Love on the Turquoise Land

Que Cha lived in a two-story small house.

The exterior was tiled, the front door adorned with faded Spring Festival couplets—every aspect exuded a rustic charm, though in the countryside, this could be considered a "luxury home."

She went straight up to the second floor, humming a tune in good spirits. Once inside, she deftly unzipped her dress, letting it drop to the floor, kicked off her high heels, grabbed a towel, and headed straight for the bathroom.

Soon, the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.

Amid the water’s noise, Yan Tuo took the opportunity to inspect the house inside and out.

The place clearly hadn’t been lived in for a while—there were no signs of daily life—but it had been cleaned recently, likely very recently, given the still-visible streaks on the windows. In the corner of the bedroom were two suitcases: one black, 26-inch, a men’s style, propped against the wall; the other 22-inch, patterned, left wide open, its contents—a messy pile of women’s clothes—haphazardly thrown inside.

The bedding on the bed was equally disheveled. There had been two pillows—one had fallen to the floor, the other lay squarely at the head of the bed.

Que Cha probably wasn’t a local resident but had arrived here recently. She had a close male companion, though he hadn’t been staying here the past couple of days.

The room carried a heavy feminine scent—sweet and soft, with a hint of sticky rice fragrance. Yan Tuo opened a window to air it out, then picked up a jacket from the open suitcase before drawing his gun and sitting on the edge of the bed.

The water stopped running. Faint humming resumed, followed by the bathroom door sliding open. Que Cha stepped out barefoot, adjusting the dry turban wrapped around her hair. She had barely taken two steps when she let out a sharp scream and froze in place.

She was wrapped in a large towel, the knot tucked into the dip of her cleavage. The dry turban wasn’t properly secured, and a few damp strands of hair dangled down, water droplets clinging to the ends. The September night was chilly, and the cold air from the open window rushed in, hitting her exposed skin, raising goosebumps all over.

Her voice trembled. "Who are you?"

But gradually, she calmed down, her posture shifting from tense to relaxed. After all, this was a man—and when it came to men, she had plenty of leverage.

She smiled, quickly piecing together Yan Tuo’s identity. "You’re the guy who came by during the day, aren’t you?"

Yan Tuo tossed the jacket toward her. "Put some clothes on before we talk."

She didn’t catch it, watching as it landed at her feet. "I’m not cold," she said, gracefully loosening the dry turban and letting her damp hair cascade over her shoulders as she moved toward the vanity.

Yan Tuo said coldly, "Stay right where you are. Don’t touch anything, don’t lean on anything. And don’t think your looks will work on me—I’m not interested."

Que Cha’s face flushed with embarrassment for a moment. After a pause, she decided it was better to drop the act.

She tightened her grip on the towel to keep it from slipping and smiled sweetly. "Then what do you want? If there’s some misunderstanding between you men, getting pricked with a needle shouldn’t mean taking it out on a woman, right? And barging in while I’m showering—how rude." Her tone carried a hint of playful reproach by the end.

Yan Tuo sneered. "I was just driving through here, minding my own business—no stealing, no trouble. What was the point of sticking me with a needle?"

Que Cha’s smile took on a knowing edge. "Come on, handsome, let’s be honest. ‘Just driving through’? Who’d believe that? Let’s lay it out—are you here to join up, or are you here to talk business?"Yan Tuo didn't understand, but that didn't stop him from responding: "What's the difference between joining and doing business?"

"Joining isn't up to us—it's decided by the one in charge. As for business, of course, that's also discussed with him."

"The one in charge—is that the guy surnamed Jiang? What's he doing? When will he be back?"

Que Cha thought to herself, Just as I suspected. This was no "passing by in a car"—he even knew the boss's surname. This was clearly a deliberate move, straight for Banya.

"He's busy with important matters. When he returns depends on how smoothly things go... At least seven or eight days. If you don't mind, you can stay and wait—there are plenty of empty houses in the village. Or you could come back in a few days."

As she spoke, she lifted one foot to rub warmth against her other calf, annoyed by the cold floor. Her toenails, washed clean, glistened.

Perhaps because they were already chatting, she grew more talkative: "Handsome, are you working solo or with a partner?"

"With a partner."

Que Cha let out an "Oh," somewhat disappointed. Solo would've been better—we could've taken him down right now, one and done, easy. With a partner, we can't act rashly.

"Can we contact that Jiang guy now?"

"Handsome, you really don't get it. He's the one who reaches out to us—we can't contact him. Don't worry, when he calls, I'll let him know."

Yan Tuo didn't respond. After a pause, he changed the subject: "What's that smell in my car? I can't smell anything."

Que Cha giggled. "Of course you can't smell it—neither can I. I'm really curious what it is, though."

"Can Da Tou smell it?"

Que Cha realized she'd slipped up and didn't answer, steering the conversation elsewhere: "Handsome, mind if I ask—how much stock do you have on hand?"

"That depends on how much you want."

Que Cha visibly stiffened. Her throat moved slightly, and her voice changed: "And the price? What's your offer?"

If this back-and-forth continued, he might give himself away. Yan Tuo decided to cut it off here: "The details—I'll only discuss them with Jiang."

Banya was a pleasant surprise. He had two options: pry information from Que Cha, but she was just a small fry with limited knowledge; or play along and take bigger risks to meet this Old Jiang.

He was willing to take the risk.

He stood up. "I'll come back in a few days."

Que Cha was surprised but understood that haste made waste. "Alright then. What should I call you, handsome? When Old Jiang returns, I'll let him know who you are. Also, if it's convenient, leave a phone number."

This information would come out sooner or later—no point hiding it. Yan Tuo answered truthfully: "Yan Tuo. 'Yan' as in double fire, 'Tuo' as in pioneering."

He recited his number. With no pen in the room and her phone nowhere in sight, Que Cha hastily grabbed an eyebrow pencil and scribbled the number on her vanity mirror. Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote.

This detail told Yan Tuo that the persona he'd crafted was highly significant to them.

It seemed he wouldn't have to wait long to meet this Jiang guy.

He was already at the door when he turned back: "One more thing—what do you call that thing in my car?"

Que Cha said, "A lucky cat."

Yan Tuo thought the answer sounded fake, but her expression didn't seem deceitful.He left the small building and had walked about ten meters when he heard a sharp whistle behind him. Turning back, he saw Que Cha leaning against the second-floor window, smiling sweetly and alluringly. Her skin was already fair, and under the light, she seemed to glow radiantly.

In her hand, she held a leopard-style folding triple-purpose hand crossbow, already loaded with stainless steel arrows, their tips gleaming coldly, aimed directly at him.

Yan Tuo said, "You should put on some clothes to avoid catching a cold."

After speaking, he turned and continued walking forward, boldly exposing his entire back to her.

Que Cha tilted her head slightly, peering through the crossbow's scope, watching as Yan Tuo's back was perfectly framed within the crosshairs.

Her index finger hovered over the trigger, resting there for a moment before finally releasing it.

Back in the car, Yan Tuo felt his entire body burning hot, his forehead feverish, and his palms drenched in sweat.

He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, slowly calming himself.

After a while, he straightened up, picked up his phone, and scrolled through the recent call log.

Dense rows of records, all from the same person—Lin Xirou.

Yan Tuo stared at the name for a long while before taking a deep breath and dialing.

The call was answered quickly, the voice unhurried, soft and gentle: "Xiao Tuo."

The hairs on the back of Yan Tuo's neck stood on end—a conditioned reflex after all these years.

Steadying himself, he replied, "Aunt Lin."

Lin Xirou laughed. "Where are you now? You should be home in a day or two, right?"

"No, Aunt Lin, I wanted to let you know I'll be back a bit later," he said, trying to sound casual. "I ran into an old friend here, someone I haven't seen in years. We're catching up."

"That's wonderful. It's rare for you to have friends you get along with," she said, her voice lowering. "But with Gou Ya around, you need to be careful."

Yan Tuo glanced at the rearview mirror inside the car, his reflection cold as iron. "I understand."

"Has the journey been smooth so far?"

"Smooth."

"If someone sees something they shouldn't, you know what to do?"

"I know."

Lin Xirou hummed in acknowledgment. "Aunt Lin knows you're a soft-hearted child. If you can't bring yourself to do it, just let Gou Ya handle it."

"Got it."

After hanging up, Yan Tuo sat silently in the car for a while before starting the engine and turning back toward the inn.

He couldn't quite explain why, but the thought of Nie Jiuluo and Gou Ya sharing the same room left him uneasy.

Meanwhile, on Nie Jiuluo's end.

As soon as Yan Tuo left, Gou Ya shed his earlier submissive demeanor, spitting twice outside the suitcase and muttering curses under his breath. Nie Jiuluo faintly caught words like "cheap son" and "pretty boy," though she didn't fully grasp their meaning.

Then, Gou Ya turned off the light—when he crawled out of the suitcase, Nie Jiuluo was startled, thinking he had recognized her and was about to seek revenge for his blinded eye.

To her surprise, he simply walked to the door, turned off the light, then groped his way back in the dark and climbed back into the suitcase.

Why? A thought crossed Nie Jiuluo's mind: Could it be that he dislikes light?

Though her hands were cuffed behind her back, her fingers remained nimble. With a deft flick of her right index finger, she hooked the bracelet on her left wrist.This bracelet, to an outsider, appeared merely as "extremely thin, multi-looped, and threaded," sparkling with both fashion and beauty. However, its true ingenuity could only be revealed upon disassembly: it wasn’t actually multiple loops but a single strand coiled several times, incredibly resilient. Even if forcibly straightened, it would spring back to its coiled state the moment it was released.

She toyed with the bracelet for a while before giving up. After a pause, she began rubbing the handcuffs against the water pipe, using both hands to move them back and forth.

The grating sound of metal scraping against metal was unbearably harsh. Soon, Gou Ya couldn’t take it anymore and roared at her from the darkness, his voice muffled and angry: "Stop making noise!"

Nie Jiuluo pretended not to hear. She was certain Gou Ya wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her—after all, Yan Tuo had explicitly warned him.

Gou Ya flew into a rage. In one swift motion, he leaped out of the crate, smashed the light switch on, and bellowed at her: "Can’t you understand human speech?"

Nie Jiuluo tilted her head up, signaling that she had something to say.

Gou Ya, fuming, reached out to tear off the tape covering her mouth. But just as his fingers were about to touch her face, he suddenly froze. Then, with unexpected gentleness, he carefully pinched the edge of the tape.

Why the sudden tenderness? Nie Jiuluo was stunned. But the next second— rip —the tape was viciously yanked off.

Nie Jiuluo gasped in pain, her face burning as if a layer of skin had been torn away.

Birds of a feather flock together. This Gou Ya was just as much of a freak as Yan Tuo.

Gritting her teeth, she took a moment to steady herself before looking up with feigned concern. "Your wound—shouldn’t it be treated?"

Gou Ya: "??"

"I mean your eye. Such a severe injury left untreated could get infected."

Only then did Gou Ya realize what she meant. He snarled, "Don’t need it."

"You might not grasp how serious this is," Nie Jiuluo pressed on, undeterred. "That wound looks deep. How long was that wire? Could it have reached your brain? You might hold up for now, but if bacteria get into your brain, you’re done for. And this place is filthy—"

Gou Ya, exasperated, cut her off. "I said I don’t need it! Shut up!"

Damn. She’d never met someone so stubborn—blind in one eye yet acting like it was nothing, letting blood and pus ooze freely. "Are you even human?"

The remark was unintentional. Her thought was: Any human would know to treat a wound like this. If you won’t even do that, are you even human?

Unexpectedly, this offhand comment sent Gou Ya into a visible shock. His body stiffened, his face paling, before he snapped back, "Who says I’m not human?"

Nie Jiuluo’s interest was piqued. At first glance, Gou Ya’s retort seemed ordinary, but something about it felt off. Normally, when people argued, it went along the lines of "You’re not human," "You’re the one who’s not human," escalating until entire family trees were stripped of humanity. But rarely did anyone counter with, "Who says I’m not human?"

Though some of Gou Ya’s actions—especially that late-night window-climbing stunt—had once led her to tell Xing Shen, "I don’t think a human could do that," it had just been talk. After all, the world was vast, and the occasional superhuman feat wasn’t unheard of.

She studied him closely. His chest heaved violently, his one remaining eye flickering with unease under her scrutiny. The blinded eye, meanwhile, had crusted over with a dark scab amidst the blood and pus.Nie Jiuluo spoke slowly and deliberately, her tone gentle, "You're not human, are you?"