“Madam, do you still remember me?” the pawnshop manager asked with a smile.

Seeing him and several men behind him surround her small cart with a menacing air, the woman couldn’t help but step back. But her back was already against the wall—there was nowhere else to retreat.

“I remember you, but why are you looking for me? I don’t have anything else to pawn.”

“Don’t be afraid, madam. I mean no harm. I’m here about that old comb you brought the other day. Do you happen to have it with you? If so, could you let me take another look at it?” The pawnshop manager had come for the comb.

The woman had no good impression of this snobbish manager and replied coldly, “The comb is gone. Someone bought it from me. You were only willing to offer ten copper coins, but that person gave me two taels of silver.”

Hearing this, the manager became anxious. “You sold it for just two taels of silver? Women truly have long hair and short sight. That day you told me and your husband that the comb was worth quite a bit. How could you turn around and sell it so cheaply to someone else?”

The woman found the manager’s expression laughable. “I told you the comb was worth a lot, but you said either ten copper coins or get lost. Why shouldn’t I sell it to someone else? Now you realize it’s valuable and come chasing after me to raise the price? Too bad—you’re too late. Please let me through, all of you. I need to close up and go home.”

The pawnshop manager’s sharp, narrow eyes flashed with irritation. Just as he uttered “You—” an extremely cold voice came from behind him.

“I’m asking you, where did that comb come from? And who did you sell it to?” That voice made listeners feel a bone-chilling cold.

The baby began crying loudly.

The speaker emerged from beside the pawnshop manager. He was small in stature, wearing a black silk robe with sleeves rolled up to reveal snow-white forearms embroidered with two golden flower petals. His eyes were long and slanted, with whites far exceeding the blacks. Between his brows was a bright red mole. His mouth was wide and his face gaunt, his expression radiating a murderous aura. At his waist hung a black-handled blade, with a snow-white sweat cloth tied to the hilt.

Looking at the men standing on either side of this person, each wore black clothes with white sleeve borders but no flower petals—yet their presence was equally intimidating.

The woman knew immediately these were not people to trifle with. Frightened, she momentarily couldn’t speak.

The man’s gaze swept over the woman like a thin, sharp blade. His hand rested on the sword hilt, his thumb pushing to reveal the gleaming blade within the sheath. Then with lightning speed, he drew it and cleaved the small cart in two.

“Speak.”

The woman was no sheltered fool. Seeing her cart destroyed and the goods scattered all over the ground—her last savings ruined in an instant—grief and indignation far exceeded her fear. She said miserably, “Who exactly are you people? Why should I tell you anything? If you’re so capable, go ahead and kill me and my daughter right here in front of all these people.”

There are always people who enjoy watching spectacles, especially in a small market like this with many vendors and pedestrians. The pawnshop manager noticed quite a few people beginning to look their way and felt uneasy. He tugged at the black-clothed man, suggesting they stop. But one fierce glare from the man made him recoil, breaking into a cold sweat.

“If you don’t speak, your life is worthless,” the man said coldly. Before finishing, he added, “I can sell your daughter to the lowest class of brothels. After raising her for a few years, she’ll be ready to receive customers. That life worse than death will be entirely your useless mother’s fault—don’t blame me.”

The woman’s eyes widened in terror. Looking at the man as if he were a demon from hell, she forgot about the cart and goods entirely, using her whole body to shield her daughter.

“Speak! If you make me say it one more time, I guarantee I’ll make good on my words.” The man took in the woman’s terror, a cold smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. People with feelings have weaknesses. There’s no such thing as justice—only the distinction between strong and weak. Anyone weaker than him deserved to die.

The woman dared hide nothing more and told everything. When she mentioned that the person who bought the comb had just left, the black-clothed man immediately led his people to give chase.

The pawnshop manager wiped cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Looking at the mess on the ground, he felt a trace of sympathy for the woman, though his words as a pawnshop keeper were still unpleasant. “Consider yourself lucky—at least mother and daughter are safe. As for these cheap goods, they weren’t worth much to begin with. I wouldn’t even accept them as gifts. Don’t think that comb was very valuable either. To those men just now, it was something worth killing to recover. But to us common folk, even the finest jade, once broken, is still worthless.” He couldn’t admit he’d misjudged it.

The woman’s frightened soul hadn’t yet returned. She also worried that her loose tongue had brought calamity upon that kind young master. Completely ignoring the pawnshop manager’s words, she sat on the ground, lost in a daze.

Mo Zi had no idea that after she left, the woman had been terrorized. Clutching the comb in her bosom, she felt it weighed as heavily as her mood.

Why did a comb she had made appear in Yuling Palace? However, since it had fallen out of a craft book, perhaps before losing her memory she had been a craftsman in the imperial palace? Disguised as a man? She’d also considered the possibility of being a princess or noblewoman, but her childhood memories of food, clothing, and shelter weren’t luxurious. She probably wasn’t fortunate enough to have transmigrated into such an extraordinary body.

What concerned her most were two matters. One was her relationship with Daqiu—why did she feel both extremely close to and disgusted by it? The other was that man who sang “Comb and Woman” and gave her the springheart wood—who was he?

Her mind cared deeply, but her instincts firmly refused to approach the crack in her heart.

There was a small ditch in the road. As she jumped over it, she felt the comb bounce in her bosom. Her heart jumped with it, and something seemed to shake loose from a crack, burning painfully.

Would her memory return soon? Should she find a more skilled physician to perform acupuncture on her head? Television shows depicted special needle techniques that could lock away memories—did such things truly exist? Since having that wandering physician Qiu Sanniang found examine her, she hadn’t had a proper follow-up consultation.

Walking inattentively, she didn’t hear the increasingly close sound of hurried footsteps until a hand landed on her shoulder. She reflexively jumped away, calling out, “Who’s there?”

Several men in black martial attire, long blades at their waists, stared at her expressionlessly.

The leader with the red mole between his brows had an even more vicious appearance than Huayi, with an extremely cold aura and sinister gaze. Yet upon seeing her, he showed an expression of disbelief, his knees even involuntarily bending slightly.

“Who are you people?” Mo Zi instinctively sensed their aggressive momentum. Seeing they carried weapons, she secretly regretted being too careless today—she hadn’t brought Zan Jin out with her.

The man with the mole between his brows froze, confusion in his eyes. But he quickly reacted, collecting his expression. Using the gesture of clasping his fists, he straightened his knees and said, “Young sir, did you just purchase a comb?”

Though Mo Zi noted this person’s rapidly changing expressions, no matter how capable she was, she couldn’t read minds and guess what a stranger was thinking. She was simply extremely wary of this dangerous-looking man before her.

Asking about the comb? Why? Should she answer yes or no? Mo Zi had an engineering background—before any decision, she first worked through the logic. These people had found her, clearly because the rouge-selling woman had told them. If she didn’t admit it, they would likely go back and trouble the woman. Thinking this through, she had her answer.

“That’s right.” She even honestly took out the comb. “This is the one.”

The man with the mole didn’t look at the comb but at Mo Zi, the doubt in his eyes deepening.

When he didn’t continue, his subordinates found it strange, thinking, didn’t we come to retrieve the comb? One who was usually bolder carefully asked from behind him.

The man with the mole couldn’t restrain himself and spoke in a deep voice, “Young sir, you look very familiar. Have we met before?”

Mo Zi shook her head and answered, “I have no recollection.” After speaking, remembering she wore no makeup today, could this be someone she knew before losing her memory? Yet she sensed his question wasn’t certain, so she added, “This elder brother must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The man with the mole pressed his wide lips together and said with a dry laugh, “Perhaps I did mistake you. Young sir, aside from having facial features and build somewhat similar to someone I know, everything else is completely different.” For instance, gender.

But women could disguise themselves as men. His eyes flickered, though his brows relaxed.

“Young sir, I’m curious why a grown man like you would buy a woman’s comb?” Seeing Mo Zi was quite delicate-looking but had peaked brows, stood straight with a low, powerful voice, and showed none of the affected mannerisms of a woman disguised as a man, he thought perhaps they truly just resembled each other.

“I didn’t originally intend to buy it. Seeing that woman and her daughter were pitiful, I thought to buy some rouge and powder for the sisters at home. I accidentally touched this old comb, and the woman, thinking I liked it, kept insisting the comb was good. I saw the peony carved on the comb back was distinctive and would make a good painting reference, so I bought it. I don’t know what’s wrong with this comb that several elder brothers would chase after it?” As Mo Zi spoke, she noticed they were on a secluded small road.

“To be honest, young sir, this comb is a treasured possession of my master’s. Somehow it was stolen by a petty thief. My master sent us to search for it, and we’ve been at it for a long time. We finally learned it was in a vendor’s hands, only to find you’d already bought it. Young sir, if you don’t mind, could you sell it to us so we can return and report back?” His attitude toward the ignorant woman and child had been extremely harsh, but toward Mo Zi he was exceedingly polite. Why? Only he knew.

His subordinates didn’t understand his meaning.

Was she destined never to keep good things? The Water-Purifying Pearl was gone, and now the springheart wood would be gone too.

Don’t say she lacked backbone for planning to give them the comb. When one person faces five or six assassin-like men, believe her—an old comb definitely isn’t worth losing one’s life over. Even if this comb might restore her memory.

“A gentleman doesn’t take what others cherish.” Mo Zi offered the comb with both hands. Just from her ten fingers touching it, her heart trembled ceaselessly. “You’re all welcome to take it.”

The man with the mole’s doubts lessened further. He thought, if it were her, how could she give up the comb so easily?

He immediately smiled and accepted it, signaling his subordinates to produce a package of silver. “Young sir, you’re straightforward, and I won’t be petty. Here’s one hundred taels of pure silver—consider it my master’s thanks for your generosity.”

“Hehe, your master is so generous, so this item must truly be precious to him. My luck is really quite good today—spent two taels, got back one hundred. With one hundred taels of silver, I could even buy a peony plant. Thank you, thank you.” Mo Zi naturally accepted the silver.

Two taels becoming one hundred taels—could this be the first step on her path to wealth?