Seated across from Zixin, Dongfang Chen let worry settle like frost on his chest; managing the Winterwood District wouldn’t be a gentle stroll, and surprises could sprout like weeds after rain.
“Mm, I get the broad strokes, like a map sketched in charcoal, but I need details. For example, what duties and rights does the warden hold?”
“In duties and power, you’re free as an open snowfield,” Zixin said, her voice calm as winter light. “As long as you don’t break the law, you can do anything.”
“Huh—like a pebble dropped into still water?”
“Put simply,” she went on, a clear stream of words, “don’t scar the ecology, don’t trample civil rights. You may do anything, even allocate all income freely. But taxes—those are riverbanks you must respect.”
“Uh… that’s awfully loose, like a kite cut free. No mission brief? No targets on a fixed deadline?”
“No,” she said, the answer clean as fresh snow. “No such thing.”
Zixin smiled and shook her head, spring wind in a winter room. “You know Principal Wang’s style: doubt no one you use; use no one you doubt. Once he decides, he lets the young run like the east wind.”
“You really trust me… these terms feel like a meat pie falling straight from the sky, a hot pastry in cold weather.”
“Heh,” she laughed, a spark under ash. “That’s just the sweet part. The hardest bit of this post, I haven’t told you yet.”
“Hard?” The word fell like a stone into a pond.
She nodded, lips parting like a reed in snow. “It’s generous because the Lindream Council won’t invest a single coin in Winterwood’s development. All capital needs, you must solve yourself, a well sealed under ice.”
“What!?” His exclamation cracked like brittle ice.
“The Council… can’t help,” she said, hands tied like reeds in a winter stream.
Zixin shook her head and sighed, a long breath like fog over a dry riverbed. “Because of medical coverage and food subsidies, the Council’s coffers are spent, a river run to sand. So for Winterwood’s buildout, no extra funds can be allocated.”
“That’s trying to pull a beast from thin air, a tiger out of mist. How am I supposed to establish a reserve like that?”
Having traveled widely, Dongfang Chen knew the first ridge was seed money, a slope of ice. Without it, building an eco‑park was a sky‑story, a palace on clouds.
“That’s why it’s hard,” Zixin said, smoothing the air like a broom on snow. “But rest easy: though there’s no seed money, the Council will clear paths in other ways. And since we won’t tap the budget, you can act freely, like water finding its course—no approvals needed.”
“Even so… it’s tough,” he said, the thought heavy as a gray sky. “I need to think it over. I may need three conditions, stakes in the snow.”
“What conditions?” Curiosity lit her eyes like lanterns at dusk.
He leaned forward, speaking soft as moonlight behind clouds. “First, keep my identity secret. I know many people offworld. To avoid trouble, I may run the Winterwood plan through my partners, a veil over the face.”
“Eh? That should be fine,” Zixin said, her agreement light as a breeze carrying a note. “I’ll tell Principal Wang.”
“Thanks.” His relief spread like warm tea through cold hands. “Second, as you know, some of my partners are injured. I need a professional caregiver to nurse them back to health, hands steady as spring sunlight.”
“That… might be hard,” she admitted, the offer thin as paper. “There’s no salary, right?”
“Yeah…” The word hung like morning mist.
“I’ll coordinate with the Central Hospital,” she said, setting a path like footprints in snow. “See if anyone’s willing to transfer. Whether they join depends on your persuasion—hearts are doors in winter.”
“Thank you. Lastly, the third…”
…
…
…
“Then I’ll head out,” Zixin rose, her smile warm as a hearth. “Thank you for the hospitality.”
“Same here. Safe travels, Class Rep.” Dongfang Chen waved, his hand a quiet flag in the doorway.
He stepped out and watched her brown‑haired silhouette recede, a willow shade slipping into distance.
The appointment talk for the Winterwood District’s warden ended like a candle gently snuffed. No agreement was signed, yet a preliminary intent was set, a seed under snow. As for the third condition’s feasibility and the formal appointment, Zixin would consult the old principal, a pine with deep roots.
On Dongfang Chen’s side, he needed LittleSnow’s opinion, her voice like a bell in frost.
“LittleSnow, you heard everything behind the door, right? What do you think of the offer?” His question drifted like smoke toward the eaves.
…
Though he called toward Dixue, the silver‑haired girl sat on the sofa in still frost, saying nothing, a statue under moonlight.
She raised her chin, brows knit like two fine strokes, unhappiness pooling like dark water.
“LittleSnow… what’s wrong? Are you unhappy I’m thinking of taking the post?” His worry fluttered like a sparrow in a winter bush.
…
She still didn’t answer, only glowered with a wounded, resentful look, like a small, innocent girl robbed of her treasured kite.
“Are you worried the contract brings danger?” he asked, voice low as snow fall. “I think our identities won’t be exposed. Acting under this guise might be safer, a cloak under moonlight.”
He spoke and reached out, wanting to pat her head, a gentle palm like quiet rain.
“Hey! What are you doing!” Her shout sliced the air like a sudden gust.
He hadn’t expected her fierce reaction; before his hand landed, she shook her head and backed away, a startled deer slipping toward shadow.
But her bones were fractured; she couldn’t move fast, and his hand still fell on her head, a leaf brushing snow.
“Don’t touch me! I hate this kind of thing!” Panic skittered through her, and she shrank to the sofa’s edge, tears glimmering like dew.
“Eh?” The sound was small, like a pebble in reeds.
He hadn’t realized—this was his first time facing LittleSnow while carrying both names on one breath: Dongfang Chen the boy, and Yue Liuyi, twin moons over the same water.
