“Hey! Wake up. It’s already night. One more hour and we’re on stage. We can’t be late—this is a national event.”

Under Alicia’s shout, Ling finally surfaced from that foggy half-dream, half-doze.

Before that, she’d grumbled that Alicia hadn’t [record missing] her; a certain petty little loli wrote that grudge in bold strokes, then, like a kid tiring out after play, fell asleep. She only got yanked back just now, so the whole loli was in a low-blood-pressure haze.

“Mmm… mm… oh no…”

Ling’s dazed look made Alicia exhale; at least she hadn’t slipped into that overplayed, broken state. Alicia favored this low-pressure drift—under it, she could coax anything from Ling’s lips, like…

“Do you hate what Sis did to you before?”

“Nope, Sis… I love you most… whatever Sis does… I’ll never hate you.”

Mm, perfect—exactly the effect she wanted. Then…

“So Sis can do that kind of thing anytime?”

The loli squinted, those eyes barely opening, lifted two pink hands, crossed them over her chest, forming a big X.

“No. If Sis springs that on me… Ling will get scared!”

“Then if Sis lets Ling get ready… can you make Sis feel good right now?”

Ling kept those sleepy eyes, a sweet smile curving her mouth; undeniably, the real fanservice you all want—

“Of course that’s… not happening! Idiot, what are you even thinking! At least the first time, I’m the one on top.” (whisper)

(See the “real fanservice” in my hand? Snip… edited out.)

Alicia staggered at the sudden swerve. She hadn’t expected Ling to recover that fast, right as she lobbed a question like that.

“O my cute, clever little sister! What a fine day!”

Ling pressed her forehead, refusing to look at Alicia; she was afraid the idiot attribute might be contagious.

“Enough. Quit joking. You said we only have an hour—don’t waste it.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll drive.”

“Overruled!”

So, half forced and half willing—Alicia being the forced half, Ling the willing half—they still walked twenty minutes and reached the theater.

Less than half an hour left to prep. Thankfully, Zha was in peak form today, especially when she worked her brush over Ling’s face; her state only climbed higher.

…

After a chain of odd little mishaps, the so-called performance finally began. Zi, as host, was first to step into the spotlight; she’d been through plenty of nights like this, so stage fright no longer lived in her bones.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you for waiting. Today is our annual National Day. The divine clans have fallen, yet we humans aren’t so easily bullied—that’s why we can spend National Day in peace. But we can’t forget our history. On February 30th, the former king challenged an evil mage to save his wife. It ended in tragedy, and because of that, at his wife’s urging, King Ike founded the Moser Empire. So it’s fair to say the Moser Empire was created by the two of them together. Now, please enjoy our troupe’s adaptation of that history—‘Linglong’s Love.’”

Darkness rose like ink in water. The girls walked through that velvet night and came on, slow as drifting petals.

A beat later, the lights snapped open. Every spotlight converged on Alicia, dressed in odd, black, masculine attire. Head bowed, she was focused, as if writing a strange letter under a moonlit hush.

Zi’s voice poured through the mic, flowing like clear spring over stone.

“February 30th… King Ike Moser met his one and only eighteenth year. He hadn’t yet resolved to found an empire; he was merely a prince of a small country. That night, he was writing a romantic letter to his beautiful girlfriend—Linglong. His mind even painted her shy, rosy cheeks. But fantasy is fantasy. No one expected the most shocking gift to an eighteen-year-old prince would be what an evil mage delivered—the pain of being torn from the one you love.”

Bang!

The crash behind him hauled Ike Moser out of his writing trance. With a motion small as a falling leaf, he flicked the sleeve-dagger he kept for self-defense into his palm, then turned, eyes cutting toward the thick smoke.

Maybe it was the intruder’s twisted taste; the smoke seemed tethered to his will and refused to disperse. Even wind whistling through the hole in the ceiling couldn’t budge that coiling shroud.

It wasn’t total blindness. By bright moonlight, shadows showed through the haze—one tall figure shouldering a smaller one, like a lone pine bearing snow.

“Ike Moser… right?”

A hoarse voice rasped through the smoke, grating as sand on glass. Ike couldn’t care about the tone; if someone chose this hour to aim for him, they had a single goal—to force him out of the race for the throne. Yes, that was exactly what his beloved “big brothers” liked to do.

“What if I am, what if I’m not. Say what you came to say.”

“Straightforward! I like people like you. Then I’ll be blunt—please withdraw from the succession.”

It was exactly as he expected. A bitter smile tugged his mouth.

—As always, my ‘loving’ brothers.

“On what grounds?”

The shadow in the smoke let out a derisive laugh. His right hand carved through the air.

“On this.”

As the words fell, the smoke peeled away. A tall figure stood before Ike, a sleeping, blond-haired girl slung over his shoulder like a captive moon.

Silence dropped between them. Only the wind ruffled the half-written letter on the desk, making a soft rustle, like reeds whispering by a river.