Little Pink Starfish

The Red Mole

These past few days, Doctor Qi had been frequently absent from Baicaotang during the day. Hua Rongyue heard he was quite busy — the local yamen had several prisoners needing treatment, and Doctor Qi, being one of the best doctors in town and an old acquaintance of Yan Sheng, was often called in.

Security in Jiangnan had grown increasingly unstable, leading to a surge in criminals — many of them martial artists — in the local jails. Mangled limbs were a common sight.

Lately, Doctor Qi had been trying to persuade Hua Rongyue to consider joining the Six Doors. He genuinely believed it to be a promising career. The two taels of silver per month were already generous, and the benefits were excellent. Membership came with privileges — and status. It was a completely different world from Baicaotang.

“The Six Doors and Baicaotang are like heaven and earth,” he said. “Anyone with sense knows which one to pick.”

Hua Rongyue didn’t know how to respond. She had, in fact, been thinking about it. Was joining the Six Doors something she could consider for the next few decades of her life? Initially, she’d never even thought about it. But with Doctor Qi’s repeated prodding, she was beginning to waver.

It really did seem like a good path. After all, she had already escaped Tianyi Tower — perhaps it was time to try living a “normal” life. In the world of normal people, it was only natural to strive upward. To not consider the next decades of her life seemed almost irresponsible.

Had she ever imagined herself working as an intern nurse in a small rural clinic? Not really. She’d always studied hard, worked diligently. But now that she had lived through a second life, why had she chosen such a humble role?

Perhaps it was because there was still a barrier in her heart that she hadn’t been able to cross.

The Jianghu was chaotic. Even the Six Doors, which merely brushed against the Jianghu, wasn’t exactly a peaceful escape. If she could avoid this world entirely in this life, would she be able to live safely?

Her mood was already turbulent, and Doctor Qi’s constant pestering only made it worse.

To make matters more complicated, since Wan Fulián found out that Hua Rongyue truly had roamed the Jianghu — and hadn’t just made it up — she’d been pestering her for stories. Hua Rongyue could only respond with bitter smiles. First, there were things she knew but couldn’t say. Second, anytime she spoke with Wan Fulián for too long, the “ghostly shadow” of Xiao Han would appear behind her. The way he stared at her gave her chills.

Between the nagging of Doctor Qi and Wan Fulián and Xiao Han’s ever-present lurking, Hua Rongyue started seizing every opportunity to leave Baicaotang and breathe.

“Wu Ming hasn’t been feeling well lately,” Doctor Qi said. “I’ve prepared a few doses of medicine for him. If you’re free, can you take them over?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll go.” Hua Rongyue instantly forgot the oath she once swore never to visit Wu Ming again. Grabbing a parasol, she took the medicine and dashed out.

She let out a long sigh once outside, finally able to breathe again.

The Eighteen Pavilion District was just as winding as before. Rain had just fallen, muting the foul smell in the air. The sky was dim — even during the day, there wasn’t much light. Maybe that twilight atmosphere had made the residents more active than last time.

After walking a short distance, Hua Rongyue sensed something was wrong. She could hear vague sounds behind her and instantly regretted not asking Doctor Qi for a lantern. She picked up her pace and nearly ran the rest of the way to Wu Ming’s shop.

Once she turned into the alley, the noise behind her ceased, and she finally relaxed. She knocked on Wu Ming’s door.

Wu Ming looked a little surprised to see her.

“I brought your medicine,” she said without delay, handing him the bundle.

“Did you come alone?” Wu Ming asked as he limped to let her in. “Good timing. I finished that painting I said I’d give you. You can take it with you.”

The room was messier than before. A faintly sweet smell filled the air. On the table sat a large cup filled with red “paint.”

Hua Rongyue recognized it — a medicinal dye Yi Linglong once used to mask the blood-red color of her eyes after qi deviation. It was applied by grinding the substance, heating it lightly over fire, and then pricking acupoints under the eyes to inject the pigment. It was painful, and once started, required continual use or else the eyes would revert to red.

People who used this dye often bore a telltale sign — a small red mark under the eye or on the brow, resembling a beauty mark. To insiders, that “mole” was more than decorative — it was a giveaway.

Yi Linglong had a red dot at her brow, though she usually concealed it with thick powder. Everyone in the know understood what it meant.

Hua Rongyue had once wondered whether Wu Ming’s poetic description of “crimson epiphyllum” referred to Yi Linglong’s eye color. Given his profession, it was highly possible. And sure enough, he handed her a portrait — one that left her speechless.

It was clearly her, but with red eyes.

…Was this man not afraid of getting punched?

Wu Ming looked half-asleep, too lazy to tell whether he had crossed a line or was just clueless. Maybe another case of low emotional intelligence.

“I spent a long time on this piece,” Wu Ming said wistfully. “It took forever to get the eye color right. Truly a stunning hue. When I finished it, I thought it looked beautiful — though it doesn’t quite match your current temperament.”

Compliment or insult? In the martial world, no one wanted a portrait of themselves looking like a madwoman.

A professional hazard, maybe.

Hua Rongyue stared at the painting, emotions mixed. The features were identical to hers, yet it wasn’t her — it was Yi Linglong, right at the onset of her descent into madness.

Back then, Yi Linglong still dressed modestly. Her dignified features paired with those vivid red eyes made her both elegant and mysterious.

It was exactly Hua Rongyue’s type — a touch of glamor nestled within refinement. That faint hint of allure was just enough to stir the heart. Yi Linglong’s appearance had always been like that — subtly breathtaking.

Oddly, her face wasn’t overtly feminine. There was a heroic sharpness to her features.

In women’s clothing, she was beautiful. In men’s clothing, no one ever suspected her true gender.

Despite the delicate refinement and vivid red eyes, her first impression always left others thinking, “What a striking young man.”

Hua Rongyue believed this was due to Yi Linglong’s perfectly balanced features — androgynous beauty required a special kind of gift.

In daily life, Hua Rongyue gave off a strict, clean-cut vibe, without much allure. But in this painting, that buried glamor was drawn out by the red eyes, making it stand out.

So this was how Yi Linglong used to look, before she transformed herself into something unrecognizable?

Hua Rongyue studied the portrait carefully.

Undeniably beautiful. But dressed in male clothing, it would be perceived as a man’s face. Perhaps Yi Linglong had truly hated this look.

— The man she loved probably wouldn’t accept her as she was. Yet in that situation, she had no choice but to keep wearing the “man’s clothing.”

In the end, maybe her obsession with femininity wasn’t about appearance at all.

Hua Rongyue thought this face was already more than beautiful enough. But Yi Linglong didn’t agree.

She would rather bury her pale skin under thick powder, masking that breathtaking natural androgyny.

She’d rather wear flashy clothes, chasing after what she believed was essential “femininity.”

Perhaps the man she loved had once said something that left a mark.

After sitting for a bit, Hua Rongyue got up to leave. She’d only come to deliver medicine, after all.

But as she prepared to leave, she realized she had no lantern. Worse still, Doctor Qi couldn’t find a spare.

She turned to see Wu Ming deep in thought. She decided to stay and watch how he’d handle it.

“Ah, I’ve got it,” he suddenly said aloud. He picked up a clean brush, dipped it carefully into the red “paint,” and leaned in close to Hua Rongyue.

He dabbed a red mark under her eye.

“Wu, Wu Ming, what are you doing?” Hua Rongyue recoiled. She hadn’t expected this at all. She thought he was adding a final touch to the portrait — not painting on her face. But Wu Ming simply waved his hand like a typical whimsical artist and said, “Nothing. You can go. Just be careful on your way back.”

So Hua Rongyue left with a small red mole under her eye. She was a bit dazed. Why would he draw this on her?

Worried someone might recognize her, she quickly pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to cover her face and opened her umbrella.

She tried to wipe it off, but the pigment was stubborn — hard to remove, which explained why those who used it often had permanent red marks.

Soon, however, she understood Wu Ming’s intent.

On the way back, she passed someone. That person took a glance at her face — noted the red mole under her eye — and walked past without a second glance, showing neither hostility nor desire.

It dawned on Hua Rongyue.

He had mistaken her for one of his own.

In this alley, “kindred” did not harm each other.

---

“It’s raining outside. Why hasn’t Rongyue come back yet?” Doctor Qi glanced at the light drizzle, a bit worried.

At that moment, someone entered Baicaotang. Wan Fulián, who had gone out shopping, brushed off the rain from her hair and said cheerfully, “Doctor Qi, don’t worry! I ran into Lord Yan on the road — he said he’s heading to the Eighteen Pavilion District and will bring Rongyue back.”

At that time, Hua Rongyue was still walking alone through the winding alley, unaware — a red mark beneath her eye and a paper umbrella in hand.