Chapter 2: Duckweed Has No Roots in the Water

The An family had always seemed especially mysterious in Jiangnan Town. Since Su Mu moved here at the age of eight, none of the An family members ever showed themselves in public—not even the local officials or gentry paid them a visit. Only An Rui, the little girl of the family, bounced through the streets and alleys each day, becoming a household name.

From childhood, An Rui was clever and quick-witted, never allowing herself to suffer a loss. There wasn’t a single child in Jiangnan Town who hadn’t been frightened or teased by her; walking among them, she inspired awe and fear, her presence commanding respect. Even the most mischievous kids would greet her with a deferential, “Hello, Sister An,” whenever they crossed her path.

Her notoriety wasn’t earned by picking fights for the sake of showing off; in truth, most of it was for Su Mu’s sake. Ever since she saw Su Mu pelted with stones and spat upon by other children—Su Mu keeping his head bowed, not dodging, enduring their bullying without protest, even letting blood flow where he was struck—something sinister ignited in the young girl’s heart.

Miss An, with a turn of her sharp mind, deployed every trick she knew: distorting truth, confusing right and wrong, intimidating and cajoling. She had those unruly boys eating out of her hand. Strangely, she had even learned a bit of martial arts—though she rarely used it. If any particularly rough kid provoked her, he’d quickly taste the “bamboo shoots with pork,” and become much more obedient.

Even when some of the boys complained to adults, An Rui’s charming looks and sweet words always won her favor. No one believed their own child could be bullied by such a lovable girl; often, the parents would scold their children, ending the matter.

In just two or three years, the town’s children changed. One by one, they stayed home studying poetry and books, rarely causing trouble outside. Even when parents urged them to play, they wouldn’t stray far; hearing the laughter of girls from a distance, they’d turn and run home, shouting they needed to study. The adults marveled, convinced their children were destined for greatness.

At this moment, An Rui watched Su Mu’s state with rapidly turning thoughts, though her face remained calm as she slowly picked up the bundle she’d set down and opened it.

“These are almond crisps made by Uncle Huang on East Street. Eat them.”

Inside the bundle, six or seven pastries were neatly arranged, golden and crisp, looking very tempting. Before, Su Mu wouldn’t have had the appetite, but in this strange, somewhat ambiguous moment, he reached out and began to eat.

“Uncle Huang says I’m adorable and sensible, so he made these specially for me. I kindly saved a few for you—if you don’t finish them, I’ll be angry,” An Rui said with a mischievous smile, clapping her hands as she watched Su Mu eat them one by one.

Su Mu’s appetite was small, and his heart was troubled. He only wanted to eat one or two, but hearing An Rui’s words, his heart skipped a beat. He dared not stop—An Rui was used to ordering others about, and teasing Su Mu was her everyday amusement. No other children dared bully Su Mu, but Miss An did so effortlessly.

After Su Mu finished the pastries with difficulty, An Rui finally spoke, her expression careful. She had wanted to know what had happened to Su Mu, but if she’d asked earlier, he would have answered in anger and likely made mistakes.

“This afternoon, I went out to deliver a letter to Uncle. Passing by Aunt Liu’s house, Xiao Bao was kicking a shuttlecock by the roadside. Some men in black rode by on horseback. Xiao Bao chased after his shuttlecock; the leading horse didn’t slow in time and was about to trample him. I stepped in to protect him and got stomped by the horse a few times. I think I’m a little hurt, but it’s nothing serious.”

Su Mu nonchalantly lifted his shirt, revealing his abdomen—indeed, several bruises showed. His breathing was shallow and uneven, indicating the injuries were more serious than he let on, but Su Mu felt no pain and didn’t pay them much mind.

An Rui’s brows knit together as she gently pressed Su Mu’s injury. There was an unusual depression at his ribs; anger flared in her heart as she asked, “And then? Did those men in black apologize or offer to help? Did Aunt Liu thank you?”

As she spoke, Su Mu’s anger flared again. “Those men looked decent—well-dressed—but they’re heartless. Their leader only paused, glanced at me, threw down some silver, and left, shouting, ‘If the boy ends up crippled or dead, come find me at Lu’an Manor!’”

The more he spoke, the angrier he became. Su Mu shouted in frustration, grabbed a handful of pebbles, and threw them into the river to vent his rage.

“Those bastards aside, Aunt Liu acted like she’d seen a ghost once they left—dragged Xiao Bao away, muttered some spell to ward off evil, sprinkled incense ash on me, and told me to get lost. I’m so angry, I could burst!”

“Hmph, that shrew can’t tell right from wrong—disgusting! And those black-clad villains are no better. Don’t be mad; we won’t let any of them get away with it. We’ll make them pay,” An Rui declared, pounding her chest as if everything was already under control. Her eyes flashed with determination, silently resolving to see justice done. Su Mu remained silent beside her.

Su Mu trusted An Rui completely. Most of the time, she made decisions without question, and Su Mu rarely objected. He was naturally honest and not good with words, seldom having opinions of his own. Hearing An Rui stand up for him, he felt a sense of agreement, never considering that these matters would make adults’ heads ache. Ordinary families wouldn’t dare confront the powerful horsemen in the street, and for two children to demand justice was a dream at best.

“An Rui, what should we do?” Su Mu addressed her strangely. In moments of helplessness or anger, he called her “Sister An Rui,” but otherwise used her name directly. An Rui didn’t mind, knowing well the meaning behind it, but she said nothing.

An Rui propped her chin with her hand, gave Su Mu a mysterious smile, and beckoned him closer. Su Mu leaned in, and the two whispered quietly together. Occasionally, Su Mu would giggle foolishly, or shake his head, insisting, “No, no, that won’t do.” An Rui rolled her eyes and offered another idea.

As dusk approached, An Rui felt that all her earth-shattering plans were rejected one by one by Su Mu. The boy was simply too timid, leaving Miss An Rui quite dissatisfied. Regretfully, she parted ways with him, urging him to go home and treat his wounds, and made an appointment to meet again at the same place the following morning.

“Don’t keep me waiting, understand?” An Rui reminded him before leaving, skipping away merrily.

Su Mu watched as An Rui vanished into the distance, sighed softly, and felt reluctant to part. Every moment with An Rui seemed so wonderful; he believed there was no one in the world who could ever replace her.

Though spring had arrived, night still fell early, and the temperature difference between day and night was large. Su Mu, ever indifferent to cold or heat since childhood, thought nothing of it. Once An Rui was gone, he took off his shirt to shake out the dust before heading home, apparently hoping his family wouldn’t notice.

Not far from the riverbank, a figure slowly emerged from the water, swaying as it moved toward shore. Walking in the river was difficult, and its progress was slow. Upon reaching the bank, it stumbled and collapsed, struggling a few times without rising, then seeming to resign itself, lying on its side and panting heavily.

Nearby, Su Mu first heard the sound of water, turned his head, and saw the scene, startling him. After all, he was still young and had heard tales of water ghosts seeking victims. The situation frightened him, making him shiver.

Su Mu instinctively retreated a few steps. Luckily, he was usually brave, and his unusual illness made his fears different from ordinary people’s. Yet the tales of ghosts and spirits struck terror not in the body, but deeply in the mind.

He licked his dry lips and waited a moment, seeing no movement from the “water ghost.” Gathering his courage, Su Mu slowly approached.

Bathed in the lingering rays of the setting sun, he examined the “water ghost” more closely. It was a woman, her wet black hair plastered over her face, her white dress tattered and torn. The skin revealed through the rags was deathly pale, and upon further inspection, he saw many wounds, swollen from immersion in the river.

Fearful yet curious, Su Mu poked the woman with a dry branch nearby. Hearing her groan, his heart relaxed; she was an injured woman, not a ghost. Once he realized she was human, most of his terror dissipated.

As long as it was a person, no matter how badly hurt—even dead—it didn’t matter much to Su Mu. Ordinary people feared wounds, blood, and corpses because they understood suffering, but to Su Mu, these things were of little consequence.

He squatted down and brushed aside the woman’s hair, revealing a pale face twisted in pain, eyes tightly shut. Seeing her face, Su Mu let out a soft “hmm.”

Her face was crisscrossed with scars, her lips split in several places. Her original features were unrecognizable. Some wounds had scabbed over, others still oozed blood.

Su Mu was not afraid of these injuries; instead, he was curious. He touched the wounds, checked her breathing, and even listened to her heartbeat.

“Have you looked enough? Touched enough?”

A cold voice sounded beneath him, startling Su Mu so badly he fell backward, landing on his backside. He scrambled up in surprise, exclaiming, “You’re still awake!”