Far from the city, the wild lay empty as a bleached bone.

Dead trees ran in ragged ranks over poisoned earth; even noon’s white sun couldn’t cut the broth-thick fog.

An old villa stood like a weary relic; at a second-floor window, an elder watched the horizon the way a crane watches a far shore.

He looked ancient—hair knotted and white, face a map of years—but his eyes were hawks, sharp enough to hunt a thousand li away.

“Did you find her?” His voice was cool as frost on stone.

He turned toward the young man stepping in, shadow long as a spear on the floor.

The youth was handsome, free as wind at first glance; yet before this elder, his pride folded like wings in rain, and he bowed low.

“Elder Ai, I’m sorry… I didn’t find your granddaughter.” His words fell soft, like ash on water.

“She hasn’t been my granddaughter for a long time. The source of that magic—did you confirm the user?” Each syllable landed like a pebble in a deep well.

He closed his eyes, heaviness settling like dusk over a field.

“Yeah. Confirmed. Our probe says it’s the World Tree Maiden of this planet…” His certainty wavered like grass in wind.

“This planet!?” His eyes snapped open like lightning splitting cloud; his hands trembled like leaves in a storm. “Ai Qing, are you sure?”

“Yes. I found it hard to believe too. But Gray Glow says the fluctuation did come from this planet’s World Tree Maiden.” His voice was steady as a drawn bow.

The elder went still, gaze drifting like a kite lost to a high current.

“He Yi? She… has she returned from death?” The name rose like a long-buried seed tasting rain.

A moment later, excitement surged; bronze-green veins swelled on withered skin like roots heaving through soil.

“Uh…” Dread pricked the youth like cold dew; he bit back the next words, fearing they’d fall like hail on the elder’s hope.

“Clan Chief, Gray Glow isn’t fully certain. We can only confirm… she’s this world’s World Tree Maiden.” The truth lay bare as winter branches.

“Then check. Fast!” Power burst from the elder like spring water breaking ice; he strode to the desk and drew out a sheet and a ring.

“Rally the entire Ai Clan. Find every scrap on the World Tree Maiden. And bring me Aiqiqi’s trail as well!”

“This servant understands!” Ai Qing took the ring; a bitter smile cut like paper, and the thought of any vacation blew away like smoke.

…

Overnight, abandoned Linelor City grew into a forest-city, green rising like a tide after rain; not only the Ai Clan was in motion.

The Central Precinct moved too; officers fanned out to stitch order together like ants mending a torn leaf.

“Ugh, they’re driving me nuts.” At his desk, Chief Luo Pei drummed the wood like dry thunder.

Before him, orders from every power piled up like a paper mountain. Some wanted detectives sent to probe the anomaly, lanterns into fog. Some wanted him to look away while trees fell in the North Lake District, axes in a temple grove. Some wanted police to clear plants near factories, weeders in a steel field.

Now even the Ai Clan sent papers, asking him to assist their people and open the population database, a sealed well under lock.

“You still think the Speaker’s that slippery old eel? The Speaker now is Wang Baijun! The old headmaster of St. Shima, the one who pulled the Council’s real power into one fist!” His palm cracked the letters like a gust over dry grass. By law and by might, he should heed the Council, shielding the citizens and Dreamwood Star like a wall in rain.

He didn’t dare irk that old lady either; he didn’t want another round of ‘ideological tutoring’—a proud chief turned grade-schooler, copying an essay a hundred times like a millstone of ink. If that got out, where would his face go, a fan torn in wind?

But he couldn’t just refuse. Each letter had roots sunk deep in Dreamwood Star’s soil: the Blessing Alliance of foreign capital; a handwritten note from a Shadow Alliance boss; a formal missive from the Ai Clan. Their seals coiled like snakes.

So he used his best art—delay. He didn’t say no; he let time blur the ink, leaving the when hanging like morning mist.

Maybe a year. Maybe two. Maybe after he’s off the post, like leaves after autumn.

“Hmm… I need a clean excuse to stall.” A spark caught like a match. “Right. All officers are tied up maintaining public order. No spare hands. Once things settle, we’ll make it easy for you, honored sirs.”

Luo Pei nodded, pleased as a cat after cream, and set his pen to paper, strokes steady as fine rain.