THE BLOODY EMERALD

I stood before the large, gold-rimmed oval mirror, silently observing the woman reflected within. She was a stranger to me. Dressed in a midnight-black evening gown with a high collar designed to conceal the faint scar tracing her collarbone, her face was as sharp and cold as ice.

Yet, it wasn’t the striking beauty or the expensive silk that held my gaze; it was my hands. They were coarse, calloused, and weathered, with nails bitten down to the quick. My right index finger was slightly deformed—a permanent memento of the time I disarmed a detonator with my bare hands to save a child’s life at the border.

“Trầm!”

A sweet but hesitant voice echoed from behind. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Mrs. Cung, my biological mother. She stepped forward, clutching a pair of long, white silk gloves.

“Put these on,” she urged, thrusting them into my palms. Her eyes darted away, unable to look at my rugged skin. “The hall is full of high-profile guests from the jade industry tonight. Your hands… they will frighten people.”

I stared at the white silk, then back at her. Frighten them? Perhaps. These hands had dug through rubble for the remains of comrades; they had been stained with blood, engine oil, and gunpowder. They were the hands of death, but also the hands of life. To my mother, however, they were merely an ugly defect to be hidden. She didn’t want them to know that while she was getting 24k gold facials, her daughter was defusing mines in the mud.

“Mrs. Cung,” I smirked, “Are you afraid I’ll soil their eyes, or are you afraid I’ll soil the reputation of your precious Jade Clan?”

Her face turned pale, the thick layer of powder failing to hide her embarrassment. “How can you say that? I only want what’s best for you. Look at Lạc Lạc. Her hands are always soft and white.”

Cung Lạc. The name I had heard a thousand times since entering this mansion. The adopted daughter they took in to fill the void of my absence. I picked up the gloves, the silk cold against my skin.

“Fine. I’ll play the role of the refined socialite for you. But I warn you—my hands aren’t used to holding fragile things. If I break something, don’t blame me.”

As she turned to leave with a sigh of relief, I didn’t put the gloves on. Rip! I tossed them into the trash. I have no habit of hiding my battle scars. Straightening my dress, I walked out. The fun was just beginning.

The Cung mansion’s grand hall was a palace of crystal chandeliers, piano melodies, and the clinking of wine glasses. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, vintage wine, and money—so pungent it irritated my heightened senses.

From the spiral staircase, I saw her. At the center of the hall stood Cung Lạc, the “White Lotus” of legend, dressed in pure white. On her wrist glittered an Emerald Jade bracelet—Imperial Green, worth 50 million yuan.

“Our protagonist has arrived!” a voice called out. Hundreds of eyes turned toward me—some curious, some judgmental, some disdainful.

Cung Lạc approached me with a graceful gait. She didn’t rush to hug me like a common amateur; she stopped at a respectful distance to highlight our contrast: the Pure White Swan versus the Dark Crow.

“Sister,” she whispered, her voice soft as spring water. “I was worried you wouldn’t be used to high heels. I wanted to help you dress, but Mother said you have a… temperamental nature.”

With one sentence, she branded me as both unrefined and eccentric. The crowd began to murmur in sympathy for the “kind” adopted daughter.

“Little sister,” I replied, my voice raspy and metallic. “I just returned from a disease-ridden border zone. I haven’t been fully decontaminated yet. Aren’t you afraid of catching something?”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she took my bare hand, her manicured thumb stroking my callouses with fake pity. “Oh, your hands… they are as hard as stone. Were you doing manual labor? Moving crates? My poor sister!”

Snickers broke out among the guests. My mother’s face twisted in shame. Cung Lạc then began to unfasten her 50-million-yuan bracelet. “You’re home now. You don’t have to work anymore. Father gave me this Imperial Green, but I’m giving it to you to help hide these… flaws.”

As she leaned in to “gift” it to me, she whispered into my ear, “Take it, you peasant. You only deserve my leftovers. This house, the parents, the fortune—they are all mine. You’re just a watchdog brought home for show.”

As she slid the bracelet toward my wrist, her thumb gave a subtle, expert flick. She wasn’t putting it on; she was dropping it. With my reflexes, I could have caught it easily. But after her whisper, I let my hand drop.

CRACK!

The 50-million-yuan jade shattered into pieces on the marble floor. Cung Lạc didn’t fall; she stood there, hands over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. “Sister… I know you hate me for taking your place, but why did you swat my hand away? I only wanted to help!”

“Cung Trầm! What have you done?” my father, Cung Hùng, roared.

The crowd whispered about the “ill-bred” biological daughter. My mother was livid. I ignored them and knelt, picking up the largest shard.

“Shut up,” I growled. It wasn’t the voice of a lost daughter; it was the voice of an alpha wolf. I pulled a mini UV flashlight and a multitool from my clutch.

I shone the light on the shard. “Look closely,” I announced. Under the UV light, the ‘jade’ glowed a neon green. “Real Imperial Green doesn’t change color under UV. This is ‘B-grade’ jade, soaked in acid and pumped with dyed glue.”

The room went silent. Then, I used the pliers to crack the shard. The ‘jade’ shell peeled off like an eggshell, revealing a black core.

“And here is the best part,” I said, lifting a tiny electronic component. “This isn’t jade; it’s industrial waste heat-pressed together. And this? This is a high-end eavesdropping and GPS tracking chip. Someone has been listening to every secret meeting in this house for years.”

The guests, obsessed with their own security, recoiled in horror. “A mole in the house?” “No wonder the Cung family lost those recent bids!”

I turned to Cung Lạc, whose face was now ghost-white. “How long have you worn this, little sister? Three years? Five? Who have you been sending Father’s safe codes to?”

“No… Triệu Húc gave it to me!” she stammered.

“Ah, the Triệu family,” I smiled coldly. “Generous enough to give a fake jade with a side of espionage.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound cut through the silence. My spine went cold. I had heard it a thousand times. The activation of a C4 timer.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN! BOMB!” I screamed.

The crowd froze. I didn’t have time to explain. I dove toward the gift table, tearing open the largest box. Inside was a black metallic casing with a red LED display counting down: 28 seconds. A note attached read: A small gift for the return of the true heiress, from the Golden Triangle.

I grabbed the heavy box and sprinted toward the backyard.

15 seconds.

10 seconds.

The swimming pool came into view.

5 seconds.

With every ounce of strength, I hurled the box into the center of the pool.

1 second. It hit the water.

0 seconds.

BOOM!

A massive pillar of water erupted into the sky. The shockwave threw me backward onto the grass. As water rained down on me, washing away my light makeup, I sat up, panting. It wasn’t a full-strength C4; it was an underwater charge mixed with smoke—a warning.

I looked back at the villa. My parents, Cung Lạc, and the guests stared at me as if I were a monster. I stood up, slicking my wet hair back, my black dress clinging to my skin. I smirked. “Welcome home to me. Quite the fireworks, wouldn’t you say?”

The aftermath was a whirlwind. My father hushed the media, claiming it was a “fireworks accident.” But he couldn’t hush me.

The next morning, he called me to his study. He threw a paper on the desk. “In this house, if you want to eat, you work. You’re assigned to Warehouse No. 9 at the border. Logistics.”

He thought it was a punishment—manual labor in the dust. He was wrong. Warehouse No. 9 was the jugular of their business. It was where the smuggling and illegal weapons passed through. He was handing me the evidence I needed.

At the warehouse, I met the “Uncrowned King” of the Golden Triangle’s transport, Tần Kiêu. He was sharp, watching my hands rather than my face. When Cung Lạc and my loathsome fiancé, Triệu Húc, arrived to humiliate me, they brought a “special” tattered stone for processing.

The machinery jammed. I heard the high-frequency hum—an anti-tamper trigger inside the stone. I grabbed a 10kg sledgehammer, leaped onto the vibrating machine, and shattered the drive shaft just as the diamond blade was about to trigger the core.

The blade flew off, narrowly missing Cung Lạc’s neck. I cracked the stone open to reveal 5kg of military-grade C4.

“Is this your ‘family treasure’?” I mocked as Triệu Húc cowered on the floor. “This was rigged to blow the moment the blade touched it. Little sister, you signed for this shipment, didn’t you?”

Tần Kiêu stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly. “Impressive. Your hands tell a story, Miss Cung. You’re EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal), aren’t you?”

“You know too much, Mr. Tần,” I replied.

My father’s response to the warehouse “incident” was a masterclass in cruelty. He didn’t kill me; he locked me up and took my phone.

Three days later, my mother entered my room with a red evening gown—red as fresh blood. “Get dressed. Tonight is your engagement party to Triệu Húc.”

“You’re joking,” I said, fiddling with my Zippo lighter.

“Your father says the only way to keep you quiet is to make you part of the Triệu family. Also…” she leaned in, “that orphanage at the border where you grew up? I hear they’ve been having a lot of… fire hazards lately.”

My grip tightened on the lighter until the metal bit into my palm. They were using innocent children to blackmail me.

“Fine,” I said, taking the dress. “I’ll go. But tell Triệu Húc to wear a diaper. I’d hate for him to soil the deck of his yacht when he gets scared.”

The party was held on the Poseidon, a super-yacht floating in international waters, hundreds of miles from land. A floating prison. The elites drank champagne while a live band played, unaware of the storm beneath the surface.

I walked onto the deck in that blood-red dress, slit high to show my legs, my back bare and scarred. Cung Lạc and Triệu Húc approached me, the “perfect couple.”

Triệu Húc leered at me, his breath stinking of alcohol. “So, you finally learned to be a good little girl? Tonight, I’ll teach you some manners.”

I looked out at the dark, endless ocean and smiled. The hunt was finally moving to deep water.