In the dim, stifling air of the Ge family house, a clock was ticking. It was not a mechanical clock, but a biological one, set in motion by the fine yellow powder dissolving in Little Cabbage's stomach.
Liu Zihe sat at the table, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He watched Little Cabbage drain her tea cup. He watched her smile, innocent and unsuspecting.
Across from him, Qian Baosheng, the architect of this chemical siege, caught his eye. Now, the look said. The fuse is lit.
Suddenly, Zihe doubled over. He clutched his stomach, letting out a groan that was half-theatrical, half-terrified.
"Oh! Gods! My stomach!"
Little Cabbage started, her needle slipping from her fingers. "Young Master? What is it?"
"Pain!" Zihe gasped, rocking back and forth. "A knife in my gut! Is it the heat? Is it the plague?"
Baosheng sprang into action. He was, after all, a pharmacist, even if his cures were usually poisons. He grabbed Zihe's wrist, feigning a pulse check.
"Fast," Baosheng muttered, shaking his head gravely. "Too fast. And his skin is clammy. It could be Sha—heat sickness. We must act quickly."
Little Cabbage paled. Heat sickness could kill in hours. If the Magistrate's son died in her house... the thought was too terrifying to complete.
"What can we do?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I have pills in my shop," Baosheng said. "Powerful ones. But I cannot leave him alone. And I need someone to carry the water." He turned to Third Girl, who was still playing with her cricket in the corner. "You! Girl! Come with me!"
Third Girl looked up, sullen. "Don't want to. Tired."
Baosheng looked at Zihe. "Money," he hissed.
Zihe fumbled in his sleeve, groaning loudly to cover the movement, and pulled out three silver dollars. He tossed them onto the floor near Third Girl.
"Take it!" he gasped. "Just go!"
Third Girl's eyes widened. She scrambled for the coins, biting one to test its authenticity. "Shiny," she giggled.
"Come!" Baosheng barked, grabbing her arm. He dragged the idiot girl out the door, leaving Zihe alone with his prey.
Silence descended on the room, heavy and expectant.
Zihe sat up slowly, the "pain" miraculously fading. He watched Little Cabbage. She was standing by the table, her hand resting on the teapot.
She looked... different.
Her face was flushed, a bloom of rose spreading across her pale cheeks. Her eyes, usually so clear and guarded, were now glassy and dilated. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear a fog.
"Are you better, Young Master?" she asked. Her voice was lower than usual, husky.
"Much better," Zihe whispered. "The pain has passed. But I am thirsty. So thirsty."
Little Cabbage poured him another cup of tea. Her hand shook, the spout clattering against the porcelain.
"Here," she said.
Zihe took the cup, but he didn't drink. He reached out and covered her hand with his own. Her skin was burning.
"You are kind, Sister-in-law," he murmured. "And beautiful. Too beautiful for this dark room."
Little Cabbage didn't pull away. The drug—Baosheng's "Spring in the Hidden Valley"—was flooding her system. It was not a sedative; it was an accelerant. It set fire to the blood, confusing the mind and amplifying every sensation. The touch of Zihe's hand felt electric. The smell of his musk pouch was intoxicating.
She felt a strange, terrifying hunger. A need to be touched, to be held, to escape the crushing loneliness of her life.
"Who are you?" she whispered, swaying slightly. "Who are you really?"
"I am a man who sees you," Zihe said, standing up. He moved closer, invading her space. "I am a man who knows that a flower like you should not wither in the dark."
He told her lies. He told her about his unhappy marriage to a "demoness." He told her about his loneliness. He spun a web of sympathy and seduction, and the drug made every word sound like gospel.
Little Cabbage listened, tears welling in her eyes. She thought of Pinlian, the Dwarf, with his rough hands and sour smell. She thought of Yang Naiwu, the Scholar, who had abandoned her. And here was this beautiful, wealthy prince, kneeling at her feet, telling her she was precious.
The dam broke.
When Zihe reached for her waist, she didn't resist. She leaned into him, a moth surrendering to the flame.
He lifted her—she was light as a bird—and carried her to the narrow wooden bed in the corner.
Time dissolved. The room spun. The sounds of the alley faded, replaced by the ragged breathing of two people lost in a chemical haze.
For half an hour, the world outside ceased to exist.
Then, the tide receded.
The drug wore off as quickly as it had taken hold. Little Cabbage lay on the bed, her clothes disheveled, her hair loose. She blinked, and the fog cleared.
She saw the peeling paint on the ceiling. She smelled the stale air of the room. And she felt the weight of the man lying beside her.
Memory crashed back in.
She sat up, gasping. Shame, cold and absolute, washed over her.
What have I done?
She looked at Zihe. He was smiling, a satiated, arrogant smile. He reached for her again.
"My beauty," he purred.
"Don't touch me!" Little Cabbage screamed. She scrambled off the bed, clutching her torn tunic. "You... you devil! You drugged me!"
She wasn't a fool. She knew herself. She knew she would never have done this willingly. The tea. The bitter taste. The sudden heat.
"It was the tea!" she cried, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You and Baosheng... you poisoned me!"
Zihe sat up, alarmed. The transition from lover to fury was too fast. "Sister-in-law, calm down. It was... mutual."
"Mutual?" She laughed, a hysterical, broken sound. "I am a virtuous woman! I am a wife! You have ruined me!"
She grabbed a pair of scissors from the table. "I will kill you! I will scream until the neighbors come! I will tell everyone that the Magistrate's son is a rapist!"
Zihe scrambled back, terrified. He had expected tears, perhaps, or bargaining. He hadn't expected a tigress.
"Wait!" he pleaded, holding up his hands. "Think! If you scream, you ruin yourself too! The town will say you seduced me! They will drown you in the river!"
It was a valid threat. In Qing law, an adulterous woman was as guilty as her lover, often more so.
But Little Cabbage didn't care. She raised the scissors.
Just then, the front door banged open.
IV. The Idiot Judge
"Hot!" a voice bellowed. "Walking is hot!"
Third Girl lumbered into the room. She was holding a bowl of black liquid—the "medicine" Baosheng had given her to carry. She walked with exaggerated care, her tongue protruding in concentration.
"Medicine for the bellyache!" she announced.
She stopped. She looked at the scene before her.
Little Cabbage, disheveled and weeping, holding scissors. Zihe, cowering on the bed, half-dressed.
Third Girl blinked. Her slow mind processed the image.
"Uh oh," she said.
She put the bowl on the table. She looked at Zihe. "You... you are not sick."
Zihe froze. "I... I am better."
"You are bad," Third Girl said, pointing a finger. "You made Sister cry."
She stepped closer. She was big, strong from carrying water and grinding beans. She loomed over the spoil prince.
"Kneel," she commanded.
Zihe stared at her. "What?"
"Kneel!" she shouted, stamping her foot. "Bad boys kneel!"
It was absurd. It was grotesque. The Magistrate's son being ordered to kneel by the village idiot. But fear is a strange master. Zihe slid off the bed and knelt on the dirt floor.
"Good," Third Girl said, crossing her arms. "Now... court is in session. I am the Judge."
She looked at Little Cabbage. "Sister, do you want Official Justice or Private Justice?"
Little Cabbage lowered the scissors, confused. "What?"
"Official Justice means I scream," Third Girl explained matter-of-factly. "I scream loud. Neighbors come. Dwarf comes. Everyone goes to Yamen. Chop heads."
Zihe went pale. "No! No Official Justice!"
"Private Justice," Third Girl continued, a sly smile spreading across her doughy face, "means you call me... Big Sister. And you pay the fine."
Zihe looked at the idiot girl. He realized, with a jolt of shock, that she wasn't as stupid as she looked. She was greedy. And greed he could understand.
"Private Justice!" Zihe cried. "I choose Private Justice! Big Sister! You are my Big Sister!"
Third Girl giggled. "Good brother. Now... the fine."
She held out her hand.
Zihe didn't hesitate. He scrambled for his sash, which lay on the floor. He pulled out the pouch of gold leaf. He pulled out a stack of silver dollars.
"Here!" he said, dumping it all into her hand. "Four gold bars! One hundred dollars! Take it! Just... keep quiet."
Third Girl's eyes bulged. She had never seen so much money. She bit a gold bar. It was soft.
"Pretty," she grunted. She shoved the money into her pocket.
Then she turned to Little Cabbage. She walked over and gently took the scissors from her hand.
"Don't cry, Sister," she whispered. "Gold is better than tears. Gold buys rice. Gold buys medicine. Gold buys silence."
Little Cabbage looked at the girl she had always pitied, the girl she had thought was a burden. She realized that in this brutal world, the idiot was the only one who knew how to survive.
She looked at Zihe, kneeling in the dirt. She looked at the gold in Third Girl's pocket.
She realized she was trapped. If she spoke, she died. If she stayed silent, she was bought.
She sat down on the bed and buried her face in her hands.
Zihe dressed hurriedly, throwing terrified glances at Third Girl. He bowed to them both and fled the house, running back to the pharmacy as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.
He burst into the upper room, startling Baosheng.
"It is done?" Baosheng asked, grinning.
"It was a nightmare!" Zihe gasped, pouring wine with trembling hands. "The idiot girl... she extorted me! She took everything!"
Baosheng frowned. "The idiot? Third Girl?"
"She is not an idiot," Zihe shuddered. "She is a demon."
But their troubles were not over.
A knock came at the pharmacy door. Not the front door, but the back one.
Baosheng went down to open it.
Standing in the alley was Liu Zihan, the thief with the straw hat. He was smiling.
"I saw the Young Master running," Zihan said softly. "He looked... distressed. Did the Cabbage bite?"
"Go away," Baosheng hissed. "We have no business today."
"Oh, but we do," Zihan said, pushing past him. He held up a piece of paper. The love letter.
"I think," Zihan said, walking up the stairs toward the trembling Zihe, "that the price of silence just went up. You paid the idiot. Now you pay the witness."
Zihe looked up. He saw the thief. He saw the letter.
He realized that the web he had walked into was not a spider's web. It was a nest of vipers. And he was not the predator. He was the meat.
To see how the conspiracy deepens, read the next chapter.