despite the story's wild inaccuracy.

Not because she found heroic dragon-slaying narratives amusing, but because Li Feng's joy was contagious in ways that bypassed logical resistance.

The storyteller launched into another tale, this one involving a phoenix and a love-struck scholar. Xiaolong and Li Feng retreated to a quieter section of the market where vendors sold practical goods: farming tools, preserved foods, and household items.

"Do all human stories involve killing dragons?" Xiaolong asked.

"Many do. Dragons represent ultimate challenges in mortal narratives." Li Feng selected an apple from a fruit vendor and offered it to her. "Though some stories feature dragons as wise advisors or benevolent guardians."

"Those stories are boring."

"Because they're accurate?"

"Because they lack dramatic tension. Wise advisors don't create exciting narratives." She bit into the apple, the crispness and sweetness perfectly balanced. "Though I suppose 'dragon helps cultivator fill out administrative paperwork' wouldn't attract storyteller audiences."

"It would attract a very specific audience."

They wandered through the market's remaining sections, Li Feng pointing out items of interest, Xiaolong discovering preferences she hadn't known she possessed. She liked ceramics with simple glazing. Disliked overly ornate metalwork. Found children's toys inexplicably charming despite having no practical use. Appreciated good knife balance even though she'd never need one for actual cooking.

The sun was angling toward afternoon when the commotion started near the square's southern entrance.

A merchant's cart had lost its wheel, the entire vehicle tilting dangerously as its load of ceramic storage jars threatened to slide free. The merchant, a middle-aged man whose panic was visible from twenty paces, tried to stabilize the cart while his assistant scrambled to catch jars already beginning their descent.

Several bystanders moved to help, but the cart was massive, loaded to capacity, and teetering on uneven ground that offered poor footing.

Xiaolong crossed the distance in three steps, her hand catching the cart's frame and arresting its fall with the casual ease of someone stopping a door from closing. The jars settled back into stable positions, no longer threatening ceramic catastrophe across the market square.

The merchant stared at her. His assistant stared. The gathering crowd stared.

"You should secure your load before attempting wheel replacement," Xiaolong said, maintaining her grip on the cart. "Otherwise everything slides when you lift the corner."

"I... yes. Thank you." The merchant's voice carried the particular strain of someone whose crisis had been resolved by forces they didn't fully comprehend. "You're very strong."

"Cultivation provides certain advantages." She held the cart steady while the merchant and his assistant worked. Li Feng appeared with additional helpers from nearby stalls, and together they managed the wheel replacement in under ten minutes.

When Xiaolong released the cart, her hands were dusty and one nail had cracked, but the merchant's grateful expression made the minor damage worthwhile.

"Azure Waters Sect?" he asked, noting Li Feng's robes.

"Yes."

"Then the sect has my gratitude. And you—" he turned to Xiaolong "—have my thanks and a standing offer of free pottery whenever you visit my shop in town."

They left him securing his cart more thoroughly, the crowd already dispersing back to normal market activities. Xiaolong brushed dust from her sleeves and discovered her headdress had survived the excitement intact, chains still draped properly despite the exertion.

"You made that look effortless," Li Feng observed.

"It was effortless. The cart wasn't even particularly heavy."

"I meant the kindness. That merchant needed help, so you helped. No calculation or concern for self-image."

She adjusted a hairpin that had slipped slightly. "I've you to thank for demonstrating the value in small gestures of assistance."

Li Feng smiled and touched her arm briefly in affirmation before taking her hand again.

Xiaolong suspected this might be the most perfect afternoon of her existence. An entire day structured around nothing but mutual enjoyment and her mortal's companionship.

The market was beginning its late-afternoon transition when they finally completed their circuit of the square. Vendors started packing their wares, families headed home for dinner preparation, and the energy shifted from active commerce to tired satisfaction.

Li Feng guided them to a small tea house at the square's edge, its upper balcony offering views across the village and valley beyond. They settled at a corner table where the railing overlooked the market's colorful chaos, and a server brought tea without requiring orders—apparently this was Li Feng's usual spot when visiting.

"You come here often?" Xiaolong asked.

"Used to, before joining the sect. My parents would bring me to market days, and we'd end the afternoon here." He poured tea for both of them. "The owner is my mother's cousin's husband's sister. Or something like that. Village relationships get complicated."

The tea was good—not sect quality, but honest and well-prepared. Xiaolong sipped slowly, watching the market below while the day's accumulated warmth settled into something approaching contentment.

"Thank you," she said. "For today."

"For what specifically? The headdress construction? The candied nuts? The storytelling mockery?"

"For showing me what dates are." She set her cup down and turned to face him fully. "For wanting to spend time together without purpose beyond the company itself."

Li Feng's expression softened into something that made her chest feel too full and too empty simultaneously. "Xiaolong, spending time with you is never purposeless. You are the purpose."

The words landed with weight that had nothing to do with spiritual pressure and everything to do with meaning. Xiaolong was five millennia of existence. Li Feng was three decades. And somehow, the sum of those decades had produced someone capable of turning that vastness into depth she still struggled to comprehend.

She reached across the table and laced her fingers through his, the gesture feeling monumental despite its simplicity. "I'm glad you asked me to come today."

"I'm glad you said yes."

They sat like that while the sun descended and the market below emptied, their linked hands resting on the table between teacups, the comfortable silence requiring no elaboration.

Xiaolong's elaborate headdress caught the golden light, sending prismatic reflections across the balcony's wooden surface, and she realized she'd stopped caring whether people knew her horns were real.

Li Feng's thumb traced small circles against her palm, the repetitive motion creating a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.

Eventually they would return to the sect, to responsibilities and complications and the ongoing challenges of her transformation. But for now, watching the market day wind down from a tea house balcony while Li Feng's hand warmed hers, Xiaolong understood what humans meant when they talked about perfect moments.

Not moments of perfection—moments that were perfect because they existed, because you were present for them, because someone you valued sat across from you and made the whole world feel temporarily sufficient.

The walk back to the sect took twice as long as the morning journey, neither of them particularly motivated to rush. The sun painted the sky in colors that would have looked garish anywhere except sunset, and Li Feng's hand stayed linked with hers the entire way.

When they finally reached the sect gates, Li Feng helped her dismantle the elaborate headdress, carefully removing pins and chains and ornamental combs until just her horns remained, curving backward from her temples in elegant sweeps that no longer required concealment.

"Should we return these to Elder Liu?" Xiaolong asked, holding the box of ceremonial pieces.

"Tomorrow. Tonight, I think we're allowed to be tired from our diplomatic function." Li Feng's smile held a knowing edge that made her laugh. "Which was very successful, by the way. Excellent cultural exchange. Many important relationships strengthened."

"The most important ones," Xiaolong agreed.

She walked him to his quarters, their linked hands separating only when he reached his door. He kissed her forehead again, the gesture feeling like a promise of future afternoons and markets and moments that mattered for no reason except their existence.

"Good night, Xiaolong."

"Good night, Li Feng."

She returned to her own chambers, the new scarf still draped around her neck, the memory of Li Feng's thumb tracing circles against her palm warming her more thoroughly than any cultivation technique could manage.

The horns caught the lamplight when she passed her mirror, their curves reflecting prismatic colors across her walls. She touched one absently, feeling the smooth surface that had complicated doorways and tree branches and elaborate hairdressing.

They didn't look so terrible anymore.

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