Beatdowns with the Promise of Hot Pot

The downside of not having a plan was looking stupid while he tried and failed to come up with something clever enough to execute. As such, Chengyu stupidly wandered around, accosting anyone with a suspicious look, then when simply studying them for guilt gave nothing away, he took to more drastic, invasive measures.

Not only was that old woman's livelihood at stake, but so was his burgeoning reputation. If he failed to apprehend a commonplace thief, there was no telling how Lord Hongli would view him, if he would even give Chengyu the time of day.

Chengyu's nostrils flared as the pungent aroma of the marketplace assaulted his senses. He darted between stalls, his gaze piercing through the sea of villagers like a hawk searching for its prey.

"Chengyu, this isn't helping!" Hua's voice was firm yet tinged with an undercurrent of concern. He reached out, attempting to clasp an arm around Chengyu's waist, but the latter twisted away with feline agility.

"Let go, Hua," Chengyu snapped, his tone harsher than intended. He couldn't afford distractions. Not now. The scent he needed to follow was faint but there—a unique blend of jasmine and sandalwood that had clung to the storefront.

"Rummaging through people's belongings will win you no allies here," Hua chided, his eyes scanning the crowd for signs of disapproval.

Chengyu's heart hammered in his chest. Each tick of the clock was a moment lost, a moment in which the thief could slip further away. He knew the wisdom in Hua's words, the potential consequences of his frenzied actions. But the thought of standing idly by, impotent and ineffective, clawed at him more fiercely than any external judgment.

"Then help me look properly!" Chengyu exclaimed, though his voice was thick with an emotion he didn't want to acknowledge—helplessness. He paused, closing his eyes for a split second, trying to steady his breath and focus on the elusive scent trail.

Hua sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Chengyu, your reputation is not just yours alone. It's a reflection of those who stand by you."

The weight of this responsibility settled over Chengyu like a cloak. In his quest, in his fervor, was he risking not only his own standing but Hua's as well? He shook his head, tossing the notion aside. "I cannot worry about whispers and side glances when the thief is out there, waiting to be found."

"Your zeal is admirable, but it mustn't blind you," Hua persisted, keeping pace as Chengyu wove through the throng.

Chengyu felt the strain of their budding friendship, the silent plea in Hua's voice for reason. But the burning drive within him roared louder than any plea could. This was a matter of duty, of an oath taken long ago under the starlit sky, witnessed by the ancient deities to whom he had sworn his service.

"Then we must be swift and silent as shadows," Chengyu finally conceded, allowing a measure of control to seep back into his movements. He adopted a less conspicuous approach, weaving through the masses with purpose yet without the earlier chaos.

"Like the night heron stalking its prey," Hua murmured alongside him, a soft smile playing on his lips despite the tension between them.

"Exactly," Chengyu agreed, and for a moment, his mind wandered to quieter times—to evenings spent with Hua discussing the poetry of nature over steaming cups of tea. But the nostalgia was swiftly replaced by urgency as the scent grew stronger, leading him onward. He fixed his gaze ahead, determined to reclaim what was lost, and perhaps along the way, preserve the fragile balance of his honor and surprisingly, Hua's patience.

However, if he was sincere about wanting to be friends, he would have to put up with a lot more than Chengyu's idiotic plans.

The narrow alley stretched before Chengyu like a vein of darkness, pulsing with the quickened beats of his own heart. The thief had darted into this shadowed artery, a fleeting wraith among the looming walls. With the scent of his quarry fresh in his nostrils, Chengyu plunged into the chase.

"Chengyu!" Hua's voice was strained, a half-whispered shout that pulled at the edges of his focus.

"Stay close," Chengyu called back without turning, but the wind swallowed his words. He could feel the distance stretching between them, the umbilical thread of their partnership taut with tension.

Up ahead, the thief glanced back, panic etching deep lines into his weathered face. With a burst of desperate energy, he scaled a stack of crates and swung himself onto a roof. Tiles clattered underfoot, betraying his path.

Like a goat fleeing a tiger, Chengyu thought, the image flashing through his mind as he followed suit, his hands finding purchase on cold, rough ceramic. The slope was steep, the tiles treacherous, yet he pursued, driven by something more than mere duty—an innate need to restore order, to mend the tear this thief had wrought in the fabric of the world.

"Careful, Chengyu! The roofs are slick!" Hua's voice was closer now, tinged with the sharp note of anxiety. But Chengyu was already dancing across the rooftops, each step a silent prayer for balance.

Their shadows intertwined and broke apart as they leaped from one building to another, a dark ballet performed high above the oblivious city. Then, suddenly, the thief stumbled, his foot slipping on a mossy tile. Chengyu seized the opportunity, launching himself at the man. They collided with a grunt, bodies entangled in a desperate struggle for dominance.

"Got you," Chengyu gasped, his fingers digging into the fabric of the man's tunic.

"Let go!" the thief snarled, thrashing wildly.

But Chengyu held fast, even as they teetered on the brink of the roof. It was a precarious dance, a battle waged upon an earthen drum that resounded with each shift of weight. And then, in a moment frayed with inevitability, they rolled off the edge and plummeted towards the earth.

The ground rushed up to meet them, a lover too eager to embrace. They hit the cobblestones with a bone-jarring thud, the air knocked from Chengyu's lungs in a hoarse whoosh. Pain bloomed across his shoulder, bright and insistent, but he pushed it aside. This was not the time for weakness.

"Unhand me!" the thief spat, struggling beneath Chengyu's grip.

"Justice is unyielding," Chengyu replied, his voice a low growl as he pinned the man down, though he struggled with each thrash and felt his grasp slipping.

Then, Hua was there, appearing through the swirling dust like a figure in a dream. "Chengyu, you're hurt," he said, his eyes widening at the sight of the reddening stain on Chengyu's sleeve.

"It's nothing," Chengyu lied, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. There was a warm trickle of blood winding its way down his arm, a river finding its path.

"Stubborn ox," Hua muttered, kneeling beside them. "Let me handle him."

"Very well," Chengyu conceded, reluctantly releasing his hold on the thief. He rose stiffly, every movement a testament to the injury he sought to ignore. As Hua took over, securing the thief with practiced efficiency, Chengyu watched with a detachment that surprised him.

"Perhaps," he mused silently, his gaze drifting skyward where the stars were just beginning to peek from behind the veil of twilight, "there is more than one way to serve justice and honor." His thoughts wandered to simpler pleasures—of conversations steeped in warmth, of healing balms and comforting meals—and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury of longing.

Chengyu's shadow stretched long and thin across the bustling market stalls as twilight sneaked into the crevices of the city. He meandered through the throngs of people, his steps unsteady, his arm cradling the fresh wound like a fragile secret. The air was alive with the symphony of the evening—vendors calling out their wares, the sizzle of meats on open grills, laughter peppered with haggling. Around him, faces turned, voices swelled in adulation.

"Bravo, Chengyu! The hero of the hour!" someone shouted from within the sea of bodies.

"Leave it," he murmured to himself, more weary than irritated. He didn't glance at the owner of the voice. Instead, his eyes fixed on a distant stall, where dried herbs hung like shrunken heads, their scent promising solace.

"Is it not glorious, though? To be bathed in such praise?" the part of him that yearned for recognition whispered, but it was a faint sound, muffled by the tangible throb in his arm.

"Glory is a fleeting meal," Chengyu answered his own thoughts, "I find myself hungering for something far more substantial." He thought of hot pot, the kind that simmers slowly, rich with spices and warmth, a dish shared among friends. A small smile played on his lips, an intimate betrayal of his true longing.

"Sir, your arm!" A concerned vendor pointed out as Chengyu reached for a bundle of yarrow and comfrey.

"Ah, this?" He glanced down, feigning nonchalance. "A scratch, nothing more."

"Let me wrap that for you," the vendor insisted, reaching for a clean cloth. Chengyu hesitated, then nodded, allowing the stranger to tend to him. For a moment, he watched the hands work with care, wrapping the white fabric around his forearm, creating a temporary barrier between his skin and the world.

"Thank you," he said quietly, once the makeshift bandage was secure. He paid for the herbs without another word, feeling the weight of the coin less than the weight of his solitude.

"Will you not revel in your victory tonight?" the vendor asked, concern knitting his brow.

"Victory?" Chengyu echoed, almost absently, his gaze drifting past the stalls to where the night sky was now a canvas of indigo, "No, tonight I will seek a different kind of triumph." His voice was soft, yet there was a finality in its timbre that brooked no further discussion.

With herbs in hand, Chengyu moved away from the chatter and celebration, the cacophony dimming behind him as he sought the quiet corners of the city. Each step was measured, a silent affirmation of his decision to retreat into the shadows where heroes were mere mortals, nursing their wounds, dreaming of simple comforts.

Maybe tomorrow, he allowed himself to think, I shall indulge in hot pot.

The mere idea of it brought a measure of peace, a soothing balm to his spirit. It was a humble wish, one that did not speak of adventure or grand deeds, but of humanity and its undying need for connection.

"Until then," Chengyu concluded as he disappeared into the embrace of the alleyways, "let healing be my companion."

And for the first time that day, he felt a sense of gratitude for the anonymity that the approaching night afforded him.