Most had their collars fastened tight, some even wrapped in scarves.
But Zhao Zilin and Du Qinghui, fresh from crossing the line, were inseparable. Du Qinghui, ever wary of Song Mianmian’s striking beauty and afraid Zhao Zilin would be drawn away, deliberately left her collar half-open every time she visited the Zhao home, offering teasing glimpses of what lay beneath.
Song Mianmian had learned this for herself and overheard Du Qinghui muttering it aloud after she died. Back then, it had turned her stomach. Now, she felt only a dark sharp satisfaction that made things so much easier.
Glancing sideways, she saw Zhao Zilin hunched over, scribbling furiously on a transfer deed, wholly absorbed in the forgery. Her eyes narrowed. In one swift step, she lunged forward, left hand closing tight around Du Qinghui’s collar…
With her bloodied right hand, she reached straight inside, closing her fingers around the small jade butterfly pendant.
She had worn it since childhood. Her parents had told her it was not worth much in coin, but it carried their blessing a gift to cherish always. She had. Three years before, Zhao Zilin had seen it while visiting, borrowed it for a day or two, and never given it back.
In her past life, trapped within a mile of Du Qinghui, she had come to realize something she was not bound to the woman she was bound to the pendant, to the space it held. Du Qinghui spoke to herself constantly there, and so Song Mianmian had learned every secret. She knew that a drop of blood could bind the space in an instant. Once claimed, the jade would show no outward change it would appear as normal, or vanish entirely, leaving only a butterfly-shaped red mark on its owner’s skin.
The stone was cold against her palm. Song Mianmian cast her awareness inward, confirming the space was hers now, settled deep in her mind. A faint sharp smile touched her lips. She pulled hard. The cord left a deep bruising mark across Du Qinghui’s nape before she freed pendant and string in one clean motion.
Song Mianmian had always seemed soft meek someone who would never fight back. Du Qinghui was completely unprepared. She shrieked and lunged to snatch it back, but Song Mianmian was already at the door, throwing it wide.
Zhao Zilin’s shouting, intended to ruin her reputation, had drawn a crowd of neighbours. It was early afternoon most were at work, but many who stayed home with children had gathered outside. Several stumbled forward as the door swung open, spilling into the room. Silence fell, awkward and heavy.
Before anyone could speak, Song Mianmian’s voice rang out clear sweet and unyielding.
“Grandpas Grandmas Aunts Sisters may I ask you all to be witnesses? First Du Qinghui accused me of pushing her, and when she fell and hurt her forehead, she struck back and knocked me down too. Du Qinghui have you anything to say first?”
Du Qinghui cared nothing for the argument. She needed her pendant back. She knew fine things this one was not especially valuable, yet from the moment Zhao Zilin had shown it to her, it had felt as though it belonged to her. Now it was gone, and panic flared but she masked it, sighing deeply and looking at Song Mianmian with feigned pity.
“Mianmian you pushed me to steal it. I should be generous, as you are Zilin’s sister but this is my family heirloom, from my grandmother. I cannot give it up. Please, let me have it back. I will give you one hundred yuan buy another for yourself, won’t you?”
She expected Song Mianmian to fly into a rage. Instead, the girl smiled, cold and sharp.
“Du Qinghui can you read?”
Confusion rippled through the room. What did that have to do with anything? Had she lost her mind?
Song Mianmian picked up a magnifying glass from where it lay, used by Zhao’s mother for threading needles.
“There is my name, carved into it,” she said, holding the pendant aloft. “Small but clear enough to see.”
She held it out. Neighbours leaned in, squinting through the glass Song Mianmian, carved into the jade. Those who could read nodded. “It is true it bears her name.” Zhao’s mother stepped forward. “That is the betrothal pendant given to our family it belongs to Mianmian.”
Du Qinghui burned with rage. She longed to grab it and smash it, but she saw it was hopeless. She steadied herself, voice thick with manufactured tears.
“I am so sorry truly I am! I saw it and thought it was mine exactly like the one my grandmother left me. I must have dropped it here, I thought I was mistaken. Forgive me, Mianmian? I will kneel if I must!”
She sank as if to kneel. Zhao Zilin caught her, face dark with fury, and turned on Song Mianmian.
“Even if it is yours, could you not have spoken civilly? You hurt her! If anyone should apologise, it is you!”
He stepped toward her, hand raised.