Mr. Bai’s room had gathered dust due to several days without cleaning, and to make matters worse, someone had ransacked and damaged the place.
Most of the potted plants had been moved, with shattered pots scattered all around, and uprooted plants strewn carelessly.
Zhuo Feng had always praised the artificial greenhouse used for off-season fruit and vegetable cultivation. The plastic film was all torn off, and not a single Hami melon was left, the vines withering away.
Both Zhuo Feng and his spouse lamented the sight, blaming their negligence for only caring about people and forgetting about all the plants in the house. How Mr. Bai would react to this scene if he saw it, Zhuo Feng really couldn’t imagine.
Two-thirds of the houseplants had been removed, and most of those remaining were damaged, discarded like trash just as Bai Ju had been.
"Let’s first look for that narcissus pot Mr. Bai mentioned, and the Daffodil Bulb," Xiao Xian was heartbroken by the wilted greenery, but the most urgent matter was to find the Narcissus pot mentioned by Mr. Bai.
The three of them were cleaning and searching the house. Soon, Feng Xing found the narcissus pot beside Mr. Bai’s bed, "Found the pot, luckily it wasn’t smashed." Zhuo Feng took the porcelain pot found by Feng Xing. A typical Daffodil bone china pot, white clay fired, nothing special at a glance.
Zhuo Feng flipped the white porcelain pot and looked at the bottom, spotting a red sealing clay stamp with the character "Mei."
"I didn’t find anything on the balcony, no Daffodil Bulbs, but I did find a pair of scissors," said Zhuo Feng, rummaging through the pruned branches and recalling the old man holding scissors beside a welcoming pine, when she heard noises downstairs and rushed in.
This time, the welcoming pine was gone, clearly taken by the culprits. They did not find the Daffodil Bulb, only finding an empty pot. Everything that happened in the house was evident to them, they couldn’t muster the courage to tell Bai Ju the news.
"Why don’t we buy some bulbs from the flower and bird market, I think Mr. Bai is also weary from staying in the hospital and would like to tend to some flowers," said Feng Xing, who had also raised a few Daffodils in his office for the New Year, mentioning that the flower and bird market sold them, and that ordinary Daffodils were all similar, moreover, it wasn’t the blooming season, making bulbs an even more approximate substitution.
"Haven’t you gotten it yet? Do you think Master Bai would be growing ordinary Daffodils, just making do?" said Zhuo Feng, who had started to respectfully call Bai Ju ’Master Bai’ after seeing the "Eighteen Scholars" variety in the hospital.
"I don’t know who used to enthusiastically call him Old Man Bai," mumbled Feng Xing, well-meaning, only to have Zhuo Feng flourish the scissors she held.
"Pass me the scissors you have there," Xiao Xian noticed the scissors Zhuo Feng was holding. Mr. Bai had said he used only one pair to prune.
"This one? It’s practically antique, what’s there to look at," said Zhuo Feng nonchalantly waving it, and with that wave, a "click" sound, something broke.
A few strands of hair drifted down from beside Zhuo Feng’s ear, leaving her ear feeling chill—what kind of scissors were these?
"Be careful, you’re always so hasty," snatched Feng Xing the scissors. Only as large as a palm, the black scissors looked old yet had incredibly sharp blades, inconspicuously powerful. Flicking it lightly with his finger, the material of the scissors produced a distant and long echo,
"There’s a ’Mei’ character on these scissors too," noted Feng Xing, the keen observer, finding a mosquito-sized character engraved on the blade, matching the stamp on the bottom of the narcissus pot.
"Master Bai’s spouse was surnamed Mei, and on the day he fell ill, he kept mumbling ’Mei Xiang’," said Zhuo Feng, always one for drama. But Bai Ju’s spouse had passed away decades ago, and gossiping about something related to the deceased felt as tasteless as eating leftovers.
Thinking of the hospital, and Old Man Bai’s pitiable condition, Zhuo Feng dumped the remaining pruned branches into a trash bag. Xiao Xian was trying to get a closer look at the scissors in Feng Xing’s hands when a gray-brown spherical object rolled to his feet.