There was no way he was going to eat it—whether the meat was tainted or the dish itself was spiked, consuming it would definitely lead to trouble.
But if he didn't eat, he might not get on that ship.
So he gave Tatyana a meaningful glance, picked up the meal box, and started eating.
Tatyana: "..."
At least in the soldier's eyes, the two of them had finished every last bite.
Seeing the empty meal box, the Shogunate soldier nodded in satisfaction and took it away.
Meanwhile, Bai Luo subtly stepped on the sand beneath his feet, making sure his hidden stash was secure before entering the tent.
Unlike the starry skies in Bai Luo's memories, Teyvat's night sky rarely twinkled. Though the galaxy was resplendent, it lacked liveliness.
After finishing their meals, the refugees either returned to their spots to sleep or gathered in small groups, discussing what life would be like once they reached Inazuma City.
Some even sneaked off to secluded corners, already planning to welcome their first newborn upon arrival.
An old man leisurely took out his treasured musical instrument and began playing.
This three-stringed instrument, called a shamisen, was similar to Liyue's sanxian and served as an important symbol of Inazuman traditional culture.
As the old man played, some women in the crowd swayed to the music.
Unconsciously, their movements ignited the crowd's enthusiasm. Many who had merely been watching began dancing along to the shamisen's melody, almost as if a bonfire party were about to break out.
The nearby soldiers didn't stop them.
As long as the refugees didn't try to escape or cause trouble, they wouldn't harass these poor souls.
Bai Luo's gaze, however, wasn't fixed on the crowd. Instead, he looked toward the old man's side.
Perhaps the old man loved musical instruments dearly—while everyone else had fled with family and belongings, he had brought along not money or clothes, but an assortment of instruments.
These instruments came from all over: Natlan, Fontaine, Liyue, Mondstadt, Inazuma...
More than a dozen instruments, large and small, were carefully wrapped in oilcloth and placed on a rickety wheelbarrow.
Curious, Bai Luo stepped forward to take a closer look.
But the old man slapped his hand away.
"Young man, these aren't for you to touch. Keep your hands to yourself."
Though the old man's shamisen had stopped, the atmosphere in the refugee camp had already been set. Even without music, people continued their graceless dancing.
"Is that an erhu?"
Bai Luo didn't force his way to the instruments. Instead, he pointed at one and asked.
Though it was wrapped in oilcloth, Bai Luo could still recognize it from memory.
After all, he had once learned to play the erhu.
He still remembered the old instructor with a goatee and sunglasses, who had lavishly praised Bai Luo's talent with the instrument.
"Your child is too skilled. I have nothing left to teach him. Seek another master."
That very night, the instructor had reportedly closed his training class in shame. A pity—Bai Luo had paid for six months of lessons but only attended three days.
"Oh? You know this?"
The fact that Bai Luo could name the erhu meant he must have studied it before.
In Inazuma, apart from the old man himself, only the female elf adventurer who had gifted him the instrument knew its name.
She had said it was an instrument from Liyue.
But despite his efforts, the old man had never mastered how to play it.
"Want me to play it for you?"
The moment Bai Luo saw the instrument, his fingers itched.
He felt it necessary to show these uncultured Inazumans what one of the "three rogue instruments" could do.
"You really know how to play?"
The old man eyed him skeptically. This instrument didn't seem like something a ronin like Bai Luo could handle.
"I do!"
Bai Luo answered with absolute certainty.
After all, he was the one who had driven his erhu teacher into retirement—he had to have some skill.
His confidence swayed the old man.
"Fine. If you play decently, I'll give it to you."
The old man set down his shamisen and carefully retrieved the well-maintained erhu.
Before handing it over, he lovingly wiped away traces of rainwater.
It was clear he cherished these instruments deeply.
Bai Luo didn't immediately take the erhu. Instead, he dragged over a barrel to use as a stool before accepting it, resting it against the root of his left thigh.
Regardless of how he played, his posture alone made the old man's eyes light up.
Yes—this was exactly how it should be held! The kid wasn't lying—he really did know this instrument!
With his experience, the old man instantly recognized Bai Luo's posture as the correct one.
No wonder he had never produced good sounds before—his posture had been wrong all along.
Taking a deep breath, Bai Luo drew the bow across the strings.
A long, mournful note carried far across the beach. Sorrowful, desolate, and delicate, the sound intertwined until even the waves seemed to quiet.
The faint notes drifted like weightless clouds, swirling and tumbling...
"Stop! Stop! Didn't we say no carpentry work in the refugee camp? Who the hell is sawing wood?!"
Bai Luo snapped out of his musical trance at the angry shout.
When he focused, he saw the old man had already dragged his wheelbarrow several meters away. The refugees had stopped dancing, huddling together as they stared at him in horror.
Even Tatyana, who had always stayed close, had subtly retreated half a meter.
Since she was blind, her hearing far surpassed that of ordinary people.
Retreating only half a meter... was already impressive.
"Ahem, this... this is an erhu. It's a musical instrument, not a saw."
Bai Luo cleared his throat, trying to explain.
But the soldier wasn't having it.
"Listen, before I joined the Shogunate, I was a carpenter. You think I can't tell the sound of sawing wood?"
"..."
Fine, fine.
"A song so moving it breaks the heart—where in the world can one find a true listener?"
It was their loss if these philistines couldn't appreciate his music.
He remembered a small grove in front of his home. Whenever he practiced the erhu, flocks of birds would take flight as if paying homage to a phoenix. Some even perched nearby to listen.
When he finished playing, the birds would linger, unwilling to leave—some lying on their backs in admiration, others bowing in reverence.
Even the cats that loved hunting birds would crouch low, forgetting their prey entirely.
Humans, corrupted by worldly desires, had long forgotten what true art and music were.
But these creatures of nature—they understood. They reveled in the rare, ethereal melodies.
Ah well. Maybe he'd go play at Asase Shrine instead. The cats there would surely appreciate his erhu's charm far more than these dullards.