“Ah-haha...” Yaya laughed, paper-thin with embarrassment, like a leaf shivering in a stray breeze. Words like that, she’d only heard from her older brothers.
Meanwhile, in a forest where no sunlight ever pooled, the bull‑headed man returned to the Flower of the Other Shore’s base, like a shadow slipping home. He lifted a threefold twist‑neck mask, and beneath it lay a weary, middle‑aged face, weathered like old stone.
“Yo, you’re here too?” He glanced at the blue‑haired woman in the corner and gave a sheepish grin, a crescent cut into dusk.
“...” Qing Feng Yuelian said nothing. She simply watched the screen, where three blue‑haired girls clung together like seaweed braided by the tide.
“Looks like you got what you wanted. Not going to say hello?” His voice drifted like smoke across a still pond.
“No need.” Her reply was flat, a blade laid on ice.
“Heh. Fair. We chose to shed everything when we joined,” the bull‑headed priest murmured, smiling faintly. He dipped his head and walked deeper, like a shadow slipping into a cave.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like you.” Her eyes never left the screen. “Only the end we aim for is the same.”
“Who here isn’t?” another unfamiliar priest spoke, his tone like gravel. “Don’t act high, Azure Priestess. If we weren’t cornered, who’d forsake living and pray to death?”
Toward death, we seek life—like seeds under snow, waiting for spring’s thaw.
“Qing Feng Yuelian, you know the Far North well, yes?” A cold voice pressed in, like wind off a glacier. “That’s next. The gate between the living world and the Underworld. Don’t let feelings sway the plan.”
“Of course, Bishop. I won’t.” She nodded lightly, a reed in a low current, and never once looked back at the figure behind her.
The woman they called Bishop didn’t mind the slight. Habit wrapped her like a winter coat; usefulness was the only fire she needed.
According to the plan, they would open three main seals in a month, like lifting stones from a riverbed. Then they’d unbar the Far North’s gate to the Underworld, like breaking ice on a sealed well.
“I’ll go to the Far North early and make ready,” Yuelian said, her voice a thin line of frost. “Don’t slow me down.”
“Naturally.”
A mysterious priest, unseen until now, spoke and stepped from the dark corner like a moth from pitch.
“I’ll handle the Demon Domain’s seal. The Elf Clan’s is already undone. The last, the Hierarch will handle herself— in the human nation ruled by the Kelinveil line.”
“Kelinveil?”
“Yes. The country where that blue‑haired girl’s little sister lives. To avoid needless trouble, the Hierarch goes in person.”
“Let’s hope it all goes smoothly.”
“It will.” Their certainty rang like iron under ice.
The Flower of the Other Shore could challenge the world alone, a storm‑armada on a black sea. Save for the bottomless unknown that is Qingsheng Tangxue, none could stand against them.
...
“Ugh, why do I have to help cook too...” Tangxue’s groan rose like steam from a kettle.
“How about you go find ingredients, little Shengsheng?” The suggestion fell light as a feather.
“No.” The refusal was a pebble dropped into a bowl.
“It’s just the two of us cooking. We can’t ask Mama Nuoya to help, right?” The thought hung like a damp towel.
“...” Nuoya’s cooking—words failed like a blown fuse.
“Better not,” Tangxue muttered, a bitter nod like biting into rind. She’d tried Yaya’s cooking before; no wonder Dreamsound was shorter as a kid, like a sapling stunted by poor soil.
As for Tangxue, her genes seemed set in stone; she’d have grown like this even eating dirt, a wildflower through gravel.
“I’ll go prep ingredients then. Little Shengsheng, make whatever we can with what we have. Mama will be back soon!” The cheer was a bell in a quiet lane.
“Mm...” Her heart softened first, like sugar in warm tea, then her hands moved. Dreamsound still wants me to call her Mom… fine, let her have that. Tangxue smiled and closed her eyes; her small hands worked by feel, quick as fish in a stream.
Elsewhere, Yaya wandered the rebuilt cottage, gaze skimming the photos Dreamsound had hung, like swallows stitching the eaves. Many were snapped when Tangxue was too young to protest— even the moment the little thing puffed up and lunged to bite, those tiny tiger teeth flashing like stars in the camera’s light.
“So many years apart, and Dreamsound became a proper mother,” Yaya said with a wry smile, a tide pulling at her ankles. “Why do I feel more like the kid...”
After decades of careful tending, the ocean had healed, a patient sea breathing again. The Merfolk were battered but unbroken like a reef after storm. Many still wished to hail Qingyu Mengyin as queen, but Dreamsound no longer chased that crown.
That afternoon, the three of them shared a reunion meal on a small island, a table on the open air like a raft of light. Dishes crowded the boards; aromas wreathed the sea like mist that refused to lift.
At the same time, war burst elsewhere like a wildfire under night.
“Hello, Bai Zhi of Kelinveil.” The woman with black hair streaked in red spoke calmly, like embers painted in ink, and nodded toward the golden‑haired queen seated in the garden.
“...You’re an officer of the Flower of the Other Shore, aren’t you?” Bai Zhi’s voice held steady like a held shield.
“As you see, human king.” The woman drew back her hood. Crimson eyes, calm and mysterious, glowed like coals in snow—glory and holiness long familiar, reason the only ember left.
“What are you here for?” Bai Zhi forced her face still, a lake under wind. The pressure she faced was like carrying a thousand mountains; her arms would fail soon.
“Simple.” The woman’s tone was flat as slate. “Evacuate everyone from this city. I don’t want mass casualties. The seal under the city will unravel in three days. You have two to prepare.”
“...?” Bai Zhi’s smile stiffened like frost on glass. “Should I take that as a declaration of war?”
“Interpret it as you like. It’s advice, not an order.” The Hierarch’s eyes stayed cool. “As emperor, isn’t your duty to your people’s lives? I’m reminding you out of kindness.”
“Kindness?” Bai Zhi’s gaze sharpened, a blade kissed by ice. “Out of kindness, you’ll break a seal my clan built with countless lives, thousands of years ago?”
“Yes.” The word fell like a stone into deep water.
“Then there’s nothing to discuss.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” She closed her eyes and dipped her head, a leaf touching a stream. “I never thought I could avoid war or make you leave. I only want more of your people alive. If you don’t care, then pretend I never came. Farewell.”
She turned to go, urgency pricking her skin like sleet. A violent aura was rushing closer like a thunderhead; this wasn’t the time to clash.
“Then see you in three days, Queen Bai Zhi...” The Hierarch gave her a meaningful look, a knife’s glint, and stepped away.
“Wait!” Bai Zhi struck to stop her, a flash like lightning over marble.
Golden chains snapped from nowhere and bound her lifted arm to the table, instant as a sprung trap.
Bai Zhi clenched her teeth, ice between molars, and watched the woman depart. She wanted to hold her until Xuewei arrived— but this was the imperial city. If a great battle broke out here, everyone inside would be snuffed like lanterns in a gale.
