Anyway, set aside whether Wenquan actually took Nana Toki’s advice and skipped a class for hotpot, chasing steam like winter fog.

At least, during lunch break, Nana Toki did smooth her little ancestor’s fur, coaxing temper like a cat; the favor meter rose to thirty-five percent like a tide creeping up a shore.

Close call—her heart hung over a cliff; she’d thought Wenquan’s favor might plunge like a stone into deep water.

Fur smoothed or not, Nana still kept the Saturday plan, a lantern pinned to the calendar, warm light steady.

She’d decided: since she’d asked Wenquan to an amusement park first, they’d hit the rides like whirling winds, then soak; most hot spring inns close around midnight, hours flickering like fireflies to catch.

“So, by your logic, you’re inviting me to stay out overnight, right?” Back in class, Wenquan’s voice was calm as still tea; her obsidian eyes finally rippled like a disturbed pond.

Nana nodded, firm as a nailed beam. “I want to invite you to stay out.” And maybe sift your family background like sand through a sieve.

“No.” The word jumped out like a knife flick; then she smoothed her face like lacquer and added, calm as night water, “My house has a strict curfew, a gate like iron. My parents won’t approve an overnight.”

Nana fell silent, a windless flag; she’d expected that answer and swallowed it like bitter tea.

“We could end the park early and then go soak.” For some reason, Nana clung to bathing with Wenquan like a hand to warm porcelain.

Wenquan pressed her lips, a sealed envelope; after a pause long as a drifting cloud, she lifted her gaze and said, “Also no.”

“Why?”

“Because… I don’t like hot springs.” Her lashes dropped like a curtain, hiding the stage.

…Amazing, you adorable idiot—who doesn’t like soaking these days? On the rooftop in that inflatable pool, you didn’t flinch; you drifted like a koi in shade.

If Wenquan refused, Nana had no leverage; her hands were tied with silk she wouldn’t cut, even if force didn’t scare her like thunder.

“Why are you so fixated on bathing with Wenquan?” The System’s voice chimed in her mind like a silver bell in a cavern; if it’s just family digging, your computer nets catch fish easy.

Later, the System spoke again, a cursor blinking in the dark. “Doesn’t this feel redundant, like carving a peach twice?”

“How could it?” Nana zipped her bag, motion neat as folding paper cranes. “Bathing for the sake of bathing is the whole meaning, like steam for steam.”

The System went silent, a dead screen. “No recursion allowed.”

“So you won’t use your cheat to scout Wenquan’s background?” Its tone hovered like a moth by a lamp.

“Who said that? Who told you I have a cheat?” Her gaze cut like a fan edge.

“Then your computer skills…”

“Self-taught.” Nana shot the System a look, quick as flint. “I have a friend. She’s good at this; I borrowed her hands for a season.”

The System paused, a skeptical face without pixels. A friend, huh? You’re a webnovel author—what kind of friend hacks like rain on tin?

Nana didn’t want to spar with this idiot; she grabbed her bag like a traveling companion and headed out, feet tapping like raindrops.

Today she meant to find Zhao Sitian at the café where Wenquan worked, see if new winds were blowing; if not, she’d weave her own basket, hunger fed by her own hands.

Yet before Zhao Sitian, she bumped into Song Qingtian under a street of shop signs like lantern fish; Song was out buying snacks, arms loaded like sails.

Time apart had stretched like bamboo; seeing her best girl again, Song squealed and flew in, a bear hug like a gust, almost knocking Nana and her bag into the dust.

“Qiqi! You okay?” Song clung like ivy, eyes shining as if she’d spotted a rare beast in a misty grove.

This girl, really?

Nana rubbed her tingling shoulder, a hand kneading dough; she gently pried Song off, then asked, curious as a sparrow, “Why are you here?” This street sat far from Song’s nest.

“Ah… A new snack shop opened here. I’m running my mom’s errand, and buying snacks on the side.” Song lifted huge plastic bags like bulging clouds; the heft made Nana marvel at how hunger turns women into thunder.

“And you, Qiqi? Why come here at this hour?” The dinner bell was still far; Song tugged Nana to rest, voices drifting like late sun. “Why wander instead of heading home?”

“I’m here to investigate my girlfriend.” Nana said it flat, a stone dropped into quiet water.

Song froze, mind sparking like fireworks. “Wait… Qiqi, you have a girlfriend?” You’re a woman! So it’s lace, right—like silk tying silk?

Her face flipped pages like a picture book, moving from shock to glee. “Tell me—who is she?” Curiosity burned like incense; what kind of woman bent my straight-as-a-sword bestie?

“Wenquan.”

“Huh?” Song blinked, dazed as a chick. “You met her at a hot spring?”

No.

“I mean, my partner is Wenquan.”

“What?” Song’s eyes almost popped like beans. “How did that ice-cold girl bend you?” The memory of Wenquan was frost on a window.

“And you’ve barely met a few times.” Is this pace a gallop too fast, hooves kicking dust?

“No problem. I liked her the moment I saw her in the restroom.” Nana spoke without a stumble, lightning clean as a blade.

Song went quiet, pages closing; she’d only seen love-at-first-sight in novels where men and women waltz under moonlight. Two women, here and now, felt like a crane landing in a courtyard.

“But even so, that cold one—what hooked you?” Face value? That keep-out aura? Song brushed the air, confused like a moth.

“All of it.” Nana’s answer fell like a sure pebble.

Girl, listen—this mindset is trouble, seeds tossed into wind!

“Qiqi, if it’s just her face, drop it. Her looks are high, yes, with that strange abstinent chill; but doesn’t her temperament feel gloomy, like rain stuck in bamboo?”

“That’s not yours to worry about.” Nana glanced at her, dry as autumn leaves. “Aren’t you still on your mom’s errand? Time’s not early. If you don’t deliver that soy sauce, you’ll get scolded like a bad drum.” My Nesting Phoenix isn’t gloomy; that shadow is just tsundere plum frost, nothing more.

“But…” Song wanted to say more, words hovering like kites; then she pictured her mom roaring like a tiger and shivered. “Forget it, I’ll head back first.” Best friend’s love story can wait; my life is the chicken to keep.

After Nana finally sent off the lively disaster, the sun slid toward the ridge; orange afterglow spilled on the street like rice ears laid in rows.

“Where’s that café in the little alley?” Nana wandered the commercial strip, eyes scanning like swallows over eaves.

She had noted landmarks last time, pinning flags like red dots; yet now the path slipped like a carp through reeds, hard to catch.

“Toki? Why are you here?” A soft voice rose behind her like a breeze; she turned and met Wenquan in a server’s uniform, neat as a reed under frost.

Confusion flickered on Wenquan’s face, small ripples on still water; she seemed puzzled that her desk-mate stood on this street.

“Uh… I’m just here running an errand for my family?” Nana stalled, thoughts scattering like leaves; then she borrowed Song’s excuse, laying it like a mat.

Wenquan didn’t buy it; her gaze paused on Nana’s school bag, heavy as a book-laden boat. “Would you run errands with your school bag? And why make it sound like a question, Toki?”

Nana fell silent, ellipses hanging like three drifting clouds.