The bitter cold crept along the ground and seeped into the bones. Every breath turned into white mist in the frigid air.
Floating Cloud lay face down on the wooden bed. Her breathing remained weak, though it had become steadier. Around the edges of the thick bandages wrapped across her back, a faint stain of dark-red blood could still be seen.
Each time Qin Shu looked at the raised bandages that bore witness to such cruelty, the icy fire burning inside her chest blazed even hotter.
She sat beneath the window as the worn wooden chair creaked beneath her weight.
Spread before her were Illustrated Elementary Thousand Character Classic and Supplement to Materia Medica, yet her fingertips rested nowhere upon the pages.
Her deep brown eyes were as calm as a frozen lake, concealing violent currents beneath the ice.
Jiang Chen’s words echoed over and over in her mind.
“Warehouse No. 3 at the docks… complete sets of hard goods… the key is hidden inside the secret compartment in the study… the ledger and the agreement are behind Tiger Descending the Mountain…”
The path toward revenge was as clear as a blade carved into stone.
Yet it was also as unreachable as a heavenly chasm.
She was imprisoned inside this living tomb.
Even Floating Cloud’s medicine had to be delivered by Jiang Chen at great personal risk.
How could she ever get close to the heavily guarded study?
How could she learn the exact movements of that shipment of weapons?
She needed a channel.
A silent one.
An inconspicuous one.
One capable of carrying what she saw inside this prison beyond its walls.
Her gaze unconsciously drifted toward the battered food basket sitting in the corner.
A-Fu had quietly left it there the previous day.
Inside had been two cold steamed corn buns and a bowl of watery vegetable soup.
Beneath them had rested a small bundle of clean coarse cloth, washed until it had nearly turned white and still carrying the faint scent of soapberries.
That insignificant act of kindness was like a firefly in the darkness.
Weak…
Yet pointing toward a possible path.
A-Fu.
The silent, stooped figure.
The mute servant whose cloudy eyes had always carried profound sympathy.
The lowest servant struggling to survive in the Governor’s Mansion kitchen.
He was the only person who could move with relative freedom between the kitchen, the servants’ courtyard, and perhaps even the alley behind the storage buildings.
The food he delivered was the only thing entering this prison that would never arouse suspicion.
Her heart pounded heavily within her frozen chest.
The risk was enormous.
If they were discovered…
A-Fu would undoubtedly die.
But the blood streaming down Floating Cloud’s back…
Xu Feng’s cold expression…
Qin Yan’s venomous smile…
Each burned against her heart like red-hot branding irons, overwhelming every trace of hesitation.
She had to take the first step.
Even if it was nothing more than the faintest whisper carried by the wind…
She had to let it escape these towering walls.
Qin Shu stood and walked toward the battered camphor wood chest in the corner.
She opened the lid.
Inside were only a few worn-out pieces of clothing…
And a much smaller wooden box that was just as old.
She removed the half-empty box of cheap rouge whose contents had long since dried into dark clumps.
Then she picked up the small tin tube Jiang Chen had left behind.
It contained the last remnants of a dark medicinal ointment once used to treat burns.
Its color was a deep brown, almost black.
Returning to the table, she carefully scraped off a little of the dried rouge powder with her fingertip before squeezing out a small amount of the thick ointment.
She mixed them together on the rough tabletop.
The dark brown paste carried the pungent scent of medicine mixed with a faint trace of cosmetics.
She picked up an old writing brush whose bristles had nearly worn away.
After dipping it into the homemade “ink,” the brush emerged coated in a thick, dark pigment.
She spread open a blank title page she had torn from Supplement to Materia Medica.
The paper was yellowed and coarse.
Qin Shu drew a slow breath.
A flash of unwavering determination passed through her deep brown eyes.
She recalled Jiang Chen’s words.
She recalled the fragments she had overheard.
The brush touched the paper.
Her movements were slightly awkward…
Yet remarkably steady.
She did not write words.
The handful of characters she knew would be far too easy to identify.
Instead…
She chose to draw.
First…
She sketched a square.
It represented a warehouse.
In the upper-right corner of the square, she firmly placed three bold ink dots.
Warehouse No. 3.
Next to the warehouse, she drew several short, slanted vertical lines resembling iron bars.
Those represented the “hard goods.”
The weapons.
Finally, beneath the warehouse, she drew a tiny, crooked outline of a boat with its bow pointing toward the warehouse.
It represented an arrival.
The entire drawing was simple.
Crude.
Its clumsy lines resembled a child’s doodle.
But Qin Shu believed Jiang Chen would understand it.
The drawing contained the location…
The cargo…
And its current status.
It was the most vital information she was capable of sending.
The ink slowly dried in the cold air, releasing the mixed scents of medicine and rouge.
Qin Shu stared at the crude drawing.
Her heart pounded wildly in her throat.
That tiny sheet of paper carried the first step of her revenge.
It also carried A-Fu’s life.
Carefully, she folded it into the smallest square possible.
It became no larger than a fingernail.
She walked over to the old food basket A-Fu had left behind.
It had been woven from fine wicker and lined at the bottom with waterproof oil paper.
Lifting one corner of the oil paper, she exposed the rough gaps between the woven reeds beneath.
She carefully tucked the folded paper into the deepest crevice.
Then she covered it again with the oil paper and smoothed everything flat.
From the outside…
The basket looked completely ordinary.
Nothing appeared unusual.
After finishing, she closed the basket and placed it beside the door where it would be easy to notice.
A short while later, Qin Shu walked to the window.
She picked up a rag that had been wedged beneath the broken window lattice.
Its edges were stained dark brown with medicinal residue.
With the utmost solemnity…
She tied the rag onto a protruding wooden splinter on the outside of the window.
The cold wind caught the strip of cloth, causing it to flutter gently.
It was a signal for A-Fu.
There was something he needed to take away.
Time crawled forward through silence and unbearable anxiety.
Qin Shu sat beside Floating Cloud’s bed.
Her fingers unconsciously traced the blood-covered character “Hatred” on the pages of Thousand Character Classic.
Every time footsteps sounded outside the courtyard…
Her heart tightened violently.
Was it the old woman delivering meals?
The patrolling soldiers?
Or…
A-Fu?
The sun climbed laboriously toward noon.
Its pale light filtered through the broken window, casting several long slanting beams across the icy stone floor.
At last…
The familiar slow, dragging footsteps echoed beyond the courtyard gate.
A key scraped harshly inside the lock.
The courtyard gate opened.
A-Fu’s stooped figure appeared in the doorway.
Another battered food basket hung from his hand.
As always, his cloudy eyes remained lowered toward the ground.
The same expression of sorrow and numbness was etched deeply into his face.
He shuffled slowly toward the stone steps.
Setting down the fresh basket, he bent over to pick up the old basket Qin Shu had prepared.
There was not the slightest pause in his movements.
Everything appeared as ordinary as every other day he had come to collect empty bowls.
Yet…
The instant his withered fingers touched the basket’s handle…
His movement paused ever so slightly.
His eyes darted toward the fluttering strip of medicine-stained cloth tied to the window lattice.
Qin Shu stood hidden within the shadows of the room.
Holding her breath.
Her deep brown eyes remained fixed upon A-Fu.
He did not look up.
Within his cloudy eyes…
The stagnant numbness seemed disturbed by a tiny stone.
Ripples spread across its surface.
Was it fear?
Understanding?
Or immeasurable sorrow?
The emotion was complicated…
Brief…
So fleeting it might easily have been imagined.
His shriveled fingers tightened around the basket’s handle.
His knuckles turned pale from the force.
He lifted the basket.
His movements remained slow and heavy.
As though it weighed a thousand pounds.
Bent beneath his burden, he silently shuffled away from the Side Courtyard just as he had come.
The cold wind lifted the greasy hem of his clothing.
Behind him…
The courtyard gate was locked once more.
The harsh scrape of metal against metal echoed with suffocating finality.
Qin Shu remained where she stood.
Her back was perfectly straight.
Like a statue carved from stone.
Her deep brown eyes followed the direction in which A-Fu disappeared.
For the first time…
The calm lake within her heart rippled violently because of a fragile signal filled with uncertainty.
Slowly, she withdrew her gaze.
It settled upon the new food basket A-Fu had brought.
Inside…
The same coarse, cold food awaited her.
She ignored the food.
Instead, she crouched down and lifted the basket’s lid.
Her fingers searched the bottom layer until they touched the familiar bundle of neatly folded coarse cloth that had been washed nearly white.
She took it out and gripped it tightly in her hand.
The rough fabric pressed painfully against the old wounds that had yet to heal on her palm.
That pain…
Mixed with the pounding fear brought by the enormous risk…
Along with a current of something called hope…
Shot through every inch of her body in an instant.
She tightened her grip until her knuckles turned white.
Qin Shu rose to her feet and walked to the table.
Her eyes settled upon the open pages of Illustrated Elementary Thousand Character Classic.
Still clutching the piece of cloth, she pressed its rough surface firmly against one boldly written character on the page.
The character was—
“Beginning.”