Fear slammed through him like a door in a storm; Dongfang Chen squeezed his eyes shut.

He seemed to hear a girl’s scream, a thin blade slicing the night air.

He seemed to see cops barreling in, sirens and boots like storm surf.

He seemed to see his face plastered on the news as a pervert, headlines splashed like red ink.

He seemed to glimpse Dixue’s disdain, cold as frost on glass.

The thought burned like a coal: I can’t let Dixue down, so…

He bunched to break the stall and bolt, like a spring wound too tight, when a familiar face appeared outside the restroom.

A fluffy black tail swayed like a metronome; the cheeks wore a flimsy disguise like a veil.

Even so, he knew the girl at a glance, like recognizing a star over home waters.

His whisper cracked into the air—“Zaocun?!”—like a twig underfoot.

“Eh, you’re Dongfang Chen? Why are you here—poor thing, like a kitten in the rain!”

Against all his expectations, Zaocun didn’t cry “pervert,” the word dying like a spark in snow.

She hurried to him instead, like a swallow to its nest, and pushed the restroom door shut with him.

He froze, three question marks beating in his skull like drumsticks.

He stood rigid where he was, like a statue under lightning, and stared at the bold girl.

The catfolk girl wore a black-and-white maid outfit, crisp as winter plum against snow.

Her soft tail brushed his skin like a feather over water, warm and ticklish.

“Please relax, Mr. Dongfang Chen; I’ve kept watch like a sentry hawk, and no one will see us here.”

“Not—no, shouldn’t you be yelling ‘pervert,’ like a bell in a temple?”

“You’re seeing a naked man in the women’s restroom, and there are so many dresses around like fallen petals!”

Though he covered his lower half with a skirt, his upper body was bare, a chest flat as a runway.

“Pervert? No way,” Zaocun tilted her head like a sparrow, her tone earnest as spring rain.

“A boy hiding in a ladies’ restroom must have reasons, like a fox in a hollow.”

“And boys in girls’ clothes are normal; back home we have many, like blossoms on one tree.”

“It’s just rarer on the Sky Voyager, maybe trends drift like currents.”

He stared at Zaocun, her lively face bright as a lantern, and it didn’t look like a lie.

Wait—the thought flashed like lightning.

Memory rolled through him like a returning tide; he recalled what he’d missed about catfolk.

In catfolk lands, gender roles are reversed like moon and sun trading places.

Male catfolk lack small, quick frames and sit on the weaker side, like willows in wind.

So the bold, forward side is the female, like a huntress under the moon.

In Zaocun’s eyes, this was like finding a hidden girl in the men’s room, a mirror in a pond.

“Mr. Dongfang Chen, need help—oh, right,” she said, her voice chiming like silver bells.

She set her small soft hand on his shoulder like a butterfly landing.

“Are you a friend of Miss Yue Liuyi? Do you know where Sister Yue is? I have something vital to pass on,” she asked, eyes bright as dew.

“Sort of,” he said with a wry smile curled like smoke; even back to being a boy, he still tasted a girl’s privilege like honey.

“Tell me, and I’ll pass it on, like a courier with a lantern,” he added.

“I trust you, Mr. Dongfang Chen, so—” she began, words unfolding like paper cranes.

“Wait, why are you undressing,” he blurted, the cry leaping like a fish.

In front of him, the catfolk girl tugged down the maid outfit’s zipper, a silver line unspooling like moonlight.

“Don’t be scared, Mr. Dongfang; you look a bit cold, like a leaf in frost,” she said.

“No need, I’m warm,” he said, heat flaring like a coal.

“Really? No need to be shy; shyness fades like mist,” she said, laughing.

“Really, no,” he said, his head bobbing like a drum; if he wore a maid outfit now, that would be too showy, like fireworks at noon.

“Then…” Zaocun nodded and shook her cat ears like soft leaves in wind.

“Please help me apologize to Sister Yue; I’m sorry for dragging her in like a net in a storm.”

“Mr. Chulei just saved me, and I hope Sister Yue is safe like a lamp behind glass.”

“Saved you?” he asked, the word hovering like a gull.

“Mm… here’s what happened,” she said, her gaze settling like snow.

From Zaocun, Dongfang Chen learned things he hadn’t known, the truth rising like a hidden reef.

Per Gong Linxun’s earlier intel, the police treated the Red Wine House killing as ordinary, like a stain on a rug.

The victim was Tao Xiong, male, thirty-six, a magic railway engineer bound for the New Land, like a craftsman on a long road.

But, as Zaocun said, there was more beneath, like roots under a tree.

Tao Xiong was a smuggler between Dragon Heaven and the New Land, a shadow ferry on black water.

This time, he ran a terrible weapon along a new route, a thing called the Crimson Rainbow Spellround, like thunder bottled in glass.

The police guessed the murder at the Red Wine House happened before the handoff, like a blade before a handshake.

They suspected the killer was Chulei, like a storm on the horizon.

For reasons unknown, the Third Princess, famed as the Princess of Burning Song, also wanted the Spellround, fire licking like a red banner.

She sent the retainer Xia Jiajun to interrogate Zaocun, who knew Chulei’s ways like paths in a forest.

But Zaocun would never believe Senior Chulei was the killer; she kept her mouth shut like a clam.

“Senior Chulei helped a penniless me and taught me how to work, like a teacher by a hearth, so I don’t believe he’s the killer,” she said.

When Xia Jiajun was about to threaten her with Yue Liuyi, Mr. Chulei showed up like a thunderclap.

He helped the girl spring from the cell, quick as a swallow from a snare.

“Thanks to Mr. Chulei, I escaped,” she said, her words soft as ash.

“I’m hiding now and will move at night, like a fox at dusk.”

“Her Highness and her claws will trouble Sister Yue, so please warn her to be safe, like keeping a lamp low.”

“Sikong Qinhui…” he murmured, the name heavy as iron.

Hearing the Third Princess named, Dongfang Chen rubbed his brow like smoothing creased silk.

He’d heard of the Princess of Burning Song, her fame blazing like a comet.

Rumor said she destroyed a small rebel nation alone on a far outer-ring planet, like a wildfire over dry grass.

Her fire magic was peerless, like a phoenix’s breath, not a foe he or Yue Liuyi could face head-on.

(The royals must keep their sleeves clean, so they’ll move in shadows or use schemes… No, wait!), he thought, the idea sparking like flint.

“Zaocun, was it really Mr. Chulei who saved you,” he asked, dropping his voice like a stone.

He lowered his head sharply and studied the free catfolk girl, her gaze bright as riverlight.

“Of course… that was Mr. Chulei’s favorite suit,” she said, certainty snug as a glove.

“A suit… you didn’t see Mr. Chulei himself,” he asked, the question circling like a kite.

“No… I only saw a back flash by the door, like a shadow at noon, then the vent hatch opened,” she said.

“The duct was narrow, but I’m cat-ninja, flexible like water, so I slipped out in one go,” she added.

Cats are liquid, and Zaocun was no exception, like quicksilver in a cup.

“Uh… I suspect the rescuer wasn’t Mr. Chulei,” he said, the doubt settling like dusk.

“Eh? If not Mr. Chulei, then who? Who would risk so much to save me,” she asked, ears twitching like grass.

“Likely the Third Princess’s men; they let you out to tail you and find Chulei’s hideout, like wolves loosing a goat,” he said.

“Uu, that’s vile,” Zaocun clenched her fists like two peaches and stomped, her foot a small drum.

“Using others like that is hateful, like thorns in the path!”

“You may have a GPS tracker on you; let me check,” he said, focusing like a lens.

He gathered his thoughts like a net and examined her carefully, eye by eye like lanterns.

If he was right, they’d place it where she couldn’t see, a corner small as a sparrow’s nest.

“Got it,” he said, the word clicking like a lock.

Behind her furry cat ear, he found a signal tracker disguised as a hair clip, tiny as a seed.

It nestled in her hair like a burr, impossible to spot without care.

“Where, where,” she asked, hands lifting like wings.

“Stop, not now,” he said, as she reached, and he stopped her, palm over her cat ear like a leaf over a flame.

“If you break it now, the watchers will notice, like owls at dusk,” he warned.

“Mm,” Zaocun lowered her hand like a petal falling.

“I have a plan,” he said, words laying out like a map.

“Zaocun, go buy me a men’s outfit outside, then leave first like a breeze; I’ll destroy the tracker after and slip away.”

“Mm,” she nodded, cheeks pink as dawn, her voice turning strange like a reed flute.

“What is it? Is there a flaw in the plan,” he asked, worry rising like smoke.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, breath coming in gusts like little waves.

Her bust rose and fell with her shoulders like tied balloons, and her pink eyes fixed on him like hooks.

“Then what’s going on,” he asked, a chill crawling in like fog.

A bad hunch slid into him like a cold blade through silk.

“Sorry, I can’t hold back,” she said, voice trembling like a bowstring.

Zaocun pounced at his chest like a cat chasing a sunbeam on the floor.

“Z-Zaocun,” he yelped, the name scattering like seeds.

“Cat ears are a catfolk’s sweet spot,” she whispered, words like warm milk.

“Mr. Dongfang Chen, you teased Zaocun first like dangling yarn, so let me play a bit, okay,” she breathed, eyes shining like twin moons.