She jerked back, panic slamming through her like icy rain. Reason and raw curiosity wrestled like street dogs. In the end she leaned in for a peek, and her legs folded like cut strings; she dropped on the pavement.

A man, cleaved clean in two, had tumbled into a trash bin like broken timber. His death-mask was pure terror, as if a nightmare had slipped its cage. High above, a ragged young man on a high-rise wore a crooked moon of a grin. A machete sat in his fist, cold steel gleaming like winter light.

“Ahhhhh!!!” Her scream died in the alley, snuffed like a candle in wind. Her body was sliced to pieces, then melted into blood-water that seeped into the earth like rain. Not just here—the whole city, the whole country, was blooming with scenes like that, one after another.

“Mmm—waaah… I’m finally full.” Tangxue sounded lazy, like a sun-drunk cat. “Xuewei, you?”

“I’ve been full for ages.” Xuewei smiled, mischief like a quicksilver flicker in her eyes. “Brother, you can really put it away, huh? You don’t know how people are staring at you… pfft.”

?

Tangxue had bundled herself up like a round ball. To passersby, she looked like a proper little piglet. Beside her, dishes were stacked into a tiny pagoda—dozens high.

Tangxue rolled her eyes at her sister and said nothing. Small stuff didn’t touch her.

To keep private life untouched, top-tier powerhouses dulled their magic, veiling presence like morning mist over a lake. Even with looks that stunned like moonlight on snow, if you didn’t make waves, no one noticed you in a crowd.

“Feels like the spell’s wearing thin, Brother. Should we head out?” Xuewei’s voice was a breeze before rain.

“Mm…” Tangxue saw the ordinary folk trying to draw near and shivered, a chill like frost threading her spine. She sprang up, paid, and followed Xuewei out of the dessert shop.

“So, what now?” Xuewei’s words fluttered like a vexed bird. “Tea time’s over. Two hours till dinner. The amusement park’s a no-go. The malls here are tiny beside the royal capital, and the shelves are embarrassingly bare. Ugh, why now—why right when Brother came to see me?”

She wanted to beat the jerk who wrecked the royal capital for three days and nights, like a storm pounding a cliff. But that guy never meant to clash with her—he broke the seal, traded a few blows with Royal Sister, then left. Xuewei didn’t touch a single hair.

After that, it was nonstop: suppressing monsters fleeing the seal beneath the royal capital, a drumbeat of crises with no rest before Brother arrived.

“Easy, easy.” Tangxue patted her back, gentle as palm-leaves on water. “As long as I’m with you, anywhere’s fun.”

“But… but…!” Frustration tightened in Xuewei’s chest like a drawn bow. The feeling hit hard, as if ten years of careful plans had been declared useless with one breath.

Tangxue couldn’t stand the slump in her sister’s eyes; tenderness rose like warm tea steam. She stepped up like a brother should.

“If you don’t have a place in mind, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Hm…?”

“We haven’t gone together to visit Mom Linyue Yao at the orphanage in ages, have we?”

“No, I went last week…”

“I mean me!” Tangxue shot Xuewei a look, sharp as a flicked fan. “We haven’t gone together for a long time, right?”

“Mm. Since Brother got rebellious, we’ve barely gone back together to see Mom Linyue Yao.”

A long, flat stare stretched between them like a drawn bowstring. Tangxue coughed, awkwardness fluttering like a sparrow.

“Anyway, let’s go now.”

Xuewei nodded lightly, calm washing back like tide. Mom Linyue Yao wasn’t far from this city; if Brother wanted to go, she was all in.

“Hey… Brother, don’t you feel it? Something’s off.”

“Uh? Is it?” Tangxue glanced at her, blank as clear glass. She felt nothing.

“The air… it smells of blood.” Disgust flickered over Xuewei’s face like a shadow cloud. She cut her gaze to the right.

“Mm… now that you say it, yeah. Should we do something?” Tangxue watched her, question poised like a blade.

“Let me handle it, Brother. I’m used to this kind of dirty work.” Xuewei dipped her chin. Her awareness flowed that way like a stream, quick and silent.

“Found it, Brother. Back in a flash.”

Tangxue nodded, a quiet lantern of trust. She watched Xuewei slip into the side alley.

“The stench is heavy…” As she stepped into the corner, disgust surged like a bitter wave. She covered her mouth and nose with her right hand. Her golden eyes swept the place like twin suns, and she traced the source in an instant.

A woman with hair like a tangled net crouched there, soaked in blood, gnawing a man’s chest like a starving dog. The man could only rasp weak sounds, thin as moth wings. His heart had been struck; his life was already falling like dusk.

A corpse? A zombie?

The female corpse snapped toward Xuewei, and lunged with speed no ordinary eyes could read—like a hawk stooping. Xuewei met her with a single kick, a knife of motion. The body slammed into the wall with a dull thud, and shards of flesh scattered like wet leaves.

…So weak.

The shattered tissue bled into the ground, melting like salt in rain. Not just the woman—the man she’d bitten faded too, his corpse drawn down into the earth. Xuewei froze for a beat; this wasn’t simple murder.

Again? Why does something rotten pop up every time I’m with Brother?!

She bit down, anger stinging like pepper, and stomped—held back just in time to avoid an earthquake’s growl. She pulled out a small mirror, dabbed the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief, wronged and weary like a drenched sparrow.

Forget it. This time I’ll be selfish too.

She called the city guards, voice steady like a bell. She told them to secure the scene and shared how to reach Royal Sister. If a crisis rose beyond them, they were to contact Her Majesty the Queen.

When it was done, Xuewei let out a breath, relief loosening like a knot undone. That should do.

Before leaving, she glanced at the ground again. Something down there was changing, a strange force fermenting like dark wine in a sealed jar.

“Back already, Xuewei? How’d it go?”

“All handled.” Xuewei smiled lightly, a curve like a crescent moon, and left it there.

“Mm. Good.” Tangxue nodded and didn’t press. No one wants to replay scenes like that.

They chatted as they walked toward the nearby station, bound for the orphanage where Mom Linyue Yao lived. If they moved now, they’d make it before dinner.

“Bring proper gifts, okay? Mom Linyue Yao still has a bunch of kids, Brother. If you show up empty-handed, those little rascals won’t let you off.” Xuewei snickered, a spark like firecrackers. At the word “kids,” Tangxue’s head throbbed like a drum; those little punks had tormented her plenty. Still, years pass—surely they’d grown up by now.

Kids from the orphanage learn to rely on themselves; that’s their road forward. At eighteen, even if they want to stay, Mom Linyue Yao sends them out, firm as winter law. Truth is, most leave by fourteen or fifteen to study. Only in the big city did Tangxue learn that Mom Linyue Yao’s status wasn’t ordinary—big names in town gave her face like respect at a shrine.

They say Mom Linyue Yao was once a Hero—born a commoner, yet carrying a foundation deeper than noble heirs. In this world, gifts beyond the norm come from bloodlines or God’s grace; such people are called Heroes. Ling Yehan had been a Hero too; before she knew her origin, she thought her blood was a mutation, a wild branch on a family tree.

Is there really a way to climb step by step to the peak?

Tangxue had met many strong ones, almost all from long lines, power stacked like bricks through generations until they reached a realm called divine. But that divine title is only divine to mortals; before greater beings, they’re still ants in sunlight.

If I count the thousands, tens of thousands of years… even a grain a day could become a mountain. Maybe my strength was grown, layer by layer.

She opened her right hand and looked into her palm. A delicate snowflake formed slowly, crystal blooming like frost on glass.