As Cuiliu tiptoed into the room, Weimo opened her eyes, having only been feigning sleep. She forced her breathing into a slow, rhythmic cadence, sensing someone waving a hand before her eyes three times in succession. A pungent, musky odor emanated from the sheepskin pouch at Cuiliu's waist in the damp morning air, though Cuiliu, who wore it night and day, had long since become oblivious to it.
The room was heavy with the smell of cheap jasmine incense. From outside, the crisp *snip* of five-colored silk threads being cut drifted in. Weimo, leaning against the door frame, suddenly let out a delirious mumble, startling Cuiliu so badly that the silver scissors nearly slipped from her hand. The scent of jasmine tangled with the raw, rank smell of untanned sheepskin, creating an intensely foul, acidic stench. Cuiliu clearly smelled it too, her nose wrinkling as she inhaled sharply. Perhaps the odor unnerved her; she fled in a panic before she could even return the silver scissors and red candles to their proper places.
Weimo pushed herself off the ground and went to the desk. Pushing aside the pearls, she saw the broken colored thread held together by a thin, fake-looking copper wire. It had been scorched down to a mere wisp, the copper blackened by heat. A cold sneer tugged at the corners of Weimo’s mouth. Su Wanzhao, in her previous life, had been so focused on tormenting her that she had never noticed such clumsy tactics.
Chapter 16