Chapter 321 Met a Kind Soul Today

Chapter 321 Met a Kind Soul Today

The vendor froze when Amelia threw the question back at him, caught off guard.

His mind raced as he sized her up. 'Is she seriously asking if I'm sure I want her to take the shot? The way she said it, so casual—as if she’d done this a thousand times before. Is she bluffing, or is she actually better than her boyfriend?' The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

But he'd already spoken. There was no backing out now without looking like a complete fool. "Of course I'm sure!" he said, forcing confidence into his voice. "Just give me a moment to adjust the board."

He made a show of fiddling with the wooden panel that held the balloons in place, his fingers running along the edges. Then, as if by accident, his hand brushed against the smallest balloon at the bottom.

The tiny balloon burst with a sharp crack.

"Oh no! What happened? How did that pop?" The vendor's eyebrows shot up in exaggerated surprise. He turned to Amelia with a smile that was apologetic but didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry about that, miss. Let me get you another one."

He grabbed a fresh balloon and brought it to his lips, puffing air into it with deliberate, measured breaths. This time, though, the balloon was even smaller than the last—so small that from ten feet away, it was barely visible, let alone a viable target.

"You're scared we'll actually hit it, aren't you?" Dorian's voice cut through the night air, sharp with indignation. "That balloon’s way smaller than the last one!"

"What are you talking about? It's exactly the same size!" The vendor's denial came quick and smooth, practiced. There was no way he'd admit to sabotaging his own game. A balloon that small? No way she’d hit it from that distance. No chance in hell.

"It's fine. Leave it," Amelia said, her voice calm, almost detached. She'd already been through three rounds of this carnival hustle, and exhaustion was starting to creep in at the edges. Her gaze met the vendor’s, expression unreadable. "The board's set. The balloon's up. We're good to go, right?"

The vendor nodded, but before he could process what was happening, Amelia raised the toy rifle in one fluid motion and aimed at the board ten feet away.

Seven shots. Five seconds. Seven balloons, from top to bottom—exploding in rapid succession, each pop punctuating the night like a drumbeat.

"Holy shit—!"

The crowd didn't react immediately. Amelia's movements had been too fast, too precise. By the time their brains caught up to what their eyes had just witnessed, all seven balloons were already gone. Then the night erupted—cheers exploded from every direction, voices rising in unison.

She didn't even aim at each one individually—she just fired, one after another, as if following a script only she could see. It was the kind of thing you’d expect to see only in movies, with CGI and stunt doubles. But this was real. This was happening right in front of them.

The vendor stared at the board, his eyes wide as dinner plates, his mouth hanging open. He stumbled forward, words spilling out before he could stop himself. "Miss, you!"

Amelia turned to face him, tilting her head slightly. "What?"

"You… you…" He sputtered, his voice catching in his throat like a fish on a hook.

The words wouldn't come. What could he say? There were dozens of people watching. If he told her to stop now, he'd be admitting the whole thing was rigged. His reputation would be ruined. No one would visit his booth ever again.

He felt like someone had just reached into his chest and squeezed hard. But he forced a smile onto his face, the muscles in his jaw protesting. "Nothing. You're fine. Keep going."

Amelia nodded slightly and raised the rifle again.

The third-to-last balloon burst, and the deluxe lipstick gift set was hers.

The second-to-last balloon exploded, and the brand-new tablet computer was hers too.

The final balloon—the one so small it was almost invisible—vanished in a spray of rubber and air.

That valuable Ragdoll cat was the crown jewel of his entire setup, a prize he had bought specifically to draw people in. He had never planned to give it away—yet now, it belonged to her.

Each shot felt like a bullet tearing through his chest. The vendor's heart wasn't just sinking—it was hemorrhaging. He'd never felt pain like this in his life.

At that moment, he finally understood why Amelia had asked if he was sure about letting her take the shot. If he could turn back time, he would do everything in his power to ensure only the boys were allowed to play that shooting game.

"All done." Amelia lowered the rifle and met his eyes. "According to the rules, I get all the prizes from the sixth balloon onward, right?"

She glanced at the prize shelf, counting them off one by one. "That's the humidifier, the portable charger, the lipstick set, the tablet, and the Ragdoll cat—correct?"

The vendor's voice came out strangled. "Correct."

"Then I'll need you to hand them over."

Amelia straightened, waiting as the vendor reluctantly gathered the prizes with trembling hands. She collected them all without a word. As she and her group walked away, the crowd's eyes remained glued to her, their voices buzzing with excitement and disbelief.

Michael took most of the prizes, but Dorian clutched the Ragdoll cat to her chest like it was made of gold. She seemed like she might actually combust from sheer joy, spinning in place and squealing.

"Oh my God! I can't believe this is mine! Amelia, I love you! You're my goddess!" Dorian lunged forward, ready to plant a kiss on Amelia's cheek. But then she caught sight of Michael's expression. She froze mid-lunge and quickly straightened, clearing her throat. "So, uh, Amelia, should we check out some other booths?"

"Not yet." Amelia's gaze shifted, scanning the street behind them. "I need to find someone first."

Dorian blinked. "Huh? Who?"

Amelia's gaze locked onto a spot diagonally across the road.

Dorian and Michael followed as Amelia wove through the crowd, stopping at a small booth selling hair clips.

The vendor was a woman in her mid-thirties, seated in a battered wheelchair. Her legs were gone—amputated at the thighs—and the blanket draped over her lap hung flat, empty where they should have been. Her face was bare of makeup, lined with the kind of weariness that came from years of struggle, but her clothes were clean, and her hair was neatly combed.

The hair clips she sold were handmade, woven with bright threads into intricate patterns—flowers, animals, little bursts of color and life. Each one was carefully crafted, the kind of piece that took hours to make.

Beside her sat a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, with two braids hanging down her back. Hunched over a notebook, doing homework in the corner of the booth, she didn't make a sound, didn't fidget, or complain. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold.

"Is she your daughter?" Amelia asked softly.

The woman looked up, her face brightening immediately. "Yes, she is. Can I help you with anything?"

"Your hair clips are beautiful. I'll take all of them."

The woman blinked, her smile faltering. "All of them? You mean… everything?"

"Yes."

"Miss, there are over a hundred here. You won't be able to use them all, and the price..."

"How much?"

The woman hesitated, wringing her hands. "They're handmade, so they aren't cheap. Some are two or three dollars, others are four or five. If you take everything, it'd be around three hundred dollars…"

Before Amelia could respond, Michael had already pulled out his credit card and handed it to her.

The man was quick when it came to paying. Amelia had to give him that.

"Just bag them up," Michael said.

The card reader beeped, and the screen displayed the total: five hundred dollars.

The woman's eyes went wide, and she waved her hands frantically. "Wait, sir, I said three hundred, not five hundred! You overpaid! Let me refund you the difference—"

"Keep it." Michael's tone was flat and matter-of-fact. "It's rare for her to find something she likes. Your work is worth it."

The woman usually sold a few dozen clips a night if she was lucky. She'd never had someone buy her entire stock in one go, let alone pay nearly double the asking price.

"I… I don't know what to say…"

Before she could finish, Amelia held out a large shopping bag.

"I won some prizes at a game booth earlier. I don't need them, but I think you and your daughter might enjoy them. These are for you. Open it after we leave."

"Wait, I can't possibly—"

Amelia was already walking away, pressing the bag into the woman's hands before she disappeared into the crowd.

The woman sat there, stunned, staring at the bag in her lap. After a long moment, she opened it.

Her breath caught.

A humidifier—something to keep the air in their tiny apartment from drying out during the brutal winter months.

A portable charger. No more worrying about her phone dying while she was out here trying to make a living.

A lipstick gift set. She'd never owned makeup in her life—she'd never had the money or the reason. But now here it was, sitting in her hands like something out of a dream.

And a tablet computer. Its screen gleamed under the streetlights, sleek and new. Her daughter could use it for school, research, or watching videos—maybe even for connecting with customers online.

Every single item was something she and her daughter needed. Every single one was expensive—far more than she could ever afford. And Amelia had given them all away without a second thought, slipping them into her hands and vanishing before she could refuse.

It was January. The wind cut through the street like a blade, sharp and merciless.

But the woman felt warm.

In the middle of this frozen, indifferent world, she had just met someone who still carried kindness like a torch.

The little girl looked up from her homework, her eyes widening as she saw the tablet. "Mommy, is that…?"

"It's a gift. From that lady who just left." The woman's voice cracked. She stroked her daughter's hair, tears pooling in her eyes. "You're going to have your own tablet now. Just like your classmates."

As the woman watched Amelia's retreating figure, she realized she wasn't the only one.

"Seth, what are you looking at?" Orval returned with an armful of snacks, following Seth Lowe's gaze into the crowd.