"Lai Su has been found—he's hiding in Youzhen of Qingzhou County."
Within the Perfumed Pavilion of Xixia City, in the Kingdom of Jiguang.
A man in a brocade robe, dressed like an official, sat on the bed of a private chamber. Before him, another man knelt on one knee, reporting.
The robed official raised his brows.
"Is the source reliable? If so, this month's task will be considered a fine success."
The kneeling man rose, bowed, and answered:
"It's certain. The news came from 'Zhen,' a man under the Moon Envoy. He discovered Lai Su in Youzhen. He has taken a wife and has an eight-year-old son. They've lived there for ten years."
"Is that so? Then we'd best make preparations. When the time comes, we should also go and watch the show. That will be all—you may leave."
With a wave of his hand, the official dismissed him. The subordinate bowed and withdrew, opening the door to leave.
Outside, four or five women of varying beauty—some bright and seductive, some fresh and pure—had been waiting. As soon as the man exited, they laughed and pressed into the room, the fragrance of rouge and powder filling the air.
"My lord, we've been waiting too long."
The closing door shut away the sound of laughter and flirtation.
Morning in Youzhen.
Mist rose from the stream and the eaves, turning to glowing haze in the sunlight. The small southern town was damp, the stone-paved streets shining faintly with last night's rain. Reflections of breakfast peddlers carrying baskets swayed upon the wet stones.
Sparrows chirped on the locust trees at the street corner. Smoke from porridge stalls curled upward. The tavern keeper stretched and lifted the wooden boards of his shop front.
Children, bookcases strapped to their backs, hurried toward the academy, one with half a bun clenched in his teeth, a little dog yapping after him.
The town was small, a canal running through it. From the end of town, several stone bridges led to the southern trade routes of the kingdom.
Shops and homes were built together, with narrow storefronts facing the street and long courtyards stretching behind. At the corner by the town gate stood "Lai's Rice Shop," built in just such a fashion.
That morning, its doors were half open. Two large rice jars stood at the stone steps, their lids still sealed, but already the air carried a faint fragrance of grain. From within came the sound of rice being sifted—the shopkeeper was serving early customers.
At the far end of the street, a woman walked quickly, her steps urgent yet restrained. She gripped the hand of a girl of seven or eight, small and thin, her skirt hem flecked with mud. The girl's eyes still brimmed with tears, her cheeks flushed red.
The woman was Madam Wang, wife of the grocer east of town. Known for her sharp tongue and fiery temper, she was strangely silent today. Her brows were knotted, knuckles pale, anger churning in her chest, yet held back.
Her daughter, Wang Rou, was being pulled along, several times opening her mouth to speak, but each time silenced by her mother's grip. Behind them trailed curious townsfolk, whispering and pointing.
What she had just seen with her own eyes—the girl slipping into the canal, soaked through, only barely rescued—still pressed like a stone against Madam Wang's chest.
Her steps did not falter, though her eyes burned with fury, her face cold as ice, like a volcano ready to erupt.
"It's here," she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Mother…" Wang Rou whispered.
"Quiet."
Dragging her daughter, Madam Wang turned the corner and stopped before the rice shop.
Inside, the door half open, voices of customers carried. Behind the counter sat a man in a plain blue robe—Lai Su—measured, composed, sifting grain for a buyer.
Hearing footsteps outside, he leaned to look, but before he could greet them, Madam Wang had already stormed past the counter, hurrying straight into the back courtyard.
"Madam Wang—!" Lai Su exclaimed, frowning as he quickly followed.
In the courtyard, morning light spilled upon damp stone steps. A boy crouched by the water jar, hair unkempt, peeking guiltily into the house. About eight years old, his clothes still smudged with mud, he looked every bit the culprit of some childish mischief.
Inside, a woman sat on a low stool, embroidering with calm grace. Her name was Bihua, wife of Lai Su and mother of the boy. Gentle in manner, her plain dress and measured stitching gave her a quiet dignity.
She rose and approached her son, her voice soft.
"Is Wang Rou unharmed? You will come with me to apologize later."
The boy, Layne, shifted his feet, muttering:
"I only wanted to release the lantern early… Wang Rou said it's most effective before dawn. I didn't think she'd slip."
Bihua sighed.
"You knew the canal was slippery, yet you still took her there?"
Layne's ears reddened. He lowered his head, silent.
Just then, a sharp voice cut through the courtyard:
"Has your son lost his mind?! Before dawn he dragged my daughter to the canal to set lanterns—she nearly drowned, and you act as if nothing happened?!"
Before anyone could answer, Madam Wang barged in, fury blazing.
"Bihua! Whatever filthy past you came from, no one forgets. Like mother, like son—no upbringing, reckless enough to nearly kill someone, and you still dare to sit here?"
Behind her, Wang Rou cowered, trembling and tearful.
Bihua rose slowly, calm-faced, shielding Layne behind her.
But before she could speak, Layne darted out from her side, shouting, his face red as he lunged forward:
"Don't insult my mother!"
He threw himself at Madam Wang, small fists raised with all his strength.
Caught off guard, she instinctively stepped back, then reacted with a furious slap.
"You little brat!"
Smack!
The sound rang sharp. Layne staggered, hitting the stone floor with a thud, his cheek swelling red, blood streaking his lip.
"Layne—!" Bihua cried, rushing to him, her face drained of color.
Wang Rou burst into sobs, shrinking against her mother.
From the shop front, the commotion had already drawn a crowd. Voices murmured:
"Tch, isn't that Bihua from the Perfumed Pavilion? No wonder…"
"Doesn't matter how clean she looks now—who knows what she was then?"
"Poor child, born into such a family…"
Bihua's arms tightened around her son. Her voice, though quiet, carried clear:
"Madam Wang, I would have bowed my head if you came in concern for your daughter. But you barged in hurling insults, and even struck my child."
Madam Wang sneered.
"Bowed your head? You, from the Perfumed Pavilion? What dignity do you have? Should I apologize to you, when my daughter nearly died?"
"It wasn't like that," Layne murmured weakly. "Everyone says if you find the 'God's Eye Spring,' the Water God will bless you…"
Madam Wang faltered, but snapped back, her anger unabated.
Bihua stood firm, her voice like rain pressing on the eaves—calm, yet heavy with warning.
"You've always gossiped, and I endured, because I knew you cared nothing for truth. You only wanted a show, the bloodier the better. How women struggled to survive in the brothel, how we fought to keep our honor—you never cared."
The courtyard stilled. Even the murmurs outside fell silent.
"If you bear resentment, direct it at me," she stepped closer, her voice hardening. "I can endure humiliation, because I am used to it. But if you dare insult my son again, I will not endure."
Her words struck like a storm. Madam Wang's mouth opened, but no sound came.
At last, Lai Su entered, face weary from holding back the crowd. He stopped short at the sight—his wife standing firm, Layne in her arms, cheek swollen with tears.
He stepped forward, his voice low but unyielding:
"Madam Wang. Right or wrong, I will not argue. But if you insult my wife or strike my son, then you are my enemy."
The force of his words made her flinch, stunned into silence.
Only Wang Rou's sobbing broke the air.
Bihua looked down at Layne in her arms.
The boy's eyes were wide, shaken. He had tried to defend her, only to be knocked down. He could not understand why the grown-ups called her "that kind of woman."
"I'm here," she whispered gently. "Don't be afraid."