Second time in two days she found herself at Ling Yi’s home, like a swallow circling back to a warm eave.

At the doorway of the Ling Family’s Eden Hope Garden, Ling Mom watered potted orchids, her smile soft as spring sun, and ushered the two inside.

She guided them straight to the bathroom, a gentle current pushing reeds toward still water.

Snap!

The door swung shut.

Click!

“Why are you locking the door?!”

Panic pricked first; Yekase had thought the air was mellow, a quiet night like tea cooling in moonlight. But they were jumping the gun already? Mother and daughter in cahoots, like two sparrows plotting in the rafters?!

Ling Yi set a light hand on her shoulder; Yekase jolted three times, a skittish cat under sudden rain.

“Because I keep feeling the Doctor will bolt,” Ling Yi said, voice calm as mist.

“Now of all times?!”

“Doctor is mysterious, like a moon-pale cat. Cats hate baths, so doors should lock. Mom heard and agreed, like bamboo chiming in the wind.”

Lin Mei, what are you doing! Your daughter’s acting up, and you join the act like two drums beating one storm!

“I’m grown. I can bathe myself…” Yekase protested, pride brittle as a dry leaf.

“You can’t even brush your hair. I’ll watch and make sure you finish,” Ling Yi replied, steady as a stone lantern.

“Pervert!” Yekase spat, heat rising like kettle steam.

Ling Yi brought a small stool, sat in the corner, straight-backed with knees braced, and stared with hawk focus, as if guarding a teacup candle.

“You… I…” Words tangled like fishing line; Yekase froze with her mouth open, then finally let the tide take her. She stripped, stepped into the waiting hot bath, steam blooming like dawn fog, and sat to stare back.

“……”

“……”

“Doctor.”

“What now?” Yekase asked, caution tight as a bowstring.

Ling Yi’s gaze drifted from crown to fringe, from fluffy ends and damp bangs pressed to her forehead, to her cool eye-corners and thin, flushed lips, then down her slender neck to the collarbones, like a stream tracing stones.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, soft as lantern light on water.

“Eh?”

“If I asked for a birthday gift, could you give yourself to me?” Ling Yi’s tone was sweet as candied haw on a stick, danger glinting like hidden steel.

“Who said ‘that’s enough’ in my house?!” Yekase shot back, voice cracking like ice.

“Ling Yi, thirty minutes ago,” Ling Yi replied, straight-faced as a temple statue.

“Impressive you can say that without blinking…” Yekase muttered, heartbeat thudding like a drum in a mountain shrine.

Thankfully, Ling Yi did as promised: watched only, hands kept still like folded fans. Yekase finished her bath, dressed, and stepped out in the two-for-fifty-yuan, one-size-fits-all underwear Ling Yi had bought today, fabric light as summer gauze.

Ling Father sat in the living room.

He wore a suit, face stern, posture identical to Ling Yi’s earlier, seated straight-backed on the sofa like a stone lion guarding a gate.

What’s his play, a chess move held behind the fan?

“Hello, Uncle—” Yekase forced a smile, tried to slip past like a fish angling for the shade.

“You’re Yekase, right?” he asked, tone even as a judge’s bell.

“Uh!” Her right foot never landed, body froze on one leg beside the sofa, a crane statue mid-step.

“Sit,” he said, the word falling like a pebble into still water.

Who wants a heart-to-heart with the former head of a Sinister Organization? Even if he’d washed his hands and become a home cook, it didn’t mean his knife arm had dulled—the kitchen might have honed the blade until it sang.

A bead of bathwater slid down her not-quite-dry back, cold as a silver fish.

Seeing her stiffness, Ling Youguang realized his presence pressed like storm-pressure. He coughed twice, awkward as a broom in a shrine, and rubbed his nose, gaze shifting aside.

“My face looks fierce. I scared you, right? Don’t worry. This scar came from a fall when I was young. I’m actually just a very ordinary father,” he said, voice trying for sunshine through clouds.

If Yekase didn’t know his past accolades, she might have believed it, like mist hiding cliffs.

But why stop her just to say this? She’d never visited a friend’s home, didn’t know the polite distance between youths and parents. Shouldn’t it be a hello and done? Why this lantern-light talk to build a bridge?

“Uh… mm…” she managed, words thin as tea.

“Your relationship with Yi—her mom told me,” he said. “I’m not an old fossil. I always fully support my daughter’s thoughts. So don’t worry,” he added, smile tight as a knotted sash.

No no no no no, wait wait wait—her mind flailed like a sparrow against a window.

She finally understood, and wished she didn’t. How did it get here? Did time hit fast-forward?

“Uncle, Ling Yi and I aren’t… not that kind of relationship!” she blurted, cheeks flush like embers.

“I get it, I get it. Young people! Uncle was young once too,” Ling Youguang said, lips curling in what looked, to her eyes, like a wolf’s grin under lantern smoke.

He smiled, but in Yekase’s mind he gleamed like cold steel about to slide from a pocket, a blade hungry for air.

He founded the Night King Syndicate—she’d researched them back when they fought. A new-school gang: most members handsome men in their twenties, operating mainly in adults-only districts. Beyond protection fees, they did… other business, silk-curtain kind.

Back then it felt like data. Now the flavor turned strange, perfumed like a room you leave quickly.

“Alright, head back to the room. Yi should be done bathing soon,” he said, calm as moonlight. “If you two plan any strenuous activity, you might need snacks and fluids to replenish. I’ll prepare some,” he added, kindness as casual as a knife resting on a cutting board.

That kind. That profession. She bolted from the living room, feet pattering like startled rain.

In the small corridor outside Ling Yi’s room, she reached for the door. A side door opened, and a girl she hadn’t seen before stepped out, cool as shadow.

…?

By common sense, this was the sister she’d missed yesterday—Ling Ya.

“Hello…” Yekase ventured, smile tentative as a candle.

“Hello,” Ling Ya replied, voice flat as calm water.

Ling Ya walked to the fridge, pulled out an 800ml family-size carton of milk, twisted the cap, and drank directly, throat steady as a mountain stream.

She finished in one breath. The carton sighed empty, like a bell done ringing.

So that’s a hero’s lung capacity… Yekase watched, impressed and spooked, like a sparrow eyeing a hawk.

Ling Ya returned, paths crossing again, their eyes touching for one blink, a firefly’s flash.

“I had someone check,” Ling Ya said, words dropping like stones into a pond.

“Hm?” Yekase’s guard rose like a fan.

She’d thought they’d pass silently like ships. Unexpectedly, Ling Ya spoke, voice even as frost.

“Yekase, seventeen. A second-year student at Heavenly Heart High School. Science track. You chose physics and biology. Currently on leave for special reasons,” Ling Ya recited, a scroll unrolling.

“Yes,” Yekase said, heartbeat a slow drum.

“But the internal student database at Heavenly Heart High couldn’t find your name,” Ling Ya continued, calm as a blade. “So I asked that person to trace earlier records. We found you have no birth certificate. You appeared out of thin air at eight, the year you entered primary school,” she said, eyes cool as winter ponds.

“……” Silence spread like ink.

“How could that be? Did you finish faking grade school and get lazy afterward?” Ling Ya asked, blunt as a hammer.

Oh damn—who checks someone’s files all the way down to birth certificates? Shock fizzed in Yekase’s chest like soda poured too fast. First her disciple hooked her with a mass-produced machine; now the sister she’d just met cracked her open face-to-face. Her IQ felt like a kite with a cut string.

She had to seize the initiative now, or the persona would crumble like old paper.

“My work is special,” she said, tone cool as rain. “I have to hide my real information to protect myself.”

She laid weight on “protect myself,” each syllable firm as paving stones.

If her bio had been exposed as a disguise, playing dumb would be useless—better to step back and redirect, tai chi in words.

Yekase leaned close to Ling Ya’s ear, whisper brushing like feather wind.

“After all, you’re a hero too. You should understand, right?”

“…!” Ling Ya jerked back two, three steps, spine striking the corridor wall, a soft thud like a moth to paper.

“I… I understand. So you’re a senior,” she said, posture shrinking like a folded fan.

Yekase kept her face calm, but inside she threw confetti, joy dancing like lanterns.

“Sorry,” Ling Ya muttered, scratching her cheek, eyes shifting like clouds.

“It’s fine,” Yekase said, smile gentle as tea steam.

Crisis avoided, the bridge held like bamboo.

Back in the room, she played on her phone to settle her nerves, scrolling like leaves drifting downstream. Ling Yi came in freshly bathed, skin rosy as dawn.

“Ya-ya seems very interested in you,” Ling Yi said, tone bright as bells. “She kept staring at the door out in the hall. Want to call her in to play together?”

“No, no, no,” Yekase waved both hands, frantic as sparrows scattering. “You two deities—dealing with one is already exhausting.”

“So it’s a world for two,” Ling Yi teased, smile sly as moonlight through lattice.

“I advise you not to pull the ‘girlfriend roster’ business,” Yekase said, frown tight as a knot. “I’m not that kind of easy.”

“Not easy is fine?” Ling Yi asked, eyes laughing like ripples.

“Also not fine! We’ve only known each other two days!” Yekase snapped, boundaries like fence posts in sand.

Whether a girlfriend roster or marrying a man—honestly, Yekase had never considered either, and didn’t want to. If forced, marrying a man was impossible; the roster idea had a higher tolerance. But would someone not factory-original even count, a puzzle like a cracked seal?

“What do you want to play, Doctor? I’ve got a computer, an NS, a PSV, a PS4. Discs are on the second shelf of the bookcase,” Ling Yi offered, inventory neat as stacked lacquer boxes.

“Too much happened today,” Yekase said, fatigue settling like dusk. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“What time is it?” Ling Yi asked, curiosity light as dust motes.

“August fifteenth, ten forty-five p.m.,” Yekase replied, precise as a chronometer.

“No need to be that specific,” Ling Yi laughed, a soft tap on a bowl.

“Occupational habit,” Yekase said, shoulders easing like ropes let go.

“Sounds precise,” Ling Yi admitted, smile a candle’s nod.

It wasn’t precision—when deadlines loomed, nights blurred. If you didn’t name the date, time dripped like rain you can’t count.

“Good night.” Yekase slipped beneath the already laid futon, curled into a ball, a cat finding warmth.

“Mm… then sleep. Early to bed, early to rise,” Ling Yi said, voice a hush.

She turned off the light and slid into her own quilt, dark gentle as pond water.

…

……

“Doctor?”

“Mm?” Yekase murmured, eyelids heavy as leaves.

“Tell me the story of the Flashblade System,” Ling Yi asked, curiosity glowing like a lantern.

“One day,” Yekase began, voice low as river hush, “I discovered Flash Energy, a strange power that resonates with the user’s emotions. So I tried to make something with it… and built Flashblade System 1.0. Flash Energy refuses to aid those with malice, so the organization’s fighters couldn’t use it. 1.0 wasn’t armor—it was a robot with artificial intelligence,” she said, memories drifting like smoke.

“Artificial intelligence…” Ling Yi echoed, wonder flickering like a firefly.

“That robot, the dark attribute ‘Zec,’ is the prototype for the enemy armor we saw today,” Yekase continued, a map unfurling. “I don’t know what they modified, or how they bypassed the malice check. Later I developed 2.0, split into four attributes: fire, wind, water, and earth. Unfortunately, when I escaped, I only managed to take Kagari’s key. The rest, plus Zec, were hidden together. They’ve likely secured them now,” she said, regret a cold thread.

“Sounds like future upgrade forms! What can each do?” Ling Yi asked, eyes bright as morning.

“Fire—Kagari—goes without saying,” Yekase said. “Highest attack, armor at a passable line, and it can fly.”

“Wind—Gale—is very fast. It can fire lightning for ranged attacks, but its armor is thin,” she said, words crisp as frost.

“Water—Dew—can interfere with surrounding energy. At full power it can even disrupt minds and create illusions,” she continued, tone cool as rain.

“Earth—Gauntlet—has the thickest armor, the longest endurance, and can deploy a large energy shield to protect the area,” she finished, a circle drawn clean.

“Power type, speed type, technique type, balanced type,” Ling Yi summed up, four corners of a compass.

“That works as a read,” Yekase agreed, smile faint as smoke.

“First form isn’t balanced? You start with the power type?” Ling Yi asked, curiosity tilting like a sparrow’s head.

“It’s not Ultraman,” Yekase said, deadpan as stone.

“Haha, fair enough,” Ling Yi chuckled, laughter like chimes.

…

……

“Doctor?”

“……” Silence answered like deep water.

Ling Yi turned her head and found Yekase already asleep.

Only the air-con blanket covered her belly. She sprawled four-limbed like a starfish, face turned her way, a ribbon of drool gleaming like a silver thread.

Ling Yi couldn’t help but smile. In a whisper soft as night wind, she said:

“Good night.”