Prices in Haisha Town sat low, like the sea tide pulled back and bared the sand.

After another hour drifting through stalls like gulls skimming, we ate and drank our fill for about eighty silver coins.

We followed the map like a ribbon winding across streets.

Moon Garden rose ahead, a proud block of stone and glass like a cliff at dusk, promising worthy clothes inside.

Fingers laced with Lixue’s jade-soft hand, we stepped in as a bright “Welcome!” rang like a bell in a clear morning.

Inside, the clothes spread like a colorful field after rain.

Neat terraces marked menswear, womenswear, swimwear, enough choices to feel like a river of fabric.

The customers moved like a mild current, not sparse, not packed.

“What can I get for you two?”

A saleswoman in a cute uniform came over, sweet as a spring blossom in a courtyard.

I lifted a piece from the rack, the fabric rough like bark on an old tree.

Not what we wanted.

“We’re buying for daily wear,” I said, wanting comfort like cloud-soft cotton on skin.

“Do you have anything more upscale?”

“And something for sleeping,” Lixue added, voice soft as a moonbeam.

“If it feels good on the body, that’s enough.”

“Of course,” the saleswoman brightened, energy flaring like a little flame.

“Clothes in the regular area won’t suit your distinguished selves. Please follow me upstairs to the higher tier.”

She kept sneaking fiery glances at me, like sparks under ash.

Maybe it was my imagination.

On the second floor, the quality rose like steps cut into a mountain, yet it still fell short of our peak.

I felt a mild sigh ripple inside; the clothes I used to sew at home used the finest weaves, smooth as moonlight on ice.

Out here, few things could compare.

“There’s a VIP section on the third floor,” she said, words hovering like birds about to land.

“Our best pieces live up there, and the prices climb like steep stairs. But…”

“What’s the ‘but’?” I asked, steady as stone.

“If the clothes pass, money isn’t a problem.”

“I’m really sorry,” she dipped her head like a willow bowing to water.

“It’s store policy. The VIP floor is only for customers with a VIP pass.”

“A VIP pass?”

My mood cooled like evening shade settling over a courtyard.

“Yes,” she explained, voice low as a night breeze.

“Show proof you’re from a major faction, and we’ll issue a VIP pass.”

“This again?” Lixue sighed, a note sharp as frost.

“Haeyue Tower’s rules are so dull.”

“I’m very sorry,” she bowed lower, humble as grass in wind.

“I’m just an employee. I have to follow the rules.”

There was no helping it.

I weighed my options, like stones in a hand, then held out a coin that gleamed like a purple star.

“Use this to cover tonight’s clothes. Keep the change.”

“A Purplegold Coin?!” Her eyes lit like lanterns at festival night.

“Of course. Please, this way.”

She tucked the coin away as carefully as a pearl in velvet, then led on with steps light as a bird.

The VIP floor opened like a polished lake.

The decor gleamed, gold and ivory playing like sun on marble, and the fabric quality stepped up several tiers, just about reaching our ridge.

Because of the prices and gatekeeping, the space was quiet as a temple hall.

Only ten or so girls in ornate gowns floated like peacocks, likely young ladies from noble houses.

“Would you like recommendations from me or our VIP guides,” she asked, voice clear as glass, “or would you prefer to browse?”

“We’ll do it ourselves,” I said, wanting peace like shade under pine.

“All right,” she smiled, then drifted back like mist.

“Just call if you need anything.”

We moved to the entrance where menswear and womenswear split like two garden paths.

The count of pieces was smaller than below, but the quality stood tall like old cedars, and the types were rich as autumn harvest.

“Lixue, do we pick separately or together?”

I asked, keeping things simple like clean lines on a page.

“That even needs asking?” she laughed, bright as morning dew.

“Together, of course. Emperor, you pick for me first, then I’ll pick for you.”

“Eh—eh?”

My heart stuttered, a sparrow startled from a branch, as she pulled me straight into womenswear.

We walked and I grabbed what felt right for Lixue, light as leaves plucked in passing.

She nodded each time, and picked out her favorites too, like stars chosen from a night sky.

After a few circles, we held five or six sets, a bouquet of colors in our arms.

“There’s a fitting room over there,” she said, eyes lively as ripples.

“Emperor, let’s go in together.”

“No, no,” I balked, pulse thudding like drums.

“Lixue, you go in. I’ll wait outside.”

I could imagine it—her changing right before me, a fire too bright for the eyes.

The thought felt like summer heat under a noon sun.

“We bathe and sleep together all the time,” she teased, soft as silk.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“I mean, sure, but…”

Embarrassment rose like steam; watching a girl change is its own mountain to climb.

And Lixue is perfect in every way, like a sculpture carved from light.

“No more buts,” she said, smile warm as spring wind.

“I don’t mind. What are you hesitating for? In we go.”

She didn’t give me time to answer.

Hand firm as a guiding tether, she pulled me in and turned the lock with a clean click, action swift as a hawk diving.

Thankfully, the fitting room was spacious, like a quiet gallery.

A two-meter full-length mirror stood against the wall like a calm lake.

Racks waited on both sides like orderly trees, and a long bench sat on the right like a resting stone.

“Let’s try the two sets you picked first,” she said, voice steady as moonlight, “and see if they suit.”

She hung the rest on the racks, while I sat on the bench, breath held like a drawn bow.

Lixue began to undress, movements gentle as petals falling.

The space smelled faintly sweet, like snow and jasmine.

Silence pooled like a still pond; only the soft sounds of cloth slipping whispered in the air.

I should have turned away or closed my eyes, logic knocking like rain on a window.

But her skin appeared bit by bit, white as porcelain under winter sun, and my gaze stuck like frost.

A blush spread over her lovely face, ripe as a peach, the warmth blooming as she changed under my eyes.

It was hard—on every front—like walking a tightrope over a river.

Soon, she finished the first outfit and twirled before the mirror like a breeze dancing on water.

She looked pleased, a soft light settling over her.

“Looks good,” she asked, smile bright as stars.

“Emperor, what do you think?”

“It suits you perfectly,” I said, the words true as a bell.

“Lixue, you look beautiful.”

She wore a one-piece where pure white and deep blue crossed like snow and night.

The hem kissed her thighs like a wave’s edge, and the sparse patterns were placed just right, like constellations where they belong.

A delicate corset matched in blue and framed her waist like a willow’s slender grace.

The top echoed a shirt, clean white as cloud.

Frilled collar and short sleeves were neat as lacework, and at the edges, golden-stitched petals winked like tiny suns.

The skirt, deep blue with the corset, carried more pattern, like currents under the surface.

Its hem wore cute lace like frost flowers on glass.

Her golden hair, shoulder-length, was tied in a ponytail, lively as a young mare.

The whole look radiated a fresh charm, spring-bright and a touch playful.

It stirred a memory like snow-light in a dream—our first meeting in the Palace of Ice Crystal.

Back then, she wore a feminine imperial uniform, the kind you’d see in comics, mostly for show, sharp as steel lines.

I’d wondered if her taste matched Qianji Sister’s—favoring the cool, handsome style like wind over slate.

But seeing her now, it felt certain: for girls, skirts are the song of the season.

For the record, she hadn’t changed her underwear—of course—and we hadn’t even looked at that section yet.

We’d agreed beforehand: undergarments would be picked separately, quiet as private vows.