“Shopping starts now! My turn to march out, banner snapping in a bright market wind!”

With Dixue away, Yue Liuyi let her wild streak breathe, like a fox slipping under a moonlit bamboo grove.

Days on the knife-edge of poverty had honed her hands; she could weigh value like a scale carved in bone.

Two eggs like twin moons? She’d guess which hid the richer gold of yolk.

Two chip bags like twin pillows? She’d feel which sagged one gram heavier, like a pebble tipping a stream.

Two flour sacks with the same date? She’d pick the one whose dusk ran a few hours longer, like daylight clinging to the eaves.

These “useless” arts fit her fingers like well-worn tools, smooth as river stones.

“Shopping feels like floating—and I don’t even need to wait for sales. So good. Who knew being kept could taste this sweet \(^0^)/”

Before leaving, Dixue had pressed a bank card into her palm, a little talisman that said spend as you wish.

Eggs done, she steered the cart toward dairy, wheels whispering like minnows.

Her heart kicked without warning, a mule’s hoof thudding the ribs.

A wave of weakness washed her, like tide sucking sand from underfoot.

Her hand froze reaching for cream; vision smeared like fogged glass; she clung to the cart like driftwood to keep from crumpling.

She knew that ache too well; it was mana draining, grains hissing through a cracked hourglass.

Faster this time—faster even than when she used the Stellar Moon Compass, like wind stripping leaves.

At this rate, in minutes her oil would run dry and her tiny lamp would go dark.

Then she might not hold Yue Liuyi’s form; her magic would gutter out; even walking would feel like a mountain path in sleet.

She’d thought a day of calm meant safety; panic now bloomed like cold fire under her skin.

She pinched her arm till heat spread like ember sparks, mind sprinting for a rope to grab.

Lucky, in a bent way, that it hit now—Dixue wasn’t here—otherwise…

Wait, not here…?

A thread tugged in memory: yesterday morning, the drain began after Dixue left, like warmth leaving bathwater.

While showering with her, steam soft as mist, and laughing beside her, bells bright as swallows, nothing had felt wrong.

Could it be… Dixue helps me keep this form? This—ugh!

Another heart-hammer; pain clawed her chest; thoughts scattered like startled birds; she had minutes to cobble a fix.

“Restroom… where’s the restroom…”

She reached toward an auntie beside her, hand shaking like a leaf in wind.

“Northeast corner of the supermarket. Girl, you’re pale as paper—need me to take you?” The older woman’s voice was warm as a shawl.

“Thank you, I can go alone…” Her strength gathered like a taut thread as she staggered toward the signs.

Finding Dixue might solve it, a lighthouse on the foggy coast—but that was only a guess, and she didn’t want Dixue to see this and worry.

“One more minute… please hold…”

“Excuse me, miss—this is the men’s restroom.”

“Eek!”

A male janitor blocked her in the foyer, his mop like a spear.

“Ladies’ is the next one,” he said, pointing at the door with the woman icon, bright as a red paper-cut.

“Ugh…”

Her mana poured out like wine from a slit skin; the bottom was showing through.

In the end, she could only dash into the women’s restroom, breath ragged like torn silk.

=======================================================

“This is why I hate this ability!!!” The words beat against the tiles like a drum.

Stark naked in a stall of the women’s restroom, Dongfang Chen felt like a bona fide creep, a shadow skulking where lanterns should hang.

On the rack, the just-peeled women’s outfit hung damp, clinging like a thief’s wet trophy.

Objectively, his skin was fair as milk and his features clean as a spring line—crossdressing could pass in a pinch.

But without a wig, and taller than Yue Liuyi by a head, wearing her clothes and slipping out would be pure public humiliation, a parade of thorns.

What if he ran into Dixue? Heaven only knew what absurd plotlines would sprout like wild gourds.

So he huddled in the stall, waiting for night to fall like ink.

Luckily, the Sky Voyager’s public restrooms were cavernous as ferry halls; stalls ran deep like a bamboo grove.

No one usually hunted all the way to the back to unlock a latched door and find a weirdo inside.

“I should’ve told Dixue sooner…” He exhaled a thin cloud, like steam from a kettle. “Maybe this is Heaven’s punishment for freeloading.”

He pulled out his phone, the screen a small moon in his hand, ready to text that he was safe.

But—

“Big sister, excuse me! Have you seen my Little Yue? She’s so cute, about this tall, with blue hair—maybe a creepy uncle grabbed her…”

Dixue’s voice drifted from the restroom foyer, urgent as a bell in fog, pleading with a stranger.

Afraid she’d come inside, he fired off a text like an arrow.

“Sorry, LittleSnow. My stomach acted up at the supermarket, then an old friend pulled me for something urgent… Leaving without a word was my bad!”

The message left a taste of ash; he’d lied to Dixue, and guilt crawled like ants.

“It’s okay! As long as Little Yue’s safe… Huh? Is she really safe? She’s not being coerced by bad people, right!!!”

Her reply hit fast as summer rain, followed by a video call invite; he killed the sound and typed back in a rush.

“No, no. I’m really fine! I can’t take a call now—can we talk later? I’ll be free around six.”

He glanced at the corner clock on his screen; 4:30 p.m., daylight thinning like silk.

An hour and a half till night; an hour and a half trapped in porcelain and echo.

“Then remember to come eat on the Skyship! I’ll make you a big, yummy cake! Be safe on the way—use the teleportation array, okay? Then no one can ambush you. ^_^”

A warm little emoticon smiled at him like a lantern fruit; his mood sank like a stone in a well.

Because on this end, it wasn’t the Little Yue she adored; it was a naked man hiding in a women’s stall, the exact kind of creep she’d hate.

For a heartbeat he thought of junking the Yue Liuyi persona and never seeing Dixue again, like cutting a kite string into the wind.

But then the silver-haired girl would fret and break, rain pooling in her eyes—and he’d break his vow, carved like a notch on his heart.

His fingertip froze on glass, stiff as frost. He wasn’t the dithering sort, but now his compass spun like a leaf in a whirlpool.

“Mm. I’ll do my best…”

He sent the vague promise and sat heavy on the lid, thoughts clattering like beads.

Tap, tap.

Light footsteps threaded the corridor outside, a girl approaching like a shadow slipping along a wall.

“Where… which spot is best…” The whisper was feather-soft, pressed down like snow.

The voice was familiar, a note he’d heard before, déjà vu like a scent on rain.

She seemed to favor broken stalls, steps growing nearer, then stopping at his door like a moth at a lantern.

“Oh, ‘Under Maintenance’… Perfect. No one will find me here!”

Wait—“Under Maintenance”!? I locked it!

He checked; the latch sat firm as a nail. He’d chosen a secluded cubicle, hung the out-of-order sign, and turned the lock, precautions like sandbags.

She shouldn’t force her way in.

“It’s locked? Then I’ll pop it with a wire~”

…

From outside came the delicate tic-tic of metal teasing a lock, like a hairpin flirting with a keyhole.