The news drifted to King Alex like wind ferrying rumors through pines. In truth, Ling wasn’t surprised; a king gathers scraps of intel like netting minnows in a clear stream.

“Are you really planning to go to the Demon King next?” His voice fell like a cold shadow over a still pond.

“Well… if I don’t go, who saves this country?” Her words flickered like a lone torch in fog, noble on the surface yet crooked like a mask worn backstage. For the Mystic Realm, she told herself, she’d bear the awkwardness.

“You don’t have to do this,” King Alex said, calm as a stone lantern in rain. “We have someone who can alter appearance, change his face like water, and attend the negotiation as you.”

“You don’t actually think the Demon King won’t see through that, do you? She’s stronger than you imagine, sharp as a hawk over snow.”

“But that mage is S‑rank; his disguises even—”

“No need,” Ling cut in, her tone like a blade drawn in moonlight. “Better I go than risk exposure. If she catches a double, she’ll brand the Moser Empire as oath‑breakers, a scarlet brand heavy as a millstone. Can you bear that weight?”

King Alex went silent, tongue knotted like a vine. It wasn’t a wild guess; it sat in the room like thunder behind the clouds.

If the Demon King punished “oath‑breakers,” the already decayed Moser Empire would snap like a rotting tree in a storm.

And…

King Alex’s gaze slid to Wang Xiaoming, who stood quiet like a willow at the edge of a lake. A complex shimmer crossed his eyes, a ripple under moonlight, then he looked back to Ling the moment Wang Xiaoming glanced up.

“Even so, I don’t want my daughter taking risks,” he said, the words steady as a mountain. “You may be my adopted daughter, but the fact that you’re my daughter doesn’t change.”

—Fatherly love, huh…

The phrase rose in Ling’s mind like a paper lantern, warm yet distant. For someone who’d never touched the real thing, it was a shape without meaning.

Like a person who doesn’t know diamonds, picking up a pigeon‑egg‑sized stone and tossing it away as ordinary rock under the roadside elm.

“Well… can we set that aside?” Her voice fell like soft rain. “You don’t need to treat me like a real daughter. I only recognized Alicia as my sister. A father… I don’t think I need one.”

Cruel as frost, but true. To Ling, a father was a man speaking from above like a tall gatehouse, laying down his view like iron and forcing you to accept. That was her picture of a father, tilted like a warped mirror.

Though King Alex didn’t fit that picture, Ling still didn’t want someone who could point and order her life, anyone except Alicia, whose presence felt like spring sun on cold stone.

He hadn’t expected that answer, yet he wouldn’t let go, reaching out like a hand over a river to pull back the drifting boat. This was his daughter’s sister; family matters knot like red thread.

“You don’t have to acknowledge me,” he said, voice gentle as dusk. “I won’t force you. But remember, Alicia is your sister. Do you want her worrying?”

He tugged the topic toward Alicia like steering a kite into steadier wind. Ling didn’t flinch; Alicia was one of the plan’s supporters, even if she’d hesitated like a leaf trembling before falling.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Ling said, a small smile like tea steam. “She won’t worry about me doing this.”

King Alex’s brow furrowed, storm clouds gathering over a quiet ridge. Something unpleasant had crossed his thoughts like a crow’s shadow.

“Hey, Ling… no, what should I call you now?” The question hovered like a swallow seeking a perch.

“I don’t mind,” she said, calm as still water. “Call me Ling, like before.”

“Alright… Ling,” he exhaled, the breath a pale mist. “Let’s skip this topic. Pretend I’m not interested in meddling; do as you wish. But will you answer a few questions?”

The hint lay there like a pebble in clear water. Her goal was met; she nodded, a reed bending to the breeze.

“Good. Didn’t you establish a Mystic Realm?” His curiosity flickered like lantern light.

“We did,” she said, light as a drifting cloud. “What about it?”

“How’s the situation?”

“Smooth,” she replied, warmth like a hearth. “Residents eat their fill, stay warm, sleep deep, and play happy.”

“But as far as I know, only you, Alicia, and two children live there.”

“Right,” she said, untroubled as a blue sky. “We all eat well, stay warm, sleep deep, and play happy. So my answer stands.”

It did. He had nothing to refute, his silence a pond with no ripples.

“Then… did you build the Mystic Realm just to play?” he asked, words probing like a thin blade. “No plan to add residents?”

The question brushed private ground like a footstep on frost. Ling’s future residents were the Elvenfolk, and more non‑human beings would come, a forest beyond the human village. For those who hated other races, such news was a winter wind.

She wouldn’t hide it; once the Elvenfolk arrived, every human would hear the leaves rustle. Better to give them a heads‑up now, a vaccine like a pinch of bitter herb.

“Yes,” she said, clear as spring water. “We plan to add residents. Our first wave is set—the Elvenfolk.”

The kind of news that could startle the world slid across King Alex’s face like rain on stone. No change, no ripple, as if he’d predicted the tide before it reached the shore.

—A bit strange…