Little Pink Starfish

These past few days, Hua Rongyue had been repeatedly indulging herself on various flower boats, eating and drinking to her heart’s content. The Six Doors no longer assigned troublemakers like Wang Lingchao to “stir things up.” But to Hua Rongyue, every time she stepped into an inn, with her posture and aura, it usually took no more than half an hour before everyone could recognize her identity.

Sometimes she even suspected she might have something about her that resembled Yi Linglong—or perhaps she’d been influenced after so long. Otherwise, how could people recognize her so quickly? Though this was technically just a job from the Six Doors, if they sent someone else in as casually as her to walk into a flower boat, they probably wouldn’t be recognized so easily.

Although Hua Rongyue’s constant eating, drinking, and playing might seem like slacking off compared to the others—Jiang Lianhuan, or even that young woman who reportedly took down an entire bandit gang—ever since the Six Doors discovered a “new function” in Hua Rongyue, they fully committed to the “eat-and-drink” strategy.

The origin of this whole affair was rather strange—it started with a newspaper.

Yes, even in ancient times, there were newspapers—both private and official. These were usually small booklets or single sheets. The official ones didn’t worry about funding, but private ones needed flashy stories to stay afloat. Anything with good traffic was highly desirable.

One particular issue of the Jiangnan Miscellaneous News carried all sorts of martial world updates—familiar stuff like which clan was wiped out by the Manchu, or which respected elder had recently passed away. But in a rather quirky section, they actually published an article on Yi Linglong’s recent fashion choices in Jiangnan.

The writer, by his own account, was just bored—and frankly, a little restless. After all, he had been present in one of the brothels that night and witnessed the whole event. Outsiders didn’t know that everyone who was present had been “gently reminded” by the authorities not to speak carelessly. He was timid and didn’t dare say much, but he couldn’t resist putting pen to paper.

So, drawing a bit on his work-related knowledge, he wrote a piece on Yi Linglong’s attire and submitted it. That particular issue was apparently running low on content, and somehow, it actually got published.

Surprisingly, that issue of the paper sold extremely well—so much so that it became a hot item, almost impossible to get. Though ancient newspapers couldn’t be printed in large volumes like modern ones, the unexpected popularity made the editor responsible for publishing the piece on Hua Rongyue’s clothes feel like he had hit the jackpot.

This bizarre phenomenon caught widespread attention, and some even jealously sneered, “So now you can make a living just by looking good?”

Even though the scene was unexpected and challenged many preconceived notions, it undeniably boosted the newspaper’s sales.

…

“You seem to be having it easy—eating and drinking for half a month and now you’re heading back. Do you even know how exhausted Jiang Lianhuan and the others are?” Li Zixin said.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Hua Rongyue replied. “Especially those kinds of words—say them and trouble might really follow.”

The two of them were drifting around the middle of the lake. Hua Rongyue had a bad feeling that Li Zixin had just set off a “flag”—and unfortunately, it might very well come true. After all, she was the only one who knew their mission was a complete mess.

Because it could really come true, Hua Rongyue had been lingering around the Qinhuai River these days, hoping to catch another glimpse of that dancer. Even if she couldn’t, when the massacre began, she’d at least be the first to hear about it—and if nothing else, she might save a few lives.

If not for concerns about drawing suspicion, she had even thought about writing a note—something like “A murder is about to occur on the Qinhuai River,” signed “Red Scarf.” But considering that she was under constant watch from the Six Doors, quietly passing on a message wasn’t exactly feasible.

That antidote Xing Hongming had given her did come in handy the next day. The Six Doors apparently got word that a Jiangnan martial artist planned to poison her. And that bottle? Completely clean—no funny business.

So Xing Hongming wasn’t reckless enough to tamper with something so easy to detect—or rather, he was more about the kind of tricks you couldn’t guard against. But Hua Rongyue was already used to being a walking target, so she didn’t mind.

In the middle of their conversation, Hua Rongyue suddenly saw a figure dancing like a butterfly on a nearby flower boat. She immediately stood up. Li Zixin, startled, followed suit. Hua Rongyue said, “Let’s go take a look.”

They boarded the boat. Today, Hua Rongyue had toned down her usual over-the-top flair, appearing a bit more subdued.

They watched for a while. Li Zixin then turned to her and asked, “Did you come here because of that dancer?”

He was close enough to sense it. Hua Rongyue shook her head, and he immediately said, “No need to explain. I get it.”

…Big brother, do you even know what you’re talking about? Hua Rongyue thought.

Actually, she was pondering something else entirely—this dancer still looked pretty stable. Among the mad ones, she seemed relatively gentle. What exactly had triggered her in the first place?

As for whether mad people had “stable periods,” Hua Rongyue could answer that. From experience, Yi Linglong did behave more rationally around Wu Wangyan—but would relapse once away from him. Perhaps Wu Wangyan was the cause of her breakdown?

She couldn’t make any firm conclusions yet, but it seemed the dancer had been staying on the Qinhuai River for quite some time. The fact that nothing serious had happened hinted at some special reason.

So she decided to observe and uncover the real “trigger.” Hua Rongyue drank and ate with Li Zixin, even inviting another Six Doors operative—one who had been lurking in the shadows—to join them.

Coincidentally, it was someone Hua Rongyue knew—Zhang Yue, a loud and carefree guy she’d met before.

He joined them and was still chatty, but he kept things more guarded now due to Hua Rongyue’s “status.” Still, the guy drank more than he should have, and on this bright, open boat, the atmosphere made it hard not to let loose.

Zhang Yue got tipsy and started grumbling to Li Zixin, “I really can’t stand Wang Lingchao. Always giving people that sideways look—his face just screams ‘punch me.’”

Li Zixin made a subtle hand gesture, telling him to be careful.

“Oh come on, what’s the big deal—hic—they can’t hear me…” Zhang Yue said, face flushed.

Apparently, he was the kind of drunk who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Hua Rongyue handed him a cup of tea to sober him up.

After the dance performance ended, as was custom in such establishments, rich merchants started picking out dancers they liked and taking them away. The remaining courtesans tidied up to rest. The dancer with the butterfly face paint, unsurprisingly, was a courtesan—but she didn’t leave. She seemed to have another performance.

Zhang Yue sobered up a little after the tea and sighed, “In the Six Doors, if you’ve got no money, no connections, and won’t play the loyal dog, life’s a grind. Look at those who do play the dog—living the high life.”

Hua Rongyue and Li Zixin didn’t respond. Sometimes, it’s best to let people vent.

After a while, the dancers went backstage to change. The butterfly-faced one didn’t move, and some arguing ensued. Hua Rongyue glanced over and saw her standing motionless, her expression angry.

After watching for a bit, she figured out what was going on—the next dance required a costume change, but the changing area was separated only by a flimsy curtain.

Being on a boat, they couldn’t exactly build real walls, and for aesthetic reasons, the “walls” were mostly layers of gauze and beaded curtains. From a distance, one could clearly see silhouettes even through the layers.

The butterfly dancer refused to change, while someone nearby kept apologizing, saying the boat was too cramped to offer anything better.

Naturally, this drew attention—countless men nearby were already staring, some seemingly ready to shout, “Hurry up!”

“Bullshit. There’s got to be other places on this boat,” Hua Rongyue muttered. Just then, a wave of alcohol hit her nose—Zhang Yue, pretending to be drunk, leaned close and whispered, “Don’t cause a scene. If something happens, they’ll come after you again. Not worth it for a dancer.”

“And this kind of place… is a mess. Help once, and you’ll be dragged into more later,” he added, still feigning a drunken expression.

“Zhang Yue’s right,” Li Zixin, who had been silent, finally spoke. “We’re outsiders. No need to stir trouble.”

“Besides, after you’ve seen enough of this, you just get used to it.”

Hua Rongyue looked around at them, then suddenly stood up and said calmly:

“If I go, I might regret it. But if I don’t go, I definitely will.”

As she walked away, neither of them spoke—they just watched her quietly.

Hua Rongyue walked toward the scene. Inside, she was a bit nervous too.

In other people’s eyes, this was just “flirting with a courtesan.”
But in her eyes… this was called playing with a time bomb.