Volume One Chapter One Fireworks

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Night had fallen, the wind and rain swayed in uneasy tandem. The lighthouse’s sweeping beam cast its dim yellow glow over the rising waves far out at sea. Stacked containers at the port walled off the raucous lights of the nearby harbor town, creating a haven of shadowed tranquility. Three days before, a massive cargo fire had stilled the once-bustling port, leaving it hushed in the early autumn dusk by the bay.

“Surprised? Shocked?” A low, slightly hoarse voice sounded in the night wind. “Heh, I’m the traitor—cough, cough... didn’t see that coming, did you?” Laboriously, the man raised a hand to adjust his amber-tinted glasses, his tone ever buoyant and irreverent.

“Qin, I didn’t expect it would be you seeing me off in the end.” His flippant words could not mask the thick scent of blood; as he spoke, he coughed up a spatter of crimson. His labored breaths, ragged and drawn out, echoed with a tearing sound in the damp night breeze.

“...” Pressing pale, parched lips together, the youth standing before him, Mo De, remained silent.

“Ten years have slipped by in a blink, Qin—you’ve grown from a scrappy little kid into someone formidable. Time truly wields its butcher’s blade; the ancients did not lie.” The man propped himself up on an elbow, peering through the maze of containers toward the distant sea, drifting into rambling reminiscence. “The tides rise and fall, coming and going, each batch in turn. A good name, truly a good name. To think, it was the sound of that name that first drew me in...”

As blood pooled beneath him, staining the ground, his strength ebbed away.

“Why...” Mo De’s voice was a hoarse murmur, thick with confusion, resentment, grief, and helpless sorrow.

“Kid, you’ve been with the ‘Tide’ for, what, seven or eight years now?” The man ignored the accusation, carrying on with his monologue. “Baiyi taught you to smoke, Liu’er taught you to drink. If Shu hadn’t kept an eye on you, I bet you’d have tried dyeing your hair by now...” His deep brown eyes looked over the rim of his amber glasses at the boy before him. “But you can’t always be treated as a child. Consider this your final lesson, hmm, I’m getting chatty again.”

“Never depend on anyone. Always trust yourself.” A sly smile tugged at his lips, flashes of white teeth stained with red—like a devil whispering a secret with a suppressed laugh.

“Go back. They’ll know you finished your task. The ‘Fireworks’ countdown has begun—if you stay, you’ll end up keeping me company for real.” His voice grew weaker, exhaustion and drowsiness seeping in.

“Go on, don’t look back.”

Mo De turned away, casting one last lingering look at the man. Drawing a deep breath, he plunged into the interwoven shadows, vanishing from sight. He carried with him too many questions, yet knew the man would never answer any more. All mysteries would fade into darkness with his passing.

He was angry, unwilling to accept it. He wanted to roar, but kept silent and moved on. Some things, some people, would never have an ending; they simply hung unresolved, then broke off abruptly.

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“Why...” His lips split, metallic sweetness blooming. A few crystalline drops vanished in the wind. Mo De longed to halt, to look back once more, but the urgent, roaring sense of peril in his veins drove him forward—he could not stop, only flee ahead.

He did not know how much time had passed before the instinctive danger faded away. Suddenly freed from that crushing pressure, Mo De halted, panting, and looked back.

The pale moon was veiled by black clouds; his view encompassed only shifting outlines of light and darkness, silent and still.

Mo De staggered onward but could not take another step.

A single line divides life and death.

He opened his mouth, lips trembling, yet no words emerged.

“As expected, the most beautiful fireworks are seen from the barrel,” the man murmured, closing his eyes as the amber glasses slipped from his face, never to be raised again.

A sharp click shattered the silence—searing white light erupted from the container he leaned against, a torrent of flame and metallic vapor engulfing the entire dock, surging outward in an instant. Then, brilliant flames soared skyward, like a totemic pillar left by the gods.

The flaming crown swept rapidly toward the town’s edge, then halted, only to explode upward with renewed force. Layer after layer of shockwaves seemed gathered by an invisible hand, surging higher and higher into the night.

A forest of fire bloomed, flames blazing across the sky, illuminating all realms but never touching the earth.

Supreme solemnity, chilling silence, breathtaking beauty.

The blast wave struck, flinging Mo De from the threshold in an instant, hurling him beyond the border of the inferno. The fire’s red glare illuminated his pale, still-childish face, drying the tear tracks left on his cheeks. Tumbling to the ground, he reached out toward the sea of flames, only to draw back, hand trembling.

Before him, a tapestry of celestial fire; behind him, the early autumn night.

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Yet, at his side, that man would never walk again.

“What was it all for?” Within the borders of the town, in the shadowed alleys, a woman outlined by the white flames gazed quietly at the pillar of fire that seemed so near yet so impossibly distant, sighing softly. In the next instant, she froze, as if struck by lightning. Removing her glasses, she stared in disbelief at what was happening within the fiery totem. The incandescent blaze and roaring metallic torrent could not hinder her gaze; golden light flowed in her eyes, reflecting a scene she could scarcely comprehend.

High above the heavens, it descended—clad in fire and blade.

With difficulty, the man rose, laughing as he spread his arms wide and embraced it.

The spirit of flame seemed to sense a mortal’s gaze; at the sweep of its candlelit eyes, the woman felt a searing, indescribable heat pour into her vision. Yet she gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to look away. Like a moth to the flame, her desire to witness truth and mystery outweighed all instinct for survival.

A hand of blood and bone aflame drew the god’s face close, holding the figure of fire in a mortal’s embrace, kissing the divine as if reuniting with a long-lost lover—gentle as water, fierce as fire.

Pausing briefly, the man’s other hand lifted the amber glasses, untouched by the inferno at the pillar’s heart, and tossed them lightly toward her. His burning face bore a rakish smile as he raised a finger to his lips in a silent gesture for silence, before the fire god drew him back once more—an embrace as invasive as fire, as entwined as water.

With a hint of indulgent sorrow, the man’s flaming hand gently cradled the fire, and like drawing a curtain, softly veiled her sight.

Blistering pain, followed by boundless darkness, surged over her. Clutching her scalded eyes in agony, the gold within them now scorched scarlet and black, dark blood seeping from her corners and steaming in the early autumn air. Before losing consciousness, she etched that vision deep into her memory.

A mortal, locked in a kiss with the god of fire.