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The nighttime view of Xiangyang, seen from above, revealed a vibrant city. The lights burning within the city resembled countless twinkling stars, giving the impression of a bustling prosperity that, at the moment, surpassed even the capital. With the curfews in place, the capital was shrouded in darkness most nights, save for a few sparse lights.
Xiangyang, untouched by the worst of the Maitreya Cult’s rebellion, had largely retained its stability. Although Lu Shiheng’s mismanagement had nearly disrupted the agricultural cycle, timely intervention had set things back on track. Now, Xiangyang stood as a rare haven, one of the most stable places in the land.
The southern part of the city was particularly lively, with clusters of lanterns glowing brightly and the sound of voices rising above the night air. From a distance, it looked like a bustling fair, full of life and joy.
Zhao Changhe, intrigued, urged Snow-Treading Crow forward. Descending near a wooded area, he tied his horse securely and walked toward the fair to investigate.
Even from a distance, he could hear the laughter of the crowd, with the lilting voices of young women ringing like silver bells in the night. It was a rare scene in such troubled times—something out of place, almost...
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