They split up, like two kites tugging free on different winds.

It was the second time since the Demon Elite incident, that night like a thunderstorm.

Alicia’s side should be fine, like a steady lantern in rain.

Ling went alone again to the Moser Empire’s gate, feet tapping like pebbles in a stream.

Come to think of it, a soft sigh rippled like reeds in her chest.

The first time she reached this gate, Alicia had led her, like a sister guiding through fog.

The second time, she entered as the “hero” who beat the Demon Elite, like a banner snapping in the wind.

Both times, people came to welcome her, a tide rising and falling with only the numbers changed.

Now was the third time, and the shore was empty, no welcoming waves at all.

Not a single person; streets on both sides lay bare, doors shut like clenched eyelids.

It looked like a dead city, a painting drained of color under a winter sky.

Quieter than the last Daemon incursion, like snow smothering the drums.

Back then there were still pedestrians; now even footprints hid like shy birds.

She shook her head, flinging off those thoughts like raindrops; the task was finding King Alex.

She vaulted over the gate like a cat, eyes skimming past shuttered buildings like gray cliffs.

She tried not to see the red paint on the walls, letters bleeding like fresh cuts.

It didn’t last; after a few steps, a cold blank spread like fog—she didn’t know the way.

She wasn’t a hopeless navigator, but she wasn’t a star that knew every road by instinct.

The first two times someone fetched her; this time no one came, like a dock without boats.

Wait—no one on her side had informed anyone, like arrows never loosed from the bow.

Big crisis: the getting-lost kind, a maze rising like walls of bamboo.

Ling considered brute-forcing a straight line, like tunneling through a mountain with her head.

But the old man upstairs clearly wished this little girl wouldn’t do that, like a hand staying the wind.

So, a man holding a camera appeared, like a sparrow landing on a silent branch.

Click—the shutter snapped like ice cracking on a lake.

That single sound yanked Ling from her thoughts and spared the city, like a bell halting a stampede.

Who are you? Delete that photo! Her voice lashed like a whip in dry air.

By habit she reached behind her back, fingers grasping for her Scythe, and caught only cool air like mist.

When did I lose it? The question fluttered like a moth against glass.

She couldn’t recall when the fun weapon vanished, yet she wasn’t uneasy, like a tiger without a claw.

Still, a small pang pressed her chest, like a pebble in a shoe.

She lifted two pink fists to her chest, posing a sloppy stance like a child’s sketch.

It was all show, a sparrow puffing itself up before a hawk.

The man with the camera saw the caution in her eyes and laughed awkwardly, like a drumbeat stumbling.

Hey, hey, Lady Ling, it’s me, Wang Xiaoming, he said, words wobbling like noodles.

Why so wary of me? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already? His smile hung like a paper fan.

Wang... Wang Xiaoming? The name rose like steam, then settled as a face.

Her memories riffled like cards in a dealer’s hands and landed on what she needed.

This was the guy who called himself Wang Xiaoming and made her think he could turn into Decade, like a TV hero.

Later an accident sent him to her side, like a leaf blown across the river.

Mm, I remember, she said, the words drifting like petals.

Weren’t you shooting in the Mystic Realm just now? Why’d you follow, like a shadow?

Did Alicia send you here? Her gaze tilted like a curious sparrow.

No, I just came back for something, he said, eyes drifting like a lost kite.

From a distance, only he knew where that gaze had landed, like an arrow in fog.

Anyway, do you have business here, Lady Ling? His tone leveled like calm water.

Mm-hmm! Diligent me always has business, she said, puffing like a small bellows.

Do you know where King Alex usually is? Her hope peeked like sun through clouds.

Most people wouldn’t know that, like maps with missing roads.

But Wang Xiaoming wasn’t most people; he’d been the general here, like a pillar in a hall.

He pointed and gave turns—left here, straight for so many paces—words laying stones like a path.

A sketch map blossomed in her mind, like ink spreading on rice paper.

That’s about it; need me to say it again? His voice hovered like a dragonfly.

She checked the map in her head held firm, like a knot pulled tight.

No need, and thanks; if I searched alone, I’d wander forever like a drifting gourd.

No need to thank me, Lady Ling; I’m with you anyway, like a shadow at noon.

I don’t care about that, she said, shrugging like a willow in wind.

By the way, need my help with anything? Fighting’s best; I’m really good at it, she beamed like a fox.

Now imagine a tiny thing not even to your waist saying that—no man’s pride survives, like glass under hail.

Besides, what I’m doing doesn’t need fighting, he said, voice dry like straw.

Thanks to those trashy ministers rotting this place, no one goes out anymore, like snails in drought.

So I’m not in danger, he added, waving it off like smoke.

I see... matters of rule and power aren’t really my thing, she muttered like rain on eaves.

No need to mind these things, Lady Ling, he said, kindness soft as evening light.

Thanks for the concern, but I’m just visiting some old friends I used to live with, like a pilgrim returning.

Nothing will happen, he finished, the certainty flat as a pond.

Since Wang Xiaoming said so, Ling didn’t press, letting the thread drop like a cut kite.

Alright, I’m going, she said, feet itching like sparrows ready to fly.

Safe travels, my lady, he bowed, words falling like petals.

Ling nodded and set off again, her pace steady like drumbeats on a road.

But speaking of that, a thought poked her ribs like a twig.

So, in another world you bring white flowers to visit old friends, like snowfall in summer?

And you bring a whole armful, like carrying moonlight in both arms.

That didn’t match her old common sense, which cracked like thin ice.

Eh, forget it; different world, different customs, like rivers learning new banks.

She’d get used to it, she hummed, heart light as a kite string.