Dinner at the Forest Fortress was lavish, like an autumn harvest spread beneath warm lantern glow.

To Yue Liuyi’s surprise, the sprites brought not just greens and fruit, but pork and lamb too, the golden roast crackling like sunlit bark, tender as morning mist.

“Huh? I thought the table here would be all-veggie, like a pure spring with no ripples.”

Maria tore into a fried drumstick with storm‑clearing joy, like a traveler finding fire after rain, after weeks of leaf‑chewing while the sprites detained her.

“Mm. Life’s equal, like stars on one sky; plants toil to breathe out oxygen, no lower than beasts grazing on rain‑fed hills.”

“The Fortress just mirrors who eats, like water taking a vessel’s shape. Most guests are human, so we cook like home hearths.”

A sprite fluttered fresh drumsticks over, wings flicking like silver willow leaves in wind.

“Oh. So that’s the view, like a river that carries stones and boats alike.”

Yue Liuyi nodded, thoughts drifting like cranes at dusk. Nature isn’t the tea‑calm people dream of; it’s a thorny thicket where the fit live.

Leftover carcasses rot like withered lotus, and ripe fruit drops like little suns, unloved on the ground.

Yet nature’s greatness is balance in motion, like a pendulum in starlight: no endless gorging, no endless smoke.

Rot returns to soil like rain to sea, feeding new green. The earth settles filth like silt, then lifts up sweet springs like glass.

Sprites nibble leaves for a reason, like deer at a sacred grove: near the World Tree, leaves brim with life.

They beautify like dew on petals and refill magic like moonlight in a cup; the World Tree Maiden eats all, like a circle closing.

So she’s both producer and consumer, like seed and fruit in one bough.

“Little Yue, open up. Ah—” Voices fell like soft snowflakes.

“Sister Yue, want a tiny dried fish?” Laughter flicked like minnows in a brook.

“Liuyi‑chan, Liuyi‑chan! Do you wanna eat Ailuna ><?” Her smile popped like a pink blossom.

On the other side, Yue could only play “consumer,” like a shy deer in a wedding veil.

The blue‑haired girl couldn’t eat neatly in a bridal gown, so the “thoughtful” girls lifted chopsticks like cranes, feeding her with giggles.

“Oh? Little Yue swallowed it, so cute, like a kitten with cream.”

“Sister Yue’s amazing. I wanna be a bride too, like a swan in lace.”

“Liuyi’s too cute, like a moonlit peach.”

“Civility notice for Little Yue: do not feed, like a park sign,” someone huffed with a catlike pout.

For a moment the room bubbled like a spring, all hands and laughter.

After dinner, half an hour flowed by like ink, and the sky sank to velvet, stars stitched like frost across a vast tapestry.

The Forest Fortress blazed in Rainbow Valley, like a prism lantern holding dawn inside the night.

The girls gathered in the command room, a bridge of green glass, to weave their plan like threads on a loom.

It was Yue’s first time in a place this formal, like a scholar stepping onto a ship’s bridge; screens and sticks bloomed like reeds.

Unlike cold steel instruments, every device here felt organic, like leaves that breathed and sap that hummed, clean as rain.

The Rainbow Sanctuary map was a wreath of vines, a living crown; in the open center, a water‑skin shimmered like a liquid screen.

“This green area is what the Forest Fortress holds,” Dixue traced, her finger sending ripples like fish across the water.

“Other colors mark other powers, like flags in a wind‑cut field. No color means no master, like an empty glade.”

The green stretched more than most, like moss over stone; gray was a pinprick, like ash on snow, barely spread.

“Dixue‑sis, Zaocun’s got a question,” Zaocun piped, bright as a robin. “What’s that messy stripe zone, like crossed shadows?”

She pointed to the center, where the Sanctuary’s core wore slanted hatching like storm‑scarred bark.

“Mm. That place is dangerous, like thin ice in spring. Don’t wander there lightly.”

“Eh?”

“So it is,” someone breathed, like a leaf turning.

Hearing Dixue, Yue guessed the Eternal Tear sat inside those slashes, like a pearl behind reeds.

If not, LittleSnow wouldn’t have said “don’t just go,” she’d have said “don’t go at all,” like a gate slammed shut.

A girl’s safety matters most, like a lantern you shield from wind.

“Dixue, a question,” Xiang Xiaoyan stood, calm as a pine. “These uncolored zones—empty of humans, or home to natives?”

“No ordinary humans,” Dixue said, voice clear as a bell, “but plenty of yokai and sprites, like fireflies after rain.”

“Think a drunk watermelon, a broke miko, a math‑genius ice fairy, and a shut‑in NEET, all like odd stars in one sky.”

“Wait—Isn’t that Gensokyo?” someone yelped, like a sparrow startled. “LittleSnow, people will call it copying! They’ll report you!”

“Uu… I was joking, like a breeze teasing chimes! Don’t report me, okay? But the Sanctuary truly teems with all kinds.”

“Some even built Rainbow Fortresses, like castles grown from flowers. If you meet strange girls, don’t drag them home or dress them up.”

“That’s not okay anywhere,” Yue cut in, voice crisp as frost.

Thus the plan took root, like a seed in dark soil.

After the meeting, the girls drifted to their rooms, like petals returning to branches, ready for sleep.

Reaching the Rainbow Sanctuary takes a night’s arc, like a moon crossing; the Fortress must jump by dawn, so stay inside.

Sleep’s the best choice, like a quilt of clouds.

“Uu… so tired,” Yue sighed, her bones humming like strings.

Back in her room, she flopped onto the bed, like a snowflake on moss.

As a boy at heart, high heels felt like thin ice, and balancing was tough as a tightrope over water.

The wedding dress was chilly as dew and shy as a blush, shame seeping like pink into her skin.

Body and mind both worn, she lay down at once, like a boat moored at last.

But she forgot one thing, like a bell left ringing.

She wasn’t only Yue Liuyi; she was also a World Tree Maiden, and, on the side, the ultimate anti‑Dixue humanoid weapon, like a key to a lock.

So cute, so defenseless on the bed, like cream on a plate—how could Dixue let the chance drift by like a cloud?

“Hug Little Yue!” The silver‑haired girl pounced, a butterfly diving into blooms, and they rolled like two seals in surf.

“D‑Dixue!?” Yue’s breath fluttered like a moth.

“My Little Yue’s the cutest,” Dixue sang, eyes bright as stars.

They tumbled to one side, and Dixue didn’t stop; she pressed Yue down like a tide, tangling her with the sheet like silk vines.

“Eh…?” Yue’s pulse skipped like a pebble on water.

“First time, right? Relax,” Dixue whispered, soft as night rain. “I’ll be gentle tonight.”

“T‑Tonight!? Dixue… what are you going to do?” Her voice flickered like a candle.

“Pin you down,” she grinned, cat‑sweet. “A little payback for when you kneaded big‑sis. I was saving it for Dreamwood Star.”

“But you’re too cute now, like a ripe peach. I can’t hold back.”

She squeezed something soft, like a cloud under hand.

“Wah—Little—”

“Don’t talk,” Dixue breathed, sealing her with a kiss like warm tea over winter lips.

The silver‑haired girl’s advance surged like a spring flood, and Yue went blank as a white page.

(This time I’ll pin Little Yue. I’ll make her my wife,) Dixue vowed, heart beating like a drum.

Shame warmed her cheeks like dawn, yet the pull burned brighter, like a moth to flame, like geese homing.

It was etched in her blood, a World Tree Maiden’s draw to her guardian, like tide to moon.

Playing big sister before Yue and a president before the crowd had spent her reason like oil in a lamp.

The release now broke like thunder from clear sky, fierce and sweet as ripe lychee.

“Dixue, no… I—I’m…” Yue’s protest wavered like reed in wind.

“When a girl says no,” Dixue smiled, “it means yes,” her joke tumbling like a pebble.

Yue looked up at Dixue’s embrace and found no room to struggle, like a fish in silk net; strength couldn’t match.

Worse, heat pooled in her skin like summer tide, frightening as it was sweet.

(Being pinned… might be nice,) a thought drifted by like pollen.

(No, no! What am I thinking!) She shook herself, a bell against fog.

But the silver‑haired girl was too beautiful, like moon on snow; that pale throat, those ocean eyes, those willow limbs.

Her skin was cool as jade and smooth as rain, every moment plucking Yue’s heart like a zither.

They both forgot one thing, like a latch left open.

The room was meant for three, like a bench for three birds.

“Ow!” A soft thud popped like a falling fruit.

A pink‑haired girl tumbled from the wardrobe, landing on the floor like a dropped pillow.

“Eh…?”

“What—” The moment froze like frost on glass.

“S‑Sorry…” Ailuna’s eyes rimmed red, hands fluttering like sparrow wings. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your sacred mission!” Her words clattered like beads.

To a World Tree Maiden, life’s the brightest jewel, so that paired dance is precious too, like spring rain on fields.

“A‑Ailuna, didn’t you say you’d play board games with Breeze, like two stones on a Go board? How—”

Dixue and Yue froze, clothes askew like wind‑tossed flags, neither forward nor back.

“B‑Because I wanted to change clothes,” Ailuna mumbled, voice small as a mouse. “So I—hid.”

She’d slipped into the wardrobe to change, then heard them return, and didn’t dare breathe, like a rabbit in brush.

In the end, the bed scene was too much, like fire through paper, and she fell.

“Uh… we can’t pin Little Yue tonight,” Dixue sighed, shoulders drooping like wilted petals.

“S‑Sorry! As an apology… you can pin Ailuna instead,” Ailuna blurted, face blazing like a sunset. “Ailuna won’t resist!”

“That’d be worse,” Yue yelped, like a kettle hiss.

“…”

Thus the Forest Fortress night closed, the pin‑down plan a glorious failure, like fireworks that bloomed then faded into soft ash.