( A single silver butterfly flits low through the busy market stall, it's wings fluttering fast and frantic. Light glints off of it's body as it swings to narrowly avoid being crushed underfoot, skating around the legs of tables and over abandoned sacks before it loops back the way it came. Eventually, exhausted the butterfly drops itself on an open palm, the tall figure staring down at it with an unreadable expression the most still thing in the busy street.

He is clearly not having a very good day.

Power is a complicated thing to a man like Hua Cheng and to not have his own answer his call is enough to make him want to do something drastic. Instead of setting this whole place on fire like he wants to though, he merely closes his fist, the spiritual butterfly disappearing within his palm just in time for a tentative vendor to come Hua Cheng's way, swinging a piece of jade from skeletal fingertips. )

Mister, Mister, a luck token for your name.

( Hua Cheng only smiles at that, the glint of a fanged tooth in the low light. )

I don't need that.

( He'll make his own. )

But I'll trade you something else if you tell me where we are.

( He is stood underneath the gaudy awning of the gambler's den, arms crossed across his chest as he peers out into the dark. The rain has been coming for some time now, but none of it appears to have touched Hua Cheng's red robes. That is not the reason for his obvious displeasure, the way his lip has curled and the flash of his one visible eye shows a man who is barely keeping his simmering anger in check.

Who could blame him for it? The city, the halls, the rain. They're all very familiar, and Hua Cheng has no answers for them. He has no power either. At his hip, E-Ming is unresponsive, his butterflies sluggish, he has tried to change his form to no avail, and all the while his thoughts have circled on one thing.

His god. His beloved. Xie Lian.

The rain deepens, and a ghost comes splashing through the streets with an umbrella held aloft. Hua Cheng thinks it is a girl, it looks young enough, though he can't quite make out the face when it stops in front of him, grin full of too many teeth. )

I'll give you this if you tell me a tale.

( He doesn't answer straight away, thoughtful. But then Hua Cheng crouches, folding his arms over a knee. )

All right. How about the story of a boy and a wall, and the one who saved him?

( Forgive him, he's nostalgic. )

( From somewhere Hua Cheng has found a set of dice and a cup. He's also found himself a wide empty table upon which to shake the dice out. The rolls are not important in themselves, but still his mood shifts as they land. A set of fours, fives, sixes.

Maybe his luck is unaffected. That could mean a great many of things.

Without looking up, he calls to the figure he can sense beside him. ) Would you like to play a game? You'll find it better here than in there.

( Could it be that the great Hua Chengzhu despairs of the discount Ghost City? Absolutely. )

( Hit me with anything, and I'm at discord: sadgaydna or qingya if you want to plot. )