Pingping was young—the damage from the pollen to her brain was something she couldn’t endure. She’d carried the collected flower pollen for too long, inhaling too much, so her death came the fastest.
After she fell, the two men scrambled on the ground, fighting over the gun.
But visions flew before their eyes, illusions layered over illusions. Objects close at hand seemed impossibly far, floating in the air, dropping into water. They staggered to their feet, shoving at each other, groping blindly, only to drift farther and farther from their goal.
Jin Yuebai sat in a daze, holding Pingping’s corpse.
She couldn’t understand how she had just died.
They’d only known each other for a few short days. She was so little—how could one so young know how to save others?
How could someone so small be granted no future?
Fragments flitted through Jin Yuebai’s mind: the wary, awkward movements when they first met; later, Pingping taking her hand without hesitation; Pingping bent over her books each night, reading late by lamplight.
If only she’d known…
Jin Yuebai hugged the little girl tighter.
If only she’d known, she’d never have let her tire herself so much.
She wouldn’t have forced her to go without sleep, wouldn’t have pushed her to study so hard—she would have let her be happy, for however long that happiness could last.
A few minutes later, Jin Yuebai pulled herself out of her thoughts and slowly raised her head. Her eyes felt painfully dry, her body steamed through by summer heat—wretched, but no tears came.
She gazed silently in the men’s direction.
At times like this, those who lived longer suffered more.
The men’s nostrils bled from inhaling too much pollen at once, bright blood soaking their collars. Until now, everyone’s pain had mounted gradually, but with this overwhelming dose, agony struck all at once. Their teeth loosened and fell out, drool and blood mixing at their lips; limbs stiffened, twitching as they vomited nonstop.
Jin Yuebai picked up the discarded gun, aiming it at a man’s temple.
But quickly she lowered it.
She went inside for two bricks and smashed them with all her strength over their heads—once, twice, until the bricks were smashed and blood covered their faces, only then was she done. She shook the dust off her hands, then bent to snatch up an iron rod.
Pain might bring clarity, but even if they were lucid, the men now had no strength left. Gripping the rod with all her might, she bashed it into their temples. Cries for mercy burst out—the two men collapsed to their knees, weeping, begging her to spare their lives. Jin Yuebai didn’t say a word.
She was too angry. The rod whistled with wind as she swung—then, with a sickening squelch, their temples caved in.
She didn’t stop.
She’d seen what they did to Ayan’s corpse—so brutal, a fatal bullet wound wasn’t enough; they’d put a hole through her skull, too.
Jin Yuebai felt a wind at her back now.
That wind had swept from Little Shen to Chuchu, from Chuchu to Ayan, and now, after Zaizai, to her.
She battered the bodies tirelessly, as if running on wind, until their features caved in, skulls flattening.
At last she stopped.
The iron rod slipped from her numb hands; she collapsed in exhaustion, shoving both loaded guns into her clothes.
She went back inside. The boy who’d swallowed the bullets had stopped breathing. She didn’t know him well, but she’d seen him about—he’d been on Flower Street six months, never dared leave, always asked the others to do his errands. He rarely spoke, but he liked Little Shen—had been close to her.
Two solitary people could spend a whole day in silence, just watching the world beyond the window.
Since Little Shen couldn’t hear, the boy had always liked telling her his secrets. Once, Jin Yuebai overheard him—and though she left in a hurry, she’d caught a few words:
—He wanted to leave here for real, someday.
Back then, Jin Yuebai only laughed—who didn’t want to leave? Everyone wanted out. But seeing the old wounds on the boy’s body, she’d fallen silent.
Flower Street was never a place for healing.
She’d never known his past, and now she’d never know.
After wiping the blood from the boy’s face, Jin Yuebai stepped into the yard. She wiped every girl’s face there; none of them recognized her now, no telling how long it would be before they came to. The dosage hadn’t been enough to kill, so in time they would wake.
But waking would only bring pain.
The craving would haunt their veins, their sanity would cry injustice, but their bodies would only drag them deeper into indulgence.
“I’ll help you all.”
Jin Yuebai finished cleaning the last person, rising to her feet.
She couldn’t leave—everyone here needed her. She hurried about, putting each girl in a separate room, making sure none would attack each other in their confusion, but still where she could keep an eye on them.
A long time passed.
Two hours later, the first girl woke.
She stopped counting nonexistent stars and stared at the midday sun overhead. For a moment, her eyes were unfocused; then, terror set in, and she scanned the room in panic. Finding Jin Yuebai, she burst into sobs.
Jin Yuebai went over and gathered her into her arms, holding her until she sobbed herself out.
Three hours later, all the girls regained clarity.
Jin Yuebai soothed them quietly, rubbing their backs and promising them a better future, cheering them on. She’d always been the heart of Flower Street; everyone trusted her.
And this time, that trust was still there.
“Sister Yuebai, go take care of your own things,” Shiqing said, rubbing her bruised, swollen face. “We’re not afraid—we’ll take care of ourselves.”
Jin Yuebai really did have things to do.
She stood, ready to go. Shiqing looked around, puzzled, and suddenly muttered, “Where’s Zaizai?”
“Did you hide her somewhere?”
“Of course you would hide her,” another girl chimed in. “She’s so little, she must be terrified after what happened.”
“I’m ten years older and even I’m scared out of my wits.”
Jin Yuebai nodded. “She’s hidden away.”
“I’m glad you’re all awake now. I’m going to the theater to talk it over with everyone.”
Shiqing urged, “Go quick. Little Shen’s dead. I need to collect her body…”
She choked up, “I need to hold Zaizai to get my spirits up again.”
Jin Yuebai agreed and left without looking back, shutting the door behind her. As she turned, she quickly averted her face, hiding her expression from the others.
Pingping’s body was just outside the door.
Farther off lay Ayan and Chuchu.
Jin Yuebai slumped by the wall, slowly kneeling to press her forehead hard against Pingping’s shoulder. The girl’s body stank from filth, the stench overpowering, but Jin Yuebai didn’t care—she just buried her cries in her hands, muffling her weeping into that small patch of space.
After several minutes, Jin Yuebai pulled herself upright with the help of the wall.
She placed the three girls’ bodies side by side. Just then, Shiqing came out, ready to collect Little Shen. She started to ask why Jin Yuebai hadn’t left yet—then saw the bodies.
Half a minute passed before she silently stepped forward and lifted Pingping in her arms.
“She’s so filthy. I’ll change her clothes.”
“What if we all crowd around her? Will she be embarrassed?”
Jin Yuebai shook her head. “She won’t.”
Shiqing worked her mouth into a smile. “Then I’ll hold her up for everyone—a record for the stinkiest little kid in history.”
“Haha, and Chuchu sure had a temper. Remember how she first learned I was a thief? She sneered she’d never live with a thief; she can’t say that now.”
“Ayan… ah, what will we do without Ayan? Our savings will all get in a tangle.”
Shiqing was just venting her grief—she didn’t need anyone’s response.
So Jin Yuebai said nothing.
“I’m going.” She said.
Shiqing smiled and nodded. “Go on.”
*
Ever since hearing the news of Pingping’s death, Jiang Yan had been waiting for Jin Yuebai to come.
If Flower Street hadn’t been devastated, as protective as Jin Yuebai was of Pingping, she would never have let anything happen to her.
So if Jin Yuebai wasn’t dead, she would show up.
Jiang Yan needed someone she could plan with.
By noon, Jin Yuebai finally appeared. She was beaten only by Lin Xiaotang, who was wandering in circles out front.
Today, Xiao Congye had told Lin Xiaotang to go out and gather any news he could, and report back.
No one expected he’d actually learn something.
He came rushing in, shut the door in a hurry, then turned with a sigh. Xiao Congye, frowning, asked what was wrong. Lin Xiaotang gulped some tea to steady himself, then explained:
He lowered his voice: “Heavens intervened! Master Wang has lost an eye!”
“But those twins are really pitiable.”
Xi Jueyun turned her head to look.
Lin Xiaotang sighed. “A few days ago, Master Wang snatched a pair of boy-girl twins—was doting on them, but the more he liked them, the crueler he got. This time he wanted to torment them both at once. When he started whipping the brother, the sister smashed him with a chair.”
“There was nothing sharp in the room, but I heard the girl climbed on top of him and clawed his eye out. She even tried to dig out the other before the patrols rushed in; at the sound, she grabbed her brother and ran out the back door.”
“Now Master Wang is searching everywhere for them. Oddly, there are barely any patrols left, and for now, at least, he hasn’t found them!”
Xi Jueyun nodded slightly. “Hope they both get through this.”
Xiao Congye, frustrated, kneaded her brow.
For the sake of the theater’s safety, she’d hidden a lot; now that the twins—so like Xi Jueyun—had offended Master Wang, her heart was in chaos, not knowing where to begin weighing the risks.
Overwhelmed, she propped her head in her hands.
Just then, the theater door was knocked.
Jiang Yan went to open it; it was Jin Yuebai. Seeing her, Jiang Yan offered a small smile.
Jin Yuebai looked in bad shape, but forced a faint smile in return.
Once inside, she wasted no time, recounting the morning’s events: the hallucinogenic black powder, her killing of Fang’s patrolmen, how Ayan and Chuchu died, and about Yan Zaizai.
Yan Zaizai had been entrusted to Jin Yuebai by Xi Jueyun.
Jin Yuebai was determined to tell it all—Xi Jueyun only said, “She really did love you.”
But even that single simple sentence nearly caused Jin Yuebai to drop her teacup.
Xi Jueyun went on, “Shaochun and Que’er are both dead, too.”
“Both at the hands of Fang’s patrols.”
Xiao Congye’s voice drifted quietly: “The theater and the Fang family are now locked in a fight to the death.”
Jin Yuebai steadied her wrist, speaking softly. “Flower Street, too.”
She set a small bag on the table—something she’d collected from a dead patrolman, sealed tight, a palm-sized transparent packet full of black powder.
“The Flower Street girls are still alive. He lost four patrolmen and still hasn’t found his ideal dosage. Master Fang won’t give up.”
Jin Yuebai said, “I want to kill Master Fang—but I haven’t decided how yet.”
“My life doesn’t matter. Help me think of a way. This powder is potent; I just have to get close and he’ll die. Or lure him out, that works too. However it’s done, if I can just see him, I have guns—three bullets left.”
Jin Yuebai had already decided how Fang would die; she just needed a plan. Master Fang might target Flower Street again at any moment—there was no time to delay.
Xi Jueyun wanted to stop her, but Jin Yuebai was resolute.
“Zaizai knew me only four days. If she could risk her life for me, then I can take revenge for her.”
So the three of them began planning.
Master Fang rarely left home, and now that he and the theater were enemies, he’d never agree to meet. Fang Xuyu had also vanished—they hadn’t seen him in two days, unsure if he knew the extent of his father’s crimes.
Just as they were growing desperate, a knock sounded at the door.
This was a restrained, polite knock.
Jiang Yan went to answer.
This time, it was Fang Xuyu, heavily disguised.
Clearly, he’d snuck out. His usually well-kept long hair was tangled, shoes filthy as if he’d trudged through mud, dirt smudged his face—a far cry from his usual neat, elegant self.
Xi Jueyun stood, surprised. “You—”
Fang Xuyu raised his hand to stop her, “Troupe master, time’s tight. Let’s get to the point.”
Xi Jueyun dropped her gaze and took her seat.
Fang Xuyu’s face was delicate, his voice pleasant. Pingping had always thought he looked like a girl.
Even now, his voice was soft and gentle: “Last night, I saw the patrols return from the back hills. I overheard them talking. My father locked me in my room. I snuck out just now.”
“I’m sorry—I knew what he would do today, but I couldn’t escape in time.”
Jin Yuebai interrupted, “Is that all you came to say?”
Fang Xuyu shook his head. “There’s something else.”
“The troupe master once saved me from drowning. I owe her my life. I’ve always wanted to serve my country, help my people. Now the time has come.”
“I’m willing to sacrifice kin for the greater good.”
Jin Yuebai was silent a long time.
At last, she asked, “What are you planning to do?”
Fang Xuyu’s gaze fell on the bag of black powder on the table. Remembering something, he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Xi Jueyun:
“This is all I know about yingling flower pollen, its effects and origins—I wrote it down last night.”
“Give me the powder,” Fang Xuyu said. “It dissolves in water. I’ll put it in Father’s coffee—he drinks it with lunch every day.”
“Lunchtime is soon. He likes me to eat with him.”
“Don’t worry.”
Sensing their anxiety, he added, “I’ll come out unscathed. Once he’s dead, I’m the family head—no one will dare touch me.”
Jin Yuebai met Fang Xuyu’s eyes for a while, then walked over, picked up the packet, and passed it to him.
Fang Xuyu gripped the bag tightly.
He turned to leave, but at the door, suddenly looked back at Jin Yuebai.
After a pause, he smiled and pulled a soft green earring from his pocket.
He walked up to her, “You dropped this the night before last. I thought it was pretty, figured it must be yours, but forgot to give it back.”
Jin Yuebai lowered her lashes and reached out.
The delicate, beautiful earring landed softly in her palm.
“Goodbye.”
She bid Fang Xuyu farewell.
He touched his own face and walked out quickly. As they watched him go, Jiang Yan couldn’t help but ask, “Do you believe him?”
“No.”
Jin Yuebai said softly, “He loves rationally, but doesn’t hate completely.”
Yu Renwan asked anxiously, “So why give him the flower pollen? What if he doesn’t go through with it? This stuff sounds super useful—”
Xiao Congye gazed out the window. “It’s not that we don’t believe him.”
“It’s just that he loves drinking coffee. Loves drinking it with his father, every single day.”
Xiao Congye raised her teacup, clinked it softly against the air, and finished it in one draught.
“Just like that.”