Chapter 6: A Sudden Surge of Anger

Once Wuxue and the singer had reached an agreement, the singer stopped being so relentless. Instead, she transformed into a hamster that had spotted food, staring at Wuxue with drool at the corner of her mouth. Wuxue no longer felt like a person. She felt like a walking stack of cash. Wherever she went, the singer’s eyes followed.

“Could you stop staring at me?” Wuxue asked. She sat at the round table and helped herself to a cup of tea.

The singer gave an awkward smile and rubbed her hands together. “Fine, I’ll stop. But we’re agreed—you pay me tomorrow.”

Wuxue rolled her eyes. “You won’t be short a single Orb.”

“Good!” the singer said, letting out a satisfied, foolish laugh before falling quiet. She stopped looking at Wuxue, but stayed planted at her side without moving an inch.

“Can’t you go do something else?” Too much had happened over the past two days, and Wuxue was already in a foul mood. This ugly, clingy woman was getting on her nerves.

The singer propped her chin on her hand and thought about it, but didn’t seem to come up with anything. “What do you think I should do?”

“Aren’t you a scrap collector? Take your cart and go to work.” Wuxue emphasized, “I’m not going to run.”

The singer suddenly grinned, leaving Wuxue utterly baffled.

“What’s so funny?” Wuxue asked.

“Tell me, why do you think I collect scrap?” the singer asked in turn.

“Money…” Wuxue suddenly didn’t want to continue the conversation. Her head was starting to spin. Had she offended some deity? She’d gone from being a top-tier bounty hunter to a nobody taking small jobs. Yesterday, she’d been outsmarted by a rookie, and today, to make matters worse, a scrap collector had spent the entire day guarding her in this room.

A fresh wave of anger rose in Wuxue. She spun around and slapped the singer.

“Why’d you hit me?” The singer was stunned. She’d been slapped out of nowhere. Nothing had even happened.

“You’re ugly!” Wuxue said. She couldn’t think of another reason.

“I…” the singer ran to the mirror and inspected herself. She was a little ugly, sure. Her face was already covered in dust, and now she’d acquired a handprint on her left cheek. Somehow, it had rubbed the dust away and revealed her face.

“I’m not ugly by choice,” the singer mumbled, covering her cheek.

“Then why don’t you clean yourself up?!” Wuxue yelled. She couldn’t explain it, but the more she looked at the singer, the angrier she became.

The singer reminded her of Torre, who’d ambushed her. He’d been just as timid and weak-willed, and just as greedy for money. The sight of him had sickened her. Maybe the miserable memories from her childhood had come flooding back. Maybe everything that had happened in recent years had left her with nowhere to vent her anger.

Now the singer stood before her as the embodiment of everything she’d hated about her childhood. She’d appeared at the very moment Wuxue felt most unlucky, and all the grievances she’d been holding in had piled up. The weak, helpless singer had become the perfect target.

“How can you be content living like this? You’ve got some skill. Why don’t you work hard and get out of here? Look at you! You’re filthy and pathetic, and you’re over the moon about two hundred thousand Orb. Is it really worth it? Do you know how much gold my gun is worth? You could kill me and sell the gun! The medicine and the clothes are worth more than your two hundred thousand Orb! If you’re so desperate to get rich, kill me and sell the gun, like Torre did. Instead, you hang around me like a fly! Someone like you is completely—hopeless!”

As soon as the words left Wuxue’s mouth, she froze. She couldn’t believe she’d said them.

For a moment, she’d felt like a different person. She used to live with such pride. Now she was back in the slums, a little girl brimming with anger and hate.

That year, Su Wuxue was nine years old…

“Wuxue! We’re out of flour. Go ask the Hawks next door for some!” The woman’s loud voice carried all the way from Wuxue’s shack into the street. Even without shouting, Hawke next door would probably have known the Su family had come to borrow flour again.

“You little brat, didn’t you hear me?” When Wuxue didn’t move, the woman marched up and twisted her ear hard.

“I’m not going! Go yourself.”

Wuxue felt as though her ear was about to come off, but she knew exactly what was going on. Hawke had gone into her stepmother’s room the night before. If Wuxue spent a night in his room, he’d give their family ten pounds of flour.

“You’re not going? Are you trying to starve your deadbeat father to death?” the woman drawled, her voice like a crow on its last legs.

“Didn’t you want him dead already?” Wuxue glared right back.

The woman couldn’t take that kind of defiance. She grabbed a stick and beat Wuxue with it. Every blow left another bloody welt.

“Are you going or not? Are you going or not?”

“I’d rather die!” Wuxue broke free, and in the brief struggle, she managed to kick the woman hard.

After that, Wuxue’s memories grew hazy. She only remembered running faster and faster until she reached Qiongna’s house. Qiongna handed her a cup of water…

“Water… water…” Wuxue’s heart fluttered with panic. The memories coming back made her feel awful.

“Here. Have some water.”

The singer had spoken.

“Thank you.”

Wuxue took the cup. It was tea, but the moldy taste was more choking than cheap liquor.

The singer said nothing. She just held the kettle and waited for Wuxue to finish. Wuxue felt a flicker of shame. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way.

Deep down, she knew the truth. The only person who disgusted her was herself.

“I’m sorry…” Wuxue kept her head down and didn’t notice the singer’s expression. She only heard her footsteps hurry out of the room.

Wuxue sat down and rested her head on the round table. Too much had happened over the past few months, and she was exhausted. She knew perfectly well why she’d brought Torre here: she no longer had what it took to take on better jobs. Two months ago, one assignment had cost her her standing among bounty hunters. She’d killed her own client, and there was no way back to where she’d been. Now she was a pariah, no different from the person she’d once been.

“I think you’re tired. Why don’t you get some sleep?” The singer’s footsteps sounded as she came back in.

“Mm.”

Wuxue gave a brief answer but didn’t lift her head. The singer’s kindness only made her feel more ashamed. “Thank you.”

“It’s fine. Around here…” the singer spoke with an air of worldly experience. “People end up like this all the time. Some lose their minds and never come back. Others can still do what you did—ask for a cup of water.”

Wuxue knew that people in poor places were more likely to lose their minds. The singer had probably seen it many times before.

“There’s only one bed, and it’s definitely not as clean as the ones in town. Don’t complain. We can squeeze in tonight.”

The singer tidied the bedding as she spoke, as casually as if it were nothing. “Just for tonight. You won’t need to come back after this.”

The singer wasn’t actually that unpleasant. Wuxue had only found fault with everything she did because of her own mood. Other than being a little shameless and greedy, the singer was an ordinary person.

“I won’t short you.”

Wuxue got up to wash. The singer was right: tomorrow, it would all be over. She’d return to the city, find Torre, and beat him to a pulp. Then she’d go back to living alone.

But the moment Wuxue lifted her head, she froze.

“You’re… Shisan?”

She’d finally recalled the name. There was no resemblance at all between the woman before her and the singer she’d seen earlier.

For one thing, there was her face.

It was beautiful. Her eyes were so black they looked like deep lakes with no bottom. Her brows were unruly from neglect, but still had the graceful curve of willow branches. She’d wiped off the thick layer of white makeup. Malnourished, her complexion was sallow, and her face was naturally gaunt. Yet those sharp features gave her a certain worn, desolate beauty. It was a world away from the shameless woman she’d seen earlier that day.

“That’s right.”

Shisan patted the blankets to soften them. “Is there a problem?”

Wuxue was still captivated by her face. A hint of irony rose in her heart. The singer wasn’t ugly at all.

“Your name is Shisan?” Maybe the singer had surprised her too much, but Wuxue found herself curious.

“Luo Shisan,” the singer said, giving her full name.

“Your surname is Luo? Where are you from?” Wuxue had traveled all over the world, but she had never heard of a Luo clan out here.

“My surname is Luo,” Shisan explained. “The nun at the church gave it to me. She said I fell from the sky like a dropped bird, so she gave me the surname Luo—‘Fallen’—and since I was the thirteenth child she took in, I became Luo Shisan — ‘Thirteen’. That little girl from earlier was found on the roadside a year before me, so her surname became Jian—‘Picked-Up’—Twelve. The kids who were left as gifts at the church door got the surname Zeng—‘Donated.’ Old Seven and Old Eight were among them.”

Wuxue almost laughed. What kind of person came up with a naming system like that?

“All right, the bed’s ready. Get some sleep.”

Shisan hopped onto the bed and squeezed herself into the corner by the wall. She turned to face it, as if she didn’t want to talk anymore.

Wuxue climbed in too. The bed wasn’t as dirty as Shisan had claimed. It even smelled faintly sweet. Some people said that smell came from dust mites dying in the sun. To Wuxue, though, it was the smell of warmth.