SC Chapter1

At strange wind rose at dusk, pressing the dark sky low against the black-tiled eaves and whipping the wine flags at the alley entrance until they flapped noisily. Before long, the streets were empty of people.

Xiao Ning had already packed up his small, three-foot-wide stall and brought it into his palm-sized house. He weighed the wine gourd hanging at his waist and figured it held enough for one more meal, and then securely closed the door with relief.

As night fell, the rain poured down in torrents while the wind howled through the corridor like ghostly cries.

At the third watch, a series of knocks blended with the sound of rain was heard. It was slow and hesitant, each one following the last with uncertain rhythm.

Xiao Ning frowned in irritation and dragged himself up from the table, knocking over the empty wine gourd as he muttered, “Who’s it?”

The voice outside was muffled by the rain and indistinct, but he could just make out two words: “Buying cakes.”

Xiao Ning replied coldly, “There’s none left. They’re all sold out.”

There was a brief silence outside before the voice spoke again, “Do you have blossom buns?”

A strange feeling stirred in Xiao Ning’s chest as the haze of drunkenness faded. He asked warily, “What kind do you want?”

“Not burnt, not raw nor undercooked.”

The bolt slid open bit by bit. The business of “blossom buns” always came at night. Six years ago, he had become the heir to the “Ghost Hand of the Xiao Sect,” mastering the art of disguise to perfection. Fugitives, lovelorn wanderers, widows—there was always someone who came seeking him, hoping to change their face by arriving under the cover of night and leaving with it.

But never before had he felt such unease, as if opening the door tonight would reveal someone far more unsettling than thunder and rain.

At last, the bolt was pulled free, and as the door slowly opened, the figure outside came into view.

Rain poured from the edge of a black-boned umbrella, and a flash of lightning illuminated the narrow alley. Beneath the umbrella stood a figure with delicate, pale features, the hems of his clothes were soaked while the tips of his hair wet, yet he remained cool and detached. The eaves stood cold and bare beneath the fading light as a gentle breeze stirred the bamboo. The one from the past arrived, it was distant and vague.

As the wind stirred, the umbrella shifted while the thin lips of the person beneath it trembled slightly as he whispered, “Young Master…”

The thunder then roared, erupting like an explosion in Xiao Ning’s chest.

The black umbrella slipped from his hand and spun into a puddle as the person beneath it was pulled inside before the door slammed shut. The candle flame on the table flickered violently before steadying into a small, trembling light.

Xiao Ning gripped the person’s slender and pale neck as he squeezed out a few words from between his teeth as if mixed with blood, “Shen Yunjie…”

The thick, dark eyelashes concealed the pain in Shen Yunjie’s eyes. His back was pressed against the cold, hard door panel, and a grating sound of bone reached his ears. The feeling of suffocation made him let out a muffled groan. He did not struggle but resignedly lifted his snow-white neck, waiting for his Young Master to either let go or choke the life out of him.

Then a small shadow drilled out from beneath Shen Yunjie’s cloak near his leg and darted straight toward Xiao Ning. A sharp, faint pain then came from his leg. Xiao Ning frowned and subconsciously lifted his leg to shake off the little thing clinging to his knee.

The little thing was kicked away and fell beside the table leg with a dull thud. Shen Yunjie’s eyes widened. He gripped Xiao Ning’s wrist and struggled as a rasping sound escaping his throat, “Xiao Yuan… cough…”

The little thing, who was stunned by the impact, clutched his own head and struggled to stand while whimpering like a kitten as he called out, “Father…”

Xiao Ning’s fingers froze, and he slowly released his grip. Shen Yunjie coughed violently as tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He bent over and gasped for breath a few times, then tightly embraced the little thing scrambling into his arms.

Using the faint candlelight, Xiao Ning finally got a clear look at the little thing in Shen Yunjie’s arms that had bitten his leg. It was a five or six years old child, with a pair of dark, glossy eyes brimming with tears. Clearly hurt by the fall, the child was fiercely biting his own lower lip and remained silent while staring at Xiao Ning with a face full of wariness.

Shen Yunjie’s face was pale and the corners of his eyes tinged red as he spoke in a hoarse voice, “Young Master… this child…”

Xiao Ning laughed as if he had witnessed a rare absurdity in the world. His stern face was slightly twisted by the smile. After a long moment he straightened up and said with mockery, “Shen Yunjie, do you think you’re worthy of bearing my child?”

T/N: Xiao Ning’s “Xiao” is his surname while Xiao Yuan’s “Xiao” means “little”, like “Little Yuan”. Also the cakes in the title wasn’t Western birthday cake btw xD it refers broadly to any flat, round, or baked/pan-fried dough, which can be savory or sweet.