Mr. Death in the Steam World

After wiping the table, Melina went to the kitchen to help prepare the vegetables.

The cook was a taciturn, chubby man. When he saw her approaching on her own, he didn't ask any questions. He simply pushed a basket of green beans in front of her and tossed her a small knife.

Melina followed his example, pinching off both ends of the green beans, removing the tough strings, and breaking them into small sections.

She was very skillful; she could do these things even when she lived in the shantytown, and she was even more adept at it than the cooks.

When the number of customers increased at noon, Melina took the initiative to carry the tray.

After closing time in the evening, the proprietress called Melina to the counter.

She pulled a box from the drawer, inside which were neatly stacked several pennies.

"This is your pay for this week. It will be the same every week from now on. Meals and accommodation are included. You can save the rest yourself."

Melina stared at the few pennies that gleamed warmly in the light for a long time.

For the landlady who provided her with accommodation, no one could say anything even if she didn't receive wages.

Can......

"Auntie," her voice was a little hoarse, "this is too much..."

"What's so much?" The proprietress stuffed the box back into the drawer.

"You're not just someone who eats without doing any work. You wipe the tables, serve the dishes, and prepare the vegetables. You've done all of that. Here, stop talking nonsense to me."

Melina pursed her lips, looked at the money, and suddenly felt her eyes sting.

"Thank you, Auntie."

The proprietress waved her hand: "Go to sleep, you have to get up early tomorrow."

Melina responded and turned to walk towards the stairs.

No one has ever asked what the proprietress's last name is, and she herself doesn't mention it.

All I know is that she married into Tieguancheng when she was twenty. Her husband was a miner, and the mine collapsed in the third year of their marriage, and she never came up.

She did not remarry, but used her pension to buy the hotel, which she ran for twenty years.

The neighbors call her "Sister-in-law Swallow," and the customers call her "Boss Lady." When Melina tried calling her "Auntie," she was just as happy.

Melina heard these things from the cook.

"Your aunt is sharp-tongued, but she has a soft heart. Over the years, countless people have come and gone in the shop, and she has never treated anyone unfairly."

"Don't let her current situation fool you; those first few years after opening the shop were tough."

"A woman with no background or support. In Iron Crown City, there are all kinds of people: drunkards who cause trouble, people who run up debts and refuse to pay, and some people who want to take advantage of her because she is a widow."

......

The day after she received her wages, it was her turn to rest during the day. The landlady waved her hand and told her to go out for a stroll.

Melina, clutching those few pennies, walked for a long time along the dusty streets of Ironcrown.

She saw many things at the market that she had never seen before in the shantytown.

Colorful fabrics, fragrant baked goods, sparkling hair clips and hair ties, and street performers juggling tricks, with onlookers cheering from time to time.

Melina wandered from one stall to another, clutching her money, but she couldn't bring herself to buy anything.

When she reached the end of the market, she stopped in front of a stall selling headscarves.

It was the most vibrant color she had ever seen, a golden-red, as dazzling as the flames on the altar.

"Little girl, take a look at this?"

The stall owner was a middle-aged woman with a round face. Seeing that Melina had been staring at the headscarf for a long time, she reached out and took it off.

"Gold and red complement your skin tone. You have fair skin, so it will definitely look good on you."

Melina clutched the headscarf in her hand and looked up at the stall owner.

How much?"

"Sixpence".

Melina counted out six pennies from her pocket, stacked them one by one on the stall, then folded her headscarf and carefully tucked it into her bosom.

During the busiest time of evening, Melina would carry a tray and move around the lobby.

As she passed the table of regulars, a middle-aged man with a thick beard looked up at her and suddenly exclaimed.

"Sister-in-law Yanzi, why does your little girl look so different today?" He craned his neck to examine the golden-red tuft on Melina's head.

"Is this a new headscarf? It's beautiful! It's so beautiful!"

Several people around her chimed in, and Melina blushed with embarrassment at the praise, somewhat resembling Phils.

"Alright, alright, stop bothering my daughter." The proprietress waved her hand at the group of regulars.

"Let her eat and drink as she pleases, and don't interfere with her work."

When the proprietress uttered the word "daughter," the lobby was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The regulars exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They simply smiled and looked away, continuing to drink and chat.

After closing time that night, Melina sat alone on the steps in the hotel's backyard, looking down at her wrist.

There used to be a mark of a flame flower there. Now there's nothing left.

She stretched out her finger and gently traced the spot on her wrist where the flower had once stood.

When she was first locked in the stone building, she looked at this flower every day.

She didn't know what it was, only that the black-robed men's eyes always filled her with fear whenever they came to inspect it.

She tried washing it with water, wiping it with a cloth, and even scratching it with her fingernails, trying to get the flower off her wrist.

Naturally, it has no effect whatsoever.

Later, she stopped trying. She accepted its existence, just as she accepted the iron bars of the stone building, the daily darkness and silence, and the fact that no one would come to save her.

Then the older brother whose fingers could shoot fire arrived.

Melina turned her wrist over and looked at the crisscrossing old scars.

She suddenly remembered what her sister Fils had said—"You won't be taken back. I promise."

At that time, she thought it was just a comforting word, like the "it will be alright" that the adults in the shantytown often said—it sounded nice, but it didn't really help.

But now, she sits on the steps in the backyard of this hotel, with a hazy night sky above her head, a brightly lit lobby behind her, and her newly received wages clutched in her hand.

She knew—it wasn't just comforting; it was real.

"Daughter."

The proprietress's voice came from behind.

Melina turned her head and saw the proprietress carrying a basin of dirty bed sheets as she walked over.

She sat down next to Melina, put the basin on the ground, pulled a sheet out of the basin, and started scrubbing it.

"What are you daydreaming about?" The proprietress rubbed her hands together a couple of times and glanced at her sideways.

Melina looked away from her wrist and down at her toes.

"Aunt," she paused, "you said... why did that giant choose me? I clearly shouldn't have been chosen."

"What giant? Why were you chosen?"

Seeing the landlady's confused look, Melina realized that the landlady didn't know the inside story.

In her view, she was just an ordinary, homeless, and displaced orphan.

But unexpectedly, the proprietress quickly looked her straight in the eyes and slowly began to speak:

"Daughter, although I don't know why the giant you mentioned chose you."

"But if you weren't chosen, it means you have a better path to take."