After being poisoned by mushrooms, all the strange creatures became fascinated by me.

The warbling oriole sings freely.

In the warm spring of March, a gentle breeze caresses the willows, and the sky clears after the rain.

The cart rumbled over the unsteady stone slabs, splashing up a few specks of mud that stained the flower girl's skirt, earning her a couple of angry shouts. The cart puller, however, was good-natured, chuckling and apologizing without the slightest hint of annoyance.

The flower girl then withdrew the dagger hidden in her sleeve.

She lowered her head and continued to sort the apricot blossoms in the basket, which were covered with raindrops.

With patience, he buried the small, pale, stiff hand that had inadvertently peeked out of the basket deeper.

The streets were still bustling with traffic, and children were laughing and chasing each other past the flower baskets.

A moment later, another porter came along, carrying a large bamboo basket, about half a person's height, on each end of a carrying pole. The baskets were covered with burlap, so it was impossible to tell what was inside.

The two baskets swayed, but the porter's shoulders remained completely still. There was no sweat on his forehead, and his breathing was even and steady. Bystanders could tell that this man had some real skill.

The porter walked up to the flower girl, his shoulders slumped, and the bamboo basket fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Amidst the comings and goings of people and vehicles, no one noticed that the two had already struck up a conversation.

"How's this batch of goods from Tangjiakou?" the flower seller asked, raising her delicate eyebrows.

"Ordinary talent, average aptitude." The porter sneered through his nostrils. "What kind of treasure could come out of that Tang family? Luckily, it's cheap, so I won't have made a wasted trip."

The flower seller then extended a slender hand with rosy nails and smiled, "Let me take a look."

The porter pressed down her eager hand and shook his head: "I've heard things are getting tense lately. The black-clad dogs in the yamen will pounce as soon as they smell something. We'd better not cause any trouble."

The two men paused briefly as they spoke, their gazes falling on the bamboo basket. Under the burlap sack, all was still silent. They exchanged a glance, and just as the porter was about to pick up the basket again, something unexpected happened.

Suddenly, a clear and sharp shout rang out:

"What's in the porter's basket?"

A nimble figure, like a dragonfly, darted through the crowd. A boy of sixteen or seventeen appeared before them in an instant, and before the porter and flower girl could react, his fingers were already on the bamboo basket.

The porter's face darkened, and he pressed his large, fan-like hand firmly against the burlap: "What's it to you!"

Seeing that the porter wouldn't show him what was in the basket, the boy became even more suspicious. Without arguing with him, he directly tried to snatch it. The porter flew into a rage, and as the two pushed and shoved each other, more and more passersby stopped to watch.

Just then, the bamboo basket suddenly tipped over—

"Oh my!" came a small, childish exclamation.

Everyone's expression changed, and someone quickly ripped the rag open. Inside the bamboo basket was a small child.

The onlookers gasped in shock, and the boy, enraged, shouted, "You really are kidnappers!"

The porter and the flower girl's faces were so grim they were almost dripping with gloom. One gripped the carrying pole tightly, the other brandished a knife, as if they were about to fight their way through a bloody path at any moment.

And at that very moment.

"No, that's not it," a timid child's voice rang out.

The child, who had been curled up in the cage, slowly poked her head out. It was a girl with an oval face, bright eyes, and her hair styled in two buns. She was only four or five years old, dressed in tattered clothes, yet still endearing.

The girl blinked, then her little hand tugged at the hem of the porter's clothes. Her voice was soft but clear: "Uncle isn't a kidnapper, Uncle is a good person!"

"My uncle and aunt thought I ate too much and wanted to kill me," the little girl said, tears welling in her eyes, making it hard not to believe her. "It was my uncle who saved me, and I begged him to take me away! You! You mustn't bully my uncle!"

Upon hearing this, the expressions of the surrounding people softened. The young man, however, became serious and squatted down: "Little girl, don't be afraid. I'm an official, I catch bad guys. If you've been bullied, just tell me."

He looked very believable, with an adult build, striking features, wearing a black robe and a token at his waist, exactly matching the description of the "black-clad dog in the yamen" that the porter had mentioned.

The little girl still shook her head: "No, Uncle is a good person! Don't wrong him!"

The boy smiled upon hearing this, but his skin was so pale and his eyes so dark that his smile looked eerie.

The boy, who had just been serious, affectionately put his arm around the little girl's shoulder, drew a short knife from his waist, and casually pressed the blade, which could cut a hair with a breath, against the girl's chubby neck.

"Is Uncle really a good person?" the boy asked patiently, his hand firmly gripping the knife. "Is he a kidnapper? He abducted you from your home and brought you here with that flower girl. That's what you were going to say, right?"

The little girl didn't dare move, tears welling up in her big eyes, but she still stubbornly retorted, "No, you're wrong! Uncle is a good person!"

She repeatedly tugged at the porter's clothes, trying to ask for help, but received no response whatsoever.

The boy's laughter grew even more frightening, a glint of interest appearing in his eyes: "If you lie again, I'll have to cut your mouth open."

The girl was incredibly stubborn, refusing to follow the boy's lead. Even as the knife tip grazed her still-chubby cheeks and approached her pale lips, which had been dry for a long time, she refused to utter a single word of relentlessness.

Just as the blood was about to burst forth from the tip of the blade.

The boy suddenly burst into laughter, sheathed his sword, and abruptly grabbed the little girl by the back of her collar, pulling her into his arms and sitting her down. He then spun her around a few times as if he were playing with a child.

"My darling, what a darling!" he exclaimed, gleefully showing the girl in his arms to all the surrounding crowd. "Look! Look! If this stubbornness were used to kill, how many heads could escape?"

This sound was like a spell to break a seal, but it was also more like a permission to break through ordinary appearances.

"You're not afraid of having your mouth cut open? Good!" The white-haired old man stroked his beard and laughed.

"If you don't change your mind, you can keep the secret!" The innocent child nodded.

"It was worth buying it and carrying it all the way to the city!" The porter clapped his hands in satisfaction.

"Calm eyes, unperturbed, born to kill!" The kind woman handed over some fruit.

Praises poured out from the mouths of men, women, and children, a constant buzzing and humming. Smiling faces crowded around, mouths opening and closing incessantly, making it dazzling to the eye and impossible to distinguish one sentence from another.

Everyone was gathered around the child in the boy's arms.

Everyone had a smile on their face.

Beneath that smile lies fervent expectation, or surging malice?

Five-year-old Tang Li didn't know. At this moment, she only knew one thing.

The porters were killers, the flower girls were killers, the boys were killers, and all the people around her, young and old, had lives on their hands.

They were all in cahoots. This city belonged to them, and outsiders were not allowed to enter; anyone who did would surely die.

They staged a kidnapping drama, using every trick in the book to entice her to "betray" her "guide," the porter, with only one purpose.

—To determine whether she can fit in here.

—To determine if she has the potential to become an assassin.

—Determine whether or not to kill her.