“How about somewhere,” Eathan said slowly, “with… old things.”
Hai Xianmo’s eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly.
Chewie snorted into her Joyful Bun.
A long second passed between them. Just when Eathan considered violence, the director folded his hands.
“Ah,” Hai Xianmo said in epiphany. “Your Honourables must be collectors.”
“…I guess you can put it that way.”
“Well, honoured guests,” he said, “if rare artifacts and gossip are your interests, there is only one proper recommendation.”
The holo shifted, projecting a miniature illusion above the table. A towering structure spiralled upward, glittering gold against the twilight—a palace built of mirrored scales and lantern light, alive with motion.
Eathan blinked, reading the label. “Eternal Pavillion?”
“Indeed,” Hai Xianmo said. “The Ember?Veil Empress’s personal domain. It's a renowned establishment for karmic gameplays, but only accessible during a purple moon.”
At his words, Eathan and Chewie turned their heads toward the full-length window simultaneously.
Purple moon—that shifting shade was currently staining the sky outside, like wine poured into indigo.
Chewie’s chopsticks stilled. “The Ember?Veil… Empress?”
“In polite terms,” Hai Xianmo said. “Unofficially, one sometimes hears ‘Her Radiant Menace.’”
“Love that for her,” Chewie said immediately.
“Ah yes, in fact,” Hai Xianmo said, “the Pavillion, it reopened… oh, three emotional seasons ago? You are quite fortunate. Many souls wait entire lifetimes for the purple moon to align with their stay.”
Eathan’s [Calamity Radar] twitched faintly at the name—just an amber blip, an itch in the back of his skull. Not danger yet, but enough to draw his attention.
He hid the flicker beneath a neutral nod. “Sounds… charming.”
“It is many things,” Hai Xianmo said. “Charming is one of them.”
“And safety-wise?”
“No place with that much condensed karma is truly safe, but you should be fine.” He paused. “As long as you don’t sign anything in blood, bet your future reincarnation, or insult the Empress’s taste in accessories.”
“Why would anyone—”
“People do foolish things when they think fate is on sale,” Hai Xianmo said. “Regardless. I can arrange entrance tokens for two guests.”
He flicked his fingers. Two slim slips of golden light slid out of the table and solidified into cards in front of them, each etched with delicate fire sigils.
“Enjoy your outing,” he said. “And honoured Eathan—”
Hai Xianmo’s eyes narrowed just a fraction as they peered at him with a glint.
“Do remember. VIP status comes with benefits.”
“Like free snacks,” Chewie said.
“And many eyes,” Hai Xianmo added, smiling.
The holo blinked out.
Eathan sat back slowly.
“He knows something,” Chewie said.
“...”
He sighed.
“He definitely does.”
***
Back on Midnight Avenue, the purple moon was louder.
It washed everything in a richer hue; lanterns burned brighter, shadows deepened, neon signs hummed with an almost physical thrum. The market felt fuller, too—spirits drifting faster with higher voices and stalls piled with rarer wares.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The Eternal Pavilion announced itself before they even saw it.
Bells chimed somewhere ahead, a cascading scale that made the hair on Eathan’s arms stand up. The crowd thickened, all flowing in one direction, murmuring with that particular excitement reserved for those who intentionally seek danger.
Whispers bubbled around them:
“—purple moon opening—”
“—she’s dealing in person tonight—”
“—maybe the Empress will pick a new favorite—”
Ethan caught one phrase more clearly as a passing noble?ghost glided by, their robes heavy with embedded tokens.
“Of course I’m going,” the ghost sniffed to his companion. “How often does the Ember?Veil Empress deign to descend from her tower?”
“Sounds dramatic.” Chewie’s eyes gleamed. “I approve.”
They rounded the final curve, and Eathan almost went blind.
The Eternal Pavilion towered over the street like someone had transplanted a golden pagoda into the skeleton of a casino. Its base was a wide, open hall spilling light onto the street. Once you moved within its range, you could tell that the building was built in tiers, each level edged in gleaming railings and flickering flames.
The topmost platform blazed brightest—a stage in the sky.
The energy at the entrance pulsed with controlled chaos. Ghost bouncers in sleek black stood at either side of the gate, checking tokens and scanning karmic signatures. Above them, a sign in old brushstroke script and neon cursive both proclaimed:
[Eternal Pavilion]
Fate Negotiated Nightly
“Subtle,” Eathan muttered.
Chewie held up her token before he could say anything else. It flared once, projecting Hai Xianmo’s insignia.
The nearest bouncer’s gaze snapped to them. Their stern expression did something Eathan was beginning to recognize that was called the VIP glitch. Typical symptom comprised of the brows up, spine straightening, and the bow deep enough for their forehead to hit the floor.
“Honoured Enlightened Phantom. Honoured Virtuous Spirit.” The bouncer stepped aside immediately. “Please. The Pavilion welcomes you.”
Eathan’s attempt at a casual nod came out more like a flinch. They stepped through.
Inside, the sound doubled.
The first floor was a sea of gambling dens—dice clattering in bowls and card tables humming with subdued tension. Spirits of every caste filled the space: T?6 labourers clutching their one token like a wish; T?4 artisans relaxing after shifts; a cluster of T?3 nobles in the corner, laughing too loudly, surrounded by vixens in flowing silk shawls.
Eathan couldn’t stop blinking from the overstimuli. It almost felt as if light existed differently here. The interior was gold-dominated—rich and layered, reflecting off mirrored surfaces, pooling under tables as it practically poured into his eyeballs.
The purple of the moon barely penetrated; the Pavilion carried its own sky.
As they moved deeper, he caught glimpses of smaller dramas: a jiangshi dealer sweeping in someone’s crimson tokens, smiling as their teeth fell out; a limpy accountant in thin robes furiously scribbling numbers mid?bet.
Whenever Eathan’s spiritual ID flashed, ripples went through the nearest cluster.
“Tier?Two—”
“Who is he—”
“Must be new, I haven’t seen that aura before—”
He kept his eyes forward, resisting the urge to apologize to every person who bowed too quickly.
Chewie, naturally, soaked in the attention like sunlight, back straight, chin tipped up just enough to look important and just short of punchable.
A side corridor opened into an inner hall, the noise dampening into a delicate, more expensive kind of chaos.
Here, the tables were fewer, the carpets thicker with luxurious-smelling air. Colourful tokens stacked as little towers glowed all along the central pit, which dropped into some kind of lower arena.
Nearby, excited whispers reached their ears:
"Tonight’s special—did you hear? The Empress herself is here."
“—the Empress is dealing herself—”
“—if she calls your hand, you’re finished—”
Eathan and Chewie traded a look.
“Top platform?”
“Top platform.”
They followed the flow upward.
A spiral staircase led to the Pavilion’s highest tier. Each step hummed underfoot, lighting up like piano tiles as it validated their signatures. At the top, the noise resolved into ambient music, almost like the sound of wine being swirled inside glass.
The top platform was a wide, circular balcony that overlooked everything below. He could see now that one massive table dominated the center. A table carved from translucent gemstone, cards and tokens sliding over its surface like fish under ice.
As he reached the final step and the entire floor finally came into full view, Eathan stopped.
“…I should have known.”
Beside him, Chewie folded her arms slowly. “I was hoping the karmic gambling den would be run by someone stupid."
He exhaled.
"Since when has our luck ever been that good?”
At the heart of the dais sat none other than Lady Foxfire, Commander of Area 008.
The Ember?Veil Empress was exactly as dramatic as her title implied.
Crimson hair spilled down her back in a waterfall, shot through with threads of flame. Nine tails fanned behind her like a peacock display, each flick scattering motes of orange?gold that rolled like pieces of marble. She wore a dress that walked the fine line between regal and scandalous, dark silk embroidered with starry patterns and stacks of tokens.
Around her clustered a half?circle of high?tier spirits—T?4 nobles, a T?3 influencer Eathan vaguely recognized from RealmNet thumbnails, a couple of very beautiful male spirits in loose robes trying too hard to be interesting.
Foxfire was yawning as she dealt with a stack of cards, fingers flicking in cadence. With each clink of a token, laughter rose, brittle and greedy, every sound bending around her like light around a gravitational center.
Eathan’s [Calamity Radar] pinged.
Not the sharp red spike of imminent death; this was subtler—a blooming pattern of amber and deep gold hugging her silhouette, jagged edges acting almost like a fashion accessory.
Eathan swallowed.
“Chewie.”
“I know.” The twelve-year-old’s eyes were bright with appraisal.
As if sensing their gaze, Foxfire paused mid?shuffle.
Her fingers stilled on the deck. Her eyes slid up from the table, past the nobles clustered at her feet, over the railing of the platform, and landed right on the two of them.
For a beat, nothing moved.
Then, her mouth tipped into an imperceptible, knowing smile.
“Ah,” Foxfire said, voice drifting across from the other end of the platform. “Looks like my evening just became more interesting.”
The [Calamity Radar] in Eathan’s vision quietly upgraded from amber to a polite, blinking red.