The dark shape that surfaced beneath the water wasn't like the other summoned fish, which merely floated quietly in place and waited.
It moved.
Not with the side-to-side tail swish of an ordinary fish, but in an almost perfectly straight line, advancing with unmistakable purpose toward the edge of the pool where Lin Yuanxi stood, inch by inch. The low murmurs rising and falling around them fell silent almost all at once.
“What’s going on?”
“She hasn’t even recited the spell…”
“How is the fish coming over on its own?”
Lin Yuanxi stood rigid at the edge of the pool, watching the dark shape stop in the water less than two paces away. It remained there without moving. Only the faintest ripples slowly spread from its sides, as if it, too, were hesitating, waiting for something—or perhaps gathering the courage required to take a step that demanded an immense amount of strength.
The entire courtyard was so quiet that she could hear the faint crackle of flames dancing inside the lanterns. Every gaze had gathered on this tiny patch of ground beside the pool. Even the girls who had been immersed in the joy of their own rituals stopped what they were doing and looked over. Liu Zhiqing stood on the stone steps a little farther away. The composure she had worn moments ago was now touched by a faint, almost imperceptible gravity, as if she had anticipated something but still chosen to wait silently for it to unfold on its own.
Then, without warning, the surface of the water began to churn violently. Ring after ring of ripples spread rapidly outward, nearly washing over the steps by Lin Yuanxi’s feet.
She instinctively took half a step back.
The moment the dark shape leaped from the water, Lin Yuanxi saw its form clearly—not the brief, jerky leap of an ordinary fish, but something like a stream itself being stretched and twisted. The sheen of its scales gradually faded in midair, replaced by the wet outline of a human body. The process was slower than any other shapeshifting she had witnessed, as if every inch of change carried a heavy weight that demanded an enormous amount of strength to complete.
When he landed, water splashed in every direction, and a young man stood quietly in the waist-deep pool.
Lin Yuanxi’s breath caught sharply.
He looked to be in his early twenties, with a tall, slender build. His ink-dark clothes were soaked through and clung to his body, while droplets kept falling from the ends of his hair, scattering bits of silver beneath the moonlight. His features were clean-cut, and there was an almost otherworldly stillness between his brows and eyes. Yet at this moment, those eyes, which should have been calm and unruffled, churned with an emotion Lin Yuanxi had never seen on anyone’s face before. It wasn’t merely joy or excitement. It was more like the desolation of someone who had survived a calamity after a long ordeal that had nearly drained away all his strength.
He looked at her without saying a word, standing quietly in the water while his gaze seemed to carve her present appearance into the depths of his eyes, inch by inch.
The astonished cries around them rose again, louder this time than during any previous shapeshifting.
“What’s happening?”
“He shapeshifted on his own without waiting for the spell!”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before…”
“Could it be…”
Someone lowered her voice and left the sentence unfinished, but the hesitation in her tone held an almost reverent astonishment. Lin Yuanxi didn’t understand what the unfinished words meant. All her attention was fixed on the young man before her, and she couldn’t move a muscle.
Those eyes.
They were gold, reflecting a faint yet unmistakable glow beneath the moonlight.
She knew those eyes.
They were the same eyes that had appeared at the edge of her memories for two consecutive nights, beneath Willowbank Pool and beside Lotus Mist Pool. Now they were exposed before her without any concealment, almost naked in their intensity, gazing at her with something so devout it made her heart ache.
“You…” Lin Yuanxi’s voice trembled. “You were at Willowbank Pool that night…”
The young man finally reacted. He took one step forward, and the water stirred lightly around his feet. He seemed to want to say something, his lips parting slightly, but in the end, the words lingered in his throat for a very long time, as if some invisible force had forcibly pushed them back down.
Lin Yuanxi saw his Adam’s apple bob faintly.
“I…” he finally said. His voice was low, touched by a barely noticeable rasp, as if he hadn’t truly spoken with a human voice in a very long time. “I’ve been…”
He stopped again.
A deeply complicated struggle flashed through his golden eyes, as though a thousand words were lodged in his throat, yet he couldn’t find the right way to let any of them out. In the end, he only looked at her deeply and gently swallowed the unfinished sentence.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his tone carrying a bitter self-mockery. “It’s not time yet.”
“What do you mean?” Lin Yuanxi frowned. “What do you mean, it’s not time yet?”
The young man didn’t answer. He only looked at her as the emotion in his eyes gradually shifted from excitement to a tenderness so cautious it was almost fragile, as if he feared his approach might disturb something delicate enough to shatter.
“You don’t remember, do you?” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question so much as a confirmation he had expected long ago, though it still carried disappointment.
Lin Yuanxi’s heart clenched.
“What am I supposed to remember?” she asked with difficulty. The gray, indistinct memories she could never quite grasp churned wildly in her mind, like a seed about to break through the soil but still lacking that final burst of strength.
The young man looked at her, the corners of his lips lifting into the faintest, gentlest curve. His smile hid more than she could understand—happiness, bitterness, and the careful cherishing of someone whose impossible hope had finally come true.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right if you don’t remember.”
He stepped closer again. The water reached his waist. He lifted a hand, seeming to want to touch her, but stopped in midair and left it suspended there, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right.
At that moment, Liu Zhiqing’s voice came from the side, breaking the silence that had nearly solidified around them.
“Tonight’s ritual is suspended for now.” Her voice sounded calm, but Lin Yuanxi keenly caught the unusual solemnity hidden beneath it. “A situation like this… is extremely rare. It needs to be handled according to the old rules.”
A wave of whispered discussion swept through the courtyard. Many gazes moved back and forth between Lin Yuanxi and the young man, full of speculation and curiosity. Only then did Lin Yuanxi notice that Shen Heyin had stopped in the distance at some point. She stood beside the young man who had just shapeshifted, watching from afar. Her expression was impossible to make out in the night, but her eyes remained fixed here for a long, long time before slowly turning away.
“The old rules?” Lin Yuanxi came back to herself and looked at Liu Zhiqing. “What does that mean? What old rules?”
Liu Zhiqing walked a few steps closer, her gaze sweeping between Lin Yuanxi and the young man before finally settling on him with an expression of complicated scrutiny.
“When a fish shapeshifts on its own before being summoned, on a full-moon night, in front of everyone,” she began slowly, “it means the bond between you isn’t an ordinary one. The old rules call it a ‘First Sign.’ A fish with a ‘First Sign’ cannot be chosen on the spot like the others.”
“Why not?”
“Because a ‘First Sign’ means there’s something unresolved hidden within this bond.” Liu Zhiqing’s voice was soft, but every word was clear. “Until that something is brought to light, the bond can’t be decided in haste. This is to protect you, and to protect him.”
Lin Yuanxi looked at the young man. He lowered his lashes without arguing, simply standing in the water as the ripples gently lapped against his waist, his expression filled with a silence that was almost resigned.
“Then…” Lin Yuanxi began with difficulty. “What happens now?”
“He’ll remain in the Floating City,” Liu Zhiqing said. “You’ll have plenty of chances to meet and spend time together. One day, the thing behind that ‘First Sign’ will surface on its own. That will be the moment when the two of you can truly choose each other.”
“But…” Lin Yuanxi wanted to ask more, but Liu Zhiqing gently shook her head and interrupted her.
“Some things can’t be rushed.” There was a rare softness in Liu Zhiqing’s tone. “Every bond in the Floating City has its own rhythm. No one can hurry it along for anyone else.” She paused, then added, “This may be harder for him than it is for you. You simply don’t remember. But he has to watch the person he’s waited for all this time stand right in front of him without recognizing him.”
Lin Yuanxi’s heart jolted, and she instinctively looked toward Jiang Yingze. He was still standing quietly in the water. After hearing Liu Zhiqing’s words, the emotions churning in his golden eyes seemed to carry a different weight. They were more than a mixture of joy and restraint. They resembled the careful endurance of someone who had finally been seen after a long loneliness, yet still didn’t dare ask for too much.
The discussions around them gradually quieted, replaced by a silence close to reverence, as if everyone present had been moved by this rare “First Sign.”
Lin Yuanxi looked at the young man, and he was looking back at her. The emotions in his golden eyes were as tangled as paint spilled across a canvas—joy and regret, anticipation and restraint, all knotted together beyond separation.
“My name is…” he suddenly said. His voice was soft, yet carried unusually clearly to her ears. “Jiang Yingze.”
Lin Yuanxi repeated the name dazedly.
“Jiang Yingze.”
When he heard her say his name, the light he had suppressed for so long finally burst open in his eyes without restraint, as if hearing those three words from her lips were, in itself, the reward for a long wait finally answered.
“I’ll be in the Floating City,” he said, his tone carrying an almost solemn promise. “No matter how long I have to wait, I’ll be here.”
Lin Yuanxi opened her mouth. She wanted to ask what exactly he was waiting for, wanted to ask what the words he had forcibly swallowed had been. But the eyes surrounding them trapped every question in her throat.
Jiang Yingze looked at her as if he could see all the questions she hadn’t managed to ask. His faint smile held another measure of helplessness, almost pitying in its tenderness. He knew she had too many questions in her heart. He also knew he couldn’t give her a complete answer right now. Still, he chose silence—not because he was unwilling to speak, but because some things, if said too soon, would only crush the person who wasn’t ready to bear them.
All he could do was watch the confusion and anticipation mingling across her face and force down, once again, the urge to explain everything immediately into the deepest part of his heart.
All she could do was watch him slowly retreat into the water. His human outline gradually blurred amid the ripples, transforming back into the shape of a fish before diving into the depths of the pool and vanishing from sight.
The ritual continued amid a storm of discussion, but Lin Yuanxi’s thoughts had already drifted far away. She stood where she was, watching the girls behind her step forward one after another to recite their spells. The water churned and shapeshifted again and again, while cries of joy and astonishment rose and fell around her. Yet in her ears, those sounds seemed separated by a thick layer of water, blurred and distant.
She lowered her head and looked at her palm. The familiar warmth had now spread through her entire chest, aching and swollen. She couldn’t tell whether it was grievance or some indescribable, almost lost-and-found thrill.
She remembered the unfinished words Jiang Yingze had tried to say—“I’ve been…”
What had he meant to say? Had he been waiting for her all this time? Had he remained in the Floating City, watching the full moons come and go one after another, helplessly watching other girls recite their spells and choose other fish, while he never received the moment that belonged to him?
Lin Yuanxi didn’t know the answer. She only knew the pressure in her chest was growing heavier and heavier, nearly making it impossible to breathe.
By the time the ritual ended, the horizon had begun to glow with an extremely faint, almost illusory light, as if night in the Floating City had finally reached its end. The girls dispersed in small groups, each carrying the fish she had chosen, their faces filled with joy or satisfaction. Only Lin Yuanxi remained standing where she was, gazing at the pool, which had once again fallen still, without moving for a long time.
Jiang Yingze.
She repeated the name silently again and again, as if she wanted to carve it into the deepest part of her memory and never lose it again.
The night breeze brushed across the pool, breaking the moon’s reflection into glittering waves. In the distance, the bamboo leaves of Bamboo Shadow Pool rustled softly, as if echoing this long wait that had yet to reach its end.
Lin Yuanxi took one last look at the calm, unruffled water and turned toward the covered walkway. She didn’t know what it would be like to spend time with him from now on, nor what kind of past was hidden behind the secret Liu Zhiqing had called a “First Sign.” She only knew that from this night onward, the Floating City was no longer merely a strange world she had wandered into by mistake. It was now tightly bound to a single name.
As she crossed the covered walkway, she instinctively raised a hand to her chest. The warmth still lingered there, beating once after another, like a long-lost heartbeat softly knocking on the door of memories she had forgotten.