No one slept well that night.
Shen Xiaoxiao tossed and turned till dawn, with Yu Renwan sitting at her bedside to keep her company. Jiang Yan, having triggered a question prompt, went downstairs to sit with Xiao Congye, but was sent back upstairs by Xiao Congye herself.
Pingping, cut off from the others while on Flower Street, could only mull over the news of Shen Huanhuan’s death, her mind swirling with thoughts.
When the sun finally rose, shadows of varying depth lingered under everyone’s eyes.
“You keep resting, and I’ll take care of washing those clothes for you.”
Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao had divided the work, each assigned a different group’s laundry to wash. When Jiang Yan finished gathering the dirty clothes from outside each room and returned to the main hall, orange-yellow sunlight was streaming through the entrance of the theater.
Bathed in sunlight, she saw Xiao Congye’s straight-backed figure.
She sat perfectly still in a high-backed chair, violet dress draping to her ankles, warm light illuminating her profile. Her shadow stretched long with the morning sun—a scene that might typically evoke vitality, but in that moment, seeing Xiao Congye, Jiang Yan felt only desolation.
“You haven’t been back all night?” Jiang Yan asked her.
Xiao Congye didn’t answer.
Jiang Yan knew it wasn’t that she didn’t want to go back—she simply hadn’t heard. Xiao Congye’s current state was poor; her blinking was slow, and her whole body gave the impression of moving through a sluggish dream, her normally cold and dismissive gaze now foggy and exhausted.
It was half a minute before Xiao Congye slowly turned her head.
“You’re up,” she said.
Jiang Yan gave a quiet “Mm,” then gestured to the daylight outside: “The sun’s up. I’m about to start on the laundry.”
Xiao Congye glanced blankly at the sunlight, confusion in her gaze, but it soon cleared.
Slowly, she got up.
“I’m going to rest.”
She stepped past Jiang Yan to head upstairs, but Jiang Yan called out to her, “Wait.”
Xiao Congye paused, waiting for her to speak.
Jiang Yan asked, “If the troupe master wakes, what should I tell her?”
Xiao Congye stood in place, thinking for a moment, then said slowly, “Tell the truth.”
“Tell her they are dead.”
Her tone was steady. “If any patrol members are missing today, it’s because those two killed them. I believe there will be more than two missing. I’m proud of them.”
Watching Xiao Congye leave, Jiang Yan carried the laundry to the washroom. By the time all the clothes were soaked and scrubbed, it was already eight o’clock.
The kitchen called everyone for breakfast, and Lin Xiaotang cheerfully placed eight-treasure porridge on the table, craning his neck toward the stairs, hoping both troupe masters would come down soon.
A few minutes later, Xi Jueyun came downstairs.
She’d drunk too much the night before and had little appetite now. Seated, she looked around and asked, “Where’s the vice-troupe master?”
Jiang Yan answered, “She said we should start eating—no need to wait for her.”
Xi Jueyun nodded, then glanced at Liu Shaochun’s seat: “Where’s Shaochun?”
Everyone exchanged bewildered glances. Eventually, Jiang Yan spoke: “She hasn’t come back.”
To the others, it sounded as if Liu Shaochun had gone out early and not returned. But to Xi Jueyun, it meant something different. Her hand holding the spoon hovered in the air; after a while, she took a spoonful of porridge and put it in her mouth: “I see.”
“Come to my room later. I have something to ask you.”
Jiang Yan agreed.
After the meal, Xi Jueyun returned to her room first. Jiang Yan, walking through the courtyard, wrung out the washed clothes and set them to dry in the sun, then went to the second floor of the compound where Xi Jueyun lived.
Opening the door, she saw exquisite performance costumes displayed throughout the room.
The costumes were supported on tall wooden stands, the fabrics straight with not a wrinkle out of place. The six-petaled flower on the Ruyi crown glittered under the light. Xi Jueyun was patiently adding new sequins with a pair of tweezers.
Seeing Jiang Yan enter, she put the tweezers down.
She pushed the Ruyi crown aside and pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit.”
“I called you here not for anything else, but—”
She paused, her voice dropping soft,
“I can basically guess what happened, but I need you to say it out loud so I can let go of any lingering hopes.”
Jiang Yan recounted Xiao Congye’s words.
A few sentences took just seconds, but Xi Jueyun was silent for a long while.
At last, she heaved a quiet sigh.
She turned and pushed open the window behind her, gesturing for Jiang Yan to look down together.
The sun blazed, and the patrols had started to march the streets. Xi Jueyun watched the lines of men, murmuring the names of each one as if counting. After ten or so minutes, she pointed out a patrol squad with only four members.
“The chief of the patrol’s gone, and five others are missing with him.”
Jiang Yan followed her gaze. Xi Jueyun added, “Two in this group are injured. Master Fang no longer needs them. They’ll die too.”
“Shaochun was strong, but Que’er was so small and thin. Yet together they killed seven.”
Xi Jueyun looked at Jiang Yan. “Do you know what that means?”
Jiang Yan hesitated, then ventured, “We can beat the patrols?”
“But they have guns, and…”
Xi Jueyun’s lips curved into a slight smile. “There aren’t as many guns as you think. Not everyone has one, and they don’t carry them at all times. But we can always carry knives.”
“They’re afraid to die. We aren’t. And so, they’ll always fear us in the end.”
*
Jiang Yan had assumed the Fangs would send someone to retaliate against the theater.
After all, Liu Shaochun and Shen Huanhuan’s bodies were still there, and they’d killed many of the Fang patrol. But by noon, Master Fang hadn’t sent a single person.
Even patrols on the streets were fewer—several squads had vanished without a trace.
It was Lin Xiaotang’s casual remark that finally revealed why.
He’d gone to the teahouse that morning to pick up some tea, only to find the Li residence’s gates tightly shut. Master Li usually loved to show off, always leaving the gates wide open to display his luxury car, then cursing any passerby who stole a glance.
But today, not only was the door firmly closed—there wasn’t a sound from within.
When Lin Xiaotang was divvying up the tea in Jiang Yan’s room, he brought it up: “Isn’t this weird? That show-off never acts like this.”
“Ah… Maybe he moved away?”
He stared.
But then he waved his hand. “No, wait. What with the epidemic, where could they move to? They’re probably afraid of catching something and keeping everyone out!”
What he spoke unconsciously, others heard with purpose.
Jiang Yan listened, then asked Lin Xiaotang about the other masters. Eventually, she got a clear answer—
Both the Li and Liu residences were strange today, quiet as can be; the He residence had clothes drying all over the courtyard—even winter garments. Both Fang and Wang houses seemed normal, though Fang’s usual housekeeper hadn’t stepped out to shop.
Once Lin Xiaotang left, Jiang Yan discussed it with Yu Renwan:
“Master Li and Master Liu both fled last night. Master He’s packing up, probably leaving tonight.”
“And their patrols are pulling out too.”
“By tomorrow,” Jiang Yan paused slightly, “only Master Fang and Master Wang will be left among the village gentry.”
Yu Renwan looked worried. “Both have grudges with the theater. They—”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“All we can do is follow the plot. We can’t change anything. Just wait.”
Yu Renwan said nothing more, glancing toward the bed.
Shen Xiaoxiao hadn’t improved at all; heart spasms had drained the strength from her, her body slick with cold sweat. Xi Jueyun fetched a doctor, but even he said there was nothing he could do.
Either she’d get better, or she wouldn’t.
She’d just have to bear it.
Jiang Yan poured some water and helped Shen Xiaoxiao sit up, feeding it to her. Shen Xiaoxiao weakly fluttered her eyelids open, then soon closed them again. With her eyes shut, she murmured, “Thank you, Sister Jiang Yan.”
Yu Renwan took the empty cup, and together she and Jiang Yan helped lay Shen Xiaoxiao back down, watching as sweat soaked a giant shadow into her bed sheet.
That afternoon, Pingping came.
Jin Yuebai was shopping at a nearby store and had sent Pingping to wait at the theater. At last free, Pingping went straight upstairs to find Jiang Yan.
“What was that sound last night?” she asked bluntly as she entered the room.
Jiang Yan explained what they’d learned so far. Pingping listened attentively and nodded.
“No wonder.”
Jiang Yan asked, “No wonder what?”
Pingping said, “After I heard the death report on Shen Huanhuan last night, I used all my spiritual power to activate my ability, hoping not to die in this energy field. But it failed.”
“My ability has no effect on things that must inevitably happen. I can’t change an inevitable future.”
“So I will definitely die in this timeline.”
Pingping raised her small face, wearing an expression that was both sad and oddly calm. “Actually, it’s not a big deal—there’s nothing to be done, and anyway, this life of mine was lucky just to get here.”
“So don’t feel any pressure,” Pingping told Jiang Yan. “You have no duty to save us. Even if you can’t get out in three seconds, it’s fine. At worst, we’ll just blame the guardian spirit, and maybe the Supernatural Administration Bureau—”
“The Supernatural Bureau,” Pingping repeated, stretching her lips in a pout, “that dogshit department that uses child labor.”
Time moved quickly; Jin Yuebai soon came for Pingping, and took her by the hand to leave.
As they were leaving the theater, Pingping looked up, waving at Jiang Yan, who stood by the second-floor railing. Jin Yuebai saw and waved, too.
“We’ll come again another day.”
“Oh, by the way,” Jin Yuebai called up, “can you read? Did you study with a real teacher? I’m getting a teacher for my little sister in a few days. Do you want to join? You don’t have to pay a thing!”
Jiang Yan was startled.
Remembering her persona, she replied, “But I still have to do laundry.”
Jin Yuebai laughed, “No problem, I’ll talk to Xiao Congye. She’ll let you off. Wait for me, okay? I’ll come get you then!”
Jiang Yan pursed her lips and agreed softly.
Once Jin Yuebai turned away, the smile on her face grew. She squeezed Pingping’s small hand. “See? Isn’t your sister good to you?”
“I know you like those girls. If you all listen to class together, you’ll have friends to play with. Playing alone gets lonely. You need lots of good friends.”
With Jin Yuebai’s cheer, Pingping smiled, too.
Jin Yuebai had no idea what Lingren Village was experiencing—or what it was about to face. She just wanted to be a good sister.
Last night, after Pingping memorized another hundred characters, Jin Yuebai promised to stew meat for her. Meat was precious in Lingren Village—even with money, they rarely ate it.
“If you memorize another hundred by tomorrow,” Jin Yuebai encouraged, “we’ll have chicken instead.”
“Pork today, chicken tomorrow, someday you’ll grow up tall and strong.”
This time, Pingping truly smiled from her heart.
She flashed a row of neat white teeth, two dimples symmetry-bright: “I like those streamlined muscles—strong and good-looking, just enough to wrestle someone down, not too bulky.”
Jin Yuebai patted her on the head. “No wonder you’re my sister—I like that too.”
“We’ll train you up just like that.”
Pingping fluffed her mussed hair with a hum and nodded.
Flower Street was a lane all its own, far from the commercial road and the residences. It took twenty minutes to reach by foot. As they neared, the talk between the two grew quieter. When they got closer still, Jin Yuebai suddenly fell silent.
She stared ahead, stunned.
Flower Street was nothing like when they’d left.
Several patrolmen stood in the street. The flowers on every household door had been torn down, left crushed on the ground. Bricks lay shattered everywhere—clear signs of a fight. At the head of Flower Street, the steps were drenched with blood—lots of it. A girl lay flat on the top step, a bullet hole pierced through her chest, her expression frozen in terror and despair.
Her bloodied bare feet hung over the last step, swaying gently in the wind.
Instinctively, Pingping clutched at Jin Yuebai’s sleeve.
Jin Yuebai stood rooted to the spot, not moving in the slightest, as the wind carried shrill screams from within Flower Street. A disheveled boy came running from the far end, pupils dilated, drool stringing from his lips. He spread his arms and spun in circles gazing at the sky, as if he were a bird.
He was quickly chased down by a patrolman and herded back in.
Next, a girl came running out—arms held high, tall and straight like a tree—shouting as she bolted, “Where are my leaves? Have you seen my leaves?!”
Halfway, her body suddenly stiffened and she toppled rigidly, retching on the ground again and again. The patrols kicked her unconscious with disgust and dragged her back into the house.
Jin Yuebai’s face was deathly pale.
She unconsciously locked her fingers around Pingping’s, squeezing so tight it hurt. But Pingping didn’t make a sound.
Pingping knew what was happening.
Jiang Yan had told her—just now, it was the yingling flower pollen.
—Master Fang was using the people of Flower Street to test the effects of yingling flower pollen. He intended to make his fortune with it, so he had to find the most effective dose.