The Legend of Sword and Flute[BL]

The night before their departure, Jinyue Clan glimmered under lantern light.

The annual Moon Harmony Festival had arrived—a tradition older than any elder, said to honor the unity of clans and the balance of yin and yang beneath the full midsummer moon. It was a rare moment when the strict halls of Jinyue relaxed their rules and opened their arms to laughter, music, and celebration. Even the coldest sects permitted a smile or two.

Naturally, Ling Yiran was not smiling.

He was grinning like a man possessed.

"This is it! This is my moment to shine!" he exclaimed, tossing a silver robe over his usual outfit, tying his hair with a crimson silk ribbon. "A festival. A chance to wear something dazzling, eat too much, AND flirt in public without being scolded!"

His sister, Ling Hanyue, tried adjusting his sash. "You're going to trip on this if you keep bouncing."

"Let me trip in style!"

The twins, who stood beside him munching dumplings, rolled their eyes in sync.

Yiran practically sparkled as they stepped onto the main path of the outer court, which was now transformed with floating lanterns, silk banners, and dozens of long tables offering food, charms, and fan-painted poetry. Disciples and guests wandered in colorful robes, laughter carried on the breeze, and a soft tune played by zither and flute flowed from the music pavilion.

But one person was notably absent.

Yiran scanned the crowd.

No Suoxue.

Which made sense, considering the cold prince probably saw festivals as a waste of spiritual energy.

Still...

Yiran grinned slyly. He waved at his siblings. "I'll be right back. Don't follow me, or I'll curse your shoes to squeak forever."

He vanished into the lantern-lit crowd.

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, Yiran was creeping along the stone corridor of Suoxue's quiet chamber, holding a mask shaped like a silver fox.

The door creaked open.

Suoxue sat inside, alone, robe folded neatly at his side, hair tied loosely in a silken ribbon. He was staring at the scroll on his lap, lit by moonlight.

"Boring," Yiran announced, stepping in.

Suoxue blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Kidnapping you."

Suoxue stared.

Yiran strode forward and dropped the fox mask into his lap. "You're coming to the festival. No one will recognize you in a mask. You'll be anonymous. Free. Adored. Possibly flirted with."

"I don't attend festivals."

Yiran raised a brow. "And yet... you're already dressed."

Suoxue frowned faintly. He had indeed dressed casually—though his version of casual was still cleaner than a ceremonial priest.

Yiran offered his hand dramatically. "Join me, oh prince of frost. Or I will tell every single person at this event that you secretly sing lullabies to spirit flowers."

Suoxue stared at him. Then, very slowly, he took the mask.

———

Under the cover of anonymity, Suoxue followed Yiran through the festival grounds.

They blended in easily. No one suspected the dignified Young Master of Jinyue Clan would be wandering among common disciples wearing a fox mask. Yiran, on the other hand, was louder than ever.

He stuffed skewers into Suoxue's hands. Dragged him through fire-lit tunnels of floating wish lanterns. Snuck them both into a fan-painting contest and won third place for painting a rabbit with Suoxue's grumpy face.

"Why is the rabbit me?"

"The resemblance is uncanny," Yiran declared.

Suoxue nearly left. But stayed.

Then came the zither stage.

Yiran hopped up without permission and strummed three chaotic notes that made the crowd wince. Then he pointed at Suoxue. "My friend here plays better!"

Suoxue, mortified, stepped up.

But then—he played.

And silence fell.

The melody flowed, cold and beautiful, laced with sadness and strength. The music reached into the chests of every listener and echoed. Yiran didn't speak. He couldn't.

When it ended, the applause was thunderous.

Suoxue climbed down quietly. Yiran was waiting.

"That was... wow."

"Music is cultivation," Suoxue said simply.

"Still hot."

Suoxue gave him a rare look that hovered between exasperation and... amusement.

They walked toward the cliffside viewing platform, where lanterns were released by hand.

"Write your wish," a disciple told them, offering a brush.

Yiran scribbled quickly. Suoxue raised a brow at what he wrote.

"That's not a wish."

"Sure it is."

Suoxue read it aloud: "Let this year be less boring. And bring me more cold boys to tease."

Yiran winked. "Specificity is important in manifestation."

As the lanterns floated upward, their laughter was cut short by a sudden gust.

The wind shifted.

And above them, a massive, flaming sigil ignited in the sky—twisting, pulsating, shaped like a black flag.

The music stopped. The crowd froze.

Yiran and Suoxue stood side-by-side, staring up.

"Well," Yiran whispered. "So much for a peaceful night."

Suoxue's hand went to his sword. "It begins."

And the sigil burned into the stars, warning all who dared look.

The darkness had come to the festival.