Ah—pure bliss! Better than bliss itself!

No idea which genius made it a rule to down milk after a hot spring, but Ling wanted to salute that little sage for such a ritual, like incense offered to joy.

Fresh from the steam, her core glowed warm, excitement blooming under her skin like firecrackers, every vein drumming like taut strings.

That’s when an iced coffee milk rushed down her throat like a mountain stream, quenching the inner blaze with glacier-cool grace.

A nameless sweetness spread through her like moonlight spilling over water, soft and complete.

If she had to say it—like taking a cold swig of cola mid-Sichuan mala hotpot, pepper-fire meets frost, Pepsi and Coke mixed in one forbidden cup.

Heave-ho~

Beside her, Alicia stretched like a lazy cat in sunlight; two proud sets bounced twice, ripe fruit trembling on the branch, making Ling’s heart hitch as if they might drop.

What are you staring at so hard?

Alicia’s voice tugged Ling back from worry like a bell in fog; she realized she’d been locked on Alicia’s extra assets, rude as rain at a wedding, and not even filming—double rude.

Silly girl, you’ll have them someday~

Alicia clearly misread her, and the thought sent a little ice-snake up Ling’s spine, cold as winter creek.

If she were made to carry those, she’d rather die—stones tied to her ankles, fuss all day, extra weight for every step, useless baggage in a storm.

Alright, Ling, anything else you want to play? If not, we’re heading to sleep.

Saying she had nothing in mind would be a lie; at this hour, there should be ping-pong tables, little suns to bat back and forth.

No sneaky plan to smack small balls just to ogle big ones; she only wanted ping-pong for justice, a clean sport like snow.

But even if Ling said so, this Underworld hot-spring inn offered no body-and-soul-joy games, just a desert where laughter dried to dust.

Instead, it was more like—

Jianzi, shuttlecock kick, a bomb tied to the feathered fan; drop it and boom, sparks like fireflies exploding.

Cat’s cradle, weave the string or it chews your fingers, gears grinding like a hungry mill.

Elastic jump, fail and your pals laugh for two heartbeats, then the tide moves on to the next.

Child’s games, too small for Ling’s taste; the curtain fell, and only sleep remained like a quiet pond.

She reached out, clasping Alicia’s index finger, a hook catching moonlight.

Let’s sleep~

Alicia didn’t hesitate; she nodded and led Ling toward their room, footsteps soft as drifting petals.

Night…

Most folks still wrestled glowing screens like moths to blue flame, but Ling and Alicia burrowed under the quilt, sharing warmth like two coals in a brazier.

One big head and one small peeked out, two pairs of eyes shining like twin stars, each trying to out-glare the other in the dusk.

Hey, sis, are you asleep?

Nope~

When was the last time we slept together?

Who knows? But it’s been over twelve hours, or I wouldn’t be this excited, like drums before a parade.

Sis, you love to act spoiled; it’s supposed to be the younger one who gets to whine, like a robin chirping for crumbs.

Brat, didn’t the hot spring teach you enough? Still daring to tease your sister, like a fox poking a tiger.

The quilt thumped like a puffed sail; next second, it flew up, moon-soft cloth in midair.

In that heartbeat, you could see them clearly, two girls tangled like playful kittens, light flashing like fish scales.

Before details caught, the quilt fell, covering their heads; only the bulges rose and sank, proof of wrestling tides.

A moment later, Ling’s light laugh tinkled from under the covers, a bell behind silk; by that sound alone, she’d lost the match.

After a long laugh, two heads popped out, hair wild like grass after storm; was this nest still comfy to sleep in?

Playtime seemed over; the smaller head gazed at the larger, cheeks flushing like peach skin, whether from games or a new heat.

Hey, sis, do you know where we are?

The Underworld, right?

Mm… yes, the Underworld, full of magma, full of ash, full of heat—a very hot Underworld, like noon in a kiln.

Alicia stared at Ling, wondering if that tiny spark meant she felt very hot, like a kettle about to sing.

Gulp…

Something flashed through Alicia; she swallowed, hands fidgeting under the quilt like minnows, mercifully hidden by cloth.

Sis, did you get what I said? It’s very hot here…

She’s totally hinting—like flags waving on the ramparts, bright and obvious.

Her heart said yes, the road ahead finally here, but when fantasy hits daylight, Alicia’s mind scattered like leaves.

Hey! Sis, do you really not understand me? Aren’t you hot?

So clear—what do I do? Safety? Medicine? Do we need to—no, wait—clouds jammed the moon.

Ugh! Forget it, I’ll do it myself!

She’s going to take the lead, like a storm rolling over the ridge!

Pong!

The quilt flipped with a crisp sound, a drumskin snap; Alicia looked, half scared, half thrilled, like a deer at a stream.

Ling turned over and carried on sleeping, leaving one bewildering line like a fan closing.

Honestly! This is the Underworld! A blanket’s too hot!

Alicia froze for two beats, then her stiff mind thawed; she’d misunderstood, hope melting like ice on a rock.

Ah… I got it wrong—hope a kite cut loose, string slipping from fingers.

She quietly shut her eyes, pressing the inner flame down like embers under sand.

If Alicia had hugged Ling’s small frame just then, she’d have felt the thump-thump heart like a sparrow behind her ribs, and the feverish heat like a stove.

Turn her gently, and she’d see Ling’s wide eyes and clenched teeth, shy as a closed flower behind gauze.

But there is no if—only night flowing on like a dark river.