Eh?!

Ling stared at the girl in her arms, disbelief rising like mist off a cold lake. The face was softer, but the nose and eyes were familiar as moonlight on old tiles.

She froze for three heartbeats like a deer caught in a lantern’s glow. Then she let go, stepped back fast, dropped into a crouch, hugged her head, and howled.

Aaaah!!!!

She should’ve known the instant she saw that hair, red as foxfire on snow. In this world, who else wore that color like a banner but her?

Why did she cling to the thought, maybe there are others, a wish like smoke she blew into her own eyes?

This crooked world was rigged like a go board already played, its pieces set to trap. She’d seen every shade of hair under these skies, yet only one burning red like a maple in autumn—hers.

She knew all this, yet she fed herself sugar words like candied haw to dodge the bite. Why lie to her own shadow?

This twisted world—let it burn to ash like paper money in a ghost-fire!!!

Big sis, what are you doing?

The loli voice chimed by her ear like a wind bell, worry pooling in it like rain in a lotus leaf, as if afraid Ling had cracked.

How to put it? Body of a loli, mind sharp as a knife under silk, a know-it-all degenerate; there’s only one true loli-lover under this sky.

Translated into plain words: even if Ling got smaller, her devotion to lolis stayed like a brazier that never goes out.

That milk-soft voice tugged Ling back from the cliff’s edge like a red string, then hammered planks across the gap like a quick-built bridge.

Hey, big sis, what’s wrong with you? If you won’t talk, I’m leaving, her tone puffed like a pouty cloud.

Ling lifted her head and found, just as expected, Alicia’s face—the special limited loli edition—bright as a fresh plum. Trust Alicia; even as a child, her cuteness bloomed like spring peach.

Sis—cough, little Miss Alicia, what are you doing here? Her words tumbled like pebbles in a stream.

She absolutely wasn’t taking advantage; the thought marched like banners in her mind. Alicia was a loli now, and she’d called Ling big sis. Also, crucial detail, Alicia was shorter, like a sapling beside a pine. In that case, calling her “sis” was a crooked title, not fair at all. So no, she wasn’t taking advantage one bit.

Thinking that, Ling kneaded Alicia’s cheeks harder, fingers sinking like cat paws into mochi-soft dough, the excuse feeling as sound as a temple bell.

Let go!

Two hands soft as pudding slapped her wolfish paws away, her lips puffing like a cherry bud, a spark of anger flickering like a candle flame.

Little Alicia-chan not happy? Let big sis hug you, and joy will bloom like sun on frost.

Get lost! No hugs! And I’m not Alicia—I don’t even have a name! Her pride stood tall like a little crane, though the words cut like thin ice.

The kid’s tone was triumphant as a flag in wind, yet the meaning stung like a thorn. Ling knew she wasn’t Alicia, of course; knowledge sat in her chest like a stone.

No need to say it out loud; with Alicia away, sneaking a squeeze from little Alicia was a secret like a note tucked under a teacup.

So who are you, little one, and why are you here? Ling asked, hands on the girl’s shoulders like a hawk’s talons—harmless if they didn’t wander.

The poor thing fell into thinking mode like a clock winding up, a single cowlick popping up like an antenna, not noticing someone nibbling tofu like a cat at the pantry.

Oh! Right. I think I’m the spirit of this place, a shape made from the mana that pooled like a lake when several Demon Kings died. Those waters became my body like ice forming on a river. And my mission is to challenge anyone who steps in here like a gate’s stone lion.

Got it, Ling thought, the idea settling like dust. So this kid was a guardian spirit, a willow at the gate. Win, and she walked out breathing like wind in pines.

Lose, and she’d die here like a candle pinched out—this wasn’t play magic but a blade, and blades always want blood.

But before any so-called challenge, Ling had questions that fluttered like moths around a flame.

Why do you look like Alicia?

Who’s Alicia?

The face you’re wearing now, spun from air like a paper lantern, that one.

Little Alicia’s self-knowledge was stacked like neatly tied scrolls; she caught Ling’s meaning and answered with a nod crisp as bamboo.

Oh, that. It’s not my choice. I’m a spirit—formless, genderless, mist in a bottle. What you see is woven from your deepest desire like a dream painted on water, probably to distract challengers and make their steps stumble.

So my heart longs for Alicia… and the child version at that? The thought blew in hot, and Ling’s cheeks warmed like embers under ash.

Then… shouldn’t we set the stakes for the challenge?

Stakes?

The little one looked blank, eyes clear as a mountain spring.

She looked like she’d fought many duels, yet “stakes” meant nothing to her, a shell without a pearl. Did people just start swinging? Was Ling the odd one out, an umbrella on a sunny day?

Umm… no one really told you? It’s like… if I win, you give me something, and if you win, I give you something. Does that ring like a bell?

Mm. Answering your last part, I get it, she said, her chin tilting like a sprout. And to your first part, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen, and the first to see me. Usually they freeze to death before even stepping in, like birds turned to statues in a frost, and I can’t help that.

I see, Ling thought, pity falling like soft snow. Live so long, meet no one you can talk to—lonely as a temple at dusk.

Alright then, you pick the stakes, she said, tossing the reins like a rider trusting the horse.

Stakes… If I win, you stay here and keep me company like a candle beside a window. If I lose, you get to go out like a fish leaping back to the river. How’s that?

No problem. It’s exactly what I expected, she said, calm as a pond before wind.

She rose, and the mana around them drew in with a whoosh like leaves swept by a storm, streaming into Ling’s body like a river into a gorge.

What are you doing? the little one asked, posture loose as a cat in sun, not a hint of a fighter’s coil.

Getting ready to throw down, of course. What did you think a challenge meant? Her grin flashed like steel.

Little Alicia rolled her eyes, the motion lazy as a drifting cloud, clearly hating Ling’s fists-first attitude—no elegance, no lace, no tea.

And since it’s a lady’s match, she said, there’s only one contest from the old books of legend, the kind with dust and gold on the pages.

What was it called again?

Ah, right. It’s a contest of cold jokes—the kind that make you groan like an old door.