Qingping returned to her room, lay on the bed, closed her eyes, and rested quietly. Her breathing was even and long, as though she had fallen asleep.
She gave the impression that nothing had happened at all.
Everything was as usual.
Several hours passed. Apart from getting up midway to accept the dinner delivered by the guard stationed outside her door, who knocked before bringing it in,
she maintained that sleeping posture the entire time, utterly motionless.
Night gradually descended... After two days of wild revelry, no matter how energetic the ship's passengers were, they could not help feeling somewhat weary. Unlike usual, tonight's dance ended around ten o'clock. Everyone embraced their partners and went back to rest. Only a very small number of particularly energetic young people still did not want to sleep. Several dozen of them brought girls and liquor up to the Sea-Gazing Tower atop the ship to watch the stars.
Watching stars, such an artistic pursuit, had never been a group activity.
But high in the air, battling in groups against the wind—
that was much more in line with young people's interests and boundless energy.
At the height of their wildest, most excited play, a group of uninvited guests burst in. They had not come to join them, but to wield sickles that harvested lives, taking one life after another amid the revelry. Blood blossomed like flowers; life withered like fallen leaves.
The slaughter had begun at some unknown time, playing out soundlessly without end.
Qingping, who had been sleeping with her eyes shut all along,
suddenly snapped her eyes open.
A sharp gleam flashed within them.
Lighter than mist and nimbler than a civet cat, Qingping silently opened the door. She struck like lightning at the back of the guard's neck, then gently dragged