After offering his blessing to Lidashi, Yue Liuyi pressed a book into the little boy’s arms, like setting a warm lantern against the night.

Lidashi was a good friend of Dongfang Chen, a willow-branch beside the river of his days.

Because of age, that friendship was different, like spring speaking with autumn, not two summers side by side.

It wasn’t only a generation gap; when he tagged along with Dongfang Chen, he often trailed quietly, like a small shadow at noon, and kept his thoughts to himself.

It felt like a tagalong, sure, but Yue Liuyi wasn’t a gang boss; she disliked cliques and liked hosting with board games, like laying a clean Go board for all.

Age and rank didn’t matter; at the Moon Post Bookstore, everyone could sit down and play a paper tabletop round, cards whispering like leaves.

Sim-RPGs to raise and roleplay, or card-battle luck fests—after school or on rest days, the dice clicked like pebbles in a brook, and joy bubbled.

Those days pressed into Dongfang Chen’s memory like a flower dried between pages.

...

After seeing Lidashi off, Yue Liuyi slipped into the shelves, rose on tiptoe like a cat reaching for moonlight, and lifted down a box.

Inside lay yellowed, cheap cards, edges like brittle autumn leaves, hand-cut from A4 paper and ready to crack at a touch.

Beneath them were little sketchbooks inked with drawing pens, pages like tiny maps, packed with wild scenes and homebrew games, and the stats of every friend.

Those games were stitched by Yue Liuyi’s own hands with her friends, like quilts for winter nights.

“Mmm...” The blue-haired girl sighed; back then, even a simple game felt bright as spring water, but now most games just grind time like sand.

Of course, playing board games with LittleSnow still warmed the table like a brazier. But Maria and Dawn Goose had been taken by the police for questioning, and Lingwei and Zaocun were under the Factory Guard’s tight watch, like birds caged by nets, unable to reach Dreamwood Star anytime soon.

Times had changed; without LittleSnow at her side, Yue Liuyi would have fallen like a kite with its string cut.

“Huh? Right... what if we reopen the Moon Post Bookstore?” The thought flickered like relighting an old lamp.

The girls had returned to Dreamwood Star with pockets empty as winter bowls, so they needed a way to live; reopening the shop looked like a workable road.

With that in mind, Yue climbed the stairs, feet light as a cat on frost; the cautious, blue-haired girl wanted to hear LittleSnow’s take.

“Sure! Xiao Yue’s idea is great!” Dixue agreed at once, her green eyes blinking like dewdrops in bamboo.

“Is it okay? I’m afraid it might disturb LittleSnow’s rest...” The worry sat in her chest like a low cloud.

“It won’t. As long as I stay by your side, nothing will happen,” LittleSnow said, like hanging a talisman on the door.

“But the wanted notices...” The words felt like nets in the dark.

“Dreamwood Star is so remote, like a lone lantern at sea—no one will think of it. And a bookstore with people living inside that never opens? That’s even more suspicious. The best hiding is in plain sight; opening is the best cover.”

“Huh... that’s an old truth, all bamboo and wind.”

“So I support your plan. A bookstore is a public place; information perches on it like sparrows on eaves. With Maria gone, we have to gather intel ourselves. That will channel news like rain to a gutter.”

“Ooh! That could work!” Yue’s eyes lit up like morning stars.

Hearing LittleSnow’s advice, Yue Liuyi brightened; after years away, Dreamwood Star’s currents and city lines were a new maze of streets under strange constellations.

If they were to act while hiding their identities, they needed information like maps before marching, like water before tea.

“If all goes well, Xiao Yue can not only run the bookstore, but also take commissions and orders. Tie good knots with people now, and when the storm hits, you won’t stand alone.”

“Ah! That’s a great plan...! Thank you, LittleSnow. I know what to do now!” Her heart thumped like a drum under silk.

“Mm, go get ’em, Xiao Yue!” LittleSnow’s voice chimed like a windbell.

They moved at once. LittleSnow’s suggestion opened a new world like a gate swinging wide. Yue hurried to the first floor and unlatched the storeroom, dust rising like motes in sunbeams.

Stacks of thick books stood there, spines like city walls, piled almost to the ceiling. They were Yue’s treasures; she’d taken some to the New Land and sold them to elves and adventurers.

The rest were good too—storybooks, manuals, grimoires, and popular science—each waiting like a cup for its tea. If she could match them with cherishing owners, Yue would be glad.

“Mm... payment QR codes, complimentary bookmarks, borrower cards, deposit forms—all here... huh? The mage-light candles are gone!” The little moons for reading had all burned out.

Plenty of tools survived from last time, but one of the most vital—the mage-light candle—had long gone cold like a spent hearth.

Without them, the magic books were a moonless pond, pages dim and mute.

That wouldn’t do; Yue would never make customers face a wordless tome, empty as snow without footprints.

“Then I’ll have to swing by Linluo University. I hope I can still buy cheap mage-light candles.”

Yue readied herself to head out to that familiar place, steps set like stones across a stream, and buy the mage-light candles again.