When Nie Jiuluo woke in the morning and opened her eyes, her entire body ached as if she’d been beaten.
Then she remembered—hadn’t she indeed been beaten? In a mutual fight, that is.
She got up with a groan and went to the bathroom to turn on the light, first examining her face.
Half her face was swollen like a risen steamed bun; her lip was split, and she had to leave it be—a bandage would make eating and drinking inconvenient; there was a fingernail-sized scrape on her forehead she hadn’t noticed before, probably too caught up in the fight—she placed a bandage on her forehead, instantly giving her face a somewhat vengeful look.
After checking the surface damage, she examined underneath: facing the wide dressing mirror, she loosened her robe ties, letting it slip to her elbows, and twisted to see her reflection.
Originally, she had porcelain-like skin, but with the advantages of fine china came its drawbacks: it bruised easily—where others might just need to rub an impact spot to recover, she would either bruise or develop blood stasis, taking three to five days to show improvement.
Now, from her shoulder blades to her waist was unbearable to look at, especially the areas on her rear shoulder and waist where Yan Tuo had grabbed her forcefully, which were nearly black-purple, quite shocking to behold.
Nie Jiuluo ground her teeth in hatred. While wiping her face with a towel, she imagined it was Yan Tuo and applied such force that several cotton seams in the towel snapped.
Last night she’d been too exhausted from fighting and fell asleep immediately upon lying down, with no time to think things through. Now in broad daylight, well-rested and clear-minded, reviewing the night’s events revealed many points worth pondering.
Yan Tuo had accomplices, so why come for revenge alone instead of bringing backup? Was it male pride, wanting to “independently” settle the score?
Moreover, compared to settling accounts with her, he seemed more interested in asking her questions.
—What was the Tooth Gang, what was its origin, what did Sun Zhou’s “taking root and sprouting” mean, and how was it treated? And what was a ghost servant?
Interesting that he didn’t know.
But not knowing didn’t stop him from being a willing accomplice.
Nie Jiuluo picked up her phone, wanting to mention last night’s events to Jiang Baichuan. She’d typed several lines before stopping: it would be enough to notify him after things were settled—was there any need for him to know the twists and turns?
While hesitating, there came two knocks at the door, followed by Sister Lu’s voice: “Miss Nie, Mr. Cai is here.”
***
Nie Jiuluo added a cardigan over her robe and went downstairs to meet Old Cai, holding her collar closed.
Old Cai was in his fifties, owner of an art goods business that sold various high-end art supplies, including paintings, sculptures, and folk crafts, and regularly hosted related salon discussions. With many years in the industry and extensive connections, he excelled at facilitating deals: several of Nie Jiuluo’s works had been sold to his wealthy regular customers at his recommendation, usually fetching several times their original price.
Over time, they’d developed both a friendship and a business relationship. He looked after Nie Jiuluo with an “uncle mentoring a junior” kind of care.
Old Cai wore a new neck-hanging earpiece, bobbing his head to whatever he was listening to. Looking up to see Nie Jiuluo coming down, he greeted her with a grin: “Ah Luo, haven’t seen you in a while… What happened to you, been beaten? Domestic violence? You have a boyfriend?”
Fortunately, Nie Jiuluo knew him well enough to follow his question logic: Oh, she’s been beaten—women getting beaten usually means domestic violence—domestic violence requires a man—you have a boyfriend?
She gave him a sidelong glance without confirming or denying it.
Old Cai took her silence as confirmation and became indignant: “I’ve always told you, few men are any good. What’s his name? Where does he work? Give me his address, brother will arrange someone to beat that bastard to death!”
Nie Jiuluo said: “Wasn’t paying attention while walking, fell.”
Oh, just a fall—nothing he could help with then. Old Cai immediately turned indifferent: “So young, yet walking without watching where you’re going.”
He handed her a ticket while speaking: “Here, next Tuesday, go learn something.”
Nie Jiuluo took it and looked.
It was for a themed sculpture exhibition called “Frozen Musical Notes,” featuring works by famous artists related to music, including notable foreign pieces. The back of the ticket showed a French exhibit called “Dancer,” with clean lines and no intricately crafted facial expressions, yet perfectly conveying meaning through body posture alone.
Old Cai reminded her: “VIP session, not open to the public. See how others do their exhibitions, a good reference for when you hold your own.”
Nie Jiuluo sighed: “When will I be able to hold a real solo exhibition?”
She’d only ever been invited to contribute single pieces to exhibitions before, far from a “solo exhibition.”
Old Cai said: “You could do one now, just line up all your sculptures along the outer wall, call it a personal exhibition.”
Nie Jiuluo gave him an annoyed look.
Old Cai chuckled again, gesturing at the exhibition ticket: “For this level of exhibition, with international tours—you’re not qualified yet. But keep working hard, you have potential. I think you might have a chance within five years. In this field, you need to be outstanding.”
Nie Jiuluo remained silent.
Five years—such a long time, a fifth of her life so far.
***
Over the next few days, Nie Jiuluo kept busy as usual, mainly with repairs: restoring the damaged Water Moon Guanyin statue and having someone fix the roof. As for the dragon skeleton that lost its head, she didn’t repair it—every trade has its superstitions, and a work beheaded as soon as it took shape was better abandoned and started anew.
During her busy hours, she would occasionally feel something and look toward the door or window: outside was always the usual scene. She figured Yan Tuo wouldn’t choose her home for his next appearance—having done it once, he would change both time and place for the next encounter.
And the next time they met, he would surely be harder to deal with, as he was becoming increasingly familiar with her methods.
…
She next saw Yan Tuo outside the exhibition hall.
She had just finished viewing the exhibition, at an awkward time: four in the afternoon, too early for dinner, yet too rushed to do much else.
She descended the steps in front of the exhibition hall, waiting for her ordered ride-share.
After a while, a beaten-up car arrived slowly.
Thinking it was her ordered car, she mentally criticized its shabby appearance while bending to open the passenger door. At that moment, the driver turned to face her.
Their eyes met, and Nie Jiuluo’s body froze. Then, a perverse sort of pleasure rose in her heart.
Here he was again, this person coming to court death again as if his very existence demanded a beating, his life yearned for abuse.
The timing was quite good, both had recovered: her face’s swelling had subsided, the scab on her lip had fallen off; his neck’s bite marks had flattened, the cord-inflicted wounds had basically healed, with just a token bandage still on his right cheek.
Nie Jiuluo coldly stared at him, people passing all around them.
Yan Tuo said: “Get in the car, we need to settle our business, don’t we? Better sooner than later, unless you want to wait until next week?”
Nie Jiuluo glanced at the passenger seat.
Yan Tuo: “No bombs, no backup, just me. Too many people here, not convenient. Let’s find somewhere in the suburbs where no one will bother us, and settle everything at once.”
Nie Jiuluo gestured at the car with her chin: “Why such a beaten-up car?”
She didn’t mind riding in a broken-down car, but for someone of Yan Tuo’s wealth to drive such a vehicle felt somewhat… strange.
Yan Tuo said: “Last time I drove a nice car, what did you do with it? Stripped and sold for parts? A broken-down car feels safer. If you want a nice car, bring your own, just follow my lead.”
That wouldn’t be necessary. Nie Jiuluo opened the door and sat down, not settling in completely until she’d tested it, then carefully examined the seat.
Yan Tuo: “No tricks, just a broken-down car.”
Nie Jiuluo fastened her seatbelt, too late canceling her ride-share order and incurring a penalty fee. After paying the fine, the car had just turned onto the main road, where cameras and eyes were everywhere amidst the traffic—only a fool would try anything here.
Pretending to search her bag, she quietly slipped a dagger into her sleeve, then opened a pack of gum and popped one in her mouth.
Yan Tuo glanced at her: “Miss Nie, about those questions I asked you?”
How interesting—did she have to answer just because he asked? If it were that simple, international spy agencies could just meet for afternoon tea and play question-and-answer.
Nie Jiuluo ignored him, focusing on planning how to end this quickly: getting out properly at the destination and squaring off for a fight would be too stupid. Better to act during the drive—of course, choosing an empty road with no people. Her smaller frame gave her an advantage in the car’s confined space, easier to maneuver than Yan Tuo.
Yan Tuo smiled knowingly: “I didn’t expect an answer anyway.”
Nie Jiuluo watched the changing road conditions outside, suddenly remembering Sun Zhou: “What did you do with Sun Zhou?”
Sun Zhou?
Yan Tuo looked puzzled: “Isn’t Sun Zhou with you people?”
He caught on quickly: “Sun Zhou’s not with you? Then I don’t know—he’s not with us either.”
This was completely unexpected for Nie Jiuluo. Jiang Baichuan had said the person was rescued, but Yan Tuo said he wasn’t with them. Perishing in the fire was impossible unless his bones had been completely burned, so the most likely possibility was… Sun Zhou had escaped during the chaos?
This wasn’t good at all. Nie Jiuluo swallowed slightly, her first instinct to contact Jiang Baichuan, but realizing the situation was inappropriate, she held back.
Outside, traffic and people were thinning as they entered the urban-rural junction. Once there were fewer people, she could make her move.
Nie Jiuluo made conversation: “How did you and the Tooth Gang meet?”
Yan Tuo: “That’s none of your business.”
What a hypocrite, bombarding her with questions but responding with “none of your business” when she asked.
Just then, the car’s speed notably increased, trees and fields flying past like arrows. Nie Jiuluo had to grab the overhead handle.
Yan Tuo: “Scared?”
He wasn’t done—he pressed a switch, lowering all windows to maximum. The country road was already dusty, and the speed made it worse. The wind howled through, making eardrums throb, normal conversation impossible to hear.
Nie Jiuluo’s long hair instantly whipped across her face, her mouth filling with dust. Annoyed, she shouted: “Are you crazy?”
Yan Tuo shouted back: “Miss Nie, didn’t you ask why I’m driving such a broken-down car?”
As he spoke, the car violently shook, flying over a ditch, then fishtailing before speeding uphill for nearly a hundred meters, jumping onto an iron bridge as the view suddenly opened up.
This was the great river that circled the city. Though the river wasn’t particularly wide, the bridge stretched several hundred meters. In the distance, they could see the new bridge—this iron bridge was abandoned due to disrepair, long closed to traffic. As they drove across, they could almost hear the bridge plates clanging below.
Yan Tuo turned to look at Nie Jiuluo, saying softly: “Because this car is meant for the scrapyard.”
The air rushed so violently through the car that Nie Jiuluo couldn’t hear what he said. She could only see his lips move, and before she could ask “What?” Yan Tuo violently turned the steering wheel. A huge crash followed as the guardrail split open, the car’s front tilting downward as it tumbled off the five or six-meter-high bridge.
Nie Jiuluo’s mind went blank for two seconds, her entire being seeming to be sucked into a massive vortex of terror.
Was this… the car plunging off the bridge?
In her entire life, she’d never experienced anything so violent, so destructive.
Worse still, she was afraid of water.
She wasn’t afraid of skydiving or bungee jumping, but she feared water—that feeling of being wrapped in dense, airless liquid was terrifying. She’d once tried submerging herself in the bathtub while holding her breath, but panicked instantly, nearly drowning in the tub.
A massive splash sounded, and everything went dark. Water finds every gap, and with the windows fully open, it wasn’t a matter of seeping in but of rushing in directly—water was everywhere, fierce and overwhelming, impossible to grab or push away.
Before Nie Jiuluo could hold her breath, she’d already swallowed water. She swallowed that mouthful, held her breath, and while being forced to sink with the car, quickly felt for her seatbelt.
The sunset’s light filtering from above grew more distant, as a dark shadow passed beside her—Yan Tuo had already released his seatbelt and smoothly escaped through his window.
She told herself internally: Don’t panic, don’t rush, stay calm.
The belt buckle released, but tiny bubbles were already escaping from her nose and mouth. She grabbed the window frame, pushing off the car’s body with her feet: with enough luck, perhaps this push would propel her to the surface. Whether anyone would save her was another matter, but at least she could breathe.
Just as her body cleared the window and was about to float up, the dark shadow appeared again from above the car: Yan Tuo reached down and pressed her head, forcing her back under.
It was unbearable—her feet found no ground, no matter how she kicked and thrashed, meeting only emptiness. She could no longer hold her breath as water rushed in through her mouth, nose, and ears. Her body lost balance, tumbling and twisting in the water.
The water around her grew increasingly murky, and beyond the murk, Yan Tuo’s blurred form approached again. Nie Jiuluo summoned a burst of desperate strength, reaching out with her last energy: if she had to die, she’d drag him down too, perish together.
However, Yan Tuo had anticipated this move, easily swimming away to avoid her.
Heavy darkness pressed in from all sides. Nie Jiuluo felt her breath failing, her body no longer struggling, her consciousness like a drop of clear water falling into thick ink.
She was filled with bitter regret.
Had she known she would die at Yan Tuo’s hands, ending her life this way, she should have struck first and killed him when she had the chance.