“Alright! Bath, then bed.”

A hand hooked Ling by the back of her collar, lifting her tiny body like a sheet of paper. Alicia, now a Yokai, did it one-handed, easy as wind lifting a leaf.

But the little one went wild like a tipsy kite in a squall, clinging to a pillar like a barnacle that wouldn’t budge.

“No, no, no! I’m not drunk, I’m not drunk!”

People who shout that are usually drunk, but the kid wasn’t. She’d been sipping [Water Dew Tea], zero alcohol, as harmless as rainwater on stone.

Alicia didn’t want to rinse off any so-called booze smell; the hour was simply too late. Night pressed like a heavy quilt, and kids need sleep. That rule, for her, was iron.

Amelia had thoughtfully set out a big bed for Alicia and Ling, and Alicia had decided to stay the night. But a warm bed didn’t mean Ling could burn the candle past midnight.

“Be good! If you won’t, I’ll have Amelia put you on the blacklist, and you’ll never be allowed up here again.”

At that, Ling’s hands trembled twice like leaves in a breeze. She let go of the pillar at last. Alicia hauled her by the collar, feet dangling like a fledgling’s. Arms crossed, lips puffed into a pout.

Alicia didn’t notice the stormy little face. Smiling like sunshine on steam, she carried her into the bathhouse Amelia had prepared.

She’ll regret this, Ling thought, cold as a pebble dropped in a pond.

“Hands up.”

Ling said nothing. She raised them, limp as willow branches, while Alicia undressed her.

“Foot up.”

Still silent. A quiet tide going in and out.

“Why aren’t you talking today?”

Noticing the odd mood, Alicia crouched. All she saw were averted eyes like shuttered windows and a pout big enough to hang a kettle.

If the little one wouldn’t answer, there was nothing to do but guide her body. Close your eyes for shampoo, don’t move while I wash you—she obeyed every word, docile as a marionette under a still sky.

Even in the hot soak, the little fish didn’t splash. Usually she’d do five or six laps around the bath like a tiny otter, but tonight the water lay quiet as a pond at dusk.

Worried, Alicia decided to ask. “Ling, what’s wr—”

Whoosh—! The door slid open like wind through reeds.

She moved on reflex, shielding Ling with her own body, heat blooming pink across her face. She turned and saw it was only Amelia, and let her breath go like steam.

“Close your eyes… Don’t squirm…”

Why does that sound familiar?

From the corner of her eye, Alicia watched Amelia doing the same routine. Elfe reacted the same way—no words, only motions, a proper puppet under unseen strings.

At last, Amelia, weary as a lantern at dawn, plopped Elfe into the bath. She slid down beside Alicia, shoulder to shoulder.

They traded a look and matching frowns.

“You too?” they said in unison, their voices rippling together. Then both sighed, two reeds bowing to the same wind.

“Elfe’s throwing a little sulk too?”

“What could I do? I told her it was bedtime. She grabbed a cup of [Water Dew Tea] and marched to an old soldier. Said she wouldn’t sleep unless she drank him under the table.” Amelia shook her head, a rueful smile like winter sun. “Think about it. No alcohol, small belly, and stubborn pride. How could she outdrink him? I hauled her here, and now she’s like this.”

Alicia patted Amelia’s shoulder in comradeship, two sailors in the same storm. She looked up—and met Ling’s soulful, accusing gaze, dark as a rainy night. The words in her throat sank like stones.

Amelia fell silent too, caught by Elfe’s mournful stare. Even steeped in hot water, a chill crept over her skin like a draft through paper screens.

The bath didn’t end happy; it ended awkward, like a song cut short. The older girls carried their small charges out like porcelain dolls. Wipe, dress, blow-dry, comb—each motion neat as folding origami.

Ling and Elfe kept their pact of silence, statues with warm skin. They let their elders lead them back to the bedroom without a word, stepping like shadows along a moonlit floor.

“So, Ling, what do you want from your big sister?” Alicia softened her voice, setting dignity aside like a hairpin. “If you don’t tell me, how can I know what you want?”

Ling’s eyes wavered like water. She parted her lips, then shut them tight again, a bud refusing to open.

Seeing a crack of light, Alicia leaned in to coax another breeze. But Ling flipped the quilt like a wave, turned her back, and lay down without a word.

Alicia sighed long, a tired cloud across the moon. She switched off the light and gathered Ling from behind, an embrace warm as a hearth. Day slipped away, quiet as ash.

After a long while, feeling the even breath at her back like a tide, Ling nestled closer into Alicia’s arms. A voice so faint a mosquito could drown it brushed the dark.

“Thank you… for always putting up with my selfish little whims.”

And then, the world fell still.