Keeping to her creed like a drawn blade—see him, end him—Nana Toki holed up at Wen Quan’s home for almost a week, yet not even a shadow of Wen Xuntian.

If the System in her skull hadn’t sworn he was alive, anger boiled like storm tides; she’d have pictured him drunk, blundering, clubbed, and dumped like a stray in the weeds.

“Does your unreliable idiot really stay out fooling around this long?” After dinner, cross-legged on the bed like a cat on a warm tile, Nana asked her girl, heart first, voice second.

A week of sharing a pillow and peeling masks like dry bark, Nana had laid it all bare with Wen Quan, resolve like a flint spark under night rain.

She’d thick-skinned it here to carve a lesson into Wen Xuntian’s bones, a warning like wolf’s teeth; yet he vanished, and her task bar stayed frozen like winter reeds.

When the System finally refreshed with a flicker like fireflies, Nana stared at Wen Quan’s favor meter, mind drifting like a kite; the progress sat at sixty-five percent.

A few more side quests, and Wen Quan’s favor would brim like a full moon; but the key to the next arc—Wen Xuntian—stayed missing, headache pounding like a drum.

“Mm... in cases like before, Father came back every two days,” Wen Quan said, worry creeping like frost; four at most, never a silence this long.

A week without a word felt like walking a night road with no lantern; even Wen Quan feared an accident brewing like black clouds beyond the ridge.

“Tch. Looks like this world’s Dao won’t let me meet Wen Xuntian yet,” Nana muttered, thought coiling like incense smoke. “So he’s the key to Wen Quan’s last knot?”

System: “Um...” The reply fluttered like a startled sparrow, weak as mist.

“What? Trash System, you really won’t explain?” Nana’s patience snapped like brittle twigs underfoot, heat rising like noon glare.

“Ex... explain what...” The System felt doom roll in like thunderheads; every time the host called, trouble prowled like a hungry dog.

“You tell me.” Nana’s smile was milk-white porcelain hiding a blade. “You built this world. You don’t know why Wen Xuntian’s been drifting a week?”

“You’re this world’s Dao, aren’t you? Be honest; don’t make me peel your shell like a crab.”

System: “...” The silence clanged like a bell. Slander, naked as a cold wind!

I built the frame like a carpenter sets beams, but I don’t steer the sun; the permissions sit with my master, not me, Heaven witness like clear skies.

“Keep spinning your yarn,” Nana narrowed her eyes like a hunter sighting along a bow. “You think I’ll swallow that trash?”

Your conscience’s gone black as coal, trash System: “...” This host had a cat’s sickness, sharp and sideways as whiskers.

Fine. The System wouldn’t confess, stone-still like a temple lion; Nana had to hunt, not wait beneath a stump for rabbits that never pass.

“Emmm. I should leave Wen Quan’s house first,” she decided, resolve settling like a rock in a stream, steady and cold.

She rose to pack, motions crisp as paper cuts; Wen Quan’s cheeks flushed like plum blossoms as Nana changed without warning, spring water meeting wildfire.

“Lu—Classmate Lu, what are you doing?” Wen Quan’s voice trembled like a moth at lantern glass; they’d seen enough this week, yet Nana’s boldness was a night wind.

“Nothing,” Nana said, tone gentle as cooled tea. “I shouldn’t keep bothering you. Your dad’s not back; you’re worried, like a sparrow shivering on a branch.”

She slipped her shoes on and headed for the door, steps quick as rain drops; Wen Quan trailed, confused, thoughts knotting like wet string.

“If you’re alone at home, take care like a little fox in snow,” Nana said. “If a stranger knocks, don’t open; let the wind do the talking.”

Wen Quan: “...” The silence bristled like a hedgehog. Was she treating her like a three-year-old with jam on her cheeks?

Wen Quan’s face darkened like a storm bank. “Classmate Lu, it’s late and the street’s black as ink. Don’t wander, or some creep will snatch you like a crow snatches baubles.”

“Are you worrying about me?” Nana’s smile curved like a crescent moon, skimming past the thorn; she ignored the sting in the first half.

“No one’s worrying about you,” Wen Quan rolled her eyes, sharp as flint. “If you get dragged off, I’ll be liable; that’s a chain on my ankle.”

“If you’re going, go. It’s late; tomorrow’s school,” her voice tightened like a braid, holding fast against the wind.

“Mm-hmm, you’re right,” Nana said, promise clean as a washed stone. “I won’t mess around; I’ll head straight home.”

She reached out and gave the small storm a gentle head pat, warm as sunlight on a porch. A Nesting Phoenix with a little temper is cute.

Wen Quan: “...” The reaction wasn’t the script she’d written in her mind; disappointment fluttered like a slipped kite.

She walked Nana to the door, mood a muddle like tea leaves swirling; then, alone, she bathed, hot steam wrapping her like cloud on a mountain.

Night thickened like ink; after her shower, in pajamas soft as fallen petals, she glanced over tomorrow’s books, eyes tracing lines like water over stone.

By the time she closed the last page, the clock’s old hands pointed to almost eleven, ticking like a beetle tapping the baseboard.

“Time to sleep,” she murmured, voice a hush like a reed bending; she tidied her desk, zipping her bag with the neatness of stacking firewood.

Then, sudden as a hawk’s shadow, a rustle scraped from the door—metal turning in a lock like a winter key grinding in ice.

Her climb onto the bed froze mid-motion, muscles stiff as a deer in a field; fear rose from her heart like cold fog lifting over a pond.

Is he... back? The thought struck like lightning under clouds; for Wen Quan, her father was a ravine she couldn’t cross, even with gentle hands guiding.

Creak... The wooden door scraped open, note long and sharp as a violin string in a dark hall; her father staggered in, a ruin, a man-shaped storm.

He looked worse than last time, wilted like a frost-bitten leaf; eyes bulged, bloodshot rings raw as raw meat, face twisting like a cracked mask.

His white shirt was smeared with mud like a field after rain; alcohol stench boiled off him like marsh gas, telling a week of nights gone wrong.

“Drinking again...” Wen Quan’s mouth bowed like a reed under wind; she’d seen this tide rise and fall too many times to count.

Each time, she’d cleaned the wreckage like a shoreline after a storm; even if, halfway, he’d beat or curse, thunder without rain, bruise without balm.

He was her birth father, the root under her tree; no matter how cold the wind, she’d endure, teeth tight as an old gate.

But tonight, something was off, a shadow crossing the moon; his blood-red eyes locked on her, gaze feral as a wolf in dry grass.

“You really look like her...” he muttered, words slurred like ink bleeding; he stepped closer, each footfall heavy as a stone dropped in shallow water.

Fear lifted in Wen Quan like a flock taking wing; “What—what are you doing?” She tried to slip past, but he blocked like a wall.

His hand reached, rough as rope, snatching her wrist as easily as picking a reed; pain bit like a dog. “Hiss... it hurts!”

“Get over here!” He yanked her toward him, breath a sour fog; the alcohol stench was a swamp, almost enough to drown her senses.

His grip cinched like iron; panic washed her from head to toe like cold rain, soaking, numbing, drowning the little fires of reason.

“Like... so like... too damn like...” He pressed her into the bed, weight a mountain rolling down; his stare drilled into her face like a nailed gaze.

“You’re just like that one,” he chanted, words looping like a broken wind chime; fear and terror surged, a black flood swallowing the bank.

Thud—! A dull impact cracked the air like a drum in a temple; before Wen Xuntian could blink, a boot sent him flying like a kicked barrel.

“Goddamn—what guts gave you the right to touch a woman I haven’t even claimed?” Nana stood in the doorway, face dark as a thunderhead.

Wen Quan’s body trembled like a leaf. “Classmate Lu—”

“Shut it!” Nana’s words snapped like a whip; anger boiled up like lava, and she didn’t spare Wen Quan a glance.

She crossed the room in strides like thrown stones, flipped the scum father over like a carp, and pinned him to the floor, fists falling like hail.

“You really are a ghoul of a father,” she snarled, voice low as a growl. “Even your own daughter’s not a line in the sand for you?”

“If I hadn’t kept a knife behind the smile, you might’ve gotten your filthy wish,” her contempt burned like lye, eating through rot.

“Grow a beast’s heart, will you? Grow a beast’s heart!” Every word struck like a hammer. “If I don’t beat you half-dead tonight, your luck’s too hard.”

“In several planes I wouldn’t dare yell at this idiot I adore,” she hissed, eyes bright as broken glass. “You barge in swinging? Why not flap to the heavens, huh?”

Wen Xuntian reeled, the world spinning like a tossed coin; booze dulled the pain, but stars burst behind his eyes like fireworks in fog.

He tried to fight, hands pawing like a drunk bear; but Nana’s ruthless rhythm cut him down, every struggle smothered like a fire under wet earth.

He couldn’t even form a sentence, words stuck like thorns; he could only lie there, dragged across the floor like a rag, while Nana ground him down again and again.