"How did you enjoy the Gold Crimson Festival, Taiyōsan?"
Mr Dūng tapped his pipe gently against the ceramic tray beside him before emptying it. Burnt ash slid free in soft grey flakes, caught briefly by the draft slipping through the half-open window before settling across the tray.
The room already carried the faint scent of tobacco.
Lavender too.
His wife always kept bundles of it tucked somewhere nearby—resting beside folding screens or hanging quietly from carved wooden beams. The fragrance lingered beneath everything else rather than competing with it.
Comforting.
Almost enough to hide the cold creeping in from outside.
"It was a pleasure," I admitted.
I moved my piece across the board with two fingers. Wood clicked softly against wood as it settled into place.
"Though I spent most of it confined to my study."
A pause followed.
"The Mrs was rather upset about that."
Mr Dūng gave a low hum of understanding while leaning slightly over the board. Silver light from outside caught the edge of his glasses before fading again when he tilted his head.
"How about you, Mr Dūng?" I asked, lifting my cup carefully. "Did business spare you enough time to celebrate?"
Steam brushed briefly against my face before disappearing into the cooler air.
"I could not afford such luxuries," he replied with a shrug. "Being a merchant and all."
He placed his piece down.
Not aggressively.
But with the confidence of someone who had been waiting several turns to do it.
The game shifted slightly.
I noticed too late.
Outside, wind threaded through the narrow streets hard enough to stir the lanterns hanging beneath the eaves. Their movement cast soft ripples of light against the wooden walls around us.
Then the quiet returned.
Not uncomfortable.
Just dense enough to notice.
"The new head of the Fire Tiger is already pushing for change," he said eventually while carefully repacking his pipe.
The tobacco crackled faintly beneath his fingers.
"Ah, yes."
I nodded once.
"She finalized a trade agreement with the Rabbit Region for iron ore."
The news had spread quickly through the circles that cared about such things. Too quickly for it to remain ordinary.
"I also heard she intends to build another steel mill."
Mr Dūng lit the pipe again.
A brief flare.
Then smoke.
"Is she preparing for war," I asked, "or are these actions based on something else?"
The tea had cooled slightly by the time I drank again. Still warm enough to settle comfortably against the throat, though the autumn air kept stealing heat from everything left untouched too long.
"Who knows?"
He shrugged lightly before making another move.
The pieces clicked together softly.
"But why must we continue following that treaty?"
There was irritation beneath the question now.
Not dramatic frustration.
Old frustration.
The kind worn smooth through repetition.
He paused halfway through another move, reconsidered, then leaned back instead.
"Don't be like that, old friend," I said with a quiet chuckle.
"You know very well that with increased advancement, we need the world's Aether to adjust."
I gestured lightly with my cup toward the open window and the distant world beyond it.
"Otherwise we risk another disaster."
The word lingered longer than I intended.
Mr Dūng sighed.
Not because he disagreed.
Because he didn't.
"Yes," he muttered, "but it is bothersome to possess the knowledge and still be forced to wait before using it."
Pipe smoke curled slowly upward between us, twisting through the dim lantern light before thinning into the ceiling shadows.
The room quieted again.
So quiet the wind outside seemed sharper for it.
Almost predatory.
"Some ambitious individuals," he said eventually, "would rather gamble for a head start and involve the Concord."
This time he committed fully to his move.
The piece slid into position with finality.
"Reckless," I replied immediately.
"That is what it is."
Too many people lately had started treating the Concord like a broom for problems they created themselves.
I laughed softly afterward, though the sound carried less conviction than intended.
After all—
I had funded one or two questionable ventures myself over the years.
Not enough to qualify as foolish.
But enough to understand temptation.
Enough to understand greed disguised as ambition.
"Hm."
Mr Dūng reached for a slice of meat from the plate beside him.
"I heard the Draken Marquis has returned."
"Ah, yes."
I leaned back slightly.
"That was on the eve of the Crimson Peak."
The memory surfaced clearly enough.
News traveled strangely during festivals. Faster in some ways. Slower in others. Important information slipped beneath celebration, moving from conversation to conversation between cups of wine and lantern light.
Lavender and tobacco thickened slightly as the wind shifted again.
Outside, the silver sun hung low enough to cast long pale streaks across the rooftops. Beside it, the moon remained suspended in its darker phase now—earthy and heavy, like old stone stained red long ago.
"But with the Marquis back in his nation…" Mr Dūng began.
I reached for the teapot before he could finish, refilling both cups carefully. Tea poured in thin streams, steam rising briefly before the cold air dulled it away.
"…we can only hope—"
"Hope it is profitable?" he interrupted with a faint smile.
I offered no response.
Which only amused him more.
That answer probably said enough.
"Ah," I said instead, lifting my cup again, "Húmāo Zhōu and the Dog Province also finalized a new trade agreement."
His brows lifted slightly.
"And they'll conduct joint military exercises next year."
My cup stopped halfway to my lips.
"Tensions are running rather high."
Higher than people wanted to admit.
Mr Dūng exhaled slowly through his nose.
"It is a strange era," he murmured. "Advancement feels less like progress and more like a timed explosion."
The words settled naturally into the room.
Neither of us rushed to disagree.
Because he wasn't wrong.
That was the uncomfortable part.
Footsteps approached from the inner hall.
Soft.
Measured.
Mr Dūng's wife entered alongside two attendants carrying trays of food. Warmth spread into the room immediately—roasted meats, broth, sesame oil, spice.
My stomach reacted before my pride could pretend otherwise.
But it was their clothing that drew the eye first.
The festival colors had shifted again.
Their robes now leaned toward a purplish red, deep enough to resemble polished rubies beneath the lantern light. Silver ornaments rested at their wrists and throats, glinting softly whenever they moved.
The moon's influence had deepened.
Even celebration obeyed the heavens.
"It could be both things at once, no?" Mr Dūng asked quietly as the dishes were arranged between us.
Progress.
Disaster.
Opportunity.
Threat.
His wife finished placing the final bowl before stepping back gracefully.
"Thank you for the meal," I said with a slight bow of my head.
She smiled politely before leaving the room as quietly as she had entered.
The attendants followed behind her, sleeves whispering softly across the floorboards.
"We are not wrong," Mr Dūng said after a moment.
I picked up my chopsticks.
"No," I replied.
"We are simply alive in an inconvenient age."
That earned a genuine laugh from him.
A tired one too.
The game remained unfinished between us.
Neither surrendering.
Neither winning.
Only continuing.
That felt familiar in ways I didn't entirely enjoy.
Outside, the autumn wind moved harder now, carrying cold through the narrow streets while lantern light trembled beneath it.
The moon hung overhead like dried blood pressed into stone.
Dark.
Earthy.
Watching.
And beside it, the silver sun still shone stubbornly—as though refusing to surrender the sky quietly to the coming era.