Tricked 134: White Bones

At sunset, Jin Yuebai led Pingping through the final article, circling all the simple characters, then handed her the newspaper.

“Tomorrow morning at eight, I’ll test you after breakfast.”

Pingping could guess with her eyes closed that tonight would be rough.

She could only hope her persona’s memory was good enough—otherwise, she’d have to write and recite these characters over and over until “she” memorized them all.

After dinner, Pingping pulled out the newspaper, preparing to trigger a quiz.

She thought about tearing it up or doodling on it.

Surely the spirit behind the field would stop her, and that would trigger a quiz. She needed to gauge how determined her character was, and more importantly, figure out just how long an all-nighter she was in for.

But before she could trigger anything, Jin Yuebai came back, changed clothes, and told her to get ready—they were going out.

Pingping: ?

She was set on studying, not interested in going out at all.

She reflexively started to refuse, but Jin Yuebai was dead set on tempting her.

“Xi Jueyun hasn’t taken the stage in ages. You miss it tonight, you’ll never get another chance.”

Pingping was totally unenthused: “Just a bunch of ‘ya-ya-yi-yi’, I don’t understand a word.”

“That’s fine, I don’t get it either,” Jin Yuebai replied, upping the mischief. “But listen—Xi Jueyun’s ancestors performed for Empress Ma. So, if you listen tonight, you’re basically an empress. Let’s go.”

Pingping: “.”

She was tempted to slap a big “Childish” sign on Jin Yuebai’s forehead… but after some thought, she took her newspaper and got up.

“I’ll just study over there,” said Pingping.

Jin Yuebai looked at her, half exasperated, half gratified. She put her hands on her hips, looked Pingping over, then tucked some stray hair behind her ear and flashed a strange smile:

“If you find time to read the newspaper, it sure won’t be because of Xi Jueyun.”

So the big and little pair left the house.

Jin Yuebai held Pingping’s small hand. The streets were packed with vagrants; patrols were clearing the afternoon’s people, the air thick with cries and pleading. Some refused to go—beaten bloody, their blood washed away by laborers muttering “a lucky start” under their breath.

Pingping disliked the scene.

She kept her head down, stepping where Jin Yuebai stepped.

Just as they left Flower Street, a girl of seventeen or eighteen suddenly threw herself at Jin Yuebai’s feet, clutching her leg. She looked up, tears streaming:

“Please! Please save me!”

Jin Yuebai looked down.

Hope flickered in the girl’s eyes. She begged, “I don’t need wages, I barely eat, I can sleep in the animal shed or on the floor, I want nothing, I want nothing…” Her voice was faint, like a broken kite string, drifting away, hoarse and fragile, “I haven’t eaten in three days…”

“Will you hire me?”

Jin Yuebai spoke gently: “I live on Flower Street.”

“If you want to come, you can, anytime.”

The girl’s expression changed at once.

Jin Yuebai went on, “Not just you. If you know other boys, if you’re all at your limit, you can always come to Flower Street.”

“There are plenty of empty rooms.”

The girl staggered to her feet, dusted her knees, and spat at Jin Yuebai with all her strength, snarling, “My parents said, a girl who loses her chastity might as well die—”

“Going there would be the same as dying. I’d rather be killed here than go to such a filthy place!!”

Jin Yuebai nodded and walked on with Pingping.

Farther down, Pingping glanced back.

Because she was late leaving, that girl was clubbed against the wall. Blood leaked from her nose and mouth—a gruesome red. In slow motion, the girl slid down the wall to her knees, then tipped forward into the dirt.

Her body was tossed onto a garbage wagon by the patrol.

Jin Yuebai, apparently accustomed to such sights, only curled her lips and scanned the area. Vagrants and Lingren villagers were easy to tell apart: vagrants’ eyes only wanted to survive, villagers’ eyes brimmed with desire.

Along the way, men’s gazes were veiled but contemptuous.

Their stares rarely left Jin Yuebai—she met their eyes with a smile, looking at their faces first, sighing quietly, then pausing two or three seconds on their pants, finally shaking her head with ambiguous meaning.

This pierced a group of men right where it hurt.

But there were also plenty of boys, cheeks bright red, stealing glances at Jin Yuebai from behind noodle-stall tables, covering their faces with bowls. Following Jin Yuebai’s lead, Pingping couldn’t help scanning those boys with a judging, selective eye.

“…That one’s not bad. Will you toss a flower at him?”

Pingping quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, worried she’d triggered a quiz, but when she looked up—nothing appeared.

She looked to Jin Yuebai, but Jin Yuebai hadn’t even heard her.

She was busy picking a flower by the roadside.

When she finished, she headed for a young man inside the teahouse. He was reading, fair and handsome, profile striking, tea untouched—clearly lost in his book.

Pingping stood waiting.

Two minutes later, Jin Yuebai returned. When Pingping looked behind her, the faces of the men, previously full of scorn, were now tangled with jealousy—a contradiction of envy and disdain.

Jin Yuebai took Pingping’s hand again.

After a few steps, she slipped the white flower into Pingping’s sleeve.

Blinking in surprise, Pingping said, “You didn’t give it to—”

Jin Yuebai: “Just teasing them.”

“The show’s about to start. Get those little legs moving.”

*

Back at the theater, Pingping found Jiang Yan and the others backstage.

Jiang Yan, dead tired after a whole afternoon of laundry, was finally done and found a quiet spot to laze. Shen Xiaoxiao was in the exact same state.

Neither of them had ever done hard labor before. Now, after their first day, their fingertips were blistered, both hands drained of color as if all the blood had been sucked out.

Shen Huanhuan was even worse.

With no martial training, her instinct was to fight for real—every move lethal, all for the vital spots. Lu Shaochun noticed, thrashed her a bit, and though the hits never touched bone, the pain was real. By the end, Shen Huanhuan’s body shrank back instinctively, unable to swing another punch, squatting on the ground while Lu Shaochun made her call “Sister” a hundred times.

Jiang Yan managed a little energy.

“What did you have to call her?”

Shen Huanhuan: “Sister Shaochun’s stage fighting is the best in the village, Sister Shaochun is the tallest in the whole village, Sister Shaochun hits the hardest in the entire theater…”

Jiang Yan: “……”

Yu Renwan on the side waved her hands, signing to indicate she wasn’t having an easy time either.

Xi Jueyun was methodical, spending half an afternoon supervising her breathing practice—always keeping her just at the point of collapse but able to hang on. Later, Fang Xuyu took over, and while she thought he’d be gentler, he was only the tiniest bit better than Xi Jueyun.

The end result: her throat was burning, her mind buzzing. Fang Xuyu handed her two packets of herbal medicine to make sure she could keep practicing tomorrow.

Pingping realized her bit had been easy by comparison.

So what if she had to stay up late? In ancient times Sun Jing tied his hair to keep from falling asleep to read. Now Pingping was burning the midnight oil to memorize characters.

After all the griping, Shen Xiaoxiao shared her character setting.

She’d triggered it during laundry—she worked so diligently, the spirit behind the field couldn’t take it and forced her to go check on her “sister.”

“My character has had a minor heart problem since childhood—I get arrhythmic if I’m badly startled, but nothing fatal,” Shen Xiaoxiao said. “Because of this, my parents considered dumping me several times, but my older sister never gave up.”

“When I was sick, she carried me to see the doctor, then did odd jobs to buy my medicine—so I depend on her a lot.”

“In other words—”

Shen Xiaoxiao declared resolutely, “I’m a frail, sickly, and noisy sister-obsessed girl!”

As the last to trigger a character quiz, Shen Xiaoxiao was naturally closest to her setting.

But that also made her the most at risk.

Shen Huanhuan fell silent for a moment, then said earnestly, “I’ll remind you often. As long as OOC doesn’t kill us, you better trigger quizzes periodically to keep yourself sharp.”

Shen Xiaoxiao nodded quickly.

After everyone summarized their afternoon, Jiang Yan turned to Pingping. “You came backstage for a reason, right?”

“What is it?”

At this, Pingping pulled the folded newspaper from her pocket. “This is the detailed background for this energy field. Read it quickly and give it back.”

Jiang Yan took the newspaper.

She read at a brisk pace, finishing the page in a few minutes.

After a pause, she pointed something out. “It says here foreign troops are pushing in from the western border. Based on the terrain and plant life, Lingren Village should be on the western edge.”

Shen Huanhuan leaned in, then nodded. “Yes, the vegetation here is typical.”

“So Lingren Village isn’t safe anymore—if either province falls, the peace deal is void, and Lingren Village will be fully at the mercy of invading forces.”

“And inside the village…”

Shen Huanhuan drew a deep breath and spoke in a low voice, “This place is a giant meat grinder. Ordinary folks go in, and the blood, flesh, and bone that come out feed the lords’ amusements.”

“I heard this afternoon that the patrols answer to the five lords; they all have guns. If there’s an invasion and they no longer need the theater and flower street for fun, no need for shops for supplies, then…”

“Then this place becomes a slaughterhouse.” Jiang Yan finished for her.

“This village embodies the lords’ brutality and cruelty. Once they leave, they’ll do their utmost to wipe this place clean and greet their new lives elsewhere.”

Everyone realized what they’d all be facing next.

It might be sooner or later, but the coming conflict was inevitable—and that would rapidly shift everyone’s characters, for nothing drives change like suffering and hardship.

Jiang Yan still wanted to say more but just then a thunderous drumbeat resounded from the front of the hall.

“KLANG!”

Xi Jueyun’s show was beginning.

Jiang Yan dropped all her thoughts and got up for the main hall. Yu Renwan shot ahead, moving so fast that a gust of wind followed her in.

By the time all five reached the front, Xi Jueyun was already standing center stage.

The room erupted with applause, everyone eager for her performance.

The next instant, the lights suddenly went out.

A blood-red spotlight hit Xi Jueyun.

Jiang Yan froze, then swept her gaze around. As expected, everything was dead silent—the previously packed audience hall now empty. Only the five of them stood alone in front of the stage.

A chill wind swept behind them and a chair crashed to the ground, making Shen Xiaoxiao shriek in fright.

Laughter echoed from the stage.

Xi Jueyun lifted a hand, covering her face with her wide sleeve.

Right now, she was the only light in the theater.

As she moved, blood began seeping from every corner of the stage. Shen Xiaoxiao instinctively grabbed Shen Huanhuan’s sleeve, trying to back up only to realize something was wrong underfoot.

She lowered her head slowly and saw a hand stretching from under the table, clutching her ankle. The hand was nothing but white bone, the palm pocked with nail holes.

At some point, the space beneath the stage had filled with heaps of bare bones—some with bullet holes through the skull, some stabbed through the chest. Every step made them creak and crunch.

A cold terror seized Shen Xiaoxiao; she couldn’t move at all.

“Thud, thud thud.”

“Thud thud thud thud thud—”

Xi Jueyun on the stage paid them no mind, one hand shielding her face, the other flipping her sleeves; her robe fluttered like a hundred characters taking the stage, but really, there was only her.

She circled the stage once, and when she returned to the center, slid down her sleeve to reveal a face half white bone, half painted with deep, vivid makeup.