Chapter2

The iron gate opened again , and Elena walked in.

She was carrying a gray plastic box with a seal on the edge. There was a line of small English letters on the seal. I couldn't see them clearly, but the neat handwriting looked familiar, so familiar that it made my stomach churn again.

"Get up." She put the box on the ground, her tone low but leaving no room for discussion, "There's work to be done."

My wrists were still bound by hemp rope, the knot tied to the iron pipe, chafing my skin until it burned. I moved, and my bones felt like rusty hinges, emitting a dull ache. My throat was parched and cracked, and the bitter taste of last night's murky liquid lingered on my tongue.

“What…alive?” I uttered the words haltingly.

Elena crouched down and opened the box. Inside were a row of test tubes, two droppers, several bottles of clear liquid, and a small brown bottle sealed with black wax. She took out the brown bottle and gently shook it.

In that instant, the fragrance leaked out from the wax seal, and my temple throbbed.

It's not a matter of whether it smells good or bad; it's like a key, inserted into a lock in my brain, and gently turned—

I saw a field of flowers. White flowers, slender leaves, and the scent of damp earth in the wind. Someone called my name in the distance, the sound fragmented by the wind, as if coming from a very far place.

I reached out to grab it, and the scene was immediately torn apart by a sharp pain. I bent over, my stomach churned with acid, my throat tightened, and the light bulb in front of me trembled into circles of light.

"Don't pretend." Elena shoved a dropper into my hand, her fingertips touching the back of my hand, which was as cool as water. "Your sense of smell is still there, that's enough."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

She held the brown bottle to my nose , just enough for me to smell, but not enough for me to actually snatch it away . "I'm giving you a semi-finished product; you turn it into something marketable."

I swallowed, my throat sore and numb: "Why me?"

Elena paused, as if choosing the right way to put it: "You've done this kind of thing before. You have a steady hand, and an even steady nose. It's chaotic outside, and I need you to help me get through this."

She added, her tone sweet as sugar, "Once I've established a stable studio, we can leave here. You won't have to worry about those people anymore."

The words "those people" were like nails, pinning down the questions that had just surfaced in my mind. My fear was so familiar, so familiar, that it could automatically fill in the logical gaps for her: if I don't do it, she won't have money; if she doesn't have money, I won't have "protection"; if I don't have protection, I'll die if I go out.

I gripped the dropper tightly until my knuckles turned white.

Elena untied the rope from one of my hands and placed the test tube in front of me with swift movements. She didn't completely let go; her other hand remained bound, as if reminding me not to forget my place.

“Give me a version every day,” she said. “No fancy tricks.”

After the door closed, only I and the row of test tubes remained in the basement.

I opened the brown bottle a crack. The fragrance wafted out, instantly overpowering the dampness and mold, like a thin thread drilling deep into my nostrils.

The top notes are cool floral notes with a hint of unripe leaf juice; the middle notes have warm woody notes, like steam rising from a glass vessel .

The mingling of blood and floral scents in my nostrils actually made me more alert.

The proportions of every drop of liquid in the test tube had to be precise. I had no scales, only a dropper and my sense of smell. Every drop was a gamble. The medicine made my fingers weak, my stomach empty, and my eyelids feel like they were made of lead; but my sense of smell seemed to have been sharpened, and no deviation could be hidden.

Elena would come every day to collect the test tubes, smell them, nod or frown, and say almost nothing more. She no longer held me, nor asked if I was in pain. She categorized me as a tool: I could vomit, I could bleed, but I was still usable.

The side effects of the medication are becoming increasingly apparent.

I started having trouble sleeping all night. With my eyes closed, the scent moved around in my head on its own, like someone was manipulating me in the dark. My nasal passages were dry, and a heat rose from my chest to my forehead. I touched the area under my nose and felt something wet; I wiped it, and my fingertips were covered in blood.

I wiped it off with my sleeve and continued to smell it.

On the seventh day, I finally heard the intermittent ringing of the phone outside the door.

Elena spoke in the hallway, her voice low but carrying a lightness I had never heard before: "...I've submitted my application. Silver Iris wants to see the stable formula, within a month. Yes, the sample is very impressive...I know, I'll hand it over."

Silver iris.

Those three words slipped through the crack in the door and landed in my mind, like a nail driven into that blurry flower field. The wind in the flower field paused for a moment, and the distant shouts seemed to grow closer.

I covered my nose, and blood gushed out again, dripping onto the cement floor, where it was quickly absorbed and turned dark.

What is Silver Iris? A brand? A company? Why does my heart tighten when I hear about it?

I dared not think too deeply. The medicine churned in my blood, and the questions that had just surfaced were suppressed by dizziness.

On the tenth day, I slept for almost two hours. When I woke up, my throat was dry and my eyes were sore as if they had been stung by smoke. There was a row of test tubes, and I smelled them one by one. Each one was just a little bit off: either the top notes were too strong or the base notes were too weak.

I raised my hand and noticed a slight tremor on the back of it. The liquid in the dropper sloshed around. I gritted my teeth, pressed my wrist against the ground, and used the cold cement to steady it.

"Stay calm," I said to myself, as if speaking to that shattered memory, "Give me some time."

In the early hours of the fourteenth day, the fever finally became uncontrollable. I felt like I was soaking in boiling water; my forehead was burning hot, and even my breath was hot. My nose started bleeding even more profusely, trickling down my upper lip and dripping into the test tube with a soft sound.

My hands trembled even more violently, and the glass dropper made a faint clinking sound between my fingers. I watched as the drop of liquid hung suspended at the tip of the tube, hesitant to fall.

I closed my eyes briefly, using all my strength to steady my breathing. When I opened them again, the dripping rhythm had finally become regular.

One drop, two drops, three drops.

I pulled up the last version and brought it close to my nose to smell it.

The top notes settle down, the floral scent is clean, with a hint of damp morning earth; the middle notes rise, the woody and steamy warmth clings tightly; as the base notes close, the cool fragrance glides by like the back of a knife, but doesn't cut, leaving only a neat aftertaste.

It finally came to a stop.

I leaned against the wall, my chest heaving, sweat streaming down my back. My vision blurred, but I knew I had done it.

The iron gate opened, and Elena walked in.

She was wearing a light-colored trench coat, the hem still smelling of rain. Her eyes lit up slightly when she saw the test tube on the table, but she quickly suppressed it.

"Give it to me." She held out her hand.

I handed her the test tube, my fingertips barely strong. She leaned in, smelled it, paused for half a second, and nodded.

“Okay,” she said , then turned and left without looking at me again.

I looked down and saw that the blood on my cuff had dried into a hard scab, and the wound on my fingertip stung from the perfume. I licked my lips; all I tasted was rust.

My stomach felt uncomfortably empty, but the dizziness only worsened.

Before my consciousness sank, my sense of smell suddenly caught a whiff of scent wafting from the crack in the door.

Outside the basement, faint voices drifted from the end of the corridor. David's voice was tinged with laughter, while another older male voice was more composed, as if discussing a deal that had already been finalized.

"...The money for Silver Iris has arrived," the male voice said. "The acquisition agreement has been signed. Now it's up to you to hand over the formula."

My eyelids were so heavy I could barely lift them, but I could hear every word clearly.

Acquisition. Agreement. Signed.