A hip-and-gable tower rose from the jungle, a needle of wood among green waves.

Dark-brown grain ran moss-covered, nearly merging with the trees. Azure magic stones hung on its outer wall, winking like cold fireflies. Against night and distant peaks, it stood like a slim lighthouse.

This was Dragon Heaven’s trade hub in the Elven Kingdom. War sealed it under the Elven Empire, a cage for waylaid adventurers.

The exhibition shops had become cells. The central air and spell-lamps stayed, pale moons indoors. But life inside was rough, wind and straw for bedding. They huddled like zoo beasts, penned behind bars woven of light.

Food was a disaster, a bitter leaf-storm. Elves and humans favored different flavors. Every day brought heaps of leaves with strange aftertaste.

“I’m innocent. I never harmed you,” someone pleaded, voice thin as smoke.

“I’m no sheep. I don’t eat grass,” another snapped, anger pricking like thorns.

Tonight’s dinner was “steamed leaves,” leaves dressed up as leaves. It looked bad, and tasted worse, a wilted forest.

“Alright, alright! Quit shouting!” the blue-haired girl cut in, voice firm as iron. “From tomorrow, I’ll handle your meals.” “I’m Yue Liuyi, an elf from the Inner Ring planet.” “So sit tight.”

She stepped before a row of a dozen cells, moonlight on her hair. Men and women were separated. She took a sweeping look, like a hawk, and saw no familiar face.

A prickle of worry tightened her chest; these seemed ordinary adventurers. And there were many guards, spears like a thicket.

“Are you… one of us?” a voice flickered with hope.

“Lady Windcoat? Please talk to the elves.” “Ask them to let me go. I must be home before March.”

“Me too! If you get me out, I’ll put up a hundred thousand in bail.”

Voices rose and fell, like birds in a stormed grove. To them, Yue was the only straw raft on a wide river.

“I hear you,” she said, steady as a stone lantern. “If I get the chance, I’ll report to the high elves.”

“Thank you!”

“Lady Windcoat’s a fairy!” someone chimed, adoration bright as dew.

“But praise won’t help,” Yue said, cool water over hot coals. “The high elves are busy preparing for war.” “They can’t spare time for you.” “So stay calm here.” “No making trouble.” “If you stir chaos, you get no food.”

The adventurers fell quiet, silence settling like snowfall.

“Next, I’ll hand out slips of paper.” “Write what you want to eat.” “No meat.” “Anything else is fine.” “Don’t list anything too expensive.” “Or you get no food.”

Her tone was crisp, a blade of frost. No one dared argue; their meals sat in her palm.

Yedie Snow had already circled the jail, steps soft as silk. She drifted to Yue Liuyi’s side and nodded.

“Found our companions?” Yue asked, hope quivering like a string.

“Mm. Only Lia, in room Seven,” Dixue answered, voice low as wind.

“Huh?” Yue’s surprise lifted like a quick sparrow.

“Security is strict, iron bark everywhere. No chance to talk.” “Little Yue, start Plan A.”

“Okay.”

Plan A was simple, written like rain on leaves. Use the food cards to trade messages, quiet as roots.

She passed blank cards from cell to cell, a paper tide. She noted their food preferences, like tallying seeds. At room Seven, she pulled the bottom card, the hidden one.

Inside, Lia sat duck-like and dejected, shoulders drooped. Black stockings crossed under her robe, tangled with dry straw. Another woman shared the room, feisty flame in her eyes.

“Is this for writing?” the woman blurted, words tumbling like pebbles. “Can we get vegetable roast duck?”

“Of course not.” Yue kept her voice light as air. “No meat provided.” “But vegetable salad works.”

“Ah… Lia, the elves want our future menu.” “What do you want?” she asked, gaze wry as willow.

“Anything’s fine. Whatever,” Lia murmured, spirit flat as a pond.

Lia hadn’t recognized the elf girl as Yue Liuyi. Yue had disguised herself; even her hairstyle had changed.

(Don’t be down right now, Lia. Please recognize me.) (Wait. I’ve got it.)

She held out the card and said with deliberate casualness. “If you’re easygoing… I’ll write vegetable hotpot.”

“Vegetable hotpot?” Lia’s eyes widened, curiosity kindling like sparks.

“Yes,” Yue said. “My sister and I ate it today.” “We still have some leftovers, steaming like a small spring.”

Hearing that, Lia looked up and studied her. In those blue eyes, she saw familiar light like dawn.

“It’s the body pillow… mm! Are you Lady Windcoat?” “Vegetable hotpot works!” she chimed, joy fluttering like wings.

“…”

(Don’t call me Body-Pillow Lady right now.)

“This is the card. Write your favorite hotpot flavors.” “Put them here,” Yue said, tapping like rain on paper.

“Mm, okay. I got it,” Lia nodded, like a reed.

Yue’s card carried a hidden pocket, thin as a moth wing. Inside, a single line lay like a secret stream: Don’t worry. LittleSnow and I are together, and we’ll get you out. Someone’s watching, so we’ll stay in touch this way. After writing, slip it into the pocket.

“Mm.”

They nodded to each other, quiet as nodding cranes. Yue finished handing out cards, then moved to the next room.

“It was right to invite you two,” Uncle Morand said, pride warm as ember. “They stopped complaining.” “This way, our treatment won’t break the World Tree’s life code.”

“Heh-heh. Thanks,” Yue replied, smile soft as mist.

“I’ve found you a room.” Morand stroked his beard like grass. “I don’t know much beyond here.” “So I chose one priced at the trade center’s highest rate.”

“Eh? Only one room?” Surprise rippled through Yue like water.

She almost objected, but Dixue clasped her palm, a quiet anchor.

Right now, Yue Liuyi and Dixue stood as sisters. Sharing one room was natural, like two swallows sharing eaves.

(Not right… Even as Yue Liuyi, I can room with LittleSnow.) (Wait! I forgot something… Right. I’m a boy.)

“We’ll trouble you then,” Dixue said, gratitude bright as moonlight.

(LittleSnow, no. I’ll be taking advantage like a fox.)

Still, in any identity, Yue had no excuse to refuse.

“No time like the present,” Morand said, footsteps solid as drums. He led them to the room, and it matched his boast. A big double bed like a cloud. White, ornate curtains like flowing lilies. Everything needed for daily life, lined like neat shells. It felt like a hotel room, snug and bright.

“This is great. Thank you,” Yue said, relief loosening like rain.

“Live freely.” Morand nodded. “Details are written on the scroll.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He turned and left, robe whisking like wind.

“Wow, so luxurious,” Dixue breathed, frost-face melting like spring. “It’s not even inferior to a Skyship.”

“But there’s only one bed,” Yue noted, cheeks warm as peaches.

“Heh-heh. Little Yue, are you shy?” Dixue teased, eyes laughing. “We’re already cohabiting,” she sang, tone sweet as honey.

“Don’t make it sound so ambiguous,” Yue protested, ears flushing.

She stretched her arms and sank onto the soft bed. She and LittleSnow had hiked all afternoon to get here. Thirty kilometers of mountain roads, switchbacks like serpent spines. Her ordinary body felt scattered, bones like loose beads.

“Eh-heh!” Dixue chirped and pounced, a cat onto cushions. She hugged Yue, pillow, and sheet into a single bundle.

“Little Yue is so cute,” she murmured, heart bubbling.

“Even so, I won’t admit I’m a body pillow.”

Yue was too tired to move, floating like driftwood. She let the silver-haired girl hug her; her little head was patted.

“My Little Yue isn’t a regular body pillow.” “She’s top-tier, detachable,” Dixue grinned, fox-bright.

“Huh?” Yue blinked, confusion fluttering like moths.

With a sly smile, Dixue tugged Yue’s zipper open. Her pale right hand slid into the skirt and pulled something down.

“LittleSnow! What are you doing?” Yue yelped, startled as a bird. “Why are you… taking off my thigh-highs?”

It wasn’t panties, but the boldness rattled her like thunder.

“I suspected it,” Dixue said. “See? I was right.” She peeled off the white over-knee socks, smooth as snowflakes. Yue’s ankles gleamed pale, but her feet were flushed red. Blisters bubbled there, beads of pain.

“Little Yue isn’t made for wild trekking,” Dixue scolded, heat flickering. “You got blisters and didn’t tell me!”

“It’s nothing,” Yue whispered, stubborn as a stone.

“That won’t do.” Dixue’s mock-anger was tender as rain. Her warm fingers brushed Yue’s skin, light as feathers.

“A girl must protect herself,” she said, voice steady as pine. “Promise Sister. If it hurts, say it next time.” “I’ll carry you.”

“No way!” Yue shot back, eyes bright as stars. “LittleSnow, you too… You skipped meals all day.” “You even lied that rice trees grow everywhere.”

“Then we’ll call it even,” Dixue puffed, cheeks pink as sakura. “Next time, Little Yue has to speak up.”

“Mm… Then LittleSnow has to tell the truth.”

“Of course,” Dixue said, promise clear as morning.

She watched Yue with aching tenderness, gaze searching like a lantern. “Busy day,” she murmured. “Let’s take a bath.” “Let me see… Is this the bathroom switch?”

She pressed it, and both girls froze like deer.

The white lights vanished. Soft pink filled the room like dusk. A heart-shaped emblem bloomed on the table, rosy as petals.

The bathroom lit up, gleam silky as water. They saw the wall between bath and bed was glass. Pink ambiguity swirled in the room, sugar in tea. This suite was clearly meant for lovers to… make use of.