Two years ago, late autumn. The company office. A boy was buried in his work, totally focused. Even though it was almost time to clock out, he wasn’t slacking off or goofing around at all.
"Hey, Fool!" Someone suddenly called out to him from not far away. The boy jolted at the sound, quickly looking up, and saw a girl about four meters away smiling at him. Simple dress, simple clothes, simple hairstyle, simple smile, simple face—but put together, she was stunning. Absolutely gorgeous.
"Ooooh—!!" The office busybodies all leaned forward at once, their eyes going sly. Someone poked him with a finger, "Fool~? That nickname... sounds like something’s up~~"
"Shoo, shoo, go on, stop making a fuss." He waved his hand like chasing chickens, shooing away the nosy crowd. Then he ran over to the girl, surprised and delighted: "What brings you here? Work stuff?"
"Nope, I came just to see you." The girl grinned like a kid who aced a test. "And I brought you a present!"
"Whoa? Seriously?" The boy was totally surprised, his anticipation shooting up. "What kind of present?"
"This! Remember I said I’d write you a guide a few days ago? Well, I finally finished it today." The girl handed him a stack of papers. He glanced down, and the bold title read: How to Survive When Death Comes...
The boy squinted instantly, quietly rolled the papers into a tube, and—without hesitation—chopped down with a karate hand: "You really wrote it, you goof!"
"I spent ages writing it, so you have to read it!" After some playful bickering, the girl suddenly said, "Fool, I want to go sing karaoke tonight. You in?"
"Karaoke? Who else is going?"
The girl held up one finger: "Me." Then half-raised a second: "If you go, then you. If you don’t, then neither do I. Simple as that—yes or no?"
Yes or no? Ha, is that even a question? The boy grinned like he was glowing, electricity running through his whole body with a fizzy, excited energy.
Night fell, and the two went to karaoke. Once inside the private room, jackets off, the boy’s heart was thumping so hard it made his eyes dart around nervously. Just as he started daydreaming, the girl jumped right in.
"Fool, I’ll go first. Listen to my newly perfected dolphin high note—‘Painted Heart’!" The music started. The girl playfully perched on the coffee table, eyes glued to the screen. As the beautiful melody played, the screen’s glow lit up her profile like a crescent moon—pure and mysterious, and for a moment, the boy was totally entranced.
Your outline disappears into the night.
Watching peach blossoms—what kind of ending will they bring?
Looking at you, holding me—your gaze is as lonely as moonlight.
So let you be happy in someone else's arms...
Back to the present—the auction scene. Suddenly, there was a clang of chains being yanked. The auction crowd didn’t care, but the deputy leader and staff’s eyes went wide—because that sound came from The Fool’s cage. After three days of silence, The Fool was moving again—right at this critical moment!
The Fool suddenly stood up, grabbing the wooden bars of the prison wagon with both hands.
"Is he trying to..." Before anyone could finish the thought, there was a loud crack—the sturdiest wood of the prison wagon split cleanly, like it’d been sawed through. Even the rowdy buyers went quiet, staring at the broken cage, then at The Fool who stepped out.
Standing on the ground, everyone finally realized The Fool was actually pretty well-built—standing tall and straight like a pine tree.
With everyone staring in confusion, The Fool ignored everything else, calmly walked up to the Bottle Woman, squatted down, and looked at her steadily: "Sounds nice. Keep going."
"What’s going on here?" a buyer shouted. "Boss, aren’t you going to do something?"
The deputy leader immediately called a bunch of people over to pull and tug, but no matter how they tried, they couldn’t move him an inch.
"It’s that woman—move the bottle!" Someone reached for the bottle, but The Fool grabbed the neck, and suddenly it was like the bottle had grown roots—completely immovable. The whole scene turned ridiculous: seven or eight people grabbing his waist, locking his neck, yanking his arms, but The Fool didn’t budge. He just repeated, blankly: "Sounds nice. Keep going."
The Bottle Woman didn’t pay attention to anyone else, either. Their shock, disbelief, flailing, and slapstick couldn’t affect the man in front of her, nor could it shake the woman in the bottle. That close, steady gaze was all that existed. That deep, gentle "Sounds nice. Keep going" became her biggest motivation. So she smiled:
Loving you—like a heartbeat, impossible to touch...
The buyers’ gazes changed, sizing up The Fool from head to toe. He was like a boulder—no wave could move him. One buyer got clever; the lady in the brocade robe focused her energy into her ears, listening closely to the Bottle Woman’s song, thinking it might hide a secret.
Drawing you, but can’t capture your bones...
Lady Brocade frowned, "That’s not a Central Plains tune—maybe it’s from the ancient Bitterlands dynasty. Write down the lyrics too, there could be a secret!"
Remembering your expression...
The deputy leader was sweating buckets, freaking out: "Go get the boss—have him come out here!"
It’s my stubborn waiting for you...
The Blind Elder’s eyelids flickered—suddenly, he didn’t seem so blind. He glanced around, rummaging in his fanny pack, and those eyes looked surprisingly sharp.
You are—an endless song I can’t finish...
The scene was chaos, but inside the chaos, there was calm. The Bottle Woman and The Fool locked eyes. She noticed a faint light flicker in The Fool’s eyes—a moment of clarity, like he’d suddenly remembered something. He blinked, and the light grew. He said two words: "Painted Heart."
The Bottle Woman froze, like lightning had struck her. 'Painted Heart'—those two words were the most shocking, the most exhilarating, the most tear-jerking words she’d heard since arriving in this world. She could hardly believe her ears, trembling as she asked, "What did you say?"
This chapter’s not over yet~.~ Click next page for more!
"Painted Heart." The Fool’s eyes were pure delight: "Dolphin high note—Painted Heart."
"Quick, that’s him—tie him up!" The deputy leader rallied the troops, who charged in with nets, iron chains, even spears and swords. But The Fool ignored them, just gripped the bottle’s neck with both hands. Crack—a fracture spread, then the tough bottle split clean in two and flew apart.
"Ah!" The Bottle Woman popped out like a peanut from its shell, wearing a set of fancy silk pajamas—definitely not ancient style. After so long locked up, her arms and legs were weak. She cried out and collapsed—but it was a cry of pure joy, not fear.
But her joy turned to alarm—because The Fool looked like he might turn her from a red peanut into a white marshmallow next.
The Fool’s nose twitched, and he suddenly frowned. He caught the Bottle Woman with one hand, and with the other, grabbed the deputy leader’s belt as he charged in. A twist and a shake, and the deputy leader went flying—right into his own net. He’d started out fully dressed, but landed buck naked; his clothes were now wrapped around the Bottle Woman’s pajamas.
And that wasn’t the end—like icing a cake, The Fool spun his hands and the Bottle Woman started spinning like a top.
First spin: pajama top flies up. Second spin: pajama pants drop to the floor. Third spin: some kind of bra goes flying, lands crookedly on the Blind Elder’s head.
After three spins, The Fool hoisted the Bottle Woman onto his shoulder and strode out with huge steps.
"Hey! Get back here!" The Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps guys tried everything to stop him, but nobody could. Heavy shackles and manacles didn’t slow him a bit. He didn’t even look rushed—just strolled along, step by steady step, and no one could lay a finger on him. These non-martial arts goons were totally useless. The brocade and black-robed folks wanted to jump in, but their bosses held them back.
"Somebody! Help! The Fool’s running off with her!" The now-naked deputy leader didn’t even try to cover up, just screamed at the top of his lungs. The Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps staff—over a hundred of them—rushed in from all directions, all armed with professional capture gear.
But just then, the Blind Elder suddenly pulled out a pill and smashed it on the ground—bam! Thick smoke billowed out, blocking everyone’s view.
"Cough, cough—so much smoke... Hey, Dummy, follow me!" The Blind Elder grabbed The Fool’s hand. The voice was pleasant, the hand soft and delicate—nothing old about it at all.
The whole camp outside was a mess—people shouting, horses whinnying, then the sound of hooves fading into the distance. The three of them had already escaped. The Smoke Pot boss never showed, and none of the buyers seemed worried. The leaders just sat there, cool as cucumbers, not lifting a finger to help.
"Inside, it’s buying. Outside, it’s theft." Lady Brocade’s gaze was deep. With a look, someone picked up the pajamas and brought them over. "Phew, what’s that smell?" she waved her hand, frowning. "The patterns aren’t Central Plains style, and neither is the music. Painted Heart? Hmph. Those two are connected, and both have secrets. They probably know the story I want." Lady Brocade looked at the rat-cage man, her voice icy: "You said your nose was sharp, right?"
The rat-skin man grinned obsequiously: "Don’t worry, ma’am—they won’t get away!"
Lady Brocade glanced at the black-robed guys—they’d grabbed the pajama pants and were examining them. They exchanged cold glances and snorts. A deadly competition was about to begin.