Hóng Yè looked at her then, his eyes lingering on the color of her eyes. There was a small, patient smile on her lips, waiting for him to catch up.
He felt something shift in his chest. Something that made him want to look away and keep looking at the same time.
"I do not know," he said. "I have never seen it."
Lì Jìng let out a laugh, surprised by his rather blunt response.
"Maybe I will see it someday," she said softly, eyes lingering on his tail.
Hóng Yè's face went hot. He looked away, staring at the fire, at the dancers, at anything that was not her.
"Why are you here?" he asked. "Why are you talking to me? You don't have to be here, and yet you're here to talk to me. Is it because of the festival?"
Lì Jìng considered the question. She did not answer right away. She let the silence stretch between them, the way silence stretched in the marshes when the sun was setting and the frogs were just beginning their evening song.
