Yanming Road once cradled a power plant; out on the city's windswept fringe, the road held no real storefronts, just quiet concrete like a dried riverbed.
After the plant shut down, the place became the Flame Ruins Gang's HQ; youths roosted here like crows on rusted wires, treating the road as home.
Their leader, of course, was Luyao. The red-haired man with a spiky hedgehog cut lugged a chair toward a tiny redhead, like a spark carrying a perch for another spark.
“Hey, little one, you alright?” His voice moved gentle as a breeze over embers.
He’d just closed a deal and stepped out to unwind; to his surprise, a red-haired little girl lay at his doorstep like a fallen maple leaf.
She seemed hurt, face-down on the road, pitiful like an abandoned stray kitten left in the rain.
Luyao, always courteous to girls, quickly waved his boys to fetch a chair, hands fluttering like swallows.
“Little one, are you okay?”
“Eh? Don’t call me little girl—call me the Grand Witch of Roses! We just parted, and you already don’t recognize me?” Her words flared like petals tossed into wind.
“Uh… what?” Confusion prickled like static.
Luyao froze, unable to link this small figure with the poised red-haired big-sis from earlier, as if trying to match moonlight to a matchstick.
That red-haired big-sis held effortless grace, every move sharp like a hawk-eyed matriarch; how could she be this child?
Same bright red hair—flames cut from the same fire—maybe sisters, maybe mother and daughter.
Thankfully, Yue Liuyi arrived like a cool breeze carrying rain.
“Brother Luyao! Hey… whoa! Little Rose, why are you lying on the ground and still on your phone?” Her voice bubbled like a spring.
Yue Liuyi had just run over, and that was the snapshot she caught, like a flash under cold neon.
“Looks like it’s Abyss settlement today; I have to play!” Her urgency rolled like a tide against a pier.
“Don’t be silly; the Winterwood District doesn’t have the Cosmos Net. Little Rose, you’re on the offline version.” Her words fell like pebbles onto still water.
“Eh? Offline? No wonder… every pull gave me an S!” Joy popped like cherries dropping from a laden branch.
“That’s just parameters LittleSnow tweaked… The ground’s cold as winter stone; stop playing first… mm… you’re heavy…” Her arms strained like cords in frost.
Though the red-haired little girl wasn’t heavy, only around forty-five kilograms, Yue Liuyi still struggled, like hoisting a rain-soaked quilt.
“I’ll help! Miss Liuyi, what brings you here?” Luyao’s tone stood firm like a wooden post.
With Luyao’s help, they set Little Rose on the chair, like perching a sparrow on a rail.
“Um… well… I came to…” Her heart knotted like twine before the words eased out.
“Little Angel ran here to feed me!” Her grin shone like sugar on snow.
“Don’t make stuff up! That’s LittleSnow’s nonsense!” Her protest fizzed like sparklers.
Annoyed, Yue Liuyi ruffled Little Rose’s hair and sighed like a cooling breeze before turning to Luyao.
“I came to rescue Little Rose. And to handle what just happened.” Her resolve steadied like a hand on the helm.
“What just happened?” His brows flicked up like a struck match.
“Mm… Brother Luyao, you probably don’t know yet—there was a terror attack in the Winterwood District.” Her voice dropped like thunder behind hills.
“Oh… that. I just heard. The Council told me not to leak it… huh? How do you know?” His doubt folded like paper cranes tucked away.
Luyao studied her, eyes flinty; to him, the blue-haired girl was just a small shopkeeper, a river-clear smile—how could she know about a strike?
“Mm… This isn’t the place. Let’s find somewhere quiet.” She sought shade like a bird choosing a hidden branch.
…
…
Yue Liuyi followed Luyao to the Flame Ruins Gang’s headquarters, a blue ribbon trailing through rust.
Though he meant to dissolve the gang, Luyao still took tasks from the Council; in this crisis, extra hands held back chaos like sandbags against a flood.
“Please, come in! Don’t be afraid—our Flame Ruins Gang would never do anything like assaulting girls!” The oath rang like steel on stone.
“Come on in, welcome!” Voices thumped like drums.
“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome to our two little fairies!” Cheers burst like strings of firecrackers.
Thugs lined both sides, bowing to welcome Yue Liuyi and Little Rose, swaying like reeds bent by wind.
“Uh… thanks…” Her words floated soft as morning mist.
Embarrassed, Yue Liuyi shook her head and stepped inside; she hadn’t expected a welcome this ceremonious, lantern-bright and festival-red.
What she didn’t know: a strange rumor had drifted through the gang like smoke—Boss Luyao, the great Mr. Luyao, had taken a shine to a blue-haired girl.
So Boss Luyao planned to hang up the life and steam ramen again, setting down his blades like a banner folded at dusk; that blue-haired girl might be their future sister-in-law.
With that, how could the boys not show respect, shoulders straight like soldiers under a standard?
Besides, some had seen Yue Liuyi’s power—a water mage who could call wind and rain; if fists flew, they’d be driftwood in her storm.
“Here… is our gang’s gym. And here… are the decorations we made…” Luyao’s tour flowed like clear sky after rain.
The HQ sat amid the power plant’s ruins: broken machines, loose screws and nails scattered like bones in dust. Yet the punks shaped the junk with style—skull patterns braided from steel, blood-red pieces hung on walls like dried petals.
An ordinary girl might’ve been scared speechless by this bone-yard art; but Yue Liuyi grew up like a boy, and in her lake-blue eyes swam only curious surprise.
“That’s so cool! Did your members make all this?” Her delight sparkled like sun on ripples.
“Yeah, folks made them when bored. We set up a studio so anyone can craft freely.” His words hummed like ants weaving trails.
“Eh? You have a studio? What’s it like?” Curiosity lifted like steam from tea.
“It’s an art studio… Little miss, you interested?” He pictured light and paint like morning on canvas.
“Mm… a bit. Can I take a look?” Her interest fluttered like a moth to lamplight.
“No problem! You three… hurry and tidy up the studio!” His command cracked like a whip.
“Roger, boss!” Feet pounded like drums.
At his word, several punks rushed into the studio, darting like sparks into a waiting forge.
