The flickering neon sign of the Jade Serpent Garment District cast a sickly green glow over the plaza, illuminating a dense, tired crowd. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of machinery and the faint, sweet decay of textile dyes. Cassette players blared competing synth-pop anthems from makeshift stalls, their tinny beats swallowed by the roar of distant motorbikes.
“Look at her!” Peizhi’s voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through the din. She stood at the plaza’s center, a stark figure in her oil-stained work overalls, one hand clenched, the other brandishing a thin, white rectangle like a weapon. “While we sweat and bleed for our quotas, this one naps!”
All eyes swiveled to Tienya, slumped against a stack of empty cargo crates. Her silk scarf, a scandalous splash of cerise in this drab industrial zone, had slipped, revealing the faint indent of a crate seam on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and heavy-lidded, blinking slowly against the harsh lights. A single strand of hair clung to her lip gloss, proof of a deep, unbothered slumber.
“It’s Tienya again,” a grunt rippled through the onlookers. “Sleeping through clock-in.”
“Probably dreaming of a silk pillow,” another jeered, earning a chuckle from the weary faces.
Peizhi shoved the paper forward. “See this? See this blank disgrace?!” She waved Tienya’s timecard, pristine and untouched, for all to witness. “While the rest of us clock in before dawn, she clocks out before clocking in! This isn’t just laziness, it’s a slap in the face to every worker who keeps this district alive!” Her words echoed, fueled by a righteous fury that many in the crowd shared.
Tienya yawned, a delicate, unhurried affair that made Peizhi’s nostrils flare. “Hard labor is such a scam,” she murmured, her voice soft but surprisingly clear, carrying over the murmurs. She pushed herself upright, stretching languidly, her body unburdened by the previous night’s imaginary toil. “It’s all just… for show. Like those fake luxury handbags at the night market.”
The crowd fell silent, their mockery giving way to stunned disbelief. Peizhi’s mouth hung open. “A… a scam? Do you hear yourselves? We’re building this city with our hands!”
“Exactly,” Tienya nodded, smoothing her scarf. “And look at your hands. Rough, calloused. Not very pretty, are they? Mine are soft. For holding delicate things. Or perhaps, for being admired.” She patted her own smooth palms with a dismissive air. “I’m retiring, effective immediately. To become a trophy wife. No more quotas, no more grease. Just soft living and pretty dresses.”
Gasps erupted, followed by an uproar of indignant shouts. “A trophy wife? Who would take *her*?”
“She’s a dreamer!”
“More like a parasite!”
Peizhi, her face crimson, lunged forward. “You think life is a game, Tienya? You think you can just escape the grind because you’re ‘too pretty’?”
Before Peizhi could grab Tienya’s arm, a shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom beneath the towering warehouses. It was a man, massive and broad-shouldered, moving with an unnerving stillness that belied his size. His work coat, dark and thick, seemed to absorb the neon light, making him appear even larger. His face, when he stepped into a sliver of green glow, was stern, etched with faint, crisscrossing scars that spoke of countless battles. Jianmo. The name whispered through the crowd like a warning.
He stopped a few paces from Tienya, his presence silencing the jeers, his dark eyes sweeping over the onlookers with an intensity that sent a chill through the agitated workers. Peizhi, mid-stride, froze, her hand still reaching, then slowly dropped to her side.
Jianmo looked at Tienya, his expression unreadable. “A trophy wife, you say?” His voice was a low rumble, surprisingly gentle given his formidable appearance. He didn't wait for her reply, instead turning his gaze to the hushed crowd. “Is there a problem here?”
No one dared to answer. The silence stretched taut between the stalls. Jianmo returned his focus to Tienya, a corner of his scarred mouth twitching, almost a smile. “Then allow me to rectify this oversight.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. He knelt, his heavy work boots thudding softly on the grimy concrete. “Tienya. Will you marry me?”
A collective gasp ripped through the plaza. Peizhi looked like she’d been struck by lightning. Tienya, however, blinked, then a wide, delighted smile blossomed on her face. Her earlier indolence vanished, replaced by a radiant joy.
“Oh, Jianmo!” she exclaimed, her voice light and musical. “You really are the most sensible man in Shanjin! I accept! Finally, no more early mornings!” She extended a manicured hand for him to slide the silver band onto her finger. The ring, though simple, caught the neon light, a small, glittering promise.
Peizhi, finding her voice, screeched, “A dockworker, Tienya? Do you know how dockworkers live? They starve! You’ll be poorer than you were before, working twice as hard just to keep a roof over your head!”
Tienya merely waved a dismissive hand, now sparkling with her new engagement ring. “Nonsense, Peizhi. Jianmo is strong. He’ll carry me over the threshold. And I’m sure he’ll find a way to make sure I don’t have to lift a finger.” She leaned into Jianmo, who had risen, his massive arm circling her waist, pulling her close. His gaze, still hard and unwavering, swept over the now silent, baffled crowd.
“Come, wife,” he rumbled, leading her away from the stunned faces, his stride unhurried, as if he hadn’t just orchestrated the most audacious proposal the Jade Serpent Garment District had ever witnessed.
***
The tiny apartment above the bustling food stalls of the Iron Eel Alley reeked of fried noodles and damp concrete. It was barely big enough for their rickety bed and a small, overflowing toolbox Jianmo kept meticulously organized. Tienya hummed a pop tune, twirling a strand of her hair around a finger, utterly content. Jianmo, meanwhile, was carefully arranging a stack of fresh fruit on a chipped ceramic plate, his movements precise.
Suddenly, a faint scratching echoed from the door. Tienya’s head tilted. “Did you hear that, Jianmo? Sounds like a little stray.”
Jianmo paused, his hand hovering over a pear. “A stray?”
The scratching grew more insistent, accompanied by a low, mournful whimper. Tienya’s face softened. “Oh, the poor thing! It must be freezing out there.” She was at the door in an instant, yanking it open. A large, dark mass tumbled inward, smelling faintly of rain and something else… something metallic and sharp. It was a dog, she thought, a very large one, covered in matted dark fur, whimpering pitifully. One of its legs was bent at an unnatural angle, and a dark stain bloomed on its matted side.
“Oh, you poor baby!” Tienya knelt, her silk skirt pooling around her. She reached out, her fingers brushing against something surprisingly coarse beneath the matted fur. “You’re so big and fluffy! And hurt!”
The ‘stray dog’ let out another pained whimper, its large, dark eyes blinking slowly. Beneath the thick, rain-soaked fur, the outline of a tailored suit, now torn and bloodied, was barely visible. The 'matted fur' was a heavy, expensive fur coat, soaked through.
Jianmo watched from the small kitchen nook, his expression neutral. His dark eyes, however, were intensely focused, not on Tienya’s tender ministrations, but on the ‘stray’s’ oddly shaped bulk and the glint of something metallic beneath the torn coat. His gaze was dark, calculating, almost predatory.
“Jianmo,” Tienya called, her voice muffled as she tried to soothe the wounded animal. “Fetch me some clean rags and that antiseptic we have, please? And maybe some of those tasty pork buns for our new friend!”
Jianmo gave a silent, almost imperceptible nod. He turned, his broad back to Tienya and her new charge, and walked to his toolbox. With a quiet click, he unlatched it. His hand dipped inside, past the wrenches and pliers, past the coiled wires and spare parts. His fingers closed around something cold, heavy, and undeniably dangerous.
He pulled out a silenced pistol.