( Strange )
Morning came earlier than expected.
The first light of dawn slipped through the carved wooden window, brushing softly across the room in pale gold. The air still held the quiet chill of night, untouched by the coming bustle of the day.
Zhang Wei stirred lazily.
One eye opened.
Then the other.
He remained lying there for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling before turning his head slightly toward the other side of the room.
Zhang Lie's bed—
Empty.
The covers had already been folded neatly, the surface smooth and untouched, as though no one had even slept there.
"…Oh."
Wei blinked once.
"He's early."
His voice was rough with sleep, but he didn't sound surprised. If anything, it was expected.
He pushed himself up slowly, his movements unhurried. The silk sheets beneath him shifted softly—different from Lie's. Where Lie's bedding had been thicker, more structured, almost rigid in its layering—
Wei's was softer.
Warmer.
The kind that held onto the body just a little longer.
"…At least they got this part right," he muttered.
Stretching lightly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
—
The attached bathing room welcomed him with quiet stillness.
Steam no longer lingered—this time, he chose cool water.
The chill hit his skin instantly, sharp but refreshing, washing away the remnants of fatigue from the previous day. Water ran down his frame, catching the early light, tracing along muscle and bone before disappearing beneath the surface.
Wei exhaled softly.
"…Better."
By the time he stepped out, droplets still clung faintly to his skin, his white hair damp and slightly darker at the ends.
And that was when he saw it.
A garment.
Neatly folded.
Placed right at the center of his bed.
"…Hm?"
He approached, picking it up without much thought.
Must be Zhang Lie…
The fabric was soft—high quality, no doubt.
But the moment he unfolded it—
His expression changed.
"…Red?"
Not just red.
Bright red.
The kind that didn't sit quietly.
The kind that announced itself.
The design was simple—too simple. No heavy embroidery, no intricate layering, but somehow that made it worse. The color alone carried enough presence to draw attention from across a hall.
Wei stared at it.
Then at himself.
Then back at it.
"…This is too much."
He said it out loud this time.
There was a faint look of distaste on his face as he slipped it on anyway.
The fabric adjusted perfectly to his form—light, smooth, almost too fitting. The sleeves fell just right, the collar resting loosely enough to reveal a hint of skin, the entire piece moving easily with his body.
And yet—
It was loud.
Every movement made the color catch light differently, shifting between shades of crimson and flame.
Wei frowned at his reflection.
"…Why would anyone wear this willingly…"
He clicked his tongue softly.
Too bad—
His belongings were still with Elder Mi.
Otherwise, he would've thrown this aside without a second thought instead of wearing that orange robe for days.
With a quiet sigh, he gave up resisting.
Instead, he focused on his hair.
Standing before the mirror, he brushed through the damp strands slowly, smoothing them down before gathering part of it and securing it loosely with a simple tie. A thin red ribbon held it in place—not overly styled, but enough to keep it from falling into his face.
"…Done."
He stepped back once.
Looked at himself again.
Still too noticeable.
"…Whatever."
—
By the time he stepped into the main hall—
Breakfast had already begun.
The space was open, filled with long tables arranged neatly across polished floors. Morning light filtered in through high windows, mixing with the warm glow of lanterns still burning low.
The scent of fresh food filled the air—steamed buns, light broths, tea, and soft rice dishes prepared for an easy start to the day.
Clans were already seated.
Eating.
Talking.
Planning.
Wei walked in.
And didn't notice—
That the moment he did—
The hall went quiet.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough for conversations to falter.
For eyes to turn.
For whispers to pause mid-sentence.
Because—
He stood out.
Bright red among muted tones.
White hair loose against it.
Unintentional—
Yet impossible to ignore.
Wei, however, had only one thing on his mind.
Ji Yao.
His gaze moved through the hall, scanning faces, searching, focused—
"Fei Fei."
His voice cut through casually as he spotted her halfway up the stairs.
She turned.
Dressed in soft yellow this time, her robe layered gently with white accents, giving her a light, almost glowing presence under the morning light. The fabric flowed delicately around her, sleeves long and soft, her movements calm as she descended.
"Wei… you're dressed…"
Her voice held a pause.
A small one.
Her eyes lingered.
Wei nodded.
"Lie's taste isn't very good."
He said it without hesitation.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Fei Fei blinked—
Then nodded slowly.
"…I see."
Though her gaze flickered once more at the robe.
Both of them walked down together.
Toward the Zhang table.
—
The moment they approached—
The atmosphere shifted again.
Elder Mi's expression twisted slightly.
Not anger.
Not confusion.
Something else.
Something tighter.
Controlled.
Wei noticed.
But misunderstood.
"…What's wrong with Elder Mi?" he asked lightly, glancing toward Zhang Lie. "Is he sick?"
Lie didn't answer immediately.
His eyes were fixed on Wei.
On the robe.
"…Zhang Wei."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"What is this?"
Wei blinked.
Then looked down at himself.
"…Isn't this what you gave me?"
Silence.
Total.
Around the table, the other disciples froze. Chopsticks paused mid-air. Even the servants nearby slowed, their movements faltering as tension crept in.
Lie's expression didn't change.
But his mouth twitched—just slightly.
"I did not give you that."
Wei frowned.
"What?"
Then, without hesitation—
"You gave it to me to wear. Your taste is so poor."
His tone carried clear irritation.
Almost accusatory.
A few disciples stiffened, unsure whether to react or remain silent.
Wei sighed, waving it off.
"Forget it. Let's just eat. I'm hungry."
He sat down.
Unbothered.
Or at least—
Appearing so.
—
But the air—
Didn't settle.
It tightened.
Shifted.
Fei Fei noticed it first.
Her gaze moved from Wei… to Lie… then to the others around them.
Their expressions—
Subtle.
But wrong.
Too stiff.
Too aware.
Lon, seated nearby, narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning the hall.
Not at Wei.
But beyond him.
Around them.
"…Something's off," he murmured quietly.
Fei Fei's fingers tightened slightly against her sleeve.
Her eyes flickered again toward the robe.
Bright red.
Unmistakable.
Too deliberate.
Too precise.
A whisper passed from a nearby table—
Barely audible.
"…He wore it…"
"…So it's him…"
"…Interesting…"
Fei Fei's heart sank slightly.
Not fear—
But realization.
This wasn't a mistake.
This wasn't Zhang Lie's doing.
Someone—
Had placed that robe there.
Someone—
Had planned this.
A mark.
A signal.
A warning.
Or worse—
An invitation.
Her gaze lifted slowly, scanning the hall.
Watching.
Listening.
Feeling the shift.
And then—
Understanding.
Someone had made their move.
And Zhang Wei—
Had already stepped into it.
The red was bold.
Too bold.
It should have overwhelmed him—swallowed his presence whole, turned him into nothing more than a moving flare of color among calmer tones.
But it didn't.
Instead—
It changed him.
Zhang Wei sat at the table, chopsticks in hand, his posture as relaxed as before, yet something about him no longer aligned with the boy who had walked in moments ago.
The red fabric caught the morning light, shifting between deep crimson and softer hues depending on how he moved. Against his pale skin, it didn't clash—
It enhanced.
His features, already refined, now carried a strange softness… and yet a sharper pull. His white hair fell loosely around his shoulders, strands brushing against the red like snow over flame.
And his eyes—
Blue.
But not fully.
A faint tint of pink lingered at the edges, subtle enough to go unnoticed at first glance, yet impossible to ignore once seen. It made his gaze brighter, more vivid—almost unnaturally so.
His lashes cast soft shadows beneath them, thicker, darker against his pale skin.
His lips—
Redder than before.
Not dry from travel.
But full.
Soft.
As if brushed with color.
Alive.
—
Around him—
The hall had not returned to normal.
If anything, the attention had sharpened.
Where last night had been whispers of curiosity—
This morning carried something deeper.
Confusion.
Suspicion.
Interest.
"…Look at him…"
"…Was he always like that…?"
"…No… something's different…"
Even those who had tried to ignore him now found their gazes drifting back unwillingly.
Because the feeling he gave off—
Was wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not threatening.
But—
Unfamiliar.
—
Further across the hall, Ji Yao had also entered.
Dressed in pale blue this time, his robe was deliberately understated. The color blended with the calm tones of morning, the design simple, almost plain.
An attempt to not stand out.
And yet—
It didn't work.
His aura still lingered, subtle but undeniable, like a shadow that refused to disappear even under direct light. His presence pressed quietly against the space around him, commanding attention without demanding it.
Still—
Compared to Zhang Wei—
It was nothing.
Because while Ji Yao blended—
Wei disrupted.
—
What unsettled the elders more, however—
Was not the color.
But the design.
Elder Mi's gaze had not left Wei since he sat down.
His eyes traced the faint patterns woven into the red silk—lines so delicate they were almost invisible unless one looked closely.
Ancient.
Old.
Not decorative.
Intentional.
His fingers tightened slightly against the table.
This…
Recognition flickered.
And with it—
Concern.
Whoever did this…
His gaze darkened.
They're forcing it.
Forcing the core form to surface.
Not internally.
But externally.
—
"What?"
Wei's voice broke through lightly, his brows knitting faintly as he noticed the tension.
The silence around him.
The way Elder Mi was staring.
"What's wrong?"
Sang Sang spoke before anyone else could.
"Nothing," she said quickly, her tone calm but firm. "Eat."
Her eyes met his briefly.
A warning.
A plea.
Wei blinked once.
Then shrugged.
"…Alright."
And just like that—
He returned to his food.
—
But even that—
Was different.
His movements were slower.
More focused.
Almost… absorbed.
Each bite taken without distraction, his gaze lowered, expression softened.
Not careless.
Not distracted.
Just—
Simple.
Too simple.
—
Elder Mi's hand moved slightly beneath the table.
A small gesture.
Subtle.
But enough.
Zhang Lin and Zhang Lie noticed immediately.
Both of them stood almost at the same time.
"Wei," Zhang Lin said, his voice light, controlled.
His green robe stood out gently against the muted surroundings, the color grounding, steady—much like their father.
"We need to show you something."
Wei looked up.
His eyes brightened slightly.
"Now?"
There was no suspicion.
None.
Only curiosity.
Zhang Lie stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Yes. Now."
Wei didn't question it.
He stood immediately, brushing off his robe lightly.
"Alright."
And followed them.
Just like that.
—
But to everyone else watching—
It was wrong.
Too easy.
Too obedient.
Too…
Innocent.
"…Did he always act like that?"
One disciple whispered under his breath.
"No…"
Another replied quietly. "He wasn't this… simple."
Fei Fei watched him leave, her fingers tightening slightly around her sleeve.
Her brows furrowed.
"…Wei…"
Something in her chest didn't sit right.
—
Across the hall, Ji Yao had returned to his seat.
His gaze followed Wei briefly as he was led away.
A faint exhale left him.
Relief.
"…What happened to him?" he murmured quietly.
Ji Lin snorted softly, pushing aside his bowl of food.
"That boy?" he said. "He's just naive."
He clicked his tongue.
"Feels like he's never even seen the world properly."
Another disciple nodded.
"…Too clean."
"Too unguarded."
"It's strange."
One of the elders spoke then, his tone thoughtful.
"Zhang Chuan was never the type to raise a child like that."
His gaze lingered toward the direction Wei had left.
"There's something off."
—
Around them, the hall continued to breathe.
Steam rose from bowls of porridge.
The scent of fresh tea lingered in the air.
Chopsticks resumed their quiet rhythm.
But the earlier tension—
Did not leave.
Because the image remained.
A boy in red.
Too bright.
Too soft.
Too untouched.
Like something the world had not yet managed to stain.
And that—
More than anything—
Made him dangerous.