She never planned to tag along with Rin Yu; the thought of her left a bitter rind on the tongue, like tea left overnight.

Either way, Yun Shi ditched them clean, and drifted alone, a loose kite riding the alley wind.

She still bristled at Rin Yu, heat simmering in her belly like coals under ash.

Alone, she dropped her mask and cut through streets and lanes like a rabbit sprung from an iron cage.

House rules had kept her leashed, a silk cord on the wrist; with today’s sliver of sky, she refused to waste the light.

She bought a candied apple on a stick; syrup burned like sunset, and the sweetness slid down her throat like warm honeyed light.

Yo, young lady, all by yourself? a voice crowed, oily as a slick on water.

Feeling lonely? Want us to keep you company? another cooed, smiles like fishhooks.

If you get tired, we can take you somewhere to rest, one purred, eyes like flies on fruit.

She hadn’t expected a pack of shameless crows to swoop in broad daylight, wings clattering like tin.

Yun Shi was speechless, her mind a flat lake without ripples.

Since when do guys get harassed on the street, she groused, a ghost of her old self twitching like a shadow. No—she was a girl now, a flower drawing bees, of course.

But why me, she thought, as if lightning always finds the tallest tree on the hill.

No time, she said, voice cool as water on slate.

She turned to leave, but they flowed to block her path, a greasy tide plugging every lane.

She stopped for a heartbeat, a drumbeat held midair, and exhaled frost.

Looks like you don’t want to go, huh? one sang, tone like a cat’s tail flicking.

Then come with us, another beckoned, a snake’s tongue tasting the air.

So proactive, miss, a third snickered, grins like cracked masks.

I’ve never seen hides so thick, she thought, skin like rhinoceros plate under cheap cologne.

Overgrown brats, she sighed inwardly, bear-cubs with bad teeth gnawing on trouble.

People hit on pretty girls; getting hit on is proof enough, she mused, a bitter laugh glinting like a mirror’s cold edge.

Either way, I’ll slip out early, she decided, smoke threading through shutter slats.

Stop! Don’t you dare be rude to my lady! The shout cut the air like a bell in fog.

Before Yun Shi lifted a hand, Mia burst from nowhere, as if a wire had snapped; she flung her arms wide, a small shield under a storm.

Oh, another one, one of them jeered, eyes like dull knives catching no light.

A friend? How sweet, another crooned, voices like syrup gone sour.

You even called her my lady—are you two playing noble games, they laughed, a chorus of crows on a dead branch.

A-anyway, you’re not allowed to touch her, o-or else— Mia’s voice shook like a reed in wind, yet it held.

They loomed a head taller; fear prickled her skin like cold rain, but she planted her feet like roots.

Her knees knocked like bamboo in wind, but she wouldn’t give an inch, a lamp refusing to gutter.

Look, she’s shaking, one smirked, delight like oil catching spark.

So eager to come with us? another taunted, tongues like thorns.

Sure, you can join too, a third whistled, hands like spiders.

My l-lady, please go, she stammered, breath fogging like a winter pane. I can handle this alone.

Idiot, Yun Shi sighed inside, a tender ache under the ribs like a bruise.

Mia, remember this, she said, voice flat as a blade in snow. I’m not someone who needs your protection.

Bam, bam, bam—thud, thud, thud! The sounds fell like hail on a tin roof, then quiet.

In a blink, the jokers sprawled on the ground, kites cut from string littering the dirt.

Mia stared, eyes wide as lanterns, her shock a held breath in a cold room.

Let’s go, Mia, Yun Shi said, words like a clean wind after rain.

As for the boys on the ground, serves you right for chasing the wrong prey; family-honed claws don’t spare alley cats.

Years of training had sharpened Yun Shi like a wolf among strays, more than enough for street trash.

Heat rose to Mia’s cheeks like a sunrise; she’d leaped to save her lady and been saved instead, pride crumpled like wet paper.

I need to make up for it, she thought, resolve glinting like a bead in dust.

Right—my lady, I’ll scoop some goldfish for you! she chirped, a sparrow pitching hope like a seed.

Side by side among the stalls, the idea flashed through her mind like a firefly over water.

She could gift them to her beloved lady, a little lantern of thanks floating on a dark stream.

Whatever, Yun Shi said, chewing her candied apple to the core; her mood lay still as a pond at dusk.

Mia paid in a rush and grabbed a paper net; her gaze fixed on darting gold like sparks in a basin.

She lunged at one; the paper tore like ice in spring, and she lifted only a sad, dripping hoop.

The burly stallkeeper laughed, warmth like a brazier in winter. Haste burns the tongue, kid; take it slow.

She nodded and tried again, and again; each net split like moth wings, and anxiety gnawed like mice in the walls.

What do I do, what do I do, her thoughts skittered like beads across a tray.

She’d meant to gift her lady a fish of luck; now she felt useless, a boat without oars on a black river.

Mia, give it to me. I’ll do it, Yun Shi said, her voice calm as a steady tide.

Unable to watch, Yun Shi held out her hand; hesitation fluttered, then Mia surrendered the fragile ring like a leaf to current.

Gold flashed again and again into the bowl; under Mia’s widening eyes, Yun Shi filled a bag, clear water stippled with living coins.

When she’d had her fill, Yun Shi didn’t linger; she tugged Mia along, their steps pattering like rain toward the next street.

On the way, Mia’s face drooped like a wilted lotus. I’m sorry, my lady, she murmured, voice like ash.

…

I’m dumb, she said, the words heavy as wet cloth. I can’t even scoop a goldfish. When trouble comes, I can’t help. I’m useless.

Yun Shi understood the sting; perfection makes shadows longer, and Mia, an ordinary girl, stood in shade like grass under a wall.

But Yun Shi knew her own scaffolding; she’d only climbed this far by a past life’s memory, a plain stone carried through two rivers.

You didn’t do anything wrong, Mia, she said, her tone soft as a shawl.

But— Mia’s protest fluttered like a trapped moth.

I don’t get it, Yun Shi said, frank as winter air. Why are you so fixated on me? By rights, I’m only your master, not your friend. You don’t need to be this kind.

I want to be with my lady, that’s all, Mia answered, her gaze steady as a flame cupped in hands.

Why? What in me is worth it? Yun Shi asked, doubt pooling like ink.

Because… my lady is special, Mia said, the word gentle as first snow.

Silence settled between them like soft fog; they walked side by side, two shadows on one road.

After a long while, Mia spoke again, voice clear as a bell. My brother and I are proud to have such a master, because Miss Yun Shi is the person we like most.

Someone you like? Yun Shi echoed, the phrase landing like a pebble in a well.

Mm. We’re glad we met you, Mia said, smile like dawn easing a ridge.

They stopped, and Mia’s eyes held Yun Shi like starlight on dark water; the feeling rose and broke like a wave.

Yun Shi stood blank, words lost like birds in mist.

I still remember, long ago, the first time we met, Mia said, memory opening like an old gate.

Back then, I thought no one would save us again; life looked like unbroken night, a road without lamps.

Maybe it would have stayed that way, she whispered, like most do in the Underworld—survival of the fittest, teeth on bone.

We crawled and clawed, trying to carve a strip of ground in the Underworld, like seedlings pushing through stone.

But everything changed, she said, a spark leaping to tinder.

Because we met you, she breathed, the word warm as a hearth.

Fate that had been nailed in place cracked like old lacquer; the script was rewritten in a blink.

Back then, Yun Shi was small, five or six, a thin sapling in a big courtyard; she saw a pair of siblings in the branch family’s yard.

Their clothes hung askew like torn flags; their eyes were dull as ash, waiting for the steward’s last command.

For them, any assignment was just another door into darkness, a tunnel with no star.

Their faces carried no child’s expression, only winter before its time.

Who are they? little Yun Shi asked, her voice not childlike at all, a blade thin and bright.

Miss, they’re orphans from a mid-level branch, the steward said, tone like rain on stone. Their guardian died in battle and left two children. I plan to place them at the bottom.

That’s your judgment? Yun Shi asked, gaze steady as moonlight.

Yes. They’re small and not useful. Starting from the bottom suits them best, he said, hands folded like a closed fan.

Yun Shi studied the two, and a thought sprouted like a seed in loam.

Oh. I don’t have attendants yet, do I, she said, as if noting a missing hairpin.

You do not. Is there a problem? the steward asked, brow creasing like ripples.

I’ve decided, Yun Shi said, the words crisp as a bell. They’ll serve me.

The steward gaped, and the siblings stared, disbelief bright as lightning over a dark field.

Second Miss, what are you doing! he blurted, voice snapping like a twig.

Isn’t it perfect? They’re young, just right, she said, smile like a crescent moon.

But they don’t know anything… he protested, worry flapping like a frightened bird.

Have you seen a child who knows everything? she replied, calm as still water.

This… he faltered, words drying like ink.

Enough. Don’t fuss. What I decide doesn’t need your labor, she said, final as a gong.

That day, Mia saw it: a small figure shining from within, a lantern under daylight, and it dazzled.

So she gave her whole heart to respect, to cherish, even to like her lady, the devotion clear as a mountain spring.

Now, that’s all there is; no problem hides beneath, only a simple vow like a knot in red thread.

Back on a street made for two, the noise roared like a river, but the hush between them lifted like fog at noon.

In the dark world, meeting my lady was luck, Mia said, gratitude bright as a star. I have no other family—only my brother, and you.

No matter how useless or cold my lady seems, I won’t hate you, she added, loyalty firm as a stone bridge.

Because you’re my lady, Mia said, my master, the word soft as silk.

Mia… Yun Shi murmured, her name a leaf falling on water.

I heard the outside is light we people of the Underworld can never touch, Mia said, eyes tilting up like a lantern. I’ve never seen it. I imagine people there are kind, like my lady.

Her gaze lifted to the imagined world like a moth seeking moonlight, hope trembling but bright.

Those who live in light don’t know the dark exists; those who live in dark yearn for light, like seedlings yearning for sun.

Yun Shi’s chest ached, heavy as a raincloud pressed low over hills.

It’s not so perfect out there, she said, truth like thorns on a rose.

It’s only a place different from the Underworld; drown in it, and when you come back, you carry scars like cold iron, memories that won’t let go.

That hurts worse, she thought, pain a slow tide licking bone.

Better no dream at all… her mind trailed, the words a feather caught in wind.

Even so, I think the people of the light are happy, Mia said, voice like birds at dawn. At least they don’t know what we do here.

Her words struck like a bell, clear and cruel.

People in the light must be happy every day, she went on, faces turned to sun. They live different lives, enjoy what we don’t. I envy them. I want that unknown world.

…

If one day we could reach the world of light, that would be enough, she whispered, a wish folded like paper. It’s only a dream.

In the dark, many have forgotten their own light, souls soaked in blood and storms, fighting for life and land like wolves in winter.

Long smoke and iron have numbed them, hearts scabbed over like old wounds.

Yet even in the numbness, some still yearn for light, like seeds sleeping under snow.

Their goodness hasn’t died; it glows like ember under ash.

Light is their dream, a dawn promised behind mountains.

It won’t remain only a dream; it has to be real someday, someone keeps hoping, like hands cupping a spark against the wind.

Hope is the last gleam at the edge of dusk.

“Mm. Someday, I’ll reach that light.”

A wish drifts into being now, like a lantern set on dark water.