Chapter 22
Dixue’s Story
Year 118 of the Maple-Frost Calendar. The imperial capital of Dragon Heaven lay like a jade seal pressed into the earth.
Yue Dier slipped off the plane like a shadow sliding from a snowdrift, suitcase in hand, into a city she’d never met.
That day, flakes drifted down like swans’ feathers; each one matched her hair—white, clean, unmarked by the world.
The silver-haired girl stepped off the platform alone, a lone pine in winter; no one came to greet her.
“Beautiful miss, need a ride?” The driver’s voice rose warm as steam.
“Yes.” Her reply was a cool ripple on a frozen lake, her face smooth as glass.
“Where to?”
“The Imperial Academy.”
“Coming right up!”
The driver urged a taxi-bird that tugged a small carriage, gliding through pavilions and palace roofs like a crane threading valleys.
“They say in late spring the city blooms against the eaves, and deep ravines carry clouds and birdsong.” The couplet lingered like scent under rain, but today was early winter—no birds, no murmuring streams.
Only snow—sky-born sprites come uninvited—fell and washed the land in silver, as if heaven had spilled moonlight.
Warm vapor curled from stacked markets like breath from a kettle: the smell of fried dough sticks and steamed buns drifted under lanterns, shop signs swaying over eaves cupping snow. Everything around her felt like a new coastline, far from the harbor of home.
Here, the silver-haired girl would finish her studies, like ink drying on a fresh page.
“Miss, we’re here.”
“Thank you.” Dixue stepped down from the carriage, her gaze lifting like a blade to the wide campus before her.
A tall gate stood like a mountain pass; pines lined the road in soldierly rows. Far off, teaching halls layered themselves into the snowfall, while towers of spellcraft speared the white sky like spears through mist.
No one used the front gate; the vast entrance felt cold as an unused hall. In this magitech city, people walked less—teleport arrays and hovercars whisked them anywhere, like currents carrying boats.
Snow beaded on her pale skin, melting into bright crystals; even in this weather, the silver-haired girl wore a plain white dress, its hem fluttering like a petal over water as she headed deeper in.
“So… this is the Imperial Academy?” Her whisper floated like breath on glass. From this moment, she would hide her name and begin anew as a student called Yedie Snow.
Yet in those green eyes—deep as wet jade—there was no easy joy, only layered weight like stones in a clear pool.
…
On campus, Dixue was popular—very popular—whispers clustering around her like sparrows around winter grain.
Not just boys; more often girls—especially the capital’s clan-born noble maidens, pearls set in lacquered boxes—who squealed at the sight of her, their voices like bells under snow. A girl so cold and beautiful tugged at hearts like pale sunlight through frost.
But Dixue kept her distance, a pane of frost between her and the world; even her breath seemed winter-white.
Meals, class, grocery runs, self-study—each scene cast her as a lone figure under a single lamp.
“Did you hear? A transfer student!”
“Yeah! She’s gorgeous, but she barely talks!”
“I… kinda find her scary…”
“How can you not think that calm vibe is beyond cool?”
“She’s such an iceberg beauty…”
The name stuck like frost on a window. So Dixue lived, snow-quiet, through her days.
A few arrogant sons of noble clans tried to bother her, moths flitting at a candle; none tried twice. The second time they saw her, they flinched and turned away, as if their fingers still remembered the burn.
Her reputation spread sharp as a drawn blade—best not tested.
Days slid by like meltwater, and she had come to the Imperial Academy not just to study. The silver-haired girl received a letter like a snow-white knife, carrying a name and a task.
She was commissioned by the Rangers Lodge to protect her—if possible, at all costs.
Xinrui.
At Dixue’s first glance, she saw a lively blue-haired girl, quick as a swallow. Unlike Dixue, Xinrui bounced from makeup chatter to campus gossip, her energy bubbling all day like a spring that wouldn’t stop.
“I heard a new cosmetic dropped—it’s amazing.”
“I heard someone just broke up!”
“I heard a certain senior is two-timing—total scumbag!”
“I heard—whoa, I slipped!”
Lively, yes—too reckless, too. She charged ahead without minding the edges; tripping was a frequent guest. Yet she popped up as if cushioned by luck, dusted herself off like a sparrow flicking rain, and went right back to laughing with her friends.
Such a girl drew the eye of the Murder Fiends, like a bright lantern in a storm.
The attack came sudden as a knife in wind. A man in a red suit waited along Xinrui’s daily route and lunged for the kill.
“Help!” Her cry cracked like ice.
The short red dagger flashed—a red fish in a white stream—but a mesh of silver light flared into a net and caught it at once.
“Damn, she’s got protection. Fall back!” The man spat the words and fled, a stain receding into snow.
Dixue didn’t chase, wary of hidden hands; she stood where she was, face winter-still, breath steady as falling flakes.
To Xinrui, the silver-haired girl looked like a quiet blade under moonlight—cold, sure, beautiful in a way that stole words.
“M-Miss…”
“Are you hurt?” Her voice was cool water over stone.
“No… um, thank you!”
“I’m Yedie Snow. I’m your protector—a Special Envoy Ranger.”
“Wow, you’re the ice-and-snow—ah! Sorry, I shouldn’t call you that!”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. A nickname like that saves me a lot of trouble.” Dixue blinked, a flick of mischief like sun on frost, and Xinrui froze, startled.
“Uh!?”
“Here’s the truth, Miss Xinrui. The Murder Fiend syndicate has marked you. I’ve been commissioned to guard you.”
“B-but… aren’t you a student?”
“There’s a word for this.”
“What word?”
“Work-study.”
…
That was Dixue and Xinrui’s first proper meeting, a thread knotted in snow.
After that, Xinrui became Dixue’s helper. Meals, study, shopping—two girls moving together like twin lanterns.
On the surface it was protection; underneath, they became best friends, and Xinrui learned the hidden warmth beneath the ice. Unlike the rumors, Dixue was lively inside; she’d studied makeup, dresses, sweets, wellness, cooking—her care neat as stitches in silk.
Quietly, carefully, Dixue swept away the Murder Fiends’ threats, her vigilance a roof over Xinrui’s days. With danger at bay, they slipped to dessert shops like birds to sweet fruit, wandered the streets like leaves in an easy stream, and happiness rang between them like spoons on porcelain.
Time kept falling like light snow. Two months later, on an ordinary day, Dixue turned a corner and almost walked into a girl with flame-red hair, a blaze against the white.
