Flower

"What a strange guy!" The girl picked up the money and left, grumbling. "That was completely pointless."

How could there be such a bizarre customer? He had called her over only to do absolutely nothing. She might not be the most beautiful, but she certainly wasn't ugly.

She almost started questioning her own existence, but then she reconsidered. At least he was a decent person; she had the money, and there was no reason to stay and waste her time here.

With that thought, the girl's mood brightened, and she walked away happily.

Once the room was quiet, Xu Xiaoyou pressed herself against the door.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, the figure of a plainly dressed, thin woman walked slowly forward, brushing past the freckled girl.

The woman was unremarkable in every way. In fact, due to her age, her skin was loose, and her face was a disaster zone of wrinkles and other marks of time.

She stopped briefly in front of Mr. Hao's room.

The woman hadn't dressed up, and her eyes were dim and haggard.

Xu Xiaoyou watched this scene through the peephole.

She began to wonder what on earth about this woman attracted that man named Hao, leading an old man like him to take such a long detour to come to this slum.

Before long, the door opened, and the light revealed the man's shadow.

Upon seeing the person before her, the woman's lifeless eyes widened, reflecting the candlelight. She took a step back in surprise and turned to leave, until the deer-man reached out and grabbed her hand.

"It's me."

The man's steady voice echoed in the darkness.

The woman's hand tightened and then relaxed. Finally, she turned back and delivered a slap, the crisp sound echoing through the empty, dark hallway.

"Get out!"

Xu Xiaoyou's eyes widened.

What kind of development was this?

That mob boss, who usually stood so high and mighty, appeared somewhat lonely now. Despite being slapped, no hint of anger appeared on his face. He didn't say much, only shaking his head as he held the door open.

"A-Ling, don't let the people outside see us making fools of ourselves. Come in and talk."

The woman's chest heaved and her throat worked. Finally, she suppressed her emotions and followed the deer-man into the room.

The room's furnishings were very simple: a bed, an old fan, and the woman's clothes hanging in front of the window. Under the dim light, a photo of a woman in a fluttering red dress shone brightly in a frame.

"Why did you come looking for me?" A-Ling asked.

"To take you away from here," Mr. Hao said.

A-Ling's brow furrowed tightly. After seeing the deer-man's neat suit, her brow smoothed out again.

"You have money now," the woman said softly. "You're dressed well. You have an air about you."

"Yes."

"And then?"

"I can take you away. I can give you a better life, far better than what you have now. Come with me."

"It seems you know I'm not doing well. Are you here to mock me? Yes, you're wearing a suit now, like a leader of some big corporation, so you can naturally say those things with that tone. Are you giving me charity, or are you mocking me?"

The woman's words were direct and flat, devoid of any fluctuation, as plain as a bowl of water.

"What are you saying, A-Ling!" Mr. Hao stood up, his voice growing stern. "We're both old now. This isn't the age for holding grudges."

"Even if you won't consider yourself, you should at least think of—"

Before Mr. Hao could finish, A-Ling broke into a smile. It seemed carefully practiced; the lift of her brow perfectly hid the wrinkles on her face, and the curve of her lips was just right—alluring without being seductive, yet possessing a sense of warmth. Had she been young, this smile might have been breathtaking.

Seeing this familiar smile, Mr. Hao froze in place.

A glimmer of tears flickered in the woman's eyes.

"Yes, we're both old. This isn't the age for grudges anymore, and I'm no longer some young girl."

"Why couldn't you have come a few years earlier? If you had come ten years ago, I would have thrown a tantrum, then dressed myself up beautifully and left this place with you like a spirited bride."

"If you had come five years ago, I would have scolded you a few times, then taken your hand like I used to, left everything here behind, and quietly gone away with you."

"If you had come just a little earlier, even just a year ago, I would have packed up this room and left with you without a single word of complaint."

Outside the window, a hovercar with a pitch-black paint job drifted by, its hum echoing from a distance.

The deer-man listened silently to the woman's words, just as he used to listen to her tell him about yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

"But now I can't walk away. I'm sick. Very sick. Maybe I'll die in a month, or maybe just a few days."

"I don't want to leave here anymore. In this deepest, darkest place where you can't see the sun when you look up, I once had my most brilliant side."

"If I die here, people will remember that a glorious ringleader from over ten years ago passed away."

"If I die in some clean, white hospital, those nurses and doctors will only think that a long-withered flower has finally wilted."

Every word the woman spoke was like a sharp, searing blade piercing the man's firm chest, burning away the pride at his collar.

"I am no longer the ringleader of the Flower Pavilion. I am old and ugly now. Why, after all these years, have you come for me today?"

He listened to her words without saying a thing.

The photo by the woman's bedside drew his gaze deep.

In the photo, the woman wore a fluttering red dress on a built-up stage, capturing everyone's attention. Every glance, every smile, every gesture of her fingers left the men below mesmerized.

Whenever she had a performance, the house was always packed.

Their first meeting was across the curtain of that stage.

At the time, he was just a destitute youth, living off the things people left behind at the theater. If he was lucky, he’d find valuable jewelry; if not, he’d go hungry and face being driven away or beaten.

But even as he was, he would wait outside the theater punctually every night for her performance.

Whenever he gazed at that brilliant red figure on the stage, he would think to himself: This woman is so beautiful; if only I could marry her.

He didn't know how impractical his thoughts were, nor did he know that from the first time the girl stepped onto the stage, she had lost her youth and freedom forever, becoming a puppet tied with marionette strings—a ringleader for people to admire.

To rot away in the mire after her season of blooming.

Over a long time, he and the woman became acquainted. He won her favor with his humor and wit. At the time, she was like a little girl—simple and naive, easily blinded by sweet words.

He would often tell her at night how great he was, how rich he was, and how he could take her away from there, unaware that his unintended words had left a deep impression on the girl's heart.

The relationship between the two heated up quickly, and before long, they fell in love and shared their first time.

He didn't remember how that night began; he only remembered being so panicked at one point that he wanted to flee, and he only barely made it through the night with the woman's comfort.

He would never forget the gentle look in her eyes when he woke up the next morning.

What was she thinking then? Was she thinking the man before her would be a hero coming on a rainbow cloud to take her away?

It wasn't long before the people at the Flower Pavilion found out about them. As a ringleader of a moon shop, especially a stage ringleader, such a thing was naturally intolerable—a massive scandal.

It was on that day that he learned it had also been her first time.

He had been too cowardly, failing to notice that she looked at him with the same gaze he had for her.

Watching the woman being condemned by countless voices, overwhelmed by anger, and put on the stage to be roasted like a witch.

He did the most cowardly thing of his life.

He turned and fled.