Chapter 9
Wholesale Market.
Xinxin Handicraft Embroidery Shop was a fairly ordinary small shop in Jinlu Wholesale Market. Recently, DIY embroidery had become popular among students, so business had been decent.
This afternoon, the delivery guy had just placed a newly arrived French bead embroidery kit on the shelf. A customer arrived, the only clerk was busy attending another customer, and the shop manager, fighting off sleepiness, forced a standard eight-toothed smile.
“Y-hello!”
The new customer had black hair and pale skin, a sickly appearance, and a pair of naturally tender, slightly misty eyes. In real life, she had never seen a man like this—tall, thin, yet carrying a heartbreaking, fragile charm.
The appearance of this handsome man immediately dispelled the oppressive summer heat and her drowsiness. The manager’s voice brightened: “How may I help you?”
“Do you have embroidery thread? Good quality silk thread.”
The man’s voice was clear and crisp, ringing pleasantly in the ear. The manager’s ears felt almost numb.
“Silk thread for Suzhou embroidery?” [1]
“Yes.”
The customer hesitated slightly and nodded. The manager immediately noticed he didn’t know much about embroidery.
But her little shop had survived for years on reputation and credibility. Even if the customer didn’t understand, she would follow normal procedures to serve him. Besides, she couldn’t bear to see such a good-looking person disadvantaged.
“Manager,” the clerk who had just seen off a customer came over, “what does this gentleman need?”
The manager waved her hand. “I’ll take care of it, you mind the shop.”
She then led Jiang Jitang to the back.
“I have three different grades of Suzhou embroidery silk threads. The prices per skein are 1.5, 4, and 8 yuan. The higher the price, the better the quality, but if it’s just for personal use, the 1.5-yuan thread is enough.”
Jiang Jitang looked at the three types of thread displayed by the manager. On its own, the 1.5-yuan thread looked fine, but after seeing the 8-yuan thread, the cheaper one seemed inferior in every way.
“I want to see this thread. Any discount?” He pointed to the 8-yuan-per-skein thread.
“This is our best real silk thread. Regular customers love it. The luster and color are suitable even for commercial embroidery. One skein can be split into 64 strands for the finest stitching. 8 yuan is the wholesale price; online we sell it for 13 yuan. If you buy more, we’ll also include gold and silver threads and premium embroidery needles.”
Jiang Jitang didn’t know much about thread but could tell that the manager’s recommended threads had good color and texture, and the price was slightly lower than what he’d found online.
But he didn’t know how many colors are typically needed for embroidery. The manager’s list had two or three hundred colors—he certainly couldn’t buy them all.
“Which colors are used the most?”
The manager laughed—typical amateur question. Which colors are used depends entirely on the embroidery theme: blues and greens for “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains,” reds and oranges for “Persimmons and Good Fortune.” There is no such thing as “most-used colors.”
“We have commonly used sets: a 64-color set and a 24-color set. The 64-color set is 500 yuan, the 24-color set is 180 yuan, and they’re currently 20% off.”
Ten minutes later, Jiang Jitang appeared at the shop entrance carrying the 24-color thread set. The manager also gave him a box of ten premium embroidery needles of different sizes and two rolls of gold and silver thread.
Encountered a knowledge blind spot. He had relied entirely on the manager and still wasn’t sure if he bought the right thing.
Maybe he should learn embroidery, he thought.
—
In the shop.
Once the customer left, the clerk leaned over: “Manager, the 20% discount on our sets? Since when?”
“Oh, just today, it just ended.”
“…”
After leaving the embroidery shop, Jiang Jitang went to a hardware store.
Buying thread had been completely out of his depth, but fortunately, he didn’t face the same issue buying sickles.
He had never used a sickle, but he had used knives. He could roughly assess the steel, craftsmanship, and toughness by observation and then confirm with the owner.
“Twenty.”
“This is a manganese steel forged dual-purpose sickle, good for chopping firewood and harvesting rice, weighs six liang…”
“Twenty.”
“You—”
“Twenty.”
“Fine, fine,” the owner sighed, “even if you buy one for twenty—”
“Two for thirty-six. Can you give a discount?”
The silent owner gripped the handle low-key. “Sir, what did you say?”
Risking being kicked out, he ended up buying two high-quality sickles for thirty-six yuan.
“Guju?” The Golden Eye blinked. The owner’s red-eyed irritation earlier didn’t seem fake.
“Actually, the slightly lower-quality ones would work too?” it cooed. The cheaper sickles were still steel, just not as good. Still, better than ancient farmers’ iron sickles.
“Sickles are a farmer’s livelihood tool—they must be perfect,” Jiang Jitang said with a smile.
Being disliked by the owner was nothing. He had been kicked out many times when haggling for renovation materials. Didn’t stop him from returning with a smile next time.
Thick-skinned is good—these are small matters.
“Let’s go home.”
Having bought everything he needed, Jiang Jitang returned home under the scorching sun. He first submitted the sickle order, then the thread order.
The former’s wishers were in the mountains—half-grown children hiding in the hills, greeting him as if he were a savior.
The latter’s wishers were in Jiangnan’s water towns, likely celebrating a festival, laughter echoing along the way. At a small alley, an embroiderer in blue with wooden hairpins looked worried until she saw his thread and finally smiled.
The afternoon wasn’t over, but the tasks were completed. The rest was free time.
“Work’s done!” He turned on the fan and entered the kitchen. “What do you want? Chilled sour plum juice, watermelon, or yogurt dessert?”
The Golden Eye made an intrigued sound, unaccustomed to food. It had never tasted any of these, but if the master recommended it, it must be good.
“I don’t think you could choose, so yogurt dessert it is. We have two jars of old yogurt in the fridge about to expire.”
For Jiang Jitang or Mrs. Jiang, food was serious business. The living room could be small, but not the kitchen. Other appliances could be few, but a double-door fridge and large freezer were must-haves.
His fridge and freezer were always full, convenient for Jiang to showcase his cooking skills.
Ingredients were laid out neatly on the cleaned counter, and Jiang prepared large bowls.
Making yogurt dessert was easy—it was a foolproof summer treat.
Into two bowls went cubed grass jelly, cooled tapioca pearls, two generous spoonfuls of sweet red beans, layered syrup peaches, a full bowl of chilled old yogurt, topped with strawberries and mangoes, finished with honey.
The yogurt dessert was ready.
“Wow—” The Golden Eye’s entire bracelet gleamed.
Layered ingredients, sweet and tangy yogurt, bright-colored fruit, golden honey—just the visual and olfactory feast, without tasting, it could imagine how delicious this dessert would be.
As expected, upon tasting, the magical artifact floated in delight.
The cool grass jelly, the chewy tapioca, the sticky beans, the sweet syrup peaches, and the tart yogurt created a rainbow storm in the mouth.
What had it been living on before?
“This is summer.”
After a busy day, he could sit on the sofa with yogurt dessert, enjoying the cool breeze. Jiang Jitang felt content. He had worked hard and deserved this treat.
The Golden Eye, who ate without lifting its head, agreed wholeheartedly.
Life may be long, but one should indulge in good food for ordinary yet remarkable days.
Jiang Jitang and the Golden Eye enjoyed the afternoon’s sweet, icy relief—a privilege not for everyone.
—
In just twenty-eight days, unexpected deaths in Jin City exceeded the previous six months, and they were not isolated cases. Authorities repeatedly demanded they stop the spread of incidents.
But how easy was that?
“Everyone, you were selected as elites from various departments. If you give up, ordinary people will have no hope. Think—if this continues, our families and friends could become victims.”
This was no empty warning; some players’ relatives had already become victims.
“What about the players already under control?” They had captured a batch of rule-breaking players.
“They’d better die in the game,” Jiang Xingzhou, Jin City’s head, ground her teeth.
Looking at the death records of young lives lost, her heart, thought long numb, filled with rage.
Some players distributing malicious game invites had been captured, but many weren’t on the list. What they had caught was just a small fraction.
The Police and intelligence departments worked overtime tracking and verifying players, yet many concealed their identities—no one knew what they might do.
“Boss, our district received a report: someone lost consciousness after leaving the school gate, woke up kilometers away in an alley, three days later, and requested to view the surveillance footage.”
“A prank again?” They received countless ridiculous surveillance requests daily.
Right now, who had the mood for pranks? Jiang Xingzhou was about to wave her subordinates off to handle it.
“Probably not a prank,” a subordinate answered unexpectedly. “We checked the footage. It’s strange. A player may have been involved.”
Jiang Xingzhou’s eyes sharpened. “Continue.”
“The person disappeared while being controlled in the alley. Minister, do you know what items can be used in reality? I suspect a player is targeting ordinary people out of personal vendetta.”
“Items usable in reality, capable of affecting ordinary people.”
Jiang Xingzhou furrowed her brows. She hadn’t rested in days, agitated, but still controlled her temper toward her subordinates. “Send me the video.”
Footnotes:
[1] Suzhou embroidery is a traditional Chinese art form from Suzhou known for its intricate needlework, fine silk threads, and realistic, painting-like quality.
