“I think,” Tzilan said, her voice laced with chilling promise, “you have misunderstood the true nature of my art.” Gou Yiming’s spectacles slid further down his nose. The alarm clock, still clutched in Tzilan’s hand, seemed to throb with latent power. He gulped, a visible bob in his throat. "No, no, Blood Orchid! I understand! Completely! Profoundly! It's… it's why I'm here!" Liao Bixue, still holding her dropped notepad, watched the artist with a bewildered gaze. "You were hired by Boss Ma, Maestro Yiming. You’re his operative. What could you possibly mean?" Yiming wrung his hands, his eyes darting between Tzilan’s narrowed gaze and Bixue’s exhausted confusion. “Boss Ma is a philistine! He only sees the utility, the crass tactical applications! But your… your compositions, Blood Orchid, they sing of a deeper truth! A truth I had to protect!” He took a trembling step back, almost tripping over his own flamboyant scarf. “He assumed your ‘doodles’ contained the path to our future dominance! He wanted me to ‘decipher’ them into a grand strategy against… against the other merchant guilds!” Tzilan shifted her weight, the alarm clock feeling heavier. “And you did?” “No! Not truly!” Yiming cried out, throwing his hands up in a theatrical gesture. “I… I *interpreted* them! I saw the beauty in your chaotic lines, the raw power of your… your spatial arrangements. And I understood their true purpose: a misdirection! A glorious, magnificent misdirection!” Bixue parted her dry lips. “A misdirection?” “Indeed!” Yiming puffed out his chest, regaining a sliver of his usual artistic swagger. “Your initial sketch of the vault, that was a stroke of genius, leading him to trust your… strategic prowess. But the subsequent sketches, the ones he gave me to ‘decode’ after the gallery incident, those were far more subtle. They depicted… the docks. The industrial docks, specifically the Old Dragon’s Maw pier. Not as a point of infiltration, as he believed, but as… a cul-de-sac! A trap!” Bixue felt a cold dread seep into her already weary bones. The Old Dragon’s Maw pier. That was the heart of her last remaining shipping hub, the fragile artery of her nascent empire. “He’s sending his main squads there?” Her voice was thin, a mere wisp. “Yes! Tonight! He thinks it’s where he’ll find the ‘key’ to crushing the other cartels. I convinced him your… your spontaneous lines, your accidental smudges, indicated a hidden cache of weaponry, a secret passage leading to a vulnerable heart. I told him he would find his destiny there!” Yiming beamed, pleased with his artistic deception. “Instead, he will find… a tactical dead end, a chokepoint designed for maximum exposure to a counter-attack!” Bixue swayed, her vision blurring. Hours of fighting, of running, of sheer anxiety had sapped her reserves. To hear her last bastion was about to become a battleground, not for her own workers, but for Boss Ma’s, was a crushing blow. She could barely stand. Her business, everything she’d built, was about to be obliterated under the boots of the Iron Fang, thanks to Tzilan’s *doodles* and Yiming’s *artistic interpretation*. Tzilan, however, didn't share Bixue's despair. Her mind, surprisingly alert after dispatching several intruders, was racing down a different track. If Bixue’s business was destroyed, what then? Where would an exhausted, bankrupt transmigrator go? The Jade Crane Estate, of course. She would move in, a permanent fixture, demanding ‘strategic insights,’ ‘doodle interpretations,’ and probably even more chores. Her peaceful, pampered retirement would be over for good. The thought was unbearable. “The docks,” Tzilan murmured, a dangerous glint entering her eyes. She glanced at the alarm clock, then at Bixue, slumped against the study wall. “You can’t even stand.” “I… I’m fine,” Bixue mumbled, pushing herself upright with a shaky arm, only to lean back heavily. “I’m just… tired.” “Right.” Tzilan made a decision. “Yiming, where did you last see my… my art supplies?” Yiming pointed to a corner of the study, where a rolled-up canvas and a discarded palette lay. “Over there, Blood Orchid. Forgive me, I was just—” “Good. Bixue, you stay here. Yiming, follow me.” Tzilan strode out of the study, ignoring Bixue’s protests. She went directly to the kitchen, bypassing the simmering chicken soup Wei Jianhong had made earlier. She located a ceramic teapot and a small, unlabeled jar she intuitively knew contained a potent, dark-green herb. Within minutes, a steaming brew, earthy and acrid, sat on the counter. Tzilan poured it into a delicate porcelain cup and handed it to Bixue, who had dragged herself to the kitchen entrance, looking utterly defeated. “Drink this,” Tzilan commanded. “It’ll help.” Bixue eyed the steaming liquid suspiciously. “What is it?” “Tea. Now drink.” As Bixue hesitantly sipped, Tzilan headed for the back garden, Yiming trailing behind, looking more confused than ever. The moonlight cast long, shifting shadows as Tzilan walked directly to a patch of overgrown wisteria, ignoring the perfectly manicured rose bushes. She knelt, her hands digging into the damp earth with startling speed and precision, like a dog unearthing a prized bone. Yiming watched, mesmerized, as she unearthed a wooden crate, lacquered black and surprisingly sturdy. With a grunt, she pried open the lid. Inside, nestled on velvet, lay a collection of finely crafted, wickedly sharp blades, weighted throwing stars, and a pair of polished, iron-reinforced gauntlets. Tzilan picked up a curved, double-edged dagger, testing its balance. Its familiarity was instant, an extension of her own limb. “My… my ‘art supplies’,” she said, her voice devoid of its usual sleepy drawl, replaced by a cold, resonant tone. “For my midnight gardening.” Just as she selected another blade, a booming voice cut through the stillness of the night. “Tzilan, my lotus blossom! What on earth are you doing digging in the dirt?” Wei Jianhong stood framed in the doorway, a silk robe draped over his imposing form, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. He saw the unearthed crate, the glint of metal, and Yiming hovering nervously. “And Maestro Yiming, what are you doing with my wife, disturbing her beauty sleep with… midnight horticulture? Are you cultivating some rare, night-blooming lotus? Because I could have had my gardeners handle it, you know how delicate Tzilan’s hands are.” He strode forward, his gaze landing on the dagger Tzilan held. “Is that… a pruning knife? Darling, please, be careful, you might chip a nail.” Bixue, now standing much straighter after several sips of Tzilan’s potent brew, rushed out, her exhaustion replaced by a jittery alertness. “Mr. Wei, it’s… it’s urgent! We need to go to the docks! Immediately! Boss Ma’s forces are there, they’re going to destroy everything!” Jianhong turned, his face hardening. “Boss Ma? Destroy everything? Not on my watch! And certainly not while my Tzilan is exposed to the elements. You all stay here, I will handle this rabble myself.” He started to turn towards the front gates. “No!” Tzilan said, her voice unusually firm. She had to protect her peace. She couldn’t have Jianhong going alone and getting into a protracted street war, bringing the chaos back to the estate, or worse, getting hurt. And she *definitely* couldn’t have a bankrupt Bixue moving in. “We need to go, Jianhong. You said you wanted to plant lotuses. It is the perfect night for planting.” She gestured vaguely towards the crate of weapons. “These… these are the tools.” Jianhong looked at the array of knives, then back at Tzilan, a slow smile spreading across his face. “My sweet Tzilan! Always full of whimsy! You wish to plant lotuses at the docks, under the moonlight? A truly romantic notion! Very well! We shall go. But I will chaperone. I cannot allow my precious flower to venture into such… unseemly places unescorted. And I shall assist you with your… gardening. It seems Boss Ma has provided us with the perfect soil for our midnight blossoms.” He clapped his hands together, his smile turning menacing. “Lead the way, my darling. We shall make a beautiful garden tonight.” Tzilan stared at her husband, then at the blades in the crate. She had to slaughter an entire syndicate, dismantle Boss Ma’s crew, and secure Bixue’s remaining business, all while pretending to plant flowers, and making sure her impossibly attentive husband didn't see a thing.

Midnight Gardening