Chapter 1: Gratitude to the Heroine for Her Aid

September 1st, 2009. The weather was pleasant that day, allowing the green moss to cover the old stone bridge, the willow branches to sway languidly in the breeze, and the lake to ripple gently, circles spreading where partridges landed and stirred the water, distorting the reflection of ancient houses built of brick and stone.

This was the ancient town of Huzhou in Zhejiang, a nationally renowned scenic spot. Its elegant beauty, the charm of a water town in Jiangnan, was like a graceful woman among pavilions, towers, and the ancient drum tower, her figure undulating, much like willows in the spring wind, the contours of time etched into the corridors and bridges.

Yet, after the wave of socialist reform swept across the central plains, this place was no longer the pristine land it had been centuries ago.

At this moment, a bus glided smoothly along the polished road, passing the lakeside stone bridge and ancient houses.

Onboard, a man in a suit struggled in the crowded bus, holding a briefcase in one hand. He was lucky, pressed close to a seat, escaping the fate of being crushed between bodies. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his tongue darted to his moist lips, the taste unknown but seemingly pleasurable, as if he'd just sipped some rare nectar.

He glanced down by chance, and something felt amiss.

There sat a high school student in uniform, about seventeen or eighteen years old. Her shoulder-length hair was dark and fine, though slightly tousled. Her face was small, features delicate and refined, giving a fresh impression. Yet her half-closed eyes and expression suggested she hadn't fully awakened; her face was pale, lips almost bloodless, appearing unhealthy, even frail. Her lazy posture, slouched against the seatback, lent her an air of nonchalance that seemed at odds with her appearance, but a closer look at her face revealed a clean, transparent quality.

Overall, this girl of sixteen or seventeen was quite attractive, though somewhat cold and oddly distant.

She was looking to the side, her gaze fixed on his hand, her expression indifferent.

The man suddenly felt uneasy, then quickly annoyed. He stared at her, his irritation fading as he noticed her school uniform. He locked eyes with her, pulled his phone from beneath a woman's skirt, and shook it threateningly.

He flashed a slightly menacing smile.

Just a high school girl, weak and seemingly docile, nothing to fear...

The girl raised her head, her gaze meeting the ferocious man’s. Her eyes flickered with understanding and fear, and she quickly lowered her gaze. The man grinned, now brazenly ogling her, his lips growing ever more obscene.

It must be said, the girl’s appearance had a certain allure, a forbidden quality that made men desire her.

But what was she planning?

Naturally, the girl extended her hand and, with slender fingers, deftly snatched the phone while the man was caught off guard.

"You—!" He managed a single syllable, stunned.

The phone landed in her pale hand. She slid her thumb across the screen, which lit up. She glanced at the display, her lips curling slightly, then casually handed the phone to the tall, glamorous woman in front of the man.

"Hm?" The woman turned, puzzled. On the screen was a photo: pale, long legs, pink underwear, plump swaying hips—clearly an upskirt shot.

Her face flushed, and she snorted coldly, about to turn away, when she frowned. The Winnie-the-Pooh on the underwear seemed familiar.

Suddenly, she blushed even more, snatched the phone, and turned her head, catching the girl’s glance at the stunned man. Understanding dawned.

She slapped him hard. "You filthy pervert! Shameless! Taking photos of me!"

The slap rang out loudly.

The crowd erupted. So he was a voyeur!

The middle-aged man, furious, pushed the glamorous woman aside and swung at the girl.

---

He roared, "You little bitch!"

The girl reached for the bus seat's armrest, swiftly pulled out a black umbrella with a sharp, crisp sound—like a sword drawn from its sheath.

The slender black shape sliced through the air. With a quick motion, she thrust the umbrella’s rounded tip directly into the man's throat, hitting his Adam’s apple with precision and flair—almost like a fencer.

The human throat is fragile. The Adam’s apple? Try pressing your own knuckle there—it feels like death could come in an instant.

"Guh—!" The man’s briefcase dropped to the floor as he clutched his neck, eyes wide in pain, howling. The nearby passengers, including the glamorous woman, finally reacted.

There were some helpful souls on the bus, and since the man didn’t seem especially strong, a couple of young men quickly subdued him. Of course, their enthusiasm may have been due to the fact that the victim was a beautiful woman.

"Good! Such perverts should be caught and handed over to the police!"

"My daughter keeps saying she comes across perverts on the bus—I never believed her. Now I see it’s true!"

"I see them all the time. If you don’t catch them, they just get worse. You have to catch them!"

The bus was soon in an uproar, with many people joining in.

Just then, the bus stopped with a clang. The girl stood, flicked the black umbrella from her hand.

With a flourish, she returned the umbrella to its original place, next to an elderly man seated beside her. She said, "Sir, your umbrella is of good quality."

Her voice was soft and gentle, but distant, as if she had nothing to do with what had just happened.

—A bystander.

The old man, who had watched silently from start to finish, smiled, his expression content. "Thank you for using it, young heroine."

The girl had just snatched his umbrella, struck like lightning, with the grace of a lone wanderer—a swordswoman.

Could this be a gentle, obedient schoolgirl?

"Young heroine?" The girl raised an eyebrow, noncommittal, and stepped off the bus, ignoring the astonished gazes behind her.

"Hey, who was that?"

"I saw it! Damn, I thought girls nowadays were all delicate, but I didn’t expect one to be so tough!"

"That pervert was unlucky, having his plans ruined by a girl..."

...

In a corner, another high school student watched in shock. That girl—wasn’t that... Sui Yi?

Sui Yi from Class Two, Grade Eleven?

No, now she should be in Class Two, Grade Twelve!

---

Sui Yi. The name was unusual—not only was it a homophone for "casual," but the surname itself was rare. Someone once researched it and found it did exist.

Yet the "Yi" was even stranger. Was it appropriate to give a girl such a single-character name?

No one could answer, for the name had been chosen at random by the director of an orphanage, flipping through a dictionary.

Yi, pronounced "yi," is not often mentioned in classical texts. It referred to an ancient method of shooting birds with a bow—two techniques, one direct, one "yi." It had no particular meaning, and later generations simply took it as a purposeful act of attack, as in "The Book of Songs: The Lady Says the Cock Crows": "Flying and soaring, shooting ducks and geese."

In ancient tribes, those skilled in "yi" shooting held power.

But for a girl from an orphanage, the name was certainly not chosen for its meaning; likely, the director just picked a character that was easy to write.

Sui Yi had never thought deeply about it. Occasionally, she recalled an old film, "Days of Being Wild," where Leslie Cheung’s character danced to a melancholic tango, his movements captivating, displaying his wildness and vulnerability in front of a mirror. He said he was a bird with no legs, unable to find a place to land, uncertain where to fly.

His greatest confusion was not knowing where he came from.

Sui Yi felt the same.

She was an orphan, with no reason or origin.

All orphans possess a tenacious will to survive and strive for their future. If they dare to dream, after struggling for their future, perhaps they hope to discover their past.

Standing tall, hands in the pockets of her oversized school uniform, Sui Yi was as delicate and upright as a willow in the wind, rippling gracefully.

She wanted to find her past, but first, she had to survive.

Chinese school uniforms, with their tradition of blue and white or white and blue, are not typically flattering. Anyone who looks good in them must have exceptional looks.

Clearly, Sui Yi was such a person. As she stood there about to walk forward, a voice called from behind. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

The sound of high heels on marble was unmistakable.

She turned and saw the glamorous woman, hand on her waist, waving as she strode confidently, followed by several young men dragging the pervert.

"Hey, little sister, thank you for just now. Here’s my card. By the way, what’s your name?"

The woman’s tone was probing; her eyes scanned Sui Yi, but her gratitude was genuine.

Sui Yi looked at her calmly, like a willow or pine. She accepted the card without looking at it, slipped it into her pocket, and replied, "Thank you? Are you paying me?"

Her expression said: If you’re not paying, why bother thanking me?

(This story follows a straightforward tone, occasionally darkly humorous, but mostly serious, focusing on gradual growth. If you enjoy it, please add it to your bookshelf—it helps a lot!)