Loli-lover—that label on the Holy Maiden froze in my mind like frost sealing stone.

So me standing at the doorway was basically offering myself up, like a rabbit stepping to a wolf’s den.

Why’s she hugging only me? Snow Orchid’s the actual loli, like a tiny bud under spring snow.

“So that’s how it is,” the Holy Maiden’s voice flowed like warm tea, “I really am Her Highness of the Church. They say I’m the reincarnation of the previous Holy Maiden… Sometimes strange scenes ripple in my head like lanterns drifting on water.” She rubbed the little loli in her arms, kneading that soft cheek like dough, eyes shining like a harvest moon.

They say the first Holy Maiden looked almost identical to the current one, a mirror on a lake. After a string of tests, the Archbishop declared to the whole continent that our Holy Maiden was that first one reborn, a phoenix returning to its nest.

That first Holy Maiden was said to be closest to the One God, like a star brushing heaven. Her power stood at the summit of the world, a lone peak against the sky. Six thousand years ago, the world cracked like shattered glass; the Gate of the Wraith Domain swung open like a rusted hinge, and countless wraiths drifted out like cold mist, devouring life like locusts and staining the plane like spilled ink. Wherever their gloom touched, no living thing could endure, as if winter swallowed spring. Everyone thought that broken world had reached its dusk, and they wouldn’t even get hell—only the wraiths’ mouth, a tide pulling them under.

Until the Holy Maiden appeared, a lamp in storm-dark. She used god-touched magic like pillars of light to force shut the gate linking to the Wraith Domain, and she purified the wraith legions, including four Wraith Kings, like rain washing soot from eaves. Purified, those wraiths became the Dead, minds returned like dawn after fog. They saw their hate like thorns in their hands, and they became the residents of the City of the Dead, a quiet place under a pale moon. The four kings became the Dead’s sovereigns, lanterns watching four corners; to repay the Holy Maiden’s grace, they watch the Gate of the Ghost Prison like wardens at a frozen bridge.

The land once polluted became the Dead’s home, a field turned silver by frost. The soil the Holy Maiden refined could host ordinary folk like a mild autumn, yet its yin was heavy, a chill that seeped like rain through clothes; fine for a tour like a stroll through night gardens, not fine to settle, unless you liked living in twilight.

Still, every year, odd races chose that place for retirement, like cranes gliding to quiet lakes. To keep the Dead from roaming and scaring the living like owls at noon, the City of the Dead set rules: those of the underworld can’t meddle in the sunlit world, like shadows staying behind thresholds.

And that’s the origin of the City of the Dead and the tale of the first Holy Maiden, a story like incense winding through a temple hall.

Xing Muhan—that was her name, bright as a star on dark water. Though she served as the Church’s Holy Maiden, she adored cute children, especially the soft kind like steamed buns and the sweet-faced kind like ripe peaches. The little loli in her arms fit her tastes like a tailor-made robe, pushing every XP button like wind ringing chimes.

At least, she thought, I should be her friend first, like planting a peach tree for later blossoms.

“Sister Muhan… is it really okay to tell us all this?” Snow Orchid’s voice fluttered like a sparrow’s; worry tugged like thin clouds, but beneath it her joy bubbled like spring, because her idol was sharing secrets like hidden petals.

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling like sun through bamboo, “It’s not that important, anyway.”

“But what’s up with little Tangxue? She’s gone quiet like a pond at dusk.” Xing Muhan’s finger poked my round cheek like a dragonfly tapping water, an itch of mischief.

“Probably you broke her,” said Boss Yuqiu, who was busy slacking like a cat sunning in a doorway, grin smooth as oiled wood.

“Don’t,” I swatted her hand away like a willow flicking rain. “I’m thinking.”

Ah~ even her annoyed face is adorable, Xing Muhan’s eyes hummed like bees over clover.

“Sister Muhan, your expression is… glowing like a lantern.”

“Eh? What’s wrong?” Her head tilted like a curious dove.

“Nothing,” Snow Orchid murmured, the word falling like a leaf.

“Right, hey, Holy Maiden—didn’t you say the Church just popped out some Holy Son?”

“It’s Sister Muhan,” Snow Orchid tugged my sleeve like a breeze.

“Oh. Sister Muhan the Holy Maiden, you said a Holy Son showed up?”

Xing Muhan’s face froze for a heartbeat like ice catching river flow, then smoothed like silk. “Yeah. I don’t really get it… They say that Holy Son was a messenger sent by the deity during a national rite, like a star falling on an altar. I was out traveling, like a swallow on the wing, so I didn’t preside.”

Is it really okay to spill all this to strangers? I thought, my doubt pooling like rainwater, this Holy Maiden is way too easy to coax, words opening like a loose fan.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” she went on, voice gentle as dusk. “The Deputy Bishop asked me to look after that Holy Son… I think his name was Yanfengle, like wind in maples. Oh, right—didn’t little Orchid say you’re students at Heavenly Melody Academy? That Yanfengle studies there too… Have you seen him? What does he look like? Is he cute, like a kitten in snow?”

“Don’t ask. Haven’t seen him.” I let the disdain show like a cold edge, my tone dropping like shade.

“Sorry, Sister Muhan, we haven’t,” Snow Orchid said, her memory a scattered field of wildflowers—most classmates were nameless stems, only a few familiar buds.

“I see…” Xing Muhan sighed, voice like feather snow. “Honestly, a big reason I came out to play was to avoid meeting him… Feels like a hassle, and I’m a little shy, like a deer in a new grove, ahaha…”

Could’ve fooled me. You hug people at first sight like tide grabbing driftwood, and you say you’re shy? My doubt pricked like a thorn.

“Ah, little Tangxue is an exception!” Xing Muhan’s thought sparkled like sugar crystals. “She’s just too cute.”

“So honored to get your special care,” I said, pushing her cheek away like moving a pillow.

“Ehehe~” Her laugh bubbled like spring water.

“Hey, Holy Maiden, your job’s that easy? You arrive in the morning and sneak out to play by afternoon like a kite slipping its string?”

“I’m not sneaking!” She puffed up like a little teapot. “I told the staff, like setting a note on the table. And even if I ran, they couldn’t stop me, like reeds failing to stop wind…”

“Abusing power,” I muttered, the words dark as a cloud under my breath.

Facing a loli-lover, I always only saw their worst, like smoke hiding stars, choosing to ignore any bright side on purpose, a stubborn winter.

“I’m not abusing power,” she blinked, eyes damp as dewdrops. “Little Tangxue, believe sister, wuu, wuu…”

“Whimper gremlin,” I said, a flat pebble skipping across her plea.

Xing Muhan took the combo like a paper fan catching rain, and fell silent, sulking with cheeks puffed like buns. To restore SAN like winding a clock, she poked my face again, a rhythm like tapping a drum.

“Don’t poke me… loli-lover.” My glare slid like ice over stone.

Xing Muhan had learned to endure like a pine in snow; at moments like this, keep poking and don’t speak, or I’d brand her with another title like stamping clay.

Maybe someday a single poke will make her obedient, she thought, hope rising like a kite on a breeze.