“Ha, so you’re hungry, huh? Tell you what—breakfast’s on me, hot and simple as morning steam. Sound good?”

Luyao grinned, his show of warmth like a street brazier, trying to look considerate.

“Huh? No need; I’ll take Kaka home to our little nest for breakfast.”

“Woof?”

Kaka’s belly betrayed him with a drumlike growl, echoing like a hollow pot.

“No need to be shy; I might look rough now, but I used to tend the hearth like a pro. Sakura-yao Ramen, petals and steam, was our specialty.”

“Huh!? Sakura-yao Ramen?!”

“Ha, knew you’d heard of it. The lantern-lit Yungang Ramen House on Winter Leaf Road—that was our family shop.”

…

Hearing the Flame Ruins Gang’s leader say that, Yue Liuyi swallowed, the sound dry as winter leaves in wind.

Poverty kept her from Yungang often, but Sis Kiki was a regular, sleeves dusted with flour, always lending a hand.

Thanks to Sis Kiki, Yue and her friends got ramen that warmed their cheeks—pork-shank broth, eight yuan a bowl, rich as marrow and moonlight.

“Ugh! B-but… aren’t you the head of the Flame Ruins Gang? How does that square?”

She stared at the jacketed man with red hedgehog spikes, unable to match those thorns with ladles and quiet knives.

“When business dies and shutters fall, you can’t keep a shop open. Gang work was the only way to survive.”

Luyao sighed long, pain veiling his face, while inside he glowed like banked coals in a brazier.

So this blue-haired little one had tasted his family’s noodles. A seed of admiration could sprout if he fed her now.

But Yue Liuyi’s worry turned like a compass; breakfast wasn’t her North at all.

“Yungang Ramen… shut down? But it was so good. Even pricier, the taste would’ve brought people back.”

She had wondered why once-busy Winter Leaf Road went silent. Now the whole street stood bare, ribs without a heart.

Even if her Moon Post Bookstore opened, its lamp would flicker in fog with no souls to find it.

“Little sis… you don’t know about that shadow?”

“What shadow?”

“You ate at Yungang but never heard? Ha. Every alley whispered it. You must’ve been off Dreamwood Star these years.”

“Huh!? How did you know?” Her eyes widened, twin moons over dark water.

“Because it’s infamous, like a bell toll in Linelor City. If you haven’t heard, you weren’t on Dreamwood Star.”

Luyao smiled bitterly, red pupils sweeping the abandoned street, mind sifting old ash and soot.

“An incident? Was it that serious?” Her voice cooled like frost on glass.

“Yeah. A large toxic gas leak drove most of Winterwood District out, a bitter wind that wouldn’t stop.”

Under Luyao’s telling, Yue learned the bruise: Winterwood had suffered a massive poisonous release.

A chemical plant was the culprit, gears rust-bitten, safety ignored, maintenance skipped like missed heartbeats.

Its water cycle ran overloaded for ages, a wheezing beast dragging a broken mill across stone.

The leak struck at night, greed stoking the machines, chasing orders like moths chasing flame.

Tragedy rose like black steam. Excess cyanide arcane fluid couldn’t cool, and vapor slipped into the air.

Failsafes and alarms should’ve kicked in; to save coin, the owner left them silent, and the poison drifted street to street.

The result was grim: even a thin dose sickened hundreds and killed dozens, a tally like cold rain.

Cries and despair spread across the hard-bitten district, a gray mist clinging to roofs and bones.

After that, few dared return to Winterwood. Though toxins had long blown away, fear hung like a night bell.

“Once safety was confirmed, we came back. But with no neighbors returning, business fell like dust.”

“Uh…” The sound was a snapped twig in quiet brush.

“Plenty of wasteland drifters moved in, like dust devils, and folks feared coming back even more.”

Here, Luyao spat into a sack, bitterness metallic, like iron rain on tin.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.” Her eyes lowered like a soft rain over stone.

“Why apologize, little sis? Not being here then was clear sky after a storm.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m part of this street’s thread. In hard times, I should’ve helped my neighbors tug it taut.”

“Li—little sis…” His voice faltered like a loose string on a zither.

“I’m Yue Liuyi, manager of the Moon Post Bookstore. Big brother, please—reopen the Yungang Ramen House. Let’s bring this street back to life.”

She nodded once, then faced him steady, earnest as a winter lamp in a quiet lane.