By eleven the next morning, Yanjing International’s arrival gate was a tide of bodies, a bright river of luggage wheels and neon signs.

Seven men in black suits waited not far off, like crows on a rail, with a forty-something man standing centered like a stone marker.

Passengers began to seep out in a steady trickle, like water finding cracks through a dam.

Gu Xin and Meng Yuting walked shoulder to shoulder, two reeds swaying in the same breeze.

“Looks like Yanjing isn’t as cold as I imagined,” Meng Yuting said, tugging her collar like loosening a too-tight knot.

Both wore heavy coats, heat pooling under them like trapped steam.

“You should’ve seen that coming,” Gu Xin sighed, eyes rolling like marbles, dry humor sharp as a bamboo sliver.

“Anyone who goes hiking with you is doomed to bad luck, like a cloud that brings rain.”

She shifted her bag to her outer hand, and with her free hand she hooked Meng Yuting’s fingers, a silk ribbon catching another.

“Huh? Why so proactive?” Meng Yuting blinked, surprise blooming like a small lantern.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Gu Xin shot back, the words cool as shade under eaves.

A thread of chill slipped from palm to palm, like frost threading a window, and in a breath it spread through Meng Yuting’s body like a quiet stream.

Comfort flooded her like warm tea in winter, and she understood what Gu Xin was doing.

“Wow, that’s amazing! Come here, babe, gimme a kiss,” she said, shameless as a cat basking in sun.

“Keep it up and I’ll turn you into a popsicle and mail you home,” Gu Xin murmured, voice flat as a blade.

“…,” silence fell between them like a folded fan, and Meng Yuting behaved at once.

“Miss!” A worn voice rose out of the crowd, rough as gravel under wheels.

A man in a black butler’s suit approached under a small guard, moving like an old pine that still knew the wind.

“Miss, thank heaven,” he said, stepping up quick as a beating drum, emotion shining like wet jade. “It’s been over ten years, and I never thought I’d see you again.”

“You’re… Uncle Cheng?” Meng Yuting searched his face, memory stirring like dust in sunlight.

“That you still remember me warms my old bones like spring,” he laughed, lines at his eyes folding like fan ribs. “But you should call me Grandpa Cheng now.”

“Wow, Uncle Cheng, it’s been so many years,” she said, joy bubbling like a spring.

“Xin, this is Butler Cheng,” Meng Yuting added, her voice bright as a bell. “He was our house butler back when I still lived at home.”

“Hello, Uncle Cheng,” Gu Xin said, a polite bow like a willow’s bend.

“Good, good,” Butler Cheng beamed, kindness steady as a hearth fire. “You must be Tingting’s friend. Enough standing in the draft, both of you,” he added, words brisk as clapping hands. “Tingting, your parents are waiting at home. Let’s head back.”

“Alright, let’s go,” she answered, relief settling like a cloak.

Under the bodyguards’ umbrella, they slid into a Bentley sedan, the car gliding from the curb like a black swan.

On the back seat, the two still held hands, warmth braided like red strings.

“Yuting, maybe I should get a hotel,” Gu Xin said, worry pricking like a thorn. “Your parents must miss you. Me showing up might feel off.”

“No way,” Meng Yuting said, firm as a knot. “Relax, I told them already. You’ll stay at my place, like a guest under our roof.”

“It’s only two or three days anyway,” she added, plans laid like a map. “After that we head to Ninghai to find that little sister of mine.”

“Mm… alright,” Gu Xin nodded, agreement landing like a soft feather.

Beep-beep, went the handheld radio on the front passenger seat, the sound crisp as a birdcall.

“It’s me. What is it?” Butler Cheng’s voice went flat as calm water. “Confirmed? Good. Wait for my word.”

He lowered the radio, then turned back, face composed like a lacquer screen. “Miss.”

“Mm? What is it?” Her heart lifted, a leaf tasting the wind, before she spoke.

“The rear guard reports a Range Rover has been tailing us for a while, like a shadow on the road,” he said, careful as a man crossing ice. “Should we…”

Her parents had told him to take her lead on any road matter, their trust sealed like a wax stamp.

Meng Yuting glanced at Gu Xin, and Gu Xin met her look, their slight nods touching like twin ripples.

“Don’t mind them, Uncle Cheng,” Meng Yuting said, a small smile rising like dawn. “We’ll keep to our road.”

“Understood, Miss,” he replied, and sent the order, his voice clean as a bell.

The two had already guessed it was Huaguo’s official Anomaly Power unit doing a quiet sweep, a net cast like mist, and they chose not to care.

After nearly an hour, the car rolled through the gates of the Meng family villa compound, pines lining the drive like green spears.

As the doors opened, a voice soared from the doorway, bright and trembling like a lark. “Tingting!”

“Mom! Dad!” The words burst from her like a firework, bright and brief.

After more than ten years, she was home again, the word “home” settling like earth underfoot.

She jogged up and folded her mother into a hug, warmth pouring like sunlight after rain.

“Dad, Mom,” she said again, softer, like a prayer under breath.

“Our girl’s grown so much,” her mother murmured, eyes shining like dew.

“She has,” her father added, steady as a mountain, joy contained like tea kept hot in a clay pot.

“Hello, Uncle, Auntie,” Gu Xin said when the tide of emotion ebbed, her greeting neat as a bow.

“You must be Tingting’s good friend,” Mother said, kindness flowing like soup from a ladle. “Come, come, inside.”

They stepped into the villa, the air cool and faint with sandalwood, like shade after noon heat.

“I’ll go arrange lunch,” Butler Cheng said, sensing the moment like a seasoned crane.

“Thank you, Uncle Cheng,” Father replied, courtesy smooth as polished wood.

“You’re too kind,” the butler said, and slipped away like a quiet stream.

The two girls were drawn to the sofa and settled, cushions blooming under them like clouds.

Mother talked with them, words spilling like a string of pearls, while Father sat to the side, sipping tea like rain on moss, simply listening.

After so long apart, Mother had a thousand questions, beads rolling, and Meng Yuting answered each with a smile like spring light.

“Hey… stop with so many questions,” Father finally said, helpless as a man herding sparrows, yet gentle. “They’re tired. Let’s get to lunch.”

“Mm… alright,” Mother nodded, reluctant as a kite tugging its string. “Tingting, Xin, let’s eat.”

“Okay,” they chimed, voices in step like twin bells.

They followed Mother to the dining table, where the housemaids had laid out a spread like a small feast day.

Father dismissed the staff with a wave, the room quieting like a pond at dusk.

When everyone had eaten most of their fill, he set down his chopsticks, his gaze steady as a leveled blade. “Yuting, after all these years, that matter has been handled, right?”

“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, calm as still water. “It’s no problem now.”

She knew he meant her Anomaly Power, that sudden awakening in childhood, when the world tilted like a lantern in wind.

For her safety, the family had hidden her away and sent her to the Shadow Division, training her in secret like tempering steel in a covered forge.

“Good,” Father said, relief loosening his shoulders like slackened rope. “And Xin, I know you can’t talk much about your work.”

“I won’t pry,” he added, restraint firm as bamboo. “Please look after my daughter, all the same.”

“You’re too polite, Uncle Meng,” Gu Xin said, a smile curving like a crescent moon. “We’re good friends. We look out for each other.”

“Hahaha, good,” he laughed, the sound hearty as a drum. “Young people’s business is yours to live.”

“I’ve got company matters,” he added, rising like a steady tide. “You kids talk.”

Butler Cheng helped him with his coat, movements smooth as silk, and they left together like two shadows at noon.

Mother stayed, and her chatter began again like spring rain, soft and endless.