Lin Yun walked to the stove and said to her mother, "Mother, you rest, I'll take care of this."
Lin Yun looked up and smiled at her mother. The wound on her forehead had scabbed over, making her skin appear even paler, but her almond-shaped eyes shone brightly, like candlelight suddenly lit in the dark night.
She gently stirred the wild vegetables in the pot with a wooden spoon in her hand.
Lin's mother rubbed her aching wrists, but her eyes remained fixed on her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
Her rough fingers unconsciously rubbed the tattered cloth bag in her arms—the dozens of copper coins poked at her heart.
Lin Yun's gaze swept over the empty rice jar, but her thoughts drifted far away. These few dozen coins, at market price, could only buy a few pounds of coarse rice at most, enough to last no more than three days.
But if… her fingertips gently tapped the stove, and she suddenly remembered the bustling East Street in the original owner's memory—there were stalls selling rouge, peddlers carrying loads and shouting, and even a small bookstore.
If she could buy some cheap colored thread and embroider some novel patterns on her coarse cloth clothes, perhaps...
Lin's mother ladled the soup into two broken porcelain bowls. There was still one bowl left in the pot, presumably for Lin's father.
The soup was so clear you could see your reflection in it.
"Mom, I'm done eating." She put down her chopsticks, her voice as soft as a falling leaf.
Lin's mother raised her tired eyes, her gaze filled with heartache and helplessness. "Yun'er, you're still sick, go and lie down. I'll go to the foot of the mountain to pick some wild vegetables later, so that at least we'll have something to eat tonight..."
Lin Yun nodded, unaware of the reluctance in her mother's words.
She thought wild vegetables were everywhere and easy to find, but she didn't know that the world was hard. Even the wild vegetables at the foot of the mountain had been dug up, leaving only the bitter herbs in the deep mountains that no one cared about, and you had to cross mountains and valleys to find a few plants.
Looking at her daughter's thin back, Lin's mother felt as if her heart was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, the pain almost suffocating her.
Her Yun'er, who used to be so startled by even the slightest breeze that she would hide in her arms, is now... so quiet.
Lin Yun walked to the door, looked up, and stared blankly at the gray sky outside the window.
Her nose was high and straight, and although her lips were pale as cherry blossoms due to blood loss, the tight pursed lips exuded an unapproachable sternness. Most captivating were her almond-shaped eyes, slightly upturned at the corners. What should have been a charming curve was now filled with a sharp, razor-sharp edge, even slicing the morning light into fine golden dust.
Lin's mother had never realized so clearly that her Yun'er was beautiful enough to make the entire alley pale in comparison.
My daughter used to always have a hunched back, like a shy mimosa that couldn't bear the light. Even her most delicate features were dulled by sorrow.
But the girl standing in the morning light had her back straight, her neck stretched out like a swan, and her waist, wrapped in coarse cloth, was so slender it could be encircled with one hand.
The dilapidated window frame made her look like a lady who had stepped out of an ancient painting.
"Mother?" Lin Yun suddenly turned her head, her hair swaying in a glossy black arc.
The bowl in Lin's mother's hand crashed onto the stove with a "bang".
The moment she saw her daughter turn her face, a ray of persistent sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell directly on her forehead.
Above the strip of cloth, two delicate eyebrows, like distant mountains shrouded in green, were slightly furrowed in confusion.
If those vagrants at the alley entrance saw this expression, they would probably recite a sentimental poem about Xi Shi holding her heart on the spot.
"What's wrong?" Lin Yun took a few steps closer.
The ripples of her dress as she walked were more beautiful than those of others.
Lin's mother hurriedly wiped her hands with her apron, not even noticing that her rough fingers had been cut by the rim of the bowl.
She suddenly remembered the year Yun'er came of age, when the blind fortune teller at the end of the alley touched her daughter's hand bones and exclaimed "Phoenix Destiny!" At the time, she thought it was just flattery from a charlatan.
Now that it seems... Lin's mother's heart pounded.
"You're bleeding." Lin Yun grabbed her mother's hand and tore off a piece of her clothes without hesitation to bandage it.
Suddenly, a flurry of footsteps sounded outside the courtyard, and the deliberately amplified whispers of several women drifted through the cracks in the window: "Have you heard? The Lin family's daughter yesterday... Yes, Wang Wu said..."
Lin Yun paused in her bandaging.
"Yun'er, don't listen to those gossips..." Lin's mother hurriedly covered her ears.
"Mother, I'm going out for a bit." Lin Yun suddenly turned around and took the old reed hat from behind the door.
The crude straw hat pressed down, and the shadow immediately swallowed most of her face, leaving only the tip of her chin visible.
But it is precisely this fleeting glimpse of its curve that makes one even more eager to lift the veil and explore further.
Lin's mother grabbed her sleeve: "Wang Wu's men are definitely lurking at the alley entrance!"
Before he could finish speaking, the courtyard gate was suddenly kicked open, and three thugs with their shirts off staggered in. The leader, a scarred man, kicked over the clothes rack.
"Lady Lin—" The lewd, drawn-out sound abruptly stopped.
Scarface stared at the girl standing under the eaves with a straw hat, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he had swallowed a piece of burning coal.
Although he could only see her fingertips gripping the hat drawstring and a small section of her wrist, her clearly defined, fair skin already made his crotch tighten.
Lin Yun slowly raised her head.
The moment the reed hat was lifted, the entire courtyard fell silent.
The scar on her forehead, like cinnabar on white silk, made her eyebrows and eyes appear even darker.
What was most terrifying was her gaze—not the expected panic and tears, but a kind of condescending scrutiny, as if they were nothing more than rotten fish waiting to be slaughtered on a chopping board.
"Did Wang Wu send you?" she asked, her voice clear and crisp like an icy stream, which sent a shiver down the spine of the scarred man.
Something's not right. The young lady who was crying yesterday is looking at them like they're looking at dead people today.
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