Home wraps me like a hearth-fire, softer than the cool sea’s silver skin outside.

Dreamsound has drifted off to make her cake, sweet steam like clouds over a hill.

My heart thumps like a drum in a shell; fine, I’ll test the new tricks while the kitchen sings.

Water affinity, like tides kissing sand.

Ice affinity, like frost writing runes on glass.

Mermaid form—huh, that’s actually a skill, not a habit—like scales flipping into moonlight.

Singing talent, maxed, like a lark at dawn.

Mimicry, like a chameleon under leaves.

Aside from these, I’m still the kid I was, like a pebble I recognize in a stream.

But my mana runs deeper now, like a hidden current under calm water.

My mind feels sharper, like a blade cooled in snow.

And Dreamsound’s mana pool—forget the size—her control is a loom, weaving silk thread by thread.

I swapped my tail for little feet the moment we came home, like trading a fish for a fawn.

I’ve lived by tail, so walking on two feels like stilts in sand.

But kicking both legs in water is pure play, like dragonflies skimming a pond, even if it swims worse than a tail.

Sniff, sniff.

Cream floats in the air like a white cloud snagged on a branch.

Wait—did that old crone Dreamsound make it?

No way.

A kitchen disaster turning out a cake?

I was ready to spend the night worshiping the toilet like a storm-battered shrine.

No, I have to look.

In the kitchen, a girl hovers midair like a petal caught on a breeze.

She’s painting the sixth and final tier, the crown of a sugar mountain.

Cream freckles her hands and cheeks like snowflakes on peach skin.

A calm smile sits there, sure as a lantern in mist.

Right now she’s a silly-cute pastry chef, flour-dusted and floating, like a sparrow wearing a toque.

Who gets cream on their face making a cake?

Apparently, her.

So it is her.

She’s making it live, like a magician rolling silk from an empty sleeve.

So she played me before—made me eat bread for two years, like gnawing on driftwood.

Tonight, she’s paying for this.

Dreamsound spots me peeking, and she laughs behind her hand like wind behind a fan.

“Shengsheng, the cake isn’t done yet.

Wait a bit, okay?

I added extra sugar, don’t worry.”

“That’s not it, Dream—why did you pretend you couldn’t bake when you clearly can?”

“Hm? I can bake, yes, but I can only bake, quack~”

Her voice slides like honey on warm bread.

“Problem, little Shengsheng?”

I bristle first, like a cat puffed up in rain, then words tangle like seaweed.

“But… I—mm!”

Something’s off, but I can’t pin it, like trying to grasp smoke.

“Forget it!

I was going to help, but since you’re such a master, be my guest.”

I flounce out like a wave slapping a rock and pretending it didn’t hurt.

When I’m gone, Qingyu Mengyin lets out a breath like dew slipping from a leaf.

“Whew.

Little Shengsheng is easier to fool than I feared.

Thought I was nearly found.”

What’s with me?

Heat beats in my chest like a kettle left on.

Why did I flare up?

I never used to.

Were those words too sharp, like shells underfoot?

Maybe I should apologize later, like smoothing sand after footprints.

“Shengsheng!

Come out, quick!

Cake’s on the hall table.

Make your wish soon, the clock’s turning like stars.”

Fine.

No more thinking.

Cake first, like rain before crops.

“This one’s good, right?

Mom designed it for ages,” she says, eyes like crescent moons over night water.

It’s a six-tier giant, taller than me, like a tower spun from clouds.

Each layer wears a different color of jam, like prayer flags strung across a pass.

Cream and chocolate lie even and clean, like frost over tilled earth.

It’s still warm, fresh from magic and oven, like bread hearting a winter room.

Magic really lets you do anything, like writing on water and having it stay.

I pinch off a corner with my fingers, light as plucking petals.

Mmm—unexpectedly amazing.

Strawberry’s sweet-sour hum melts into creamy richness, like sunset into lake.

The jam cuts the grease, neat as a breeze through bamboo.

The bite turns silky, like tofu sliding down a jade spoon.

Fresh cake is warm but not scalding, like spring sun on the palm.

Cold cream crowns it and lifts the flavor, like snow sharpening pine.

It’s addictive, like tides that keep returning.

Another piece.

Strawberry this time, like a blush on porcelain.

“How is it?

Mom’s own hands,” Dreamsound says, smiling like she’s already read my heart’s script.

“Average.”

I swipe the cream from my lip, cool as a moonlit blade.

“Don’t rush.

It’s just us two tonight.

Eat as long as you want, like lanterns burning till dawn.”

“I—can’t… eat… that—much.

Mm.

Got anything to drink?”

The cake sticks like a lump of cloud in my throat.

“Of course.

I chilled it earlier.

Your favorite—‘Xueming,’ like snow in a porcelain cup.”

“So you’re finally bringing it out?

I thought that was your family heirloom.”

“That was always for you, really.

Calling it an heirloom isn’t far off,” she purrs, like a cat with cream.

Without noticing, we finish a whole layer, like a tide erasing a sandcastle.

Do I really eat that much?

“Mm-hm.

I’m not sure the cake’s enough,” she says, voice light as windbells.

“No way!

It’s huge.

Even a crowd couldn’t finish it.”

“Not always.”

Turns out Dreamsound was right.

That mountain of cake vanishes like mist under sun, clean to the plate.

I never figure out where all that volume goes; my hands just don’t stop, like oars once they find rhythm.

Only after today do I learn the old rumor is true: girls have two different stomachs, like a squirrel with extra caches.

“Shengsheng, time to make a wish.

Got it ready?”

“Dream… can I owe you two first…”

Dreamsound’s mouth twitches, like a thread snagged on a needle.

“Then… your first wish?

You have to name one.”

“Dreamsound, I… want to go back to land.”

Her pupils tighten, a ripple under ice.

The words on her tongue freeze, and nothing comes out but breath.

“…Can you tell me why?”

“I’ve got things I have to finish, like knots I tied myself.

My friends, my little sister…

I can’t just forget them and start fresh, like tossing old letters.

I dragged them into too much already.

At least I can’t let my ‘death’ keep tangling their lives.”

“But, Shengsheng, have you thought about how dangerous land is for you now?”

Her face stays calm, like a lake holding storms beneath.

“I don’t know how many want me dead, but it’s not a few.

I don’t fear them, but you can’t, not yet.

You’re still a child.”

“I know.

You can’t stop me, but recklessness has its price, like fire for forged steel.

After all these years… you still won’t change… will you?”

Her voice trembles, a paper lantern flickering in wind.

“That’s my wish.

Dream… I promise I’ll be fine.

I really have to go, like a letter that must be mailed.”

“…I see.

Because of what I am, I can’t go with you.

If you must leave, you’ll accept my terms.”

“Mm.”

I’m in the wrong here, like a debtor at the gate.

Whatever she asks, I’ll agree.

“First, you wear this necklace.

It guards you, and it’s your last trump card, like a talisman sewn into a sleeve.

If you must, crush it to contact me.

I’ll come at once.”

She pulls a finely worked necklace from her dimensional pouch, like a fish from a still pool.

A trump card—good.

I can take that, like a knife tucked in a boot.

“Second, if you use it, you don’t go out alone again without my permission.

Not once.”

That’s… fine.

I can accept it, like rain you can plan around.

“Third, from now on you train hard.

When you hit the level I’m satisfied with, I’ll let you go.”

“Hah?

How do I know what that is?

What if you demand I be as strong as before?”

“No,” Dreamsound narrows her eyes, like a crescent moon sharpening to a blade.

“At least stronger than when we first met.”

“How’s that possible?

Do I wait twenty more years?”

“I think less than ten will do.

You used to be so weak, after all.”

“…Thanks.

That stung,” I mutter, like a leaf stilled after wind.