Chapter 12
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Encounter - 1
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I met her for the first time on a narrow path in Jiangming. On a night veiled by just the right amount of clouds.
As always that day, I was drunk. At the end of a grueling day, I poured strong liquor over my woes.
A sharp alcoholic tang wafted from my mouth as I staggered along the cramped alley skirting the bustling streets, my head burning hot. Lost in sentiment, I hummed a mournful tune.
I'd never been one for romance or moping, but that night was different.
A cool temperature, chilly but not bitter. A night sky so clear it seemed transparent. Snow falling lightly, just pretty enough. The modest winter scene sparkled beautifully.
Alcohol always stirs up odd thoughts. My booze-addled brain wouldn't stop reeling, and long-buried bravado began to surge.
That must have been why I approached a total stranger out of nowhere.
"Hey there."
A girl sat beneath the shuttered door of some shop. Ragged clothes, grubby look. Undoubtedly a drifter swept in from afar.
With the string of bad harvests lately, beggars were everywhere, so I assumed she was one of them.
Might as well rack up some merit. This life's a bust anyway—aim for the next one. With that flippant mindset, I called out to her.
"Hey, you'll freeze sitting here. Head that way; there's a flop house that takes a penny a night. Go crash there."
She didn't answer. Her head hung low, not even a twitch. For a second, I wondered if she'd already frozen to death, but it gnawed at me. Jiangming brimmed with ugly rumors, and this stretch was Black Dragon Sect turf.
Thugs abusing drifter girls was everyday stuff. Figuring I could help, I fished a few coins from my pouch and dropped them before her. They clattered noisily across the icy ground.
"Word is, there's been murders around here. Better grab that cash and hit a cheap inn."
"You're a warm person. That's why you're sad."
Only then did the girl raise her head. I barely had time to wonder what she meant before her face hit me.
With a soft rustle, the hood slipped from her head. Early twenties, maybe? A small, fragile frame that looked like it couldn't take the winter wind.
Snow-white feet peeking from the rags, as if they hadn't seen sunlight in years.
And that voice. She had an impossibly pure timbre—like a whisper straight to the heart, bypassing the ears.
I stood rooted, spellbound. She spoke again.
"It hurts."
"What're you talking about?"
"Your heart. My eyes are a little special. I can see what others can't."
Her jet-black pupils, like polished onyx, fixed on me. Why did they stir both warmth and chills?
"Enough nonsense. I'm feeling pretty good right now. Cleaned up big at the cricket pit—made a tidy sum."
I pulled out my money pouch and shook it. The heavy jingle reassured me. It'd shut her up, or if she tried to pickpocket me... My drunken haze convinced me I had the upper hand. But she couldn't care less.
Starved and worn out, she ignored the coins thrust in her face. Instead, her gaze locked on my eyes. Pity flickered there, then faded. Heat rose to my face; I snapped.
"That's enough!"
Truth was, I knew she was right.
Nothing off about it. What I'd drowned in booze started creeping back. Buried feelings bubbled up from my chest.
"I'm in a good mood. Good, got it? Huh? Beat that bastard World Dragon, so tomorrow I can grab a steaming bowl of rice soup. What's wrong with that?"
"That damn cricket fight paid fifty coins. You have any idea the scorn I swallowed for those fifty coins? Fifty coins buys a whole bushel of rice! Big money!"
It was miserable. Fifty coins for a bushel. How many times had I chanted that today? No clue.
To me, it was a mantra. The old Nine Sects Taoists' incantations, Shaolin monks' sutras. Fifty coins a bushel, fifty coins a bushel. Couldn't say it aloud, so I repeated it silently.
Muttered it heading to the pit each morning. Recited it while the 'young masters' mocked me like it was breathing. Reminded myself when World Dragon splashed rice wine in my face for laughs, when my cricket got half-devoured alive. Even after I won, plastering on a fake grin.
I knew full well. Old Man Ping's fifty pity coins, tossed to keep me shuffling back to the pit. A handout after their laughs.
Fifty coins was a solid drink to those young masters. Pocket change to Tian Clan's World Dragon and his crew after a fun day. But not to me—Baek Hui, rotting in a crumbling shack in Jiangming's back alleys.
Fifty coins was what I scraped together through begging and humiliation. What's so wrong with that? Fifty coins is a bushel of rice.
That was when it happened. Tap—something warm touched my forehead. I stared blankly at her face.
"It's okay."
The faint whisper sank into my heart. Warmth spread from her. Winter, but her hand was toasty.
Yesterday's snow, the night chill, that single wisp of warmth on my brow. Unreal, like yokai enchantment. The booze must've fried my brain. No way it felt this warm. My knees gave out.
What am I doing? What'd she do wrong to yell at her? Baek Hui, you fool. I slumped down. Eye level now, her finger's warmth withdrew. Cold wind filled the void. A cloud shrouded the distant moon, stars twinkling within.
World Dragon and his pals sneering. Endless scorn and jeers all day. And ancient... ugly memories from way back. Things I can't erase. Ghosts that dog me always. Can't shake them without booze or distraction.
Habit kicked in; I groped for my flask. A gulp helped. Life propped on drunkenness—I knew. That's why it pissed me off.
"Girl, mark this."
I wanted to spew what clogged my throat. Maybe the booze and a stranger let me spill what burned inside.
Liquor's fake warmth clouded my head. Drenched in it, I rambled.
"Most of life's just enduring. I got no choice but to endure. Endure, endure, till one day I snap. But..."
Words died. No clue what came next. Preset feelings swirled. But even then, endure...
I trailed off. No fitting end came. Prickly emotions danced on my tongue, then scattered. What to say? Nothing changed on rethink, so I sighed.
"Forget it. Sorry for the weird midnight babble."
Hand to the ground, I stood—dirt caked my palm. Cold, gritty.
How'd I end up with no choice but endure? Tian Clan's grand gates, World Dragon's house flashed by. Answer always simple. Outcome fixed. Knowing jack squat changes nothing—cold fact.
Long ago, I quit. Figured I'd snuffed the flame clean, nothing left. Told myself the ashes sometimes warmed, and lived with it. Her whisper suddenly reverberated in my hard-won chest.
"Want to get strong?"
Not ears—heart—heard it. Mind blanked. Vital strike, like peak Nine Sects technique.
I stood frozen.
Shook my head, words failed, turned tail. Fled. Ran. Had to bolt from there. Panted nonstop home. Fleeing footfalls stuck sloppily in my ears. Feared the buzz fading, chugged booze nonstop.
Home, sweat-soaked. Mother asked worriedly if I was okay. Brushed her off. Why though? On my mat, the girl's whisper lingered thick, echoing.
Want to get strong...
Not long after that winter night, I met her again. Inside a pawnshop run by the Black Dragon Sect.