Crazed Whisperer

Chapter 3: Strays and Silent Halls

The city of Hangzhou was alive, despite the rain’s efforts to drown it. The soft hiss of tires on wet asphalt, the honk of impatient drivers, the dim glow of street signs—all combined to give the night a surreal, dreamlike quality. Xuan Jing moved through it quietly, blending in with the people of the city, his hood pulled low.

As he crossed a narrow alley, a sudden mewling caught his attention. Xuan Jing paused, turning towards the sound, his gaze narrowing as he peered into the darkness. Huddled near a trash can, a black stray cat stared up at him with wide, luminous eyes, its fur soaked from the downpour. It looked scrappy—thin, its fur clumped together—but there was a defiance in its stare that made Xuan Jing pause.

“Seriously?” he muttered, his expression somewhere between annoyance and resignation. The cat, as if understanding his hesitation, mewed again, louder this time, its eyes locking with his.

He sighed, the sound almost lost in the rain. “Fine. You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” He knelt down, picking up the small creature. It was lighter than he expected, and it pressed itself against his chest, seeking warmth. Xuan Jing pulled his jacket around it, shielding it from the rain, and turned back towards his home.

Walking through the bustling streets, the contrast between the chaotic city and his own silence felt even sharper. People moved around him, lost in their own worlds—couples huddled under umbrellas, a group of friends laughing as they splashed through puddles, a vendor closing up his stand for the night. Xuan Jing slipped through them unnoticed, the cat’s soft purring barely audible under the rain.

Soon, the surroundings changed, the crowded buildings giving way to more open space, the bustle of the city fading into something quieter. He reached his family’s estate, an imposing structure, tall walls surrounding the estate, with black iron gates standing like silent sentinels. The guards at the entrance stood straighter as they saw him approach, their expressions unreadable.

The gates opened without a word, the guards bowing slightly as Xuan Jing passed. He barely acknowledged them, his focus on the path ahead. The residence loomed over him, the large double doors waiting at the end of the gravel path, servants bustling around like ants, each with their own tasks. The rain had soaked through his clothes, water dripping from his hair and jacket, pooling around his feet as he stood in the entryway for a moment.

The servants began to whisper amongst themselves, casting curious glances at the soaked young master and the cat nestled in his arms. Xuan Jing glanced in their direction, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t a threatening look, not even annoyed—just blank, as if they were no more significant than the raindrops still falling outside. The whispering died almost instantly, the servants lowering their heads and scurrying away.

“Master Xuan, you’re soaked.”

The voice was soft, carrying a hint of disapproval, and Xuan Jing turned slightly, his gaze settling on his personal servant. The young man stepped closer, his presence almost as quiet as his voice. His red hair was disheveled, the uneven strands falling into his face, partially obscuring his closed eyes. His scarf, thick and warm-looking, hung around his neck, a stark contrast to Xuan Jing’s drenched state.

The servant’s name was Wei Lin. He moved with practiced ease, his expression serene despite the chaos around them, his delicate features softened by the dim light of the entryway. He approached Xuan Jing with a kind of practiced familiarity, his hands reaching out to take the soaked jacket from his master.

“You’ll catch a cold like this,” Wei Lin murmured, his tone lacking any real reprimand—it was more an observation, a quiet acceptance of Xuan Jing’s nature. His closed eyes shifted slightly, giving the impression of someone looking without seeing.

Xuan Jing handed over the jacket, shifting the cat in his arms. “I found it in an alley,” he said, as if that explained everything. His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection that might suggest attachment or sentiment.

Wei Lin’s lips curved slightly, a hint of a tired smile. “Of course, Master Xuan.” He draped a towel over Xuan Jing’s shoulders, his movements careful as he reached for the cat. “Shall I take it and find somewhere warm?”

For a moment, Xuan Jing hesitated, his eyes meeting Wei Lin’s closed ones. Then he shook his head. “I’ll handle it,” he said simply, turning towards the inner rooms. Wei Lin bowed slightly, stepping aside but following a step behind, his presence a quiet shadow.

The residence was a maze of hallways and rooms, dimly lit, the walls adorned with artifacts and paintings—reminders of a history Xuan Jing had little interest in. He walked through it with the ease of someone used to its emptiness, the cat still pressed against his chest, its purring a steady vibration under his fingers.

He reached his room, the door creaking softly as he pushed it open. The room was sparsely decorated—functional, nothing more. He set the cat down on a cushion, watching as it stretched, shaking the remaining rain from its fur before curling up, its eyes watching him warily.

Wei Lin stood by the door, his head tilted slightly as if listening for some cue. “Shall I bring you something warm to drink?” he asked, his voice still carrying that undercurrent of calm.

Xuan Jing nodded, already pulling off his soaked shirt, his attention shifting away from Wei Lin. “Tea. And something for the cat.”

Wei Lin bowed once more, stepping out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Xuan Jing sighed, running a hand through his wet hair as he glanced at the cat, its eyes still fixed on him. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight,” he muttered, more to himself than the creature.

He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the room dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand. The city outside continued its restless existence, the rain still drumming against the window. Xuan Jing closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him, the warmth of the room slowly chasing away the chill of the night.