After Xi handed Ling a “good-person card,” Ling drifted in a fog of confusion, like a boat lost in mist.

She couldn’t tell how long; each day Alicia led her to the theater like a marionette pulled by thin strings in rain.

Lines came by muscle memory, actions like clockwork gears; Zi’s scolding cracked over her head like dry thunder.

So blank-faced Ling carved those lines deeper into sinew, until even Zi’s frost seemed to thaw like ice under morning sun.

It must’ve been a whole week; National Day spread across the calendar like a red banner fluttering in autumn wind.

Ling finally processed the friend-zone; two seconds of tears like a summer shower, two of thought like pebbles clicking, two of recovery like a bird fluffing its feathers.

After a trek through thorns and fog, she set the whole thing down like a stone beside a river.

Restored, the little one sat at the breakfast mission table, reaching for bread like plucking a leaf from a branch.

She smeared strawberry jam in a thin sheen like dawn light on water, then nibbled like a hamster hoarding seeds for winter.

Across the table, Alicia saw Ling’s eyes no longer dead as winter ponds; her incurable itch to tease a loli flared like a rash.

With a loli right there like ripe fruit on a branch, trouble was bound to bloom like sudden peach blossoms.

“Ling, do you not care about Xi’s good-person card anymore?” Alicia asked, voice light as a breeze that hides a thorn.

First, the mood hit—sting like a pebble in a pond—then memory rose like ripples racing outward.

Her hands paused like a halted pendulum, then resumed; she chewed faster like a squirrel in late autumn.

She swallowed; her right hand traced the air like drawing talismans, found the legendary “shutdown switch,” flipped it to ON like snapping a twig.

Then the little one sealed herself away, mood folding in like dusk over a quiet valley.

She curled up like a hedgehog in fallen leaves, then pulled a blanket from nowhere like silk from a cocoon, covering herself head to toe.

Alicia set down her utensils with a small clink like rain on a tin roof, rounded the table, and rushed the fuzzy bundle like a cat chasing yarn.

She hadn’t expected such a cute reaction; she’d thought she’d get a glare like a thrown dagger, and now she’d struck gold like a miner finding a vein.

Inside, she vowed to tease more often, flags of mischief snapping in an unseen wind, and it had to be Ling she teased.

Then she spoke to soothe, or the little one would stay sealed a week like winter corked in a jar.

“Okay, okay, it’s big sis’s fault. Big sis won’t bring it up. Forgive me, yeah?” Alicia coaxed, voice soft as warm tea.

After a long moment, the blanket breathed out a muffled voice like sound through snow.

“No! Absolutely not! Ling will never forgive the bad sister who mocks me!” it crackled, sparks of temper like pepper on the tongue.

Even the blanket couldn’t smother that heat; it leaked like ember-glow through gauze.

Alicia let out a helpless laugh like wind losing steam, realizing the little one still burned like a coal under ash.

She grabbed the blanket, fingers hooked like little cranes; inside, the little one tugged back, stubborn as roots under rock.

They held in stalemate, two kites locked in the same wind, the fabric caught between like a stretched sky.

“Let go! Stop the shutdown! If you don’t come out, sis will show you a sister’s dignity!” Alicia warned, voice snapping like bamboo.

“No no no! Absolutely no!” Ling shot back, words drumming like rain on drum-skin.

Tsk—tension rose; the blanket reached its limit, every thread taut as bowstrings in the cold.

Blankets have limits; this one had no magic mask to break them, so fate pressed down like a rolling wave.

“Ah—!!” A breathy cry fluttered out, like a startled bird leaving a branch at dawn.

The blanket ripped like paper in a storm; it died to two Daemons, one tall and one small, hearts too preoccupied to pity cloth.

Spare three seconds of silence for the fallen blanket, incense curling in the mind; then cheer a minute for the legacy it left—such fan-service, like pink petals raining.

Before it tore, Ling knew her strength only matched Alicia like two rivers pushing at a shared bank; without more, the tug would last forever like a looped tide.

So she cranked her power bar cap like turning a valve and pulled, muscles singing like bowstrings.

Like the last straw that breaks a camel, that extra force snapped the poor blanket; at once Alicia’s body lurched forward, balance spilling like water from a tipped bowl.

She fell toward Ling, as inevitable as a peach blossom drifting toward the stream below it.

An unscientific yet fated scene arrived: Alicia neatly tackled Ling, plus half a blanket, off the chair onto the floor like toppling dominos.

Ling’s eyes were veiled by fabric, no magic sense to guide her; she felt a sudden weight hit like a wave slapping a pier.

She didn’t even get to scream before the floor accepted her like earth accepting rain.

Luckily, the blanket cushioned the back of her head like moss on stone; otherwise the floor would carry a cute loli-shaped stamp like a seal in clay.

She peeled the blanket from her eyes like lifting a curtain, glare flashing at Alicia above like noon sun breaking cloud.

Alicia’s red pupils looked different—usually beautiful with a warm ember-glow, now burning with fierce love and possessiveness like a branded mark.

Unease first—crows circled in her chest—then thought: Ling didn’t know why eyes spoke that language, but the omen felt bad as looming thunderheads.

“Sis… Sister… could you get up, please? You’re pressing your little sister…” she pleaded, voice small as a finch.

Thud! Alicia planted her right hand beside Ling’s head like a pillar; her back arched slightly like a drawn bow, face hovering less than a centimeter away.

The air grew sweet and pink as a peach orchard in spring; even imaginary petals drifted around them.

—Done… doomed… Ling thought, dread pooling like ink in water, while Alicia gathered words like a tide gathering foam.

“Ling, I—”