Love on the Turquoise Land

Early in the morning, Que Cha was busy cooking breakfast for over a dozen people using just a single induction cooker.

Crude as it was, she comforted herself—it was just a transitional period, after all.

A few nights ago, she had been abruptly told to leave the villa immediately and regroup with the others at a new location. Only upon arrival did she learn that Old Jiang and his group had run into trouble outside.

No details were given, only instructions to hand over her phone—both to avoid being tracked and in case Jiang Baichuan called, leaving it to them to handle the situation.

She had a vague feeling it must be related to the aftermath of Yan Tuo’s imprisonment.

The new hideout was a small garment factory on the outskirts of the city that had just changed hands. Due to various reasons, the new owner had delayed taking over, leaving the factory vacant for nearly two months—somehow, Yu Rong and the others had caught wind of this and pulled some strings, securing the place for minimal cost.

Over a dozen people, including Xing Shen, who returned the next day, settled in temporarily.

They had a roof over their heads, but compared to the villa, it was night and day: no private bathrooms, just shared toilets; any random room with an induction cooker became the kitchen; everything had to be done themselves, with no more reliance on housekeeping...

Everyone was busy with tasks—except Que Cha, who had nothing to do. So cooking naturally fell to her. Fortunately, though she had lived in luxury with Jiang Baichuan since she was seventeen, she enjoyed cooking and often experimented with new dishes for him. This assignment suited her well and wasn’t too taxing.

...

The porridge bubbled vigorously, nearly done. Que Cha slipped on heat-resistant gloves and lifted the pot off the stove—the aroma was rich, especially with the fresh lily bulbs she’d added, lending a delicate sweetness.

She wondered where Old Jiang was now and what he was having for breakfast. A flicker of worry crossed her mind, though not a deep one. To borrow an online saying, love fades, doesn’t it?

Truth be told, her feelings for Jiang Baichuan were nothing like the obsessive infatuation of her teenage years. Back then, he had been her focus, her support, even her pride. Now? Just an ordinary, mediocre old man. As long as he was around, she’d stick with him.

A wicked thought suddenly surfaced: If Jiang Baichuan died, could she start fresh and embrace a new life?

Amitabha, what a sinful notion! Que Cha startled herself and shook her head vigorously, as if to dislodge the idea. Old Jiang was her own choice, and all these years, he hadn’t treated her badly. How could she be so heartless?

The shuffling sound of shoes approached from behind. Shan Qiang poked his head in through the doorway. "Sister Cha, is breakfast ready? You have no idea how exhausted I am."

Que Cha hummed in acknowledgment. "Go sit. I’ll serve you."

Before she finished, Da Tou’s voice drifted in from outside. "Que Cha, get me a bowl too."

She frowned.

She had no issue serving Shan Qiang—he had spent the morning helping Yu Rong "warm up the whip," swinging it hundreds of times until his arms trembled too much to lift. Helping him was like assisting the disabled.

But Da Tou? What gave him the right?In the past, Da Tou had always been sarcastic towards her, with his words dripping with the implication that she was just Jiang Baichuan's "little fling." But it had only been verbal jabs. These past couple of days, perhaps because Jiang Baichuan wasn’t around, he had suddenly become shamelessly annoying.

Que Cha felt disgusted but didn’t want to make a scene, so she suppressed her irritation and brought out bowls of soup and porridge for the two of them.

Outside was the workshop, its equipment still in place—rows of sewing machines neatly arranged, piles of fabric stacked in the corners, and high on the wall hung a bright red banner meant to motivate workers: "Diligent and Pragmatic, Pioneering and Progressive."

Shan Qiang and Da Tou were using the sewing machines as tables, huddled together in conversation.

Shan Qiang: "Finally, it’s over. My god, we’ve handed the place over to the freaks."

Da Tou: "Which freaks? Yu Rong?"

Shan Qiang: "Tch, both of them. They’re all here."

Que Cha had just set down the bowls when she overheard and couldn’t help frowning. "Is it really appropriate to talk about people behind their backs like this?"

To be honest, the first time Que Cha saw Yu Rong, she was also startled.

How to put it? Yu Rong wasn’t what you’d call an ordinary girl.

She was in her mid-twenties, tall and sturdy, with skin tanned dark. Her arms and legs even had defined muscle. She had a shaved head, a coiled lizard tattooed on the right side, a nose ring, and when she stuck out her tongue, there was a shiny stud right in the middle.

Wasn’t all that just torture, inflicting pain on herself? Que Cha winced just looking at her.

Later, she heard Yu Rong had worked in Thailand before—maybe she picked it up from foreigners. Weren’t these kinds of alternative cultures pretty popular abroad?

Yu Rong was somewhat reclusive. Though they’d been under the same roof for days, Que Cha had barely exchanged a few words with her. Still, she didn’t dislike Yu Rong. In fact, she found the contrast between them intriguing: they were both women, weren’t they? The age gap wasn’t huge, yet their lives couldn’t have been more different.

Da Tou shot her a sidelong glance. "Don’t you think Yu Rong’s weird? Is that even a woman? What man would want someone like that?"

Que Cha scoffed. "I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is she’d definitely never want a man like you."

With that, she straightened her face, picked up the tray, and left.

Shan Qiang, who had been watching the exchange like a spectator, burst into laughter, doubling over.

Da Tou didn’t find it funny at all. He stared coldly at Que Cha’s retreating figure, his lips twitching involuntarily. "What’s she so cocky about? Who knows if her man’s even coming back."

Shan Qiang’s laughter cut off abruptly. After a pause, he glared at Da Tou in displeasure. "What nonsense are you spouting? You cursing Jiang Shu now?"

Da Tou shrugged indifferently. "Just stating facts."

...

Que Cha returned to the kitchen, fuming for a long time before finally calming herself down. No point wasting energy on someone so crude.

She boiled water and brewed two cups of coffee, packing them in disposable lidded paper cups. One was left black, with the words "Black Coffee" written on the side. She placed them in a paper bag and left the kitchen, heading out of the workshop.

Da Tou had been hunched over his porridge the whole time. Only when Que Cha disappeared through the workshop door did he glance up and nudge Shan Qiang with his elbow.

"Notice how friendly Que Cha’s been towards Xing Shen these past couple of days?"

Shan Qiang was slow on the uptake. "Has she?"Da Tou sneered, "Women like her cling to Jiang Shu when he's around, but the moment something happens to him, they're quick to latch onto the next man. She's just a slut, putting on airs of purity when there's nothing going on. I've seen plenty of her kind."

Shan Qiang found the words grating and whispered to him, "Watch your mouth. We all know each other. How awkward would it be if she heard you?"

Que Cha walked eastward after leaving the processing room.

The warehouse was to the east.

Though the factory was small, its warehouse was solidly built—thick walls, iron doors, reinforced windows set high up, and even burglar bars installed, likely to deter thieves.

As Que Cha approached the warehouse, she faintly heard eerie, agonized sounds drifting from the vent window.

Was that Sun Zhou?

Her heart skipped a beat. Steadying herself, she resumed walking, reached the door, and knocked.

While waiting for it to open, she glanced again at the vent window.

Now, there was no sound.

The door opened, revealing Xing Shen.

He smiled at her. "The moment I opened the door and smelled coffee, I knew it was you."

Que Cha smiled back and handed him a paper bag. "One for each of you. I wrote your name on your cup so Yu Rong doesn’t mix them up."

As she spoke, she peered past Xing Shen into the warehouse.

She didn’t see Sun Zhou, but she did spot several rows of blue-and-yellow storage shelves haphazardly arranged, still stacked with clothes and bags. She also saw Yu Rong standing with her back to the door, dressed in only a cropped tank top and shorts despite the cold, her body glistening with sweat, a waist pouch strapped to her, and something on her back...

Before she could get a clear look, her view was suddenly blocked as Xing Shen shifted slightly.

Que Cha snapped back to attention. "Also, what about Sun Zhou? Should I prepare something for him too?"

Someone else was responsible for buying food and daily necessities—she only handled the preparation.

Xing Shen gave a gentle smile. "No need. Don’t worry about Sun Zhou. You’ve worked hard these past few days."

Que Cha blushed. "It’s nothing. Just doing my part."

The difference between men was staggering. Talking to Da Tou made her sick to her stomach. If only all men were like Xing Shen—refined, courteous, and gentle.

Before leaving, she pointed at the high vent window. "That window’s open. You can hear sounds from inside. You should probably close it. Even though everyone here is part of the team, you never know, right?"

Once the iron door was shut again, Xing Shen cleared his throat. "Yu Rong, you heard her. Should we close the window?"

Yu Rong glanced up at the open pane and grunted in acknowledgment. She dashed forward, gripped the shelves, and swiftly scaled to the top. With powerful strides, she leaped across to another row of shelves, repeating the motion until she reached the window. With a single motion, she shoved the glass pane shut.

Her movements were quick and decisive, but not light—her steps were heavy, her actions forceful. Even after she landed back on the ground, the shelves still trembled faintly.

With the window closed, the noise outside diminished, making the sounds inside much clearer: from behind a row of fully stocked shelves in the corner came the sound of labored, ragged breathing.

Yu Rong’s expression darkened as she drew the leather whip from her back.This was a whip less than a meter long, handwoven from pure ox tendon. The shaft was only as thick as a chopstick, making the entire whip resemble a short rod at first glance. Only when held could one notice the slight flexibility in its body, which subtly swayed—a testament to its resilience. It fully met the traditional Chinese standards for whip craftsmanship: "flexible, rounded, and smooth." Moreover, the tail end of the whip had a few loose strands, into which a gleaming bead was embedded.

Generally, whips taper toward the tail to make it easier to "split" the skin of humans or animals upon impact, leaving a gash with each lash. However, some embed a steel bead or similar at the tip—not for aesthetics, but to add weight and increase striking force.

Xing Shen took his cup of coffee from the paper bag. The thin paper cup scalded his hand the moment he touched it.

But he didn’t care in the slightest. Or rather, he was too excited to even notice whether the coffee was hot.

He asked, "Yu Rong, should I step back?"

Yu Rong replied, "No need. Stay where you are."

With that, she lashed the whip through the air—so fast it seemed to tremble the very atmosphere.

Sun Zhou slowly crawled out from behind the shelves.

Not a belly-down crawl, but like a feline, palms and soles pressed to the ground, silent and eerie.

At a glance, one could still vaguely recognize Sun Zhou’s former features, though his face had grown sharper, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes brimming with malice—completely altering his appearance. Where his head and face had once been scratched, dense patches of beastly fur now grew, strip by strip, like finely cut tufts clinging tightly to his skin.

He wore clothes, but they had been shredded by the whip. The strips of fabric, glued to his body by dried blood, had fused with his wounds. Combined with his constant rolling and crawling on the ground, they were now so caked in grime their original color was indistinguishable.

Only half of his body emerged, his eyes flickering restlessly, claws digging into the floor, his back slightly arched.

Yu Rong reached into her waist pouch and pulled out a colorful bouncy ball, about the size of an egg. She tossed it lightly into the air a few times, and Sun Zhou’s head jerked up and down as if pulled by invisible strings, tracking the ball’s movement.

Then, with a sudden motion, she raised her arm and hurled the ball hard toward the side wall.

Almost simultaneously, Sun Zhou shot forward like a gust of wind, low to the ground, a shadowy blur in pursuit.

Yu Rong shouted, "Three!"

Bouncy balls rebound instantly upon hitting a wall, changing direction upon collision with obstacles, and their initial speed is extreme. Chasing it mindlessly would only exhaust the pursuer, leaving them perpetually a step behind.

"Two!"

The ball had already changed direction, darting between the shelves, with Sun Zhou following like a swift and fierce leopard.

"One!"

The moment "One!" was uttered, it was as if a pause button had been pressed. The earlier frenzy instantly fell into silence. Sun Zhou pressed one hand to the ground while the other curled inward—clutched in his palm was the colorful bouncy ball.

A faint smile touched Yu Rong’s lips.

She turned to Xing Shen. "See that clearly?"

Xing Shen shook his head in amazement. "Too fast."

Yu Rong said, "He’s learned. Before, he’d just chase the ball and get whipped. Now, he can predict its path and intercept it mid-motion."

Xing Shen was thrilled. "When can you hand him over to me?"

Yu Rong glanced back at Sun Zhou, who had withdrawn his hand, leaving the bouncy ball on the ground before retreating silently and warily behind the shelves again.

"Not yet. He’s not fully tamed."Xing Shen said, "With him around, I feel much more at ease. Mazha is afraid of the Dixiao and dares not attack, but he isn't. We have to thank Jiang Shu for his foresight."

It was only after joining up with Yu Rong and the others on this trip that he learned Jiang Baichuan had been keeping a Sun Zhou hidden here.

Shanqiang explained to him, "Jiang Shu told me back then that he had tried his best. Sun Zhou's pupils were threaded with red—he was beyond saving. Even if sent back, he'd spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric hospital, the most dangerous kind at that, liable to hurt someone at any moment. Might as well turn waste into treasure. If he could be tamed, he'd become a weapon against the Dixiao. If he ever encountered Gou Ya and helped take him down, wouldn’t that count as avenging himself?"

Once harmed by the Dixiao, he had already lost his mind, becoming little more than a beast. Facing the Dixiao again, he would no longer fear their claws—utterly fearless.