Li Feng held up another ribbon for Xiaolong's inspection—this one deep blue silk embroidered with silver clouds. "What about this one?"

"That's the same ribbon you showed me three options ago, just rotated."

"It's a completely different shade of blue."

"It's the same ribbon." Xiaolong sat on her meditation cushion, watching Li Feng sort through his collection of proposed horn-concealment solutions with the dedication of a strategist preparing for a decisive campaign. "And I've already explained why fabric won't work."

He set the ribbon down and picked up a length of brocade. "This one has more structure—"

"Li Feng." She touched one horn, tracing its curve from temple to the point that extended a hand's length beyond her head. Su Hu's decorative cuffs gleamed faintly in the lamplight. "Wrapping them in cloth will create a strange fabric pillar protruding from my head. In what possible scenario would that be preferable to their natural appearance?"

His brow creased as his clever mind processed this entirely reasonable observation.

"Valid point." He abandoned the fabric pile and sat across from her. "So we work with them instead of against them."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we make them look deliberate. Clearwater Village's market day attracts traders from three provinces. They're used to elaborate cultivation accessories. If your horns look like ornamental headdress components, people will assume they're expensive fashion rather than actual horns."

The logic was sound, though Xiaolong couldn't quite picture what "ornamental headdress components" would accomplish beyond making her horns more obvious. "What did you have in mind?"

Li Feng produced a wooden box from his sleeve. Inside: an array of hair ornaments in silver and jade, the sort of elaborate pieces worn during formal ceremonies. Hairpins with dangling chains, decorative combs inlaid with mother-of-pearl, flowering branches sculpted from precious metals.

"We build a headdress around the horns," he said. "Use your actual hair to create the foundation, then anchor these pieces so the horns look like they're part of the overall design. Anyone who sees you will think you're a wealthy cultivator with extravagant taste in accessories."

Xiaolong lifted one of the hairpins—a phoenix in flight, its wings spread in fluid metal curves. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, the kind of work that took months to complete. "Where did you acquire these?"

"I may have visited the sect's ceremonial storage pavilion this morning. Elder Liu was very understanding when I explained we needed formal accessories for a village outing." His expression carried the particular innocence that indicated he'd been less than completely forthcoming about his intentions. "She thinks we're attending some diplomatic function."

"So we're stealing ceremonial ornaments to disguise my horns as fashion statements."

"Borrowing. Very different from stealing. Also, Elder Liu specifically said 'make sure they come back undamaged,' which I interpret as implicit permission."

Xiaolong studied the contents of the box.

The pieces were beautiful, clearly valuable, and completely impractical for anything except formal court appearances or elaborate theatrical productions. Wearing them to a village market would make her look like someone who'd raided a treasury and decided to wear the entire haul simultaneously.

"I... suppose this will work," she said.

Li Feng's smile was worth whatever social complications the headdress would create.

An hour later, Xiaolong's hair had been transformed into an elaborate upward-swept arrangement that incorporated both horns as structural elements. Li Feng had proven surprisingly skilled at hairdressing, weaving sections around the horn bases and securing everything with enough pins that her scalp felt like it was hosting a small metallic garden.

The decorative combs flanked each horn, their designs creating visual continuity that made the whole assemblage look intentional rather than improvised. Silver chains draped from the horn tips to the hairpins, creating subtle movement whenever she turned her head.

The effect in the mirror was unexpectedly beautiful. She looked regal, otherworldly, her true nature barely concealed by human aesthetics. The headdress should have looked ridiculous—instead it looked like something a powerful cultivator would wear during an important ceremony.

"I didn't know you had a talent for hairstyling," Xiaolong remarked as she examined her reflection from multiple angles. "Your repertoire of skills never ceases to surprise."

Li Feng laughed, the sound carrying a hint of wry humor. "Mother always encouraged me to learn every practical task I could. Said it would help ground my cultivation in real-world experience. She's probably regretting that now, given how often I end up repurposing her advice."

He reached out and adjusted one of the hairpins so it hung slightly lower than the other. The asymmetry gave the headdress an artistic quality, transforming it from a ceremonial arrangement to an aesthetic choice.

"Perfect," Li Feng said, then offered his arm. "Ready?"

"Thank your mother on my behalf when you next write." She rose, taking his offered support as she adjusted to the additional weight balanced on her head. "I suspect this headdress will be the topic of village conversation for some time."

The walk to Clearwater Village took them through familiar territory—the path they'd traveled during their first journey to the sect, though the landscape had changed with autumn's arrival. Leaves painted the hillsides in colors that would have looked garish anywhere except nature, and the morning air carried the crispness that made every breath feel worth savoring.

Li Feng walked beside her with the comfortable ease they'd developed over months of proximity. Conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from philosophy to agriculture to the ridiculousness of certain sect customs (Xiaolong's contribution) to Li Feng's observations about minor spirit beast migrations in the region.

He'd dressed in traveling robes rather than sect formality—blue cotton that matched the sky, practical boots, hair tied back in a simple tail that emphasized the clean lines of his face.

She caught herself watching the way sunlight touched his profile and forced her attention back to the path.

"You're nervous," Li Feng said.

"I'm not nervous."

"Your spiritual energy is doing that thing where it circulates faster when you're thinking too hard about something."

Xiaolong checked her energy flow and found he was right. Her qi moved at a pace appropriate for preparing defensive techniques, not a leisurely social excursion. "I'm not accustomed to recreational outings."

"We've had recreational outings before."

"Those were training exercises or mission-related travel. This is..." She searched for accurate terminology. "Recreational for its own sake."

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"Yes. That's what makes it a date." Li Feng's tone carried gentle amusement. "You're allowed to enjoy things without justifying them as training or quests."

The concept felt foreign in ways Xiaolong couldn't quite articulate.

Dragons didn't date—they negotiated territorial agreements or engaged in elaborate courtship displays that involved demonstrating superior power and accumulated treasures. The idea of simply spending time together because the company itself held value remained novel enough to create uncertainty about proper execution.

"What if I'm terrible at dates?"

"Then we'll be terrible at it together." Li Feng's hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers with casual intimacy that still caught her by surprise. "Besides, I've seen you face corrupted sect leaders and cosmic serpents. I'm confident you can handle a village market."

The warmth of his palm against hers steadied something that had been fluttering anxiously in her chest. She squeezed his hand once, a gesture of gratitude that didn't require words.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, hands linked, while the path descended toward the village.

Clearwater Village on market day resembled organized chaos given physical form and permission to sprawl. Stalls crowded the main square in colorful rows, each competing for attention through strategic placement of goods and vendor enthusiasm. Fabric merchants draped their wares like waterfalls of silk and cotton. Food vendors sent smoke and savory scents into the morning air.

Craftspeople displayed everything from practical tools to decorative luxuries, their booths arranged by trade guild regulations that somehow still created the impression of delightful mayhem.

Xiaolong stopped at the square's entrance, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer density of human activity. Hundreds of people moved through the market—shopping, bargaining, greeting friends, managing children who darted between stalls with the focused energy of small hunting animals.

"We can leave if it's too much," Li Feng offered quietly.

"No." She straightened, her hand tightening around his. "I want to be here."

They entered the market's flow, and Xiaolong discovered that the headdress worked exactly as Li Feng had predicted. People glanced at her elaborate hair arrangement with expressions that ranged from impressed to envious, but nobody questioned whether the horns were real. She was simply another wealthy cultivator who'd decided market day required maximum aesthetic presentation.

One older woman actually approached to compliment her "extraordinary taste in accessories" and ask where she'd commissioned such magnificent work. Xiaolong mumbled something about a craftsman in the capital and escaped before the conversation could develop complications.

"See?" Li Feng said. "Perfect disguise."

"I'm still concerned the chains are going to catch on something."

"They're fine. Very elegant. Very—watch out for that banner."

Xiaolong ducked under a hanging banner advertising fresh fish, the chains tinkling softly with the movement. "I'm beginning to understand why most cultivators favor simple hair arrangements."

The first food stall they encountered sold candied nuts in paper cones. The vendor demonstrated his craft with the showmanship of someone who knew presentation sold as much as product—tossing walnuts in the air, coating them in caramelized honey, adding sesame seeds with a flourish that made children watching applaud.

Li Feng bought two cones and handed one to Xiaolong. "Try them."

She took a candied walnut, expecting sweetness similar to the pastries she'd eaten at the sect. Instead, the first bite delivered an explosion of flavor that was sweet, yes, but also rich with honey depth and sesame nuttiness and something darker she couldn't identify.

The walnut itself provided perfect crunch, and the whole combination created a taste experience far exceeding what its simple appearance suggested.

"These are extraordinary."

"Vendor Wei has been making them the same way for thirty years." Li Feng ate his own cone with obvious enjoyment. "His secret is the honey—he sources it from mountain bees that feed on specific wildflowers."

Xiaolong ate three more nuts in rapid succession, then looked at the vendor's stall with the calculating focus of someone reassessing strategic priorities. "How much for the entire cart?"

Li Feng laughed and pulled her away before she could actually negotiate for bulk candied nut purchases. "We can come back before we leave. Let's see what else the market offers."

What the market offered, Xiaolong discovered, was an overwhelming variety of things she hadn't known existed.

A toy vendor sold mechanical crickets that hopped when wound. A fabric merchant displayed silk so fine she could see her hand through three layers. A spice trader offered samples of dried peppers that made her eyes water from proximity alone. A calligrapher demonstrated brush techniques while customers waited for custom name scrolls.

Li Feng navigated it all with easy grace, pointing out stalls he thought might interest her, pausing to watch demonstrations of particular skill, and buying enough samples that by the end of an hour her appetite had shifted from hungry to cautiously testing capacity limits.

Xiaolong found herself watching him more than the market. The way he smiled at vendors he recognized. The careful attention he paid to craftsmanship when examining goods. The small kindnesses—moving aside so an elderly man could pass, helping a merchant whose stall covering had come loose, offering directions to a confused traveler from out of province.

Five thousand years of existence, and this was the sort of mortal she had become fascinated with. Someone who approached life not with ambition or drama, but a quiet insistence that each day offered opportunities for something good to take root.

"You're staring," Li Feng said without looking up from the book he was examining.

"I'm observing."

"Very intensely observing."

"I'm a dragon. We observe intensely."

He set the book down and turned to face her fully, his expression carrying warmth that made her ornate headdress suddenly feel too hot. "What are you observing?"

The question held invitation.

Xiaolong met his eyes. Humans were so fragile compared to dragons, yet in this human she saw something worth all five millennia that had led her here.

"You," she said. "Just you."

The moment stretched, a shared space of held breath and unspoken agreement that something important had just been negotiated without need for syllables to shape or constrain it. Then the bookseller cleared his throat pointedly, reminding them that markets imposed their own time restrictions on potential sales.

Li Feng purchased the volume—a copy of The Analects, one of the handful of classics that had survived in Xiaolong's collection. She'd never managed more than skimming, since philosophical musings tended to lose their luster against the weight of millennia.

He tucked the book into his sleeve, and she reached for his hand automatically, the movement coming as naturally as the ebb and flow of market crowds around them.

It felt right. As if their palms had agreed that fitting together like this carried its own logic, a small perfection amid daily imperfection.

"What do you think of markets?" Li Feng asked as they moved on to the next row of stalls. His fingers traced hers with casual intimacy, sending tiny cascades of warmth through places where they touched.

"I haven't experienced many. Dragons aren't as prone to commerce as humans. We don't require external validation the same way. Our relationships are more..." Her fingers moved as she searched for words. "Circumstantial, based on happenstance and territorial agreements. Less of all this."

She waved vaguely to encompass the market's complexity of connections, all the lines of desire and trade and gossip and community tying together in a web she couldn't begin to understand, much less navigate. Li Feng took that in silently, his gaze traveling across stalls and shoppers and vendors as if looking at it from her perspective.

"If you had to summarize it," he said finally, "what word would you choose?"

"Extravagance."

"Inefficiency?"

"Excess."

"Innovation?"

She made a noise of impatience, which made the hairpins in her headdress jingle discordantly, and stopped walking. They stood in the shadow of the local miller's stall, the scent of ground grain hanging in the air like earthy perfume.

"None of this is necessary. The bargaining, the posturing, the accumulation. Dragons exchange resources with clarity and directness." Her eyes found his. "That doesn't make it better. Just... different."

Li Feng watched her steadily, and Xiaolong became aware she'd begun circulating spiritual energy to match her speech rhythms—a low-level defense instinct, but one that might attract attention in crowds this size.

He seemed to recognize the reaction. Instead of pressing the point, he said, "You're doing the intimidating thing."

"It's not intentional."

"I know." Then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, a brief touch that landed just below her horn base.

Xiaolong stared. Mortal behavior had become unexpectedly incomprehensible. Li Feng looked slightly embarrassed by his own action, which helped.

"Sorry," he said after a moment. "It felt like the right response."

She touched the place where he'd kissed, feeling her brows furrow in non-mortal fashion. "To my statements about human inefficiency?"

"To you. To this whole experience. To..." He gestured at the market around them. "Context, I suppose?"

"That is the vaguest justification for physical affection I've heard in five millennia." But she didn't stop touching her forehead, as if trying to hold that brief moment of warmth in place. "I'll consider it for future reference."

That seemed to satisfy some concern in him, though the logic remained unclear.

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