Bursting Tomato 22

Yan Xianchuan had always thought that people who only thought with their lower half were either idiots or fools.

She'd seen plenty of that sort. In the escape games, there were no laws or morals, and everyone's darkest thoughts were unleashed. Since no one knew when they might die, it was all about living for the moment.

Casual hookups were common, as were those who slept their way to power, attaching themselves to the strong.

Whenever she witnessed this, she felt nothing but lofty contempt, dismissing it with a disdainful flick of her gaze.

Love and lust were poisons that corroded the mind, traps set for the foolish. She was clever; naturally, she would never be tempted.

Now, however, she bent down to pick up the torn white qipao. The cotton fabric pooled in her hand like a cloud, cool and smooth to the touch. Yan Xianchuan remembered clearly how it had ripped apart under her fingers, splitting like a torn wrapper, reluctantly baring the gift inside—a jade statue, cold yet soft.

Something crackled in her blood. A knock at the door jolted her back to the present, and she realized she'd been standing there, lost in thought, for nearly twenty minutes. Lu Mingqiu, waiting in the hallway, had apparently knocked to check on her.

"Coming," she called out.

She hurriedly found a bag, stuffed the torn costume inside, and shoved it to the bottom of the wardrobe. Then, without a second glance, she grabbed a set of clothes and changed.

Luckily, her wardrobe was all mix-and-match, so she couldn't look too out of place no matter what she wore.

She opened the door to find Lu Mingqiu running her fingers through her hair, the black strands slipping through them like a dark river.

Her hair was like her: cool and silky, and when dampened by sweat, it clung to her in strands, like an intricate tattoo.

Yan Xianchuan remembered its texture intimately.

"I took two days off," Lu Mingqiu said.

Her voice again jolted Yan Xianchuan from her reverie. The latter almost asked herself blankly, "What's wrong with me?"

She forced herself to focus on what the other woman was saying. Time off... Lu Mingqiu wore a dress with black chiffon, its neckline cut just perfectly to hide the marks on her throat. Her arms were bare, but there was nothing on them. Her legs were covered by the skirt, long and concealing, with no gaps.

She took leave... so she took leave to wait for the bite marks to fade.

Yan Xianchuan's voice caught in her throat, and she stammered, "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's fine," Lu Mingqiu interrupted her—and she was grateful for it, because she had no idea what she would have said. She repeated, "It's fine. I put medicine on it. It'll heal soon enough."

"This is a suppressant," she said, extending her hand. In her palm lay a syringe. "Su Hong happened to have one left."

Yan Xianchuan said nothing, simply took the syringe and injected it into her arm.

"What do you want for breakfast? Want to eat out? We've been cooped up on set for days; you're probably stir-crazy. It'd be nice to get some air," Lu Mingqiu said.

Her tone was as caring as always.

Yan Xianchuan's tongue had turned to wood. Her body, her bones—all of it had turned to wood. She walked stiffly, her gaze wooden, her lips clumsy, unable to speak. All she could do was hum in agreement.

What kind of answer was that?

Calm down. The one who'd been wronged kept saying it was fine, acting indifferent, while the one who'd taken advantage was the one left anxious and ashamed. When had she become someone so cautious and hesitant?

Yan Xianchuan subtly clenched her fist, her carefully trimmed nails digging into her palm. The slight sting shot through her like a bolt of clarity, slicing through the fog in her head.

"Whatever you want," she said, pressing her lips together, and with all her focus, she managed to school her expression back to usual.

"Let's go, then. There's a new dessert place on Kuanfu Street. Some friends in the circle have been there and said it's good. We can stop by," Lu Mingqiu said.

She walked ahead, and Yan Xianchuan followed close behind, like there was an invisible leash tethering her.

Lu Mingqiu drove again. She seemed to move more freely now, or maybe she was just powering through the soreness with sheer willpower.

She rarely wore accessories, but the electric shock ring on her finger was still there. Yan Xianchuan had one too, and the two rings were similar in design, looking like a matching pair.

They were, after all, a married couple in the eyes of the law.

Her hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers long and slender, every single one of them she had tasted.

Touch a knuckle gently, and a sweet moan would escape her lips.

Why am I thinking about that again? Yan Xianchuan almost panicked as she snapped back to the present, and whispered, almost desperately, "I think the drug's effect hasn't worn off yet."

"I..." she hesitated, lowering her voice further. "I keep thinking about yesterday."

Lu Mingqiu's expression first turned serious, then surprised, and finally she broke into cheerful laughter, her eyes curving into crescent moons, a pair of blue crescents. "Is it your first time?"

Yan Xianchuan nodded.

Lu Mingqiu said knowingly, "That's... normal. It'll fade in a couple of days. I won't lie to you."

Yan Xianchuan was still a little skeptical. "Does it happen to you too?"

"Yes," Lu Mingqiu answered.

Of course it did. Though she didn't really care—in her view, sleeping with someone was no different from sharing a meal—her body's response was more than evident.

This one was like a dog, all teeth and no technique. Her love bites and hickeys were everywhere, leaving Lu Mingqiu with hardly a patch of unmarked skin.

Between her thighs, the skin was red and swollen, almost raw, making every step an awkward affair, her bones feeling weak and achy at the slightest movement.

These strange discomforts were constant reminders of how outrageous last night had been.

Still, watching the other woman's expression, Lu Mingqiu found it immensely entertaining.

She should see herself: once so confident and overbearing, looking down on everyone equally. Now she was all timid and flustered, even blushing.

Lu Mingqiu felt a flicker of tenderness, as if Yan Xianchuan were a little puppy drenched in the rain, its head hanging low.

Yan Xianchuan forced herself to believe her, since Lu Mingqiu had said she wouldn't lie.

Honesty was a virtue that could make stones bloom, but what worried her was something else—she couldn't just pretend nothing had happened.

She couldn't behave as if everything were fine, the way the other party did, conversing casually, not caring in the least.

Yan Xianchuan stirred the shrimp congee in her bowl, tasting nothing, and realized this with deep clarity.

She couldn't do it.

She had a problem now.

After the meal, as they were leaving, Yan Xianchuan accidentally knocked her spoon to the floor. She bent to pick it up and noticed, for the first time, that in her rush this morning, she'd put her socks on inside out. The seams, which should have been on the inside, were now facing outward, waving at her.

Her heart gave a heavy thump.

A small blue wind chime hung by the dessert shop's entrance; every time someone opened the door, the rush of air would sway its tail, making the star-shaped crystals clink together in a crisp, clear jingle.

Both of them wore sunglasses, a half-hearted attempt to conceal their faces. The shop charged luxury-level prices, so there weren't many people around, and even fewer who would go crazy over celebrities. Besides, Nanjin City was packed with entertainment companies; it was practically crawling with stars, so people were used to it.

A few people recognized Lu Mingqiu and asked for photos, and she agreed every time.

Yan Xianchuan wandered the counters on her own, eyeing the delicate little pastries in the glass cases. Unsurprisingly, she found she had no appetite for them.

But she picked one anyway—she couldn't just come for nothing.

A bright red, glossy cherry sat perched atop white cream. It must taste sweet, like the lips of a lover.

The two of them really should spend some time apart, let this cool down, let the feelings fade. But that thought never even crossed Yan Xianchuan's mind.

She followed Lu Mingqiu back to the film studio, went out to eat with her, and when someone came by, played the part of a loving couple.

Lu Mingqiu would take her arm and spin little tales about "my dear Chuan," telling them with a voice both helpless and sweet, weaving the stories like they were real.

She wore only a light perfume scent, a floral fragrance Yan Xianchuan didn't recognize. It was pleasant and calm.

But she secretly thought her pheromones would smell even better; she remembered the description: the scent of toasted bread.

Because they had to hold arms, they inevitably ended up close, shoulders brushing, pressed together.

Physical contact of this level had previously been something Yan Xianchuan could tolerate without issue, but today it was different.

For a moment, she wanted to pull away. She thought she would. But in fact, she stood still, even opening up slightly to accommodate.

She also expected to stumble over her words, to fumble, but instead she picked up Lu Mingqiu's stories flawlessly, as if they were true.

During Lu Mingqiu's days off, Shu Mingyu had made no particular moves. Her scenes weren't finished, and the Shu family wasn't the sort to just pack up and leave; they were rooted in Nanjin City—they couldn't run.

Shu Mingyu naturally couldn't just get away with it. Using such underhanded tactics meant she had to be dealt with properly.

Dealing with Shu Mingyu was simple enough for Lu Mingqiu, but how to handle her, she left to Yan Xianchuan, as the victim of the drug.

When she brought it up, Yan Xianchuan immediately stopped worrying and hesitating. Her voice dripping with bloodlust, she said, "I'll snap her neck, then use her head as a brush to write the character 'death.'"

Lu Mingqiu was silent for a moment.

Yan Xianchuan saw that she hadn't agreed right away and figured there must be complications. Not wanting to make things difficult for the other woman, she backed down. "She likes to climb high, by any means necessary. Ruining her reputation would work too."

"That works," Lu Mingqiu said.

There was a difference between killing someone and ruining someone. Shu Mingyu liked to use her body as leverage; there might well have been family behind it.

She was pretty and relatively well-known, probably an important young member of the Shu family, a good bargaining chip. If she died without clear cause, the Shu family might retaliate.

But if she was only ruined, it would send a message that she'd provoked someone she shouldn't have. While being punished, she'd also been given a mercy—her life spared.

With the plan set, the next day a few people were sent to the film set and arranged to be in Shu Mingyu's hotel room. Afterwards, photos were taken and leaked.

They didn't show any private parts, but it was still obvious what she'd been doing.

The whole internet exploded again, gossip about the young starlet Shu Mingyu flooding every corner. Words like "indecent" weren't used; instead, the comments were all abuzz, gleefully noting her variety of tricks.

This kind of scandal wouldn't affect her work, but what it did hurt was her marriage prospects—her shortcut to the top.

Though society was open-minded, the wealthy families at the top still required their omegas to be pure, untouched. Those with a sexual history were automatically disqualified.

She could still marry, of course; these days, no one really cared, and anyone could marry anyone. But she would never marry into the highest echelons she so desperately coveted.

She liked to sell her body? Then let that very sexuality destroy her "dream."

How Shu Mingyu might collapse or rage no longer concerned Yan Xianchuan. After that episode, the rest of the filming went smoothly, without any further hiccups.

Lu Mingqiu's final scene wasn't the one where her character died. Instead, it was a scene of the songstress walking alone through an alley, where a few children ran by with pinwheels and accidentally bumped into her.

Her white qipao got a few smudges of dirt.

The kids apologized, timid and uneasy. The songstress just laughed, pulled out a couple of fruit drops from her bag, and gave them to the children.

Their mothers, chasing behind, saw this and hurried over. They snatched the candies from the kids' hands and returned them to the songstress, then swatted their own children on the bottoms. The kids yelped and burst into tears.

The songstress could only turn and walk away, overhearing the women gossiping behind her back. One said the candy wrappers had foreign writing on them, probably expensive. Another said it was money earned from selling smiles, dirty money, so who knew what was on those candies. The treats bought with dirty money were filthy too—not fit to eat.

The songstress patted her skirt, brushing off the dust, but she couldn't brush away what was in her heart.

The final shot lingered on her dazed eyes, and the director called, "Cut!"

The crew burst into applause, celebrating Lu Mingqiu's wrap. She blinked a few times, stepped out of character, and went around thanking everyone, saying "thank you" and "good work."

It took a while before she finished her pleasantries and finally walked over to Yan Xianchuan.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "All done now."

"No, it wasn't long," Yan Xianchuan said, shaking her head, watching her wife, who had swept her hair up.

After the shoot ended, they left the studio and returned to their home in Nanjin City. Two days later, Mirror sent word that the Holy Healing Church was about to make a major move.

She'd deduced it from the movements of people at the bar.

Mirror had been posing as the mole Stinger and had made contact with the Church's masked liaison once. He'd only said to await orders and not to contact him on his own, and he'd left Mirror in the dark ever since.

But Mirror hadn't been idle. She occasionally played Stinger's part, going out for a stroll, and sometimes changed her appearance to stake out the Church's bar hideout.

She could alter her form at will, and no one would notice. As for the necklace she wore, that was only used back at the base, so teammates could identify her.

On missions, she never left such an obvious flaw.

The Church treated "Stinger" as a disposable pawn, so of course they wouldn't tell him about their internal operations. But Mirror was a master of observation and mimicry; she could deduce hidden secrets from the subtleties of people's expressions and the content of their conversations.

Besides, the number of people coming to the bar lately had increased. Some would arrive, head to the back rooms or the workrooms, and never come out again.

A bar had a constant flow of people, so no one would pay it any attention, but Mirror never missed these irregularities.

The crazies of the Holy Healing Church had a certain aura, distinct from others, and once you'd interacted with enough of them, it was easy to pick out.

Most people went to bars to unwind—drinking, dancing, chatting about everything under the sun—and of course, bounty hunters came to discuss jobs.

Most of them were from the lower rungs of society, and they had their own particular flavor. The Church members, by contrast, had an indescribable neuroticism. Individually, you might not notice it, but put them in a crowd, and that odd quality stood out starkly.

It was as if they weren't from the same world as everyone else, out of place wherever they went.

Recently, too many Church members had been coming to the bar.

Mirror, still disguised as Stinger, took another risk and sought out the black-market cyberware doctor known as Black Heart, asking if he'd had any work lately, since he wanted to get out of the Resistance as soon as possible.

He acted irritable, like a man about to snap under his own pressure. The Church, seeing this, would know this pawn was ready for the scrap heap, and wouldn't hesitate to use him up.

Sure enough, that night, his handler contacted him.

He still wore that white smiling mask, heart-shaped, with curved eyes and a curved mouth, and pink blush on his cheeks.

"You've been a little too restless lately," he said, his voice low and silky, cloying like chocolate sauce.

"If you'd kept your promises from before, I wouldn't be this jumpy," Stinger said, his tone hostile.

"It just so happens I have a new task for you," the White Mask said. "Go to the Resistance and tell them you've spotted Church members around Peace Dock, that they might be up to something. Lead the people there."

Stinger's pupils contracted. "You're going to wipe out the Resistance in one go?"

"Of course not," the White Mask chuckled softly. "These people are like lice on a stray dog—you can never catch them all. We just want to distract them so they won't notice what the Church is really doing."

"If I lead them over and there's nothing there, I'll be dealt with on the spot," Stinger bargained. "And with just my word, the higher-ups won't send many people, at most a couple of scouts."

"Don't worry, I'll arrange for a few scapegoats to be there beforehand," the White Mask said, hands clasped behind his back. "You just need to bring the people around, and after that, you'll be free."

Stinger's eyes lit up, then grew cautious again. "My mental coordinate..."

"The device we gave you before can block the signal," the White Mask said, smoothing his clerical robe. "The Church never goes back on its word. Once you leave, there will be someone to receive you."

"Good!" Stinger said, barely containing his excitement. "When exactly?"

"This Wednesday," the White Mask said with a grin. "Congratulations in advance on your freedom."

Then he cut the connection and signed off.

Stinger—that is, Mirror—sneered. The R&D department had long figured out that little gadget; it had no ability to block mental coordinates. If Stinger had still been alive and foolish enough to believe that, he'd be the next to die.

The only valuable piece of information in that White Mask's message was Wednesday.

Mirror immediately contacted Lu Mingqiu and reported her findings.