Little Pink Starfish

Hua Rongyue was still deep in her “fight,” though in truth she was already exhausted. Sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. After all, even if she wasn’t in any real danger from this staged battle against dozens of opponents, putting on a convincing and thrilling show still required real effort.

She spotted Head Constable Jin approaching from afar and breathed a faint sigh of relief. When his sword thrust toward her, she tilted slightly to evade it.

Up until this point, not a single person had come close to touching her. Hua Rongyue, even while “holding back,” wasn’t the type to walk into a blade on purpose. She still didn’t know what kind of mechanism was hidden in the swords, but Jin was different. He wasn’t pulling any punches.

His strikes brought immense pressure—his swordsmanship was steady and unrelenting. Each swing felt like a mountain pressing down. Not necessarily fast, but unavoidable.

Hua Rongyue had assumed Jin would take it easy on her. Clearly, he wasn’t. The two exchanged no words. Their clash was purely mechanical—like a real duel. Even the other Six Doors members stepped back, instinctively keeping their distance, afraid of getting swept into the storm.

Those watching felt a strange sense of dissonance. Though they were right there, it was like they didn’t exist—utterly ignored by the two fighters.

Hua Rongyue, however, hadn’t forgotten her role. She was planning to end things soon, to “slip up” deliberately. She didn’t know the specifics of what Six Doors had planned, but she knew how to follow the script.

Then she and Jin clashed head-on. The battle moved to the bridge.

“…Isn’t that…?” someone on the river slowly recognized Head Constable Jin. “That’s Jin Qisheng, isn’t it?”

Jin’s presence alone was enough to stir the crowd. The moment he appeared, the scene exploded with whispers. Many wondered why he had suddenly shown up—hadn’t he been away for a long time?

As for Jin himself, he was genuinely fighting. Perhaps it was because he knew the secret of the mechanism in the sword. Or maybe because he’d stared at Hua Rongyue too long from the riverbank and had grown suspicious. Either way, he was serious now. His sword style was straightforward yet filled with hidden precision—simple on the surface, deadly underneath.

He had expected to overpower Hua Rongyue quickly. To his surprise, she matched him—steady, fluid, unshaken.

“She’s good,” a woman who had been standing beside Jin murmured as she watched him walk away. “Uncle Jin is as impressive as ever… just one strike, and the whole feel of the fight changes.”

Hua Rongyue figured it was about time. She prepared to show a “flaw” in her defense—just one, fleeting mistake.

In that split second—Jin’s sword pierced her clean through.

The river, which had been lively moments before, went utterly still. Then the crowd gasped in unison.

The sound from the Qinhuai River’s edge erupted, frightening many. Li Zixin and Zhang Yue, who had been fiddling with swords, froze and turned sharply. From their distance, they could only barely make out what had happened—but what they saw was unmistakable:

Jin’s sword had gone into Hua Rongyue’s abdomen.

Neither of them moved. It looked like a perfect still-life: one man holding the sword, the other struck through, frozen mid-scene.

“…Why isn’t Jin moving?” asked the woman who’d earlier praised his swordsmanship. She hadn’t immediately realized what had happened—until she looked more closely.

Jin himself seemed puzzled, as though something felt wrong. He tried to pull the sword back—what came out was a blade soaked deep red.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. The blade was meant to release only a small amount of vermillion powder for effect—not real blood. But the blood now dripping from the sword made it clear: this was no illusion.

It wouldn’t be long before the blood pooled at their feet.

Hua Rongyue was stunned.

She clutched her abdomen, mind racing to figure out what had just happened.

Was it an accident? …Or planned?

Was this whole mission a trap? Was Jin here not to act in a play—but to kill her because her identity had somehow been exposed?

At that moment, her heart was colder than her wound.

It had happened so fast that Hua Rongyue hadn’t even processed Jin’s expression or intent—her thoughts were consumed by one fact: he had stabbed her.

Elsewhere, Wang Lingchao’s expression shifted. He sneered coldly and muttered to himself: A ruthless man indeed… Always vengeful… It’s just a pity…

As for Xing Hongming—he’d been acting sick and absent. Wang Lingchao guessed he had likely fled, using this chaos as his exit. Xing had always disliked the constraints of Six Doors—perhaps now was his chance to vanish.

Back on the bridge, a storm of emotions erupted in Hua Rongyue’s chest—rage, disbelief, self-loathing. Rage not just at Jin, but at herself—for trusting too easily. She’d handed over her life like it meant nothing, a mistake she never thought she’d make.

Just like Yi Linglong had once done in the past—entrusting her fate to someone who didn’t deserve it.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“…What the hell is going on?” Li Zixin was panicked. He grabbed a different sword and tried it—it worked. Unlike his own, this one retracted properly.

He tried his own again. Still jammed. “No way—did someone mix real swords in by accident?”

Down by the water, others were reacting too. Wu Yan—real name Wu Wangyan—had just seen Yi Linglong get stabbed. It didn’t feel right. The “mistake” had come so suddenly, so unnaturally. Everything had been smooth—until that one gap, that single misstep.

It was a gap that should never have happened.

But what unsettled him even more… was how he felt when Jin stabbed her.

Why should he care so much about someone he’d only met once? Someone who was clearly a madman?

He told himself he was overthinking. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the bridge.

Hua Rongyue gripped the sword tightly. She knew her condition was bad. It wasn’t a fatal wound—yet. But if she didn’t act quickly, she could easily bleed to death.

And yet… something stirred within her.

The blood seemed to trigger a memory—or perhaps a state. Her brain lit up with something close to… euphoria.

It reminded her of what Yi Linglong was like when injured.

Most martial artists, when hurt, would grow fearful. That was natural.

But a rare few—when wounded—didn’t grow afraid. They got excited.

For them, blood didn’t represent fear. There were stories of fighters with arrows sticking out of them, still charging with red eyes through a battlefield. Others, drenched in their own blood, would tremble with thrill, not pain.

Hua Rongyue had always been a “normal” person.

But Yi Linglong… belonged to the other group.

She lowered her head slightly. But her hand clenched harder—and with a jolt, she ripped the sword out of her body, snatching it from Jin’s grasp.

“God—doesn’t that hurt?” someone gasped from the crowd.

Even those who hadn’t been stabbed winced just from watching. But Hua Rongyue showed no reaction. From their distance, they still couldn’t see her face. But they could all clearly see her smile.

The corners of her lips curled up—so sharply it was visible even from far away.

She was smiling.
And that smile chilled them to the bone.

“Hey—he’s smiling… He’s smiling!” someone cried.

They had watched her fight dozens of people earlier without blinking. But the moment she smiled, a wave of fear swept the crowd. Suddenly, many felt the need to leave.

Even Jin was still frozen in shock. He hadn’t expected this at all.

By the time he looked up and saw Hua Rongyue’s twisted grin, his scalp tingled in terror.

That expression on her face—it scared even him, a veteran lawman.

He realized something was wrong and prepared to defend himself. But it was too late.

Still bleeding, Hua Rongyue charged him again—blade raised.

The sword still sticking out of her didn’t slow her down in the slightest.

In that moment, Jin truly thought: This person… might actually be insane.