The orphanage Linyue Yao funded sat midway between Starfate City and the White Snow Forest, like a lone lamp between city glow and snowbound silence. Its location looked shady at a glance, but she’d registered it in the capital—under an alias, of course.

She knew the road from the White Snow Forest to the orphanage by heart, like footprints pressed into frost. Yet every time, the same sigh rose first, then her stride: a ninth-rank Sovereign, reduced to scavenging the woods for a living. That sting cut colder than mountain wind. No one could be more embarrassing than her, right?

Soon, girl and wolf slipped out of the trees and neared the orphanage. The bundle in her arms might be a person—or not. That judgment would have to wait.

“Ahh—finally home,” she breathed, like steam curling from a kettle. “For the next few months I don’t have to hustle. Bliss.”

The one-eyed white wolf huffed twice, disdain sharp as icicles.

“Hey, stupid mutt,” she said, annoyance first, words after. “Can you hunt?”

The white wolf tilted its head. A single amber eye blinked, a question-mark drawn in fur.

Who asks a wolf if it can hunt?

“How about a deal,” she coaxed, smoothing her tone like hands over silk. “You go out every day—uh, every week—and bring back a few wild boars. Hey! What’s with that look! A few boars can’t be hard for a wolf. You can’t freeload in my house forever, buddy.”

They wrangled through a wall of species and tone and still struck a bargain: each week, as long as the blue-haired little girl wasn’t going hungry, the white wolf would drop off two or three boars. Not ordinary boars either. In the White Snow Forest, boars grew three to five times the usual size, like boulders on hooves. One would feed the whole orphanage for days.

“I’m back~” Linyue Yao told the empty air at the gate, voice floating like a lantern’s glow.

…Right. It was night.

Forget it. First, a bath for the little one. Dirt clung to him like wet leaves.

She set the small child gently on a chair. Then she slipped to her room for clothes. As for the white wolf outside… it could spend a night under the stars.

“Whew… good thing I stocked some kids’ clothes,” she murmured, thoughts fluttering first, steps following. “Otherwise tonight would be a pain. I’ll wash him myself. Hee.”

“Come on, little bean,” she said softly. The tenderness came first; the motion was a whisper after. “It’s been a while since you bathed, right? Let Mom give you a proper wash.”

And I’ll check for any injuries while I’m at it.

The orphanage was simple, but it had what mattered, like a sparrow with complete organs. Linyue Yao liked comfort the way a cat liked sunbeams; she was picky about her nest. The bathhouse renovation? She’d gone a little lavish. Hence the debt that clung to her like a shadow.

The bath was in the basement. Most days she kept it locked, a gate against little gremlins with quick legs.

“Water first,” she breathed, voice as small as a drip.

Fresh water was rare on this continent, a cracked-earth secret. It had hardly rained in a century, especially inland. Many didn’t even have enough to drink.

But Linyue Yao didn’t worry. As a spatial mage, she used subspace as a snow pantry, hauling drifts from the forest. When she needed fresh water, she melted snow and filtered it a few times. It wasn’t perfect—specks like dust motes in sunlight—but better than nothing.

Soon, with magitech humming like quiet bees, the bath filled with warm water. Linyue Yao undressed briskly, lifted the little bean, and sat by the pool. She loosened the cloth… robe… wrapped around him. The skin revealed was milk-pale with a rose glow, smooth as peeled lotus root.

She looked away to steady herself, then got on with it, hands steady as chopsticks.

Regret hit a heartbeat later. Bliss really is not knowing.

She’d seen something that shouldn’t have been a surprise—but it still knocked the wind from her. The truth landed crisp as winter light: the child was a boy. The feeling was like unwrapping a long-awaited gift and realizing you guessed wrong.

She almost crumpled, then exhaled fog and let it fade. She checked him quickly for bruises and scratches, professional as a midwinter nurse.

No illusion, no trick. Not a special hybrid either—just a boy. A very cute one.

For a heartbeat, even tea tasted bland.

She sighed, a leaf sinking in quiet water. Then she stepped into the bath with him.

A bath’s a bath. Boy or not, he needed it. She’d seen plenty. Maybe… a boy’s fine too. He was this adorable, after all.

She wasn’t the type to toy with a kid’s future. She’d never force him into dresses. Unless he wanted to.

“Mm… boy or not, his skin’s really good,” she muttered, then shook her head. “No, right, kid skin’s kid skin.”

“So strange. No trace of other races on him. No special aura either,” she mused, thoughts like clouds, hands scrubbing like rain. “Yet how could a human child be that strong… No, no child of any race could do that. Is it the sword?”

She rinsed him, steam rising like white serpents.

Should’ve picked a different secondary path than Berserker, she thought, rubbing an invisible ache. The older I get, the grittier my skin gets.

The little bean puffed his lips from all the relentless scrubbing. It made her chuckle, a bell behind steam. “What a cute little thing. Okay, okay, I’ll go easier. If he wakes and fusses, that’s trouble.”

He slept deep, like a pebble at the bottom of a lake. From his face, the dreams didn’t look sweet.

“Alright, time to get out,” she said at last. They’d soaked long enough. She carried him from the water and towel-dried him, then used a thread of magic to dry his hair. Hair took ages, and a good rubdown felt better anyway.

His hair ran to his ankles, a night river. She tied it the way she tied her own, into two big buns like round moons, then slipped him into the small pajamas she’d set aside.

“Tonight, you’ll sleep with me.”

“Good night, little bean.”

…

Morning. When Linyue Yao opened her eyes, a pair of gold eyes stared at her, curious as cats.

“…”

“Morning, little bean~”

“…”

“You can’t understand me?”

He shook his head.

…He understood that!

“Um… your guardian asked me to take care of you,” she said, smoothing nerves like smoothing sheets. “From now on, you’ll live with everyone here.”

“…”

“You do understand me, right? If you do, nod.”

He nodded the instant she finished.

“Guess it was how I said it,” she said with a rueful smile.

“It’s sudden, but I’m your caretaker now. One thing… I don’t know your name yet. Do you have one?”

“Ling Yehan,” he answered without a blink.

“Oh, so you can talk. Why didn’t you answer me before?”

“…”

“Do you only know your own name?”

He nodded.

“I see.”

Many high-tier species had young who could understand speech early, but without learning, they couldn’t produce it. Every race named their children at birth, though. So lots of high-tier kids could say their own names from day one.

“Then I’ll call you Xiaohan from now on. You can call me Lin… sis.” She hesitated at the end. He clearly had a mother who loved him. Asking him to call her Mom felt too much.

“Sis… ter?” he tested, voice small as dew.

“Mm. Sister.”

“Sister.”

Being called that put a quiet bloom in her chest. “Again. One more time.”

“Sister!”

“Mom!” The door burst open like wind, and a little girl with a neat single ponytail rushed in, clothes plain as morning bread. She was flushed with urgency. “Mom, Xiaohu and Pengpeng are fighting again!”

“…Mom? Is that a new kid next to you? Why… why aren’t you wearing clothes, Mom…”

Next time, lock the door.

She liked sleeping naked. It wasn’t like she shared beds with anyone most nights.

“Xiaojing, step out for a bit. I’ll get dressed and come.”

“Oh… okay.” Xiaojing ducked out, face red as an apple.

That girl probably misunderstood something. Whatever. First, go deal with those two brats. Ruining my good mood…

“Xiaohan, stay here and don’t move. I’m going to… get breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

She left with a smile that closed like a fan. The door clicked. Ling Yehan sat on the bed, puzzlement pooling around him like still water.

Outside, her smile dropped. She pinched her own cheeks, tried to look fierce, then marched toward the troublemakers’ room, anger first, footsteps after.

“Open up! Surprise inspection! Nobody move!” She kicked the door open, a spanking stick in her hand like a judge’s gavel.

No brawl. Instead, two little rascals slept tangled together, arms looped like vines.

…Not a good time to barge in.

As if. They’d heard her coming and played dead. Cute.

She smirked.

Fine. Let it pass today. They’d been brawling a moment ago, but now they were hugging like cubs in one nest. Their bond ran warmer than she’d thought. Stomping in would make her look stiff.

She smiled, shut the door gently, and dropped a tiny sleep spell like a feather. If you’re already cuddling, sleep a little longer.

She’d wake them at noon for lunch.

Today’s lunch: roasted bear paw.

Right, breakfast. Don’t forget the kids’ breakfast.

She was slow in the mornings, like a cat chasing sunbeams, so she never made breakfast too grand—though she knew breakfast should fill you.

Today: sliced toast and hot milk.

“Xiaojing, go call everyone down for breakfast. And don’t disturb Pengpeng and Xiaohu,” she said, with the kind of gentle smile that glimmered like moonlight on a blade.

Xiaojing shivered. “Got it, Mom Lin.”

That smile looked soft. It felt scary. Why? She shook her head. Maybe she’d understand when she grew up.

The children trickled down one after another. Including Ling Yehan, there were fewer than ten in the orphanage, like stars you could count on your fingers. Normally, an orphanage wouldn’t have so few, but this place sat in a ghostly spot. Most people never even noticed it at all.

Most of the children Linyue Yao took in were ones she found herself, picked up like stray sparrows from every corner.

Almost all were unwanted, small and pitiful, like bruised peaches at day’s end.

Except for Ling Yehan and the two little brothers curled together asleep like kittens, the rest sat at the table.

They chatted with Linyue Yao about yesterday’s small joys.

The room hummed like a warm breeze.

Her breakfast was simple, plain as rice and water.

Steam curled like morning mist.

Yet each child ate with care, as if savoring rare tea poured from thin porcelain.

They didn’t waste food, a rule cinched tight like a belt.

If they had, the wind in some city’s dark corner would’ve snuffed them like a gutter candle.

Um… Mama Lin, what’s up with the big white wolf outside?

A sharp-eyed child suddenly pointed at the window, finger straight as an arrow.

The one-eyed white wolf, fur bright as frost, pressed both paws to the wall and stared straight at us with pleading eyes.

A thorn of guilt pricked; did this guy really wait out there all night?