We hit several hot pot places; every door had lines coiled like winter snakes.

Yekase got antsy, a spark popping like dry tinder; she decided to set up a hot pot right inside Valhalla.

She hauled a pot and an induction stove from home, like raiding a pantry under moonlight. She bought ingredients from the nearby fresh market, claimed the booth by the window to vent the smoke like drifting mist, plugged in, and fired it up.

Fang Tang, on duty at Valhalla, joined in with a cat’s grin. She snapped a photo, dropped it into the squad chat, and the whole team stepped through the portal like birds homing to a roost.

Lu Yao’s nerves fluttered like trapped sparrows; she wanted to slip out the window and vanish into the night.

Yekase and Liu RuoYuan had already set the net; they pinned her left and right like river stones anchoring a bridge.

“You—!”

“They don’t even know you; what are you panicking for?” Yekase blinked, like a fox curious under frost. “Even if Professor F clocks you as first-gen, so what? Oh—you’re worried that the old ‘energetic little-sis’ silver will wreck your cool big-sis aura now?”

“…”

Lu Yao flopped in the sofa like driftwood, letting the current take her.

Seeing her fight for a breath then give up, Yekase felt oddly relieved, like rain finally breaking. This one can’t put down her pride; she needs someone to force her, so she has an excuse to shift her gaze away from revenge—troublesome as an ox-cart, but she’s a teammate, so we bend.

Crimson Field and Wang Zhewei dragged the table next door and pushed them together; ten people around one pot still felt like fish packed in a net. Ling Ya portaled home for more pots and chopsticks; realizing they were short one induction stove, Yekase called Jiang Bailu to come eat and to bring the old team-building stove from Dev.

By the time their savior Jiang Bailu descended on Valhalla, the street outside looped her like a maze, never revealing the bar’s true door. Yekase ran out and guided her in like a lantern on a foggy pier. Half an hour since the spark of this hot pot madness, they finally rose from “who’s nibbling first” to “we’re eating together.”

Eleven souls, plus Rice Rice, who’d snuck into a sling bag like a mouse into grain, crowded this narrow, dim bar that hadn’t seen a fresh customer all day. Two iron pots sat like twin cauldrons, roaring as they boiled meat.

“Congrats to Miss Ye and Miss Liu on the new house!” Crimson Field lifted a beer scavenged from behind the bar, bubbles rising like tiny comets.

Yekase shifted aggro to the hapless neighbor. “And Miss Lu here!”

“And Miss Lu! Congrats!”

“By the way, Yekase and… Miss Liu, are you sisters? Why the different surnames?” Lin Yuqing asked, curiosity peeking like a cat.

“Uh, that—”

Yekase started spinning tales, words like colored streamers. “She took Dad’s name; I took Mom’s!”

“I see; I’ve heard of that split,” Lin nodded, like reeds agreeing with wind.

“What’s the new address?”

“On the floating island!”

“Floating island?!”

“Comes with a hangar!”

“A hangar?!”

As the homeowner, Yekase was riding the wind. “Bought furniture today. Once the place is dressed, come up and play! We’ll host a—what’s that party called again?”

“Mario Party!” “A boom party!” “What’s a boom party?” “It’s a home party—a family gathering.”

They chirped for a while, definitions fluttering like paper kites, then decided: party at home means home party.

The first batch of mutton surfaced like clouds; they divided it, steam and joy rising together.

At one point Lin Yuqing reached for the bottles in the bar cabinet; Fang Tang blocked her like a mother hen over chicks. She relented only after Lin paid at market price, like a fair trade under a watchful moon.

“For this session,” Yekase said, voice bright as brass, “I want to introduce a new member.”

She’d been tempered by the alchemy symposium and the Sovell Conference; now, speaking before a crowd felt like stepping onto a river she knew. Attention swung back to her like sunflowers to light.

She stood, hands landing on Lu Yao’s shoulders like a friendly weight. She grinned. “This comrade who’s about to move into my home—Lu Yao! Codename PeaceWarrior. Also the first-gen Beast King Silver Ranger!”

“You—”

She dropped it like thunder from a clear sky?!

Lu Yao didn’t care about public chatter, but she knew PeaceWarrior’s online rep was a storm cloud. The black marks were “picking fights with groups” and “large-scale damage,” plus voices saying she was a bandit in a hero’s coat.

Knowing she’s PeaceWarrior—and knowing PeaceWarrior is Silver—would the second-gen kids still accept her? Would they ask why she vanished like morning mist? Would they demand she retell the truth of that year with her own tongue?

Lu Yao hadn’t noticed it herself, but a soft knot tugged inside—she cared a little about how they saw her.

Just because they called themselves the Beast King Squadron.

A small silence fell like ash.

Five squad members and one professor traded glances, faces like still ponds.

Yekase slid back beside Lu Yao, voice lowered to a feather.

“It’s okay.”

—Okay, my foot! Lu Yao knew that behind Yekase’s clever veneer lived a berserker; even in social moves she charged like a boar. If this froze the room, were they even going to keep eating—

“Wait—it’s the first-gen?!” Crimson Field’s eyes flared like sparks.

“I said the other first-gens were still alive! Pay up—one case of cola!” Lin Yuqing punched the air like a flag.

“You remember that?” “Of course I do!”

“PeaceWarrior’s been pretty active, right? She’s torn down a bunch of group factories and solo wiped small outfits. If she’s first-gen, that battle power clicks.”

“No wonder—first-gen!”

“‘Silver is the silver of the future! Beast King Silver!’ That’s my favorite shout!” Fang Tang, usually cool, was glowing like a lantern.

“Hey, weren’t you saying you liked black last time? Don’t butter up like that!” “Liking Black means I like Silver—”

…

Looks like… nobody’s suspicious?

The breakup’s guts, teammates’ fates—do they not care?

Professor F clapped, calling for quiet like a shepherd. He turned to anxious Lu Yao—who didn’t notice she was anxious—and spoke like calm rain.

“The hero road is hard. If you scatter along the way, there’s no blame. And you never stopped fighting.”

It seemed they didn’t know what happened back then, assuming a plain disband. Truth be told, Lu Yao herself couldn’t map that night; letting the river carry that version felt easiest.

“By the way, Professor, you’ve received support from Beast King Black, right?” Yekase asked, a sidewind cutting clean.

“Yes. She regularly sends personal funds. That hard startup winter—thanks to her, we got through. She’s the reason the Beast King Squadron could reform. She’s our benefactor.”

Lu Yao’s head snapped up like a deer hearing a twig; shock wrote itself in her eyes.

Yekase’s whisper slid into her ear like warm tea. “I’m guessing you never really traced your sister’s cashflow. You feared seeing her drowned in private luxury, which would cut you deeper, right?”

“You…”

“A Quanyuan champion is richer than you think. Where did the money go—where could it go—you can guess the shape. You just don’t dare hold a thought that sounds like you’re persuading yourself to lay down revenge.”

…

After that, Lu Yao went quiet, bowing over her bowl like a crane, eating veggies.

The mood swelled like a bonfire. Aside from heavy-drinker Yekase and the firm teetotalers Liu RuoYuan and Lu Yao, even the Ling sisters—one just adult, one not—sipped a little. The night folded everyone; they all got drunk.

Professor F said Valhalla was the Beast King Squadron’s base anyway; let them sleep like leaves in a grove. He was drunk, too; Yekase drew a recall array like a chalk circle, had Liu RuoYuan and Lu Yao carry Jiang Bailu up to the floating island, pushed Ling Yi and Ling Ya home with tired hands, then sank back into the bar seat, mind drifting through where to lay each body like a gardener placing stones.

Rice Rice climbed onto her lap and settled like a warm loaf.

Yekase felt its heat, stroked with the grain like smoothing fur, and slipped into sleep.

…

…

A scream snapped Yekase awake like a cymbal.

She opened her eyes slowly and saw Valhalla’s interior, wood and shadow like a cave. Right—last night she was too tired and fell asleep in the booth. She felt for Rice Rice; it had wriggled into the gap at her lower back, sleeping sweet as honey.

Then she looked up, hunting the source of the scream like a falcon—

Found it.

Across the chaotic table landscape sat a petite girl in a loose, oversized red coat, hands skittering up and down her body like startled geckos, face painted with disbelief.

She had rose-pink, natural curls, hair volume lush enough to envy—like a puffball dandelion.

“Uh… who might you be?”

Yekase’s voice came dry, like a jar rarely opened. Maybe she drank too much last night.

“I’m Crimson Field—Zongyu—but Crimson Field Zongyu is a twenty-one-year-old man, so who am I?!”

Judging by the vibe—about as ditzy as Ling Yi—that’s probably Crimson Field.

Yekase scratched her head, a bamboo sigh, and gave a bored “so that’s it” look. “You turned into a girl; what’s with the fireworks?”

“Turned into a girl?! I don’t have that kind of setting!”

“Calm down; bring out that usual confidence. You’re actually kind of cute like this.”

“Thank you… no I’m not!”

The loli Crimson Field sprang off the sofa like a spring. The coat was too big; it slid off her shoulders, revealing a chest that had nothing in, in every sense—like an empty shelf.

“Why would a little drink turn me into—this—”

“Uh, aren’t you going to cover up?”

“Cover what?”

Yekase cupped her own modest headlights with comic gravity, like testing a lantern’s weight.

Crimson Field stared, then glanced down at herself. She sat back down in a white flash, shame washing over like a cold wave.

“I-I have to find a way to change back!”

“Ah… classic type.”

Yekase lounged and switched poses like a cat in sunlight, savoring Crimson Field’s lost-lamb look, even offering commentary. Then she scanned the sprawled crew; sure enough, changes had touched everyone like a mischievous fox spirit.

“Classic… what?”

“The TS type that vows, ‘I must turn back into a man!’ One of the earliest shapes of the gender-bender trope.”

“There are classifications that detailed?!”

Yekase nodded solemnly, like citing ancient scrolls—the labels were made up on the spot—and started searching the scattered bodies for a particular face.

She found the unfamiliar beauty quickly, like spotting a new moon.

“And look, you’ve got company. Though now it’s sisterhood.”

Crimson Field followed her finger. A long-haired, glasses-wearing cool beauty sat there, like frost on bamboo. Wait—Fang Tang doesn’t look like that… then who is this?

“Uh, don’t tell me—”

“It’s exactly that ‘don’t tell me.’”