𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.
jia's pov.
3,953 words.
sound recommended.

❝A maid strong a stainless steel,
a woman brave as a lion. They
underestimate me, they don't
know what I'm capable of.❞

The notes coming from the liuqin floated like silk. Amidst the gentle sway of the Orient Express, its mournful notes curled like wisps of smoke, drifting through the gilded dining car where a solitary maid played by the window, her music a fragile echo of forgotten dreams. Luan Jia was someone firmly tethered to the earth, to reality, but her music spoke a different story to its listeners, almost entrancing. Her fingers glided along the strings of the liuqin as though they were crafted to play, performing to the silence of the cart, to the birds that glided along the skyline above, and to the bees perched on the yarrow below, transforming sweet nectar into golden honey.

Her bright eyes surveyed the scenery through the glass now, a mixture of fascination and quiet appreciation. Yuxan would have loved the green fields they were passing through now. She thinks longingly of her brother back home, of reliable hands, of the warm scent of jasmine that clung to his clothes after a day working the Bai gardens. The fields blurred past like a watercolour painting, but her mind lingered on memories of home-of Yuxan's laughter ringing through the house, the way he would carefully tend to each flower as though it were a treasure, bringing Jia back the fallen petals cupped preciously in his hands. The liuqin's melody softened as her thoughts deepened, heartstrings plucked by the distance between her now and those people that made a home.

This was nice too. Dinner wasn't to be served yet, and so the dining cart was cleared out, apart from Jia who had decided to explore what the train had to offer. When else would she have the chance to experience this kind of extravagance? From the streets of Hong Kong to the glimmering dining cart, the contrast was almost laughable. Jia didn't know whether to be in awe or whether to scorn the tone deafness of the blinding opulence. But she could always appreciate natural beauty, watching the way the golden light spilled through the window, casting a warm glow on the polished wood and fine china.

Not only that, but it was enjoyable, having an escape from her ordinary life. She loved Hong Kong-but there was always this painful reminder of the years her brother had spent in prison. Here on the Orient Express, it was safe, she could let her guard down. How much could happen in a place like this, after all? It wasn't like the streets she was raised on, fighting for survival.

Normally, she might be accompanied for tea by Yuexia and Mr. Bai, but Yuexia was bedbound for the time being, asleep in their compartment. Jia's eyebrows furrowed in concern, her playing halting before continuing its melancholic tune, like ripples in the water. She had just come from the carriage herself, having soaked a towel to place on her companion's forehead, the train's gentle rocking doing little to soothe the anxiety that gnawed at her. Mr. Bai, always so composed, had insisted on tending to Yuexia himself, leaving Jia with a rare moment of solitude. And so she had decided to come to the dining cart, for green tea, the chance to practice her music, and beautiful scenery.

Strength is not always rooted in appearances. It can be found in the quiet endurance of uncertainty, in the way one carries on despite the weight of worry. Jia understood this well; her life had been a series of such moments, where outward composure masked the turmoil within, the anger that boiled within her as she saw her brother arrested for a crime he did not commit, threatening to bubble to the surface if she did not have the power to subdue it.

Dark hair, pinned up meticulously with a jade pin, caught the fleeting sunlight, framing her face with an air of serene elegance. The loose white qipao she wore draped around her gently, its soft fabric a stark contrast to the tempest of emotions simmering beneath, the silver embroidery delicate and understated, shimmering subtly as she breathed. Soft features might not paint a picture of rage, and Jia had so often been underestimated, seen as a naïve gentle soul amidst the complexities of the world. Yet, those imbued with knowledge know that patient rage can be the most deadly. That it is the lioness who lays in wait to be more wary of than the vulture who openly circles the sky.

The door to the dining cart opens smoothly, almost silently, and Jia looks up from her instrument to see a man who she recognises as the head conductor of the train. The uniform and hat detailed in gold are easy to spot, and the tall figure bows his head in greeting as he walks towards the counter carrying the pieces of a broken glass, white gloves stained red as he slides them off, concentrating as he binds his cut hand with a nearby towel.

"You play very beautifully," he comments lightly with a smile, looking up from his hands and studying her liuqin. Jia brings the playing to a gradual stop, nodding and returning the smile-she always wears a smile, like a poker face that she wears, an expression that has become the default in a world where she is expected to be poised and pretty. While being productive and hard-working all at once. "Zou dak hou," he adds on in Cantonese: nicely done, seeming to easily discern her country of origin, a man of many languages and travels as conductor of the train.

"Thank you," Jia responds graciously as she sets her instrument down, noticing a shard of glass that had dropped from the man's hands. It seems to glisten almost dangerously under the light, like a weapon to be wielded. It reminds Jia of the small knife she keeps on her at all times, tucked into a garter strapped to her leg. Why? For self-defence. A silent guardian, a precaution she never discusses, but always carries.

Jia gets up and and crouches down to retrieve the shard, her movements graceful and deliberate. Its jagged edges catch reflections that play tricks on the eyes, and with steady fingers she picks it up, the cool glass pressing against her skin, reminding her of its sharp potential. She inspects the shard, her focus narrowing as she assesses its danger. There is a quiet intensity in her gaze, a mix of caution and contemplation, her mind drifting momentarily again towards the small knife she keeps hidden beneath her clothing.

And just then, the atmosphere shifts.

Jia is not someone who believes in the supernatural. But evil... evil is a notion she cannot easily dismiss. It lurks in the corners of human nature, in the dark shadows of the world, beyond the train's polished surfaces. Her mind, while rational and practical, cannot ignore the unease that coils around her heart like a tightening noose.

The way the flickering light from the overhead fixtures casts a shadow over her that somehow feels recognisable, a shadow that stretches and writhes in her imagination. There is only one person who has ever made her feel this way. Feel that constriction in her chest like it's hard to breathe, that person an unwelcome memory she tries to keep at bay. The shadow cast by the light now seems to take on a menacing familiarity, a shadow that had haunted her thoughts, a presence that had once sent her heart racing in a similar, inexplicable manner.

"God, Jason, I instructed you to return with a new glass promptly. How can you be so sluggish?" The voice whines, and Jia stands up slowly, still holding the glass in one hand, though it balls up tighter now, digging into her palm just about light enough that it doesn't draw blood.

"Get out of the way," the woman scoffs, her tone dripping with irritation, movements brisk and impatient as she shoulders past Jia. Her presence is commanding, her mannerisms refined but laced with an air of entitlement. She glances over her shoulder just for a moment, her gaze piercing as she scrutinises Jia in disdain before whipping her head back around, striding towards the bar.

Jia doesn't know whether she's relieved at not being recognised, or infuriated. She knows this woman. She knows Arabella Cavendish-not just knows, but abhors. The mere sight of Arabella conjures a whirlwind of resentment and indignation within her, the polished elegance and haughty demeanour a living reminder of the injustice that seems to follow her wherever she goes. Arabella Cavendish is a name that burns with a harsh, unforgiving edge. The woman who orchestrated the downfall of Jia's older brother, Yuxan, sending him to prison for a crime he did not commit, a cruel manipulation that had trapped an innocent man in a web of deceit. Her ability to wield her influence so ruthlessly, her cold, calculated actions masked behind a veneer of propriety, has left a deep scar on Jia's heart.

And here she was, caring so little that she couldn't even remember the young woman who had stood there, burning with a rage both raw and palpable, whose family had been torn apart by the cruel machinations of someone who was simply bored.

Rather than break down in tears or stay frozen in place, Jia moved forward, approaching the scene playing out live in front of her, however one-sided it was. Joaquín had taken off his hat, bowing his head apologetically out of compulsion although the look in his eyes spoke to tired irritation, eyes rimmed with darkness as he used his uncut hand to reach over for a wine glass. He seemed to choose peace rather than conflict, not bothering to correct his name; it was clear Arabella had been a hindrance since she had gotten on the train.

"His name is Joaquín," Jia stated calmly, quietly, but firmly, remembering the conductor's name from when he had introduced himself while checking everyone's ticket. Jia was the type to remember the finer details like that, especially working in the service industry herself. Her voice, soft yet resonant, carried a gentle authority that commanded attention. Gentle, but unyielding, its timbre smooth and measured, capable of conveying a wealth of emotion with just a few carefully chosen words. It sliced through the silence like a knife, and Arabella momentarily froze, her expression shifting from smug amusement to a flicker of surprise. And then recognition.

"I know you," she smirked, folding one arm over the other, the fur she had wrapped around her shifting. Jia had to suppress a shudder thinking of the animal that had probably had its neck violently broken to make the white fur shawl Arabella was wearing now, draped across her champagne-coloured dress, dark hair pinned into fashionable curls. The woman's voice seemed to deepen now rather than being a whine. Dropping an octave as though she had spotted a target to gain some cruel satisfaction from. Savouring the opportunity to exert her superiority. "You're that maid, right? The one with the thief of a brother... how delightful to encounter you here, of all places. I was rather hoping the past had caught up with you."

"The sentiment is mutual," Jia responded coolly, her composure a fragile cover over the anger that was running ice cold through her veins. Joaquín seemed split between intervening and doing his job how he had to, setting the new glass down so that he could pick up a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild, though he kept his eyes trained on the situation.

"Oh? Do tell," Arabella purred, voice coated in sickly, thick condescension, clearly basking in the discomfort of those around her. She let her gaze linger on Jia, eyes glinting as if she were a cat toying with a mouse. "What brings you to such refined surroundings? I would have thought someone in your position would be more suited to the... less distinguished parts of society."

Arabella continued on, switching her attention to Joaquín now just as he had poured the wine into the glass-"Not the Rothschild. I'll take Latour," she hummed, forcing him to retrieve a new glass. Joaquín's shoulders tensed imperceptibly as he took a deep breath, eyes closed momentarily, a silent reminder of the constraints of his position-no matter how vexing the situation, he couldn't simply expel troublesome passengers, even if that was the way he'd run a train if he had complete freedom. He slid the bottle of Château Latour off of the shelf, not flinching even as the bottle pressed into his injury, the rich, velvety liquid shimmering as he poured it into a fresh glass. Jia watched all this with growing restlessness. How familiar a position-to know something is wrong, but to be forced to do nothing.

Well she was tired of sitting still and smiling.

"Right, if you had it your way, I'd stick to my place," Jia answered Arabella, taking a step closer as she took the glass from Joaquín's hand gently, the man pausing, though he allowed the transfer to happen, albeit not without a look of concern. "As a maid. Serving you, even though you have no authority over me."

"Of course you should stick to your place," Arabella scoffed, looking to Jia scornfully, hand outstretched expectantly to receive the glass. She seemed mildly surprised by the switch of tone, but smug all the same, used to people bowing down to her. Her gaze bore into Jia, as if daring her to defy the social order she so clearly embraced. She tilted her head to the side and frowned, tapping one heel impatiently, waiting for the glass to be delivered as expected.

With a deliberate, almost theatrical motion, Jia raised the glass high above her head, the rich, deep red wine seeming to catch the light. Without hesitation, she tipped the glass over Arabella's head before the other woman could react, the wine pouring out in a quick, deliberate cascade, the luxurious sheen contrasting starkly with the white of her dress, with the fur, with the elegant surroundings. The dark liquid streamed down, soaking her hair and dropping onto the floor in a dramatic display. The only sound for a few moments was the droplets of wine falling to the floor. "Enjoy your drink," were the only words that Jia whispered.

Then, Arabella screamed, a high, piercing shriek that seemed to transition into a growl, one that echoed through the elegant dining car as though someone had been murdered. Her reaction was immediate and intense, one of intense rage as she advanced towards Jia, who had taken a couple steps back, Arabella looking like she was about to slap her across the face until Joaquín pulled her back, still seeming in shock himself.

"Let's hope the journey itself is as refined as your taste. Some of us are here for more than just indulgence," Jia stated softly, her body language stiffening as she looked to Joaquín, the reality that her actions could have her taken off of the train settling in, though she was reassured by the faint smile the conductor tried to suppress.

He seemed to be trying to deescalate the situation with a soothing murmur of reassurances that they would have her dress cleaned out in no time, maintaining his calm demeanour, glancing at Jia with a complex mixture of sympathy and regret. "Madam Cavendish, please. We will address this situation professionally. I must request that you take a moment to compose yourself," he stated firmly, one hand on her shoulder as he looked down at her, and then at the growing crowd at the door who had heard the commotion. He sighed as he fixed his conductor cap back on, assuring the crowd there was nothing to see here.

"Ah, always the idealist. I suppose we all find ways to cope with our circumstances," Arabella murmured bitterly to Jia, though she seemed to notice the crowd, her pride getting in the way as she gathered herself, standing as tall as she could as she reluctantly allowed Joaquín to begin to lead her out of the dining cart. But not before getting one last remark in, pulling Jia in by her arm tightly, her voice low and filled to the brim with venom: "Mark my words, you bitch. I'll make your life a living hell in a heartbeat."

Joaquín steered Arabella towards the door with a little more force, punctuated by indignant "You're being too rough, Juan. Let go!"s, leaving Jia standing in the cart, her stare piercing Arabella's turned back, gaze unwavering.

The atmosphere was thick with the remnants of the confrontation, and Jia noticed she had held the shard of glass too tight in her other hand, leaving a cut across her palm. The sharp sting of pain jolted her from the haze of emotions, drawing her attention to the crimson drop that had begun to seep from the wound. She winced slightly, looking down at her hand as she began to walk towards the door, abruptly stopped as she ran into a man, seeing only a green tie and dark braces lining a button-up before being knocked onto the floor, grimacing.

The man didn't immediately help her up, he seemed to only study her for a moment. He had this look of curiosity, one eyebrow raised, contemplating the scene he had just witnessed. He seemed to absent-mindedly stretch out his hand, like he wasn't really interested in being of any assistance, but was more interested in mentally noting down his observations. "You should get up from the floor soon," the detective remarked when Jia didn't take his hand, his voice smooth and unbothered. Jia only looked up at him, the pain in her hand sharp but overshadowed by her irritation at his nonchalance and unhelpful comment.

She stood up on her own, brushing herself down, concealing her bloodied hand behind her back, just wanting to get out of here as fast as possible without everyone in the dining cart being focused on her. Alaric wasn't fazed in the slightest by how his offer to help her up was rejected, placing his hand back in his pocket, the other holding a file with DETECTIVE ALARIC WU printed prominently across the front.

The site of the file brought a fresh wave of unease to Jia. Her strained history with law enforcement, coloured by the unjust imprisonment of her brother, made her wary of any figure associated with that kind of authority. Jia's eyes flashed between the detective and the file, a mix of wariness and annoyance flashing across her features. The man towered over her which didn't add to her impression, though she refused to look up at him any more than she had to, lifting her head instead. "Detective Wu..." Jia trailed off, her voice taut with barely concealed exhaustion and skepticism. "Here to watch the show along with everyone else?"

"Just observing," he replied slowly, his curiosity piqued, though his tone itself was enigmatic and dismissive, devoid of strong emotion as always. He seemed to quickly connect the file to her knowledge of his name, although truthfully, his ego was such that he wouldn't be surprised if someone recognised him out in the wild-he did have a reputation. "It seems the evening has been quite eventful," he nodded, checking his watch thoughtfully.

"Enjoy the rest of it. If you plan on tipping wine onto unsuspecting passengers again, I recommend the port wine," Alaric suggested, brushing invisible dust off of his shoulder as he moved past Jia towards his reserved table, flickering through his file. "It stains better," he finished his reasoning, although it was only just about audible to Jia, seeming to be more of a note to himself than to her.

Jia looked over at the detective incredulously, wondering what was the problem with this train and having strange characters aboard it. This was the same man from the platform... maybe her wariness for law enforcement was not unfounded. Now that the distraction had passed, she felt the pain in her hand again, reaching over for her liuqin and holding it close to her as she made her way through the crowd again, more people appearing now that it was closer to dinner. Jia felt too sick to her stomach seeing Arabella to want to eat tonight, a reminder of what she had hoped was nothing more than a ghost-or more fittingly, a demon-from her past.

Before long, Jia was in hers and Yuexia's compartment, bandaging up her hand carefully, her movements around the room quiet and focused so as to not disturb Yuexia, who was asleep, back turned. Jia sighed heavily as she moved over to Yuexia, picking up the towel that had slid off of her forehead and dipping it again into the bowl of water on the table next to the bed, folding it carefully to place it on the young woman's forehead after feeling it with the back of her hand, still hot.

Yuexia seemed to stir from her sleep, blinking tiredly as she looked up at Jia with a soft smile that faded as she just about noticed the bandage on her friend-her sister's-hand. "What happened, Jia?" She murmured as she attempted to sit up, though Jia pushed her head back down, gently but resolutely, adjusting the towel on her forehead. The shard of glass was carefully tucked into the draw of Jia's bedside table, not visible from a simple look around the room.

"Nothing serious. A glass broke and I accidentally cut my hand," Jia soothed her mistress, Yuexia blinking, eyes narrowed, though she accepted the excuse, seeming to involuntarily drift back to sleep. Jia smiled, pulling the light blanket that had replaced the duvet up to tuck her in, kneeling by the bed for a minute to make sure Yuexia was comfortable before standing up. Her answer had been honest, at least, even if she withheld some of the details. Jia didn't like to lie, she avoided it whenever possible.

She contemplated going to bed now, pulling the jade pin out of her hair, the dark glossy layers falling free as she shook her head, placing the pin onto the table. And yet, she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not after the scene that had been caused in the dining cart. Perhaps... exploration was the best option, worst case scenario, she could sit down and read a book in the lounge car. She was trying to practice her English anyway-and so she picked up one of Yuexia's copies of The Red Thumb Mark by R. Austin Freeman, moving towards the door.

Just as the door swung open and she stepped out, closing the door with a gentle click behind her, she came face to face with someone else who had stepped out from their compartment at the exact same time. Someone she recognised, but not because they had her brother locked up in jail, or because their name and title were plain to see from something they were holding. It was someone she recognised from the big screen, somehow more impressionable and glamorous in person.

"Sorry," Jia bowed her head awkwardly as she tried to take a step back to give the woman more room to move past her, although she only backed into the door, looking behind herself and then back at the woman in front of her.

"No need to apologise," came the quick response, this recognisable voice that had been everywhere, probably on every screen in America at one point, but reaching as far as Hong Kong itself. "Were you heading to the dining cart?" She hummed, sliding a ring on and off of her index finger as she smiled, her lips painted a vibrant red.

Well, Jia wasn't planning on it. But she was now. To borrow the tiger's ferocity is one thing, but sometimes, one must be inspired by the beauty of a fox.

𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒.
an agatha christie inspired applyfic.

A/N - hey gang, officially 3 chapters in 😎 sorry it's been taking so long, I'll pick up the pace promise 🫡. Hope this chapter was enjoyable, I'm trying to gradually tie in more characters for interactions, although each chapter will still centre around the character it's based on, like here! It's just to build up character dynamics and all. Hope you guys enjoyed, I'm a Jia supporter always 💯

On a side note, let me know if you guys prefer the longer paragraph structure or if it makes for a better reading structure to split the longer ones up into two-I keep them longer so you guys don't feel the need to comment as much but lmk if you'd prefer a shorter structure!! (the word count will be the same)