Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I soon discovered that Li Jichuan, this deity of mine, was a little afraid of people. Whenever there were too many people around, he would go very quiet, as if he were holding something back. At first, I thought he was just socially anxious.

It wasn’t until that afternoon, when He Yutang dropped by with some freshly cut hydrangeas from her flower shop, that I realized something was off.

He Yutang ran a small flower shop diagonally across from the shrine. Whenever I was so broke I could barely eat, she’d often “help” me with flowers that supposedly “wouldn’t sell.” The moment she came in, she smiled at me.

“I heard your shrine has a handsome guy stationed here. I’m here to inspect the merchandise.”

I was about to tell her off, but when I turned my head, Li Jichuan had already silently backed behind a corridor pillar, like he wanted to disappear on the spot.

He Yutang clicked her tongue. “That aloof, huh?”

I was about to cover for him when I suddenly noticed a sheen of sweat at Li Jichuan’s temple, and his fingers clenched around the edge of his sleeve.

“What’s wrong?” I walked over and lowered my voice.

He looked toward the center of the courtyard. His throat moved slightly.

“Too noisy.”

“What’s noisy? It’s just her o-”

I cut myself off.

He Yutang was standing in front of the offering table, head lowered as she looked at the Ema rack. She wasn’t saying anything, but in that instant, I still vaguely caught a thread of emotion-dull and heavy, pressing down on the heart.

I got it immediately.

“You can hear wishes?” I stared at Li Jichuan.

He didn’t deny it, only lowering his voice further. “Not all wishes. Only the ones that are too heavy, or… about to break.”

No wonder he didn’t like being close to people.

This wasn’t social anxiety. This was being forced to listen to the human heart’s radio station, nonstop.

I quickly dragged He Yutang over to the flower stand and deliberately asked what she’d brought today, to divert her attention. She got the hint and stopped staring at Li Jichuan, then leaned in, all secretive.

“My shop’s been a little weird lately.”

“Weird how?”

“Every night after I close up, the Wind Chime rings by itself.” She lowered her voice. “Not just once-it rings for a long time, like someone came in to pick out flowers. But when I check the security footage, there’s nothing.”

Before I could say anything, Li Jichuan under the eaves suddenly lifted his head and looked at the bunch of white balloon flowers in her hands.

“Who ordered that bouquet?”

He Yutang froze for a second. “A week ago, a girl ordered it. Said it was for her wedding. Then two days before the wedding she came to cancel, crying so hard her eyes were all swollen. I couldn’t bear to waste the flowers, so I kept them.”

Li Jichuan fell quiet for a while before he said, “The Wind Chime is ringing because someone still hasn’t finished what they wanted to say.”

He Yutang and I both looked at him.

He probably realized he’d said too much. He pressed his lips together, looking unusually awkward.

In the end, I took over. “Alright. Tonight I’ll go to your shop with you and take a look.”

At ten that night, the three of us kept watch in He Yutang’s flower shop. Just past eleven, the Wind Chime at the door rang, exactly as she’d said. It wasn’t from the wind-just an extremely soft chime, then another, like someone was standing outside, wanting to come in but not daring to.

“Do you still want to marry him?”

After a long while, He Yutang gave a bitter smile and shook her head. “No. He told me right before the wedding that he didn’t love me anymore. I can’t exactly carry my bouquet and force him into it.”

“Then why haven’t you thrown this bouquet away?”

“Because…”

She opened her mouth, and her eyes reddened all at once.

“Because I prepared for so long.”

When those words fell, the Wind Chime suddenly went quiet. In the shop, that bunch of white balloon flowers seemed to be lifted by something, and a few petals drifted gently to the floor.

Li Jichuan stood in the shadows. His expression was calm, but it was like he’d finally let out a breath.

On the way back, I asked him, “So that counts as solved?”

“Mm.”

“You deities handle things that plainly?”

He turned his head to look at me. There was even a faint, elusive smile in his eyes.

“You mortals are the ones who are plain,” he said. “A lot of wishes don’t have to come true. They just want to be acknowledged.”

Something in me shifted.

The next day, He Yutang posted a photo of the shrine on her social media, captioned:

“The bankrupt shrine next door really brings luck. The boss can draw talismans, and the staff is so handsome he looks like a god.”

That afternoon, a line formed at the entrance of Qiyun Shrine for the first time.

And the moment Li Jichuan saw seven or eight people outside the gate, his face turned white on the spot.