Rafi slipped a tiny piece of meat into Ling’s little mouth, like feeding a sparrow a red berry.

“Is it good?” Her voice drifted in, soft as a spring breeze.

Ling bobbed her small head, chewing like a squirrel with a nut. The food didn’t steal her reply. “Mm.”

Watching Ling eat, Rafi’s thoughts floated off like a kite slipping its string. No wonder Alicia had looked so blissful feeding her before. A cute creature sat in front of you, taking what you offered, head bobbing like a little boat on a lake. A stray hair swayed like grass in the wind, matching its owner’s mood. Her eyes stole glances aside like shy fireflies. She looked absolutely spaced out, her soul wandering beyond the clouds—no one could say that wasn’t adorable.

Rafi was happy, and Ling couldn’t help catching that warmth like a hand around a cup of tea. With Rafi here, she could avoid the headache she didn’t want to face.

Rafi figured someone as tiny as Ling would have a sparrow’s appetite, so she hadn’t brought much. Two pairs of chopsticks moved, and the food vanished like dew in sunlight.

After eating, the two of them went slack like salted fish, adrift and unsure what to do next. Silence pooled like still water, until Rafi broke it with a pebble’s splash.

“Ling, if you’re done, let’s go take a bath.”

Bathing wasn’t a great suggestion in Ling’s book. A prickle of reluctance rose first; then she saw the hope in Rafi’s eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

She’d just washed, but she couldn’t let Rafi down. She told herself it was fine—she’d stay in the bathroom a few minutes, then switch. No big deal, like a cloud passing the moon.

Half pushed into the bathroom, she slipped out of her clothes with a casual flick and slid into the tub alone. She planned to soak a bit, then let Rafi in. If asked why it was so fast, she’d say, I’m small, can’t soak long. Perfect. Genius.

Her plan hadn’t even begun when the door whooshed open.

“Eh?”

Ling stared, blank as a stunned deer, as Rafi walked in wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes. Heat budded on her cheeks like cherry blossoms.

Rafi caught that fluster and a playful spark lit her eyes. “What’s wrong? We’re both girls. What’s there to be tense about? Or is it…”

Her voice snapped Ling out of scanning Rafi like a guilty cat caught pawing the fish. Busted, she flushed deeper. “No, it’s not that, it’s just… uh…”

“Just what?”

“Forget it! If you want to wash, then wash! I’m not stopping you!”

Ling surrendered like a tiny turtle retreating into its shell. She sank into the water till only the top half of her head showed, and puffed little bubbles like sulky pearls drifting to the surface.

Looking at Ling in her “angry” state, Rafi felt a sudden pinch in her chest, like a cramp catching mid-breath. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

To hide her own awkward flutter, Rafi slid into the tub as if nothing had happened. The tub was narrow as a boat’s hull, so Ling had no choice but to sit in Rafi’s lap. Rafi would never admit she’d planned it that way.

Words failed them for a spell, and the steam grew heavy as fog. Ling finally broke it, like a bell rung in a quiet temple.

“Hey, Rafi… if I weren’t me, would you hate me?”

It was a riddle wrapped in mist. If you aren’t you, who are you? Though puzzled, Rafi answered without hesitation. “Hate you? No way. I like you a lot. And how could you not be you?”

Hearing the answer she’d been hoping for, Ling felt the stone in her heart fall like a pebble into a pond. Right—the one who accepted everything about her was Rafi. She shouldn’t ask questions that only collect dust.

“Really? Thank you. Whether you mean it or you’re teasing, I’m still happy to hear it.”

“Then… can I ask you one too?”

Ling’s mood turned bright, like a lantern lit at dusk. “Mm. Go on.”

Rafi drew a breath, eyes clear as a mountain stream. She met Ling’s gaze. “If I said I like you—not just like—but the kind where I want us to be family.”

Ling went still, as if lightning lit the edges of her heart. No warning. No wind-up. Her little heart almost skipped a beat like a drum hit off-time.

After the jolt, she treated the question seriously. Joy rose first—no one gets confessed to and feels nothing, right? More so for her, an eighteen-year-old intermediate mage who never imagined this would land in her lap. Her chest sweetened like honey in hot tea.

But… should she agree? She didn’t know, and that fog thickened. Agree? Could she stand beside Rafi? Could a worm wearing dragon hide really answer a sincere girl with yes? The other side had shown her truest self. Ling still clung to her mask like winter bark. No, that wasn’t even the root. She feared Rafi would become the next Alicia—not because of Rafi, but because this body would block every step forward like a locked gate.

Without noticing, self-doubt had rooted in her bones like a creeping vine. A simple question, and her mind sprinted ten years ahead into a blizzard of worst outcomes.

Rafi watched Ling bow her head and keep silent. A thin thread of panic tightened, taut as a bowstring. “Um… Ling, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I feel like you misunderstood. When I said family, I meant like an older sister. Is that okay?”

Ling lifted her head and studied Rafi’s worried eyes, storm-tossed and unsure. Her clumsy read-the-room skill still caught the shift. This “sister” line was a retreat because she’d hesitated. The original family probably wasn’t just kinship—it was…

Well… let it be.

She’d stepped back this far for Ling’s sake. Just a title—“sister.” Why was she still wavering?

Cut the pain early so it won’t ache later, a voice whispered. Refuse now, cleanly, and you won’t be like some scummy guy toying with a girl’s heart. Short pain beats long pain.

But… did she have the right to hand this girl even a short hurt? No. She didn’t. She hadn’t earned that kind of power.

“Ling!”

Rafi’s call rang again, and the neat little no she’d assembled fell apart like sand in water.

No… I can’t do that. What if? What if Rafi is my one-in-ten-thousand? Think. Rafi’s kindness is real. The support she gives me is real.

Maybe… try? If there’s no hope, she could cut it off later. For now, the door was open, even if only a sliver.

Most of all, Rafi truly liked her. And her own fondness for Rafi was true. Then what was there to hesitate over?

“I… I… I…”

Rafi bit her lip, tension bright as a spark on dry tinder. “O-okay?”

It sounded like a statement and a question, half-cloud and half-moon. To Rafi, it was assent. She swept Ling into a tight hug, drinking in her scent and the delicate warmth against her arms.

Held so tightly, Ling didn’t feel warmth so much as a swirl of doubt, like mist in her chest. She wondered one thing—was her liking for Rafi truly real?

Before she could find an answer, Rafi’s arms squeezed harder without noticing. Pressure bloomed at Ling’s chest like a stone on silk. Ling let go of the question, came back to herself, and gently pushed Rafi’s arms. “Don’t… get so excited.”

Rafi laughed it off, scratching her head to hide her embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry. But we’re already like this. Why be shy?”

“B-but, Rafi, you don’t have to be so…”

“Why are you still calling me Rafi?”

“Then… Sister Xiaofei?”

“Drop the sister. Just call me Xiaofei, okay?”

“…It sounds cheesy, but… mm. Xiaofei.”

“Say it again.”

“Xiaofei.”

Foolishness is contagious, they say. Ling’s IQ got tugged along by Rafi’s childish game, and the two of them chanted like echoing parrots—ten times at least—before they finally stopped, breathless as kids after recess.

Rafi suddenly glanced down at herself, then pointed at the showerhead with a sheepish look. “By the way, I still haven’t bathed…”

Ling froze, then huffed, half coy, half scolding. “Right. You haven’t rinsed at all. Why did you jump in to soak?”

“What, you already dislike your dear sister?”

“It’s not that… fine, I’ll help you wash.”

Rafi agreed at once. She leapt from the tub like a tiger pouncing downhill and sat neatly on the stool like an obedient cat.

Ling couldn’t bear to watch that silliness, so she pretended not to see it. She moved behind Rafi, rubbed body wash into her palms, and let her hands wander over Rafi’s back like warm rain.

Could someone chaste for eighteen years wash someone else well? Of course not. Her hands didn’t know where to land. And when they brushed certain places, Rafi made little sounds that cut the air like plucked strings. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

They finished at last, awkwardness steam-wrapped and glowing. Ling, a pure girl untouched by such things, flushed from crown to ear-tips, red as maple leaves. In the bathroom’s soft haze, her petite figure looked dangerously charming.

Rafi admitted it—she was captivated, like a moth circling a lantern.

“Hey, Ling, let me wash you too.”

“Eh? No… I already did…”

Of course Ling refused. If Rafi actually washed her, she’d faint from shyness like a soap bubble popping.

“What’s this? Shy?”

Rafi’s hand reached for her like a cat’s paw.

“Xiaofei, don’t.”

“Let me take a look.”

“No.”

Rafi paused, wiped more body wash onto her palms, then gave Ling a beast’s gaze under soft steam. “Be good. Let me see.”

What could Ling do? Refuse—of course refuse. “No—”

Plop.

Before the word finished, Rafi’s hand landed on her, gentle but firm. Ling hit the warm floor with a soft thump, not given even a sliver of room to escape.

The tiles weren’t cold, but a cool ripple slid through Ling’s heart like shadowed water. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t danger—just a sense that something precarious was tipping.

As she expected, Rafi’s hand hovered for a heartbeat, then settled on Ling’s belly.

Soft circles.

Rafi’s touch was soft as moss, and a strange feeling unfurled in Ling’s chest like a night-blooming flower.

When she touched her own belly, nothing stirred. With Rafi’s hand there, her heart compressed harder, a drum pounding through skin—thump, thump, thump.

Her cheeks burned. What’s happening?

Rafi watched the little thing in front of her, unsure if it was steam or shyness painting Ling’s face pink. Ling covered her mouth with one hand, as if holding back a sound, like a flute muted by a palm. Rafi felt desire deepen like a tide tugging at her ankles.

This little fox… I’m going to lose it. I want her now.

Ling couldn’t read that thought. She was busy enduring—pain? or a quicksilver not-quite-pleasure—no room to notice anything else.

At the end, both of them wrestled themselves into calm. The bath concluded under a fragile truce, and nothing unspeakable happened.

Deep night. Rafi patted Ling’s back as she still watched TV, the touch light as falling snow. “Ling, time to sleep.”

“Mm~ Xiaofei, um… sleep with me.”

Rafi stared at Ling’s hope-bright face and chuckled, a wisp of humor like smoke. “What? Learned to act spoiled already?”

Fine. Since you’re pouring on the honey, I’ll be magnanimous and keep you company.

Ling sprang lightly off the sofa, looped her arms around Rafi’s neck, and hung there like a silken vine.

Xiao Fei’s the best—sweet as honey.

...

They ended up on the same bed, as naturally as water finding its riverbed.

Rafi wrapped both arms around her, a tight harbor of warmth in a chilly night.

Ling felt swamped; too much had crashed over her today.

Arthas, the riddle of “Who am I,” and then the bathroom—events strung like beads, a Script threading them one after another.

A stick first, then a carrot; the world never left her room to breathe.

Cradled in Rafi’s arms, that rare safety fell over her like nightfall, and sleep claimed her in a heartbeat.

Watching her peace-lit face, Rafi’s want flared like a hidden ember, then she caged it behind cool glass.

Just a few more days, she told herself, like counting down to spring.

Just days, and everything of Ling’s would be hers; for now, hold the reins—don’t rush...