Shen Huanhuan was suddenly overcome by a sense of powerlessness.
Utter helplessness.
The flower was most likely blooming somewhere on the mountainside at the back of the village, guarded by patrols. But given the constraints of their assigned roles, none of them could spend much time outside. Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao had daily chores; Shen Huanhuan and Yu Renwan spent every day at training.
Pingping was too young. Jin Yuebai adored her, keeping her close always, watching her as if she were a jewel, never letting her wander off for fear someone might bully her.
So their investigation of the Yinling Flower could go no further.
Jiang Yan sighed as well.
If this were a normal energy field, she would have gone to find where the Yinling Flower grew that very night, then searched every old master’s house for evidence of their crimes, finally coercing the patrol into destroying all the flowers—or if not, doing it herself.
But her assigned character wouldn’t even know what a Yinling Flower was, let alone go out at night to search for one.
All they could do was wait.
“That’s enough for now,” Jiang Yan said. “Let’s all get some good sleep—the days ahead will be busy.”
Shen Huanhuan nodded, returning to the hall to help the servants clear the table. Jiang Yan wiped the tabletop clean; Lin Xiaotang nimbly brought over a wooden bucket, loading up everyone’s leftover mantou and flower rolls, then walked outside the theater to share the food with those standing there.
All of these were people in Lingren Village who never got enough to eat.
Some had been kept as shop assistants or household slaves, but their masters nowhere near fed them well—often, all the house slaves had to split what little was left on the half-cleared table, and anyone who couldn’t grab enough went hungry.
“Same as always. This is from our troupe leader. Don’t mind whether it’s been eaten or not—if it has, we only took little pieces by hand.” Lin Xiaotang set down the bucket, hands on hips. “Come grab some.”
“Of course we know,” a girl said quietly, picking up a half-eaten bun. “You people are good. So many here act as accomplices to the masters, but you’ve always been kind.”
Lin Xiaotang sized her up. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before?”
“I just arrived a few days ago. My family used to make rouge; now I work at the rouge shop.” She pointed in the direction she lived. “The cook there said you people are kind and we could come try our luck for some food. That’s why I came.”
He considered, then waved her off: “The village is shut because of the plague, and from now on the theater will have to keep more for itself. We might stop handing out mantou soon, so you all can’t rely on us.”
The girl nodded quickly. “I understand. It’s already a huge favor—if you start going hungry yourselves, don’t share any more. Just keep yourselves alive.”
The others echoed her gratefully.
After seeing everyone claim their share and emptying the bucket, Lin Xiaotang brought it back.
At nine that night, the tailor’s assistant dropped off several outfits.
Xiao Congye gave Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao the new work clothes; Yu Renwan picked up the outfit Xi Jueyun had ordered for her.
A pale green skirt, and a vivid crimson opera costume.
“Not every apprentice gets their own costume,” Xiao Congye commented dryly as Yu Renwan nervously cradled her new clothes.
Yu Renwan looked even more flustered.
Xiao Congye shook out the costume, giving it a thorough once-over. “I didn’t have one back in my day.”
After a good two minutes’ inspection, she returned the costume, snorting and heading upstairs. Liu Shaochun, watching all this, laughed raucously. “She’s jealous, but she won’t say it.”
“She’s probably off picking a fight with Troupe Leader Xi!”
She mimicked the typical squabble, arching an eyebrow, putting a chill in her voice: “Don’t you remember who’s stood by you the longest? When I didn’t get this, why should anyone else?”
Yu Renwan grew embarrassed and anxious, hands twisting unconsciously behind her back. Liu Shaochun caught on and quickly stopped teasing. She clapped Yu Renwan’s shoulder, speaking earnestly: “Just kidding. Work hard—don’t let Troupe Leader Xi down.”
Yu Renwan hugged the costume tightly. “I will. Troupe Leader praised me today.”
Liu Shaochun gave a dramatic whoop, thumping her on the back. “That’s huge—Troupe Leader Xi doesn’t often praise anyone, she always sees everyone else as hacks. Now you’ve gotta try even harder!”
Yu Renwan staggered two steps from the blow, then regained her balance, cheeks blushing bright. The encouragement fired her up—she was ready to train for two more hours then and there.
“Go, go. Just don’t overdo it—rest up,” Liu Shaochun waved.
After Yu Renwan left, Liu Shaochun picked up the last piece of clothing from the assistant—a dark blue jacketed skirt—and handed it to Shen Huanhuan. “Everyone else has new clothes, you need some too.”
Shen Huanhuan took it in astonishment. “My measurements…”
Liu Shaochun grinned, “I’ve got a knack for it. One look and I know.”
“I’ll make you a proper costume next; I can sew myself. You’ve taken enough beatings from me in practice lately—call this my apology.”
Shen Huanhuan didn’t know what to say.
She inhaled sharply, suppressing a wave of inexplicable emotion, eyes dropping as she nodded.
Time raced by. At ten, Shen Huanhuan and Yu Renwan ended their training and tiptoed to their rooms. Shen Xiaoxiao, arm draped across Jiang Yan, was sprawled and snoring. Jiang Yan lay sunk deep into the bedding, fast asleep.
A dreamless night.
*
At six in the morning, dawn bathed Jiang Yan in its light.
For once there was no laundry duty; she figured she’d sleep an extra half hour. After a few minutes’ effort, though, she finally opened her eyes.
She’d been woken by an endless barrage of firecrackers.
When Jiang Yan woke, Shen Xiaoxiao was tossing irritably in bed. Soon, both sat up.
“What is going on? My head’s pounding from the noise.”
All at once, Shen Xiaoxiao remembered last night’s talk and blurted, “Are they seriously celebrating Old Master Fang’s fiftieth birthday?”
“With all this fanfare?!”
She jumped out of bed, drew the curtains, and looked outside.
Right then, every household in Lingren Village set off firecrackers, red paper blanketing the streets, more festive than New Year’s Eve.
Lion dancers and yangge troupes paraded from south to north, but judging from their clumsy movements, clearly none were professionals—just groups cobbled together to please Old Master Fang.
Red embroidered balls soared into the air; the lion’s head leapt, but the tail lagged in terror. With a sharp jerk, both tumbled off the high poles, landing with a crash. The onlookers, so cheerful a second ago, instantly fell silent.
A dreadful hush fell.
“….”
Shen Xiaoxiao nearly cursed. “What the hell kind of old master forces amateurs to dance lions? That’s asking for death!”
But she bit her tongue at once.
Life here was worth so little.
“I want to kill all those old masters—again and again, left and right, blade in, blade out,” Shen Xiaoxiao grumbled as she got ready for the day.
The clatter of firecrackers ran on through Lingren Village, lasting into midday. Even outside the theater, they crackled without end.
Before lunch, Liu Shaochun took two strings of firecrackers out, scattering red paper until the open space outside the theater was carpeted. Then she returned.
“Alright.”
“No point going out to join the festivities,” she advised. “Just wait, it’ll be over by tomorrow.”
At two in the afternoon, one of Old Master Fang’s men came to the theater.
He strutted in as if he owned the place, fell onto the principal seat, and signaled with a jerk of his chin for the person in charge.
Liu Shaochun stepped forward. “The Troupe Leader is preparing a birthday gift for Old Master Fang. Here is some tribute money for the celebration.”
She presented a thick wad of silver notes.
“May Old Master Fang enjoy fortune and long life.”
The man counted the money, visibly pleased. “Good, I’ll let him know.”
“Don’t be late this evening.”
Liu Shaochun nodded, then closed the door as she spat, “Dogs, all of them!”
Shen Xiaoxiao asked, “Why do you have to bring a gift if you already gave money? Two presents?”
Liu Shaochun replied, “That’s Old Master Fang’s custom.”
“Money shows your loyalty, the gift shows your sincerity.”
“The gift must be special—a family heirloom or something handmade, like woodcarving, jade, a painting…”
She added, “Troupe Leader Xi is painting right now. She’s good at it.”
The others understood.
Maybe it was the thought of going somewhere so detestable tonight, but Liu Shaochun kept glancing at the clock, sometimes feeling the evening came too quickly, sometimes wishing it would speed up and get it all over with.
At seven, Xi Jueyun and Liu Shaochun set out.
The rest stayed in the main hall to wait. Xiao Congye, after last night’s lip-reading and another fruitless night of thinking, looked completely drained, unable to focus on anything.
It was fact: Lingren Village was doomed.
It was fact: survival meant escape.
But she couldn’t think of any way to escape. Even if she told others, it would mean the theater was first in line for the old masters’ wrath, and no one else could get out under the threat of guns.
Running openly was impossible.
Trying to sneak out—also impossible.
Every path was locked down by the patrols. The only way out was the back mountain, and that was certainly under heavy guard already, littered with traps.
It seemed the only way was to wait until the old masters themselves fled. The patrols wanted to survive too, so they would follow the masters out, and once they were gone, the villagers might unite and fight their way out together.
With this thought, Xiao Congye finally relaxed a little. She called for dinner and everyone gathered to eat. With a sliver of hope in the air, Xiao Congye fetched a wine flask, pouring drinks for all.
“To the future,” she called, raising her cup.
Everyone was a little baffled, but raised their cups anyway. Lin Xiaotang, always greedy for a drink, refilled his glass after downing the first, shouting, “To the future!!”
“Don’t tell me you’re drunk already,” Xiao Congye shot him a look.
To prove himself, Lin Xiaotang thumped his chest and downed five cups before flopping over the table, half passed out.
Laughter rose in the theater.
Passersby peeked in curiously, but the main hall was pitch black, and only the sound of laughter drifted faintly from the second floor.
They sounded happy, somehow.
At ten, Xi Jueyun returned.
She came in leaning wearily against the door, eyes lowered, the smell of liquor heavy on her. Xiao Congye rushed to help. “What happened? Where’s Shaochun?”
“She dropped her handkerchief,” Xi Jueyun said quietly. “She went back to look for it.”
The kitchen had already prepared sobering soup. Xiao Congye brought a bowl over, cooling it carefully and watching Xi Jueyun drink.
After she finished, the knot in her brow finally loosened.
She instructed, “Wait here for Shaochun. I’m not feeling well—I’ll rest first.”
Xiao Congye looked around, then called Jiang Yan over, “Help the Troupe Leader upstairs.”
Jiang Yan went to support Xi Jueyun.
Xi Jueyun leaned against her, Jiang Yan guiding her arm as they slowly climbed the stairs.
On the second floor landing, Jiang Yan glanced sideways, peering down through the railing.
Across several meters, she happened to meet Shen Huanhuan’s eyes.
A moment later, she looked away and escorted Xi Jueyun to her room.
…
Shen Huanhuan grew more anxious about Liu Shaochun, imagining how much she must have had to drink.
“She drank so much—being out late is really dangerous,” she fretted.
“Don’t worry,” said Xiao Congye. “From the Troupe Leader’s words, Shaochun’s not actually drunk. She can drink a lot, and she’s the best fighter in the theater—she knows how to protect herself.”
Hearing Liu Shaochun wasn’t drunk, Shen Huanhuan breathed easier.
Xiao Congye looked toward the door. “Shaochun never met her mother. That embroidered handkerchief is the only thing left to her. Just wait—Old Master Fang’s house isn’t far, she’ll be back in ten, fifteen minutes at most.”
Shen Huanhuan: “Alright.”
After a few minutes, she walked to the door and looked around.
A few people still left Old Master Fang’s house, but everyone was tipsy and incoherent, unable to answer any questions.
Ten-odd minutes later, as the weary drifted home, the road grew deserted.
Xiao Congye’s face darkened.
“What’s going on?”
She moved to go search for Liu Shaochun, but Shen Huanhuan stopped her instinctively.
“I’ll go.”
“You can’t fight, but I can protect myself.”
She pulled a boning knife from her pocket. “I’m good with this—I killed a lot of people with it, used it to protect my sister and myself when we first got here.”
Xiao Congye glanced at the knife. “Alright, but I’m going with you.”
“You’ll hold me back.”
Shen Huanhuan strode ahead, waving her away, and then pushed her back inside, vanishing into the night.
Outside the theater, she ran toward Old Master Fang’s house. Liu Shaochun had showed her the route earlier, so she knew exactly where to go. After ten minutes, she could just make out the Fang residence.
By now everyone had left. The black gate was tightly shut, cold moonlight falling on the gray walls, twisted shadows of tree branches crawling madly across the bricks.
Shen Huanhuan’s heart thudded, and she unconsciously slowed.
Right then, the Fang gate suddenly opened from within. The patrol captain came out, a black cloth sack slung over his shoulder, the tie at the mouth left loose—strands of long black hair dangled from the opening.
Shen Huanhuan quickly hid behind a tree.
She was far enough and fast enough that the man didn’t notice her. Cursing, he tossed the sack onto a cart, calling to two companions as they headed toward the back mountain.
A few minutes later, Shen Huanhuan stepped out from behind the tree.
She tiptoed up to the Fang gate. She thought she’d seen something fall from the sack, but at this distance she couldn’t be sure.
The night was pitch black as she dropped to her knees, searching the ground by touch.
In less than half a minute, she found a strip of soft cloth. She stuffed it into her clothes, darted back behind the tree, then, feeling safe, finally took it out to look.
In the moonlight, she slowly opened her palm.
A blood-stained embroidered handkerchief lay there.
Seeing the object clearly, Shen Huanhuan’s mind roared with panic, fingertips trembling. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
After a few moments, eyes rimmed red, she peeked out from the tree.
Fang’s place was dark and silent.
Far in the distance, voices carried on the wind, barely audible.
“Still alive?”
“Don’t know. Hit her on the head with an iron bar—probably half-dead.”
“Good, the flower likes them fresh. Once we get there, give her a few more whacks.”
Shen Huanhuan held her breath.
Liu Shaochun was still alive—but there was no time to run for help.
There was no need to think, no time for thinking. Beneath the moon, Shen Huanhuan tucked the handkerchief away, pulled the razor-sharp boning knife from her pocket.
There was only one way to save Liu Shaochun now—
Kill those three men on the mountain trail.