# "Su Yao's Dazzling Counterattack Chapter 91"
The summer sun baked the rocky hills of northern Albania, where Roma families camped in canvas tents strung with colorful laundry. Su Yao's car parked near a grove of oak trees, where a group of women sat on woven rugs, stitching vivid threads into heavy wool fabric. Their leader, 62-year-old Zahira, wore a *xhubleta*—a conical skirt covered in red-and-black embroidery—her silver earrings jangling as she held up a finished wedding veil. "This is *bisht*," she said in Romani, her fingers tracing the floral patterns. "Each stitch calls for good fortune."
Roma embroidery, passed down through generations, carries layers of meaning: *hamsa* hand motifs ward off evil, sunbursts represent vitality, and interlocking circles symbolize family bonds. Woven for weddings and coming-of-age ceremonies, the cloths use dyes from mountain plants—madder root for crimson, walnut hulls for deep brown. "The threads hold our *dusa* (soul)," Zahira's granddaughter Lila explained, showing a veil stitched with peonies (love) and wheat (prosperity).
Su Yao's team arrived with seaweed-metal fibers, hoping to add durability to the delicate wool. But when Lin displayed a machine-embroidered sample, Zahira's husband Janos—an elder with a weathered face—scowled. "Metal steals the blessing," he said, pushing the fabric away. "Our stitches sing to the ancestors. This thing is silent."
Tensions rose when heavy rains flooded the valley, washing away dye plants and ruining stored threads. "Your metal angered the mountain spirits," Janos accused, as women wept over waterlogged veils. With a major wedding approaching, the community faced disaster.
Su Yao knelt beside Zahira as she dried salvaged wool. "We want to help—not change your ways," she said. Over the next month, the team helped replant madder and gather wild indigo, while learning to stitch *bisht* by hand. Lin experimented with coating metal fibers in beeswax and pine resin, making them compatible with natural dyes.
Fiona designed a new pattern: *hamsa* hands embracing ocean waves, stitched with the treated metal. "It honors your protection and our sea," she said. Zahira traced the design, then nodded. "The ancestors would smile," she said.
At the wedding, the bride wore their collaborative veil, metal threads catching the light like scattered stars. As Su Yao's car left, Lila ran after them, pressing a small cloth into Su Yao's hand—a *hamsa* stitched with a tiny wave. "Remember," she said, "our stories now weave together."