“Tomorrow at dusk, go to the gate of Xunfang Pavilion. You’ll meet a man with a mole on his brow — he’s the son of Master Li from Muzi Alley. Work your way into his good graces. With your looks it’ll be easy. Convince him to take you home. There’s an eight‑trigram mirror above their door; make him take it down. Only then can I get in.”
Early the next morning, Madam Zhang knocked on Qin Manman’s door.
Manman had dashed out late the night before and only come back in the small hours; Zhang was worried sick. She’d come to check on her daughter at first light.
When Manman opened the door, Zhang froze. This wasn’t the frail, scarred girl she’d left at home. Manman was dressed to kill — an effortless, dangerous kind of beauty. The old scar on her forehead was gone, as if painted away by dawn.
Zhang’s hand went up as if to touch her face, incredulous. “Manman… your scar — where did it go?”
Manman snapped the hand away with an impatient flick. “Mother, I’ve things to do. I’m leaving. I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you off to this time?” Zhang wanted to ask, but Manman was already walking away, not looking back. Zhang stood in the doorway, baffled. Had her eyes gone? Had she been mistaken? The change was impossible.
Across the street in the Shan’an Quarter, Wanruo was up at sunrise too, but for a very different reason. She’d set up a little stall in front of the Shanan Apothecary, a rough plank table propped with blocks, a hand‑painted sign propped up like a small shrine: “One coin, one talisman — safety guaranteed.” On the pole above she’d tied a banner that read: “Bai — Half‑Sage.” She’d laid out yellow paper, a brush, red cinnabar; she looked every bit the part she intended to play.
She sat with a grin, waiting for customers.
An hour passed. No one stopped. A few curious passersby glanced, smirked at the novelty of a pretty girl pretending to tell fortunes, then moved on. Wanruo tried hawking louder, trying to draw them in, but the crowd kept thinning. She was beginning to wonder if the whole thing had been a foolish idea when a commotion a short way off caught her attention.
A woman was being hauled backward, hair disheveled, fingers clawing at a young man’s sleeve. “Give me back my child! You’ll pay for this! You filthy—!” she screamed.
The man — young, smug, surrounded by four attendants — sneered. “Throw the madwoman out. Get her away from me!”
The attendants dragged the woman to the side and began kicking and beating her without restraint. People watched, uneasy but unwilling to intervene. Either they feared the young man or they’d already dismissed the woman as a raving lunatic.
Wanruo’s blood boiled. She was just about to run forward when the young man advanced, his eyes sweeping the crowd. He stopped at Wanruo’s stall.
He was thin as a reed, prettily dressed. A small mole rested between his brows. He looked like the kind of man who took women for granted and threw them away after amusement. He leered. “White Half‑Sage! What luck — a charming little beauty. One coin for a talisman? You’re giving things away. Why don’t you come with me? Keep me company and I’ll cover you with gold and jewels.”
Wanruo smiled, venomous. “Young master, your brow is black with misfortune. You won’t live long if I don’t do something about it. How about you kneel before Auntie and I’ll be merciful — give you a strip of safety paper and maybe save your worthless life.”
The insult took him by surprise. Rage flared. He grabbed her wrist. “Be grateful I take notice of you, wench. Don’t be so ungrateful.”
Before he could puff up further, Wanruo slapped him — a clean, swift slap that left a red mark. She’d been fed up with men like him for a long time; it felt good to strike back.
He recoiled, clutching his cheek, stunned. “You dare hit me? I get what I want. Get them — teach her a lesson!”
His goons lunged.
Wanruo backed up, eyes flashing. Four against one was dangerous, even for her. She raised her arms to protect her head, bracing for the blows.
Then a few sharp sounds cut through the air. The skirmish fell silent.
When Wanruo opened her eyes the crowd had shifted. A tall, composed man stood between her and the attackers. He’d moved like a shadow — quick, precise. The thugs were scattered on the ground, groaning and nursing bruises.
The newcomer’s face was unreadable. He looked up at the banner over Wanruo’s stall. “Bai… Half‑Sage?” His expression darkened. “You use my name to con people?”
Wanruo flushed, caught. “Oh— you noticed? Don’t be mad. Let me explain—” She tried to laugh it off.
But before she could, he’d grabbed her by the collar and hauled her toward the lane.
The humiliated young master lay curled on the ground, clutching a ruined arm. The man who’d defended Wanruo hadn’t spared him either. He’d seized the fellow’s arm and crunched down hard enough that the man screamed — not from bravado but from real pain. A snap, a few agonized howls, and a foot to the gut had sent him flying several lengths. He scrambled up with his minions’ help and fled, howling threats behind him.
Wanruo stood gaping. The man who’d intervened — white jacket, eyes like winter — was impossibly composed and, impossibly, handsome.
A few people pushed forward, applauding. The alley buzzed with praise.
The young master didn’t go far. When he could move he limped to a small clinic where a physician wrapped his arm in coarse bandages and hung it in a sling. The doctor shook his head. “That limb’s likely ruined for a while.”
He stormed out burning with humiliation and a hunger for revenge. His hand curled into a fist and, forgetting the injured arm, he kicked the nearest servant hard just to let off steam. “This is a debt that can’t stand! I’ll make him pay!”
By evening, close to dusk, Li Xinghuai — for that was his name, the son of Master Li from Muzi Alley — and his entourage drifted toward Xunfang Pavilion, looking for diversion. His temper still steamed beneath his coat. He’d barely reached the front gate, ready to curse someone, when he lifted his eyes and froze.
Standing at the entrance was a woman who looked like she had walked out of a dream. Her face was the kind that made people forget sentences. For a moment the world narrowed to the tilt of her chin, the light catching her eyes.
Li’s heart thudded with a dangerous mix of desire and recognition. He took a step forward, then another, as if drawn by a force he had no right to obey.