Cāng Jì sat on a fallen log at the edge of the village, his arms crossed, his golden hair falling across his face.
He looked like he was suffering.
No one was looking at him.
The young and foolish chased each other through the trees, pretending to hunt, pretending to care about anything except each other.
Cāng Jì did not care about any of it.
He had refused to participate shortly after the original announcement. He was a Prince of the First Generation. He did not dance. He did not give cords. He did not wander through forests making moon eyes at people he had just met.
He rotted.
Han Shān found him first. He stood in front of Cāng Jì and crossed his arms.
"You are still here," Han Shān said.
"I am rotting," Cāng Jì said.
"I can see that."
"It is a dignified rot."
Han Shān said nothing in response.
Yàn Shū arrived a moment later, slightly out of breath, his glasses fogged from walking too fast. He stopped beside Han Shān and looked down at Cāng Jì.
