“But brother, didn’t you used to look just like this?” Xuewei tilts her head like a curious sparrow, eyes misted with doubt at Tangxue.

“Huh...?”

Just as Tangxue’s ready to argue, a wolf taller than a house drops in like a falling mountain, then plants itself beside Xuewei like a goofy husky, tongue a wet ribbon.

“Erlang, you were quick this time!” Xuewei’s laugh rings like little bells as her palm sinks into thick fur, then she piles her packs on its back like small hills.

A behemoth on the street barely stirs ripples; the city’s a calm lake that’s seen this storm before.

Its master is Linyue Yao’s pet—she’s the orphanage head whose name rides the wind for ten years, known for raising heroes.

The giant wolf wags a banner of a tail; droplets bead on its tongue and nearly splatter Tangxue, but she flicks aside like a swallow.

“You’re...?” Tangxue stares, memory fogging; in her past, Linyue Yao only kept a one-eyed wolf.

“She’s that one-eyed wolf’s descendant! After you left, this little one was born. She just grows like bamboo—fast.”

“A bit fast?”

Tangxue looks at the beast and goes silent, a stone sinking in a well; even dragons take centuries to grow up, right?

Catching her brother’s doubt, Xuewei’s voice pours like warm tea. “She’s not grown yet—at most like a ten-year-old human.”

“Uh...”

“Brother, get up here! Why’re you stuck on that?” Xuewei’s gripe is a breeze that pokes, half sigh, half shove.

Mm... true. Tangxue shakes her head like splashing water, letting that memory blur like morning mist.

“I’m coming!”

The wolf’s back is a heated cushion; fur like cloud-warm silk, spine solid as sunbaked stone. Up here, falling feels impossible.

They ride, circling half the city like tracing ribbons, buy their gifts, then streak toward plains like a green sea. On the way, the beast snatches a wild boar like a brown boulder and gulps it whole. From city to orphanage takes less than half an hour; as a child, Tangxue remembers time stretching like taffy into half a day.

“We’re back.” The words drop like a pebble in a familiar pond.

“Yeah...” Xuewei gazes at the sprawling orphanage, a sleeping giant under new dawn, and somehow it feels fresh as dew again.

“Xuewei...” At the gate, Tangxue’s heart flutters like a caged bird; she lowers her head, cheeks warm. “Like this, how do I face her? If I explain everything end to end, won’t it eat so much time?”

“If you hate the hassle, I’ll explain for you, okay?” Xuewei smiles, a crescent moon over calm water.

“Uh, I’ll do it myself...” Tangxue’s head droops like a wilting leaf.

Kids playing outside spot them, wave bright as flags, then thump over with feet like drumbeats to greet Xuewei.

“Big Sister Xuewei!”

“Hey there, Canglan.” Xuewei’s hand brushes the girl’s hair like wind over wheat.

Hmm, a girl I don’t know. Looks like Mom Yao found another child cast aside by the tide...

In Tangxue’s memory, Mom Yao only kept those who’d lost both parents; the lost or briefly parted, she’d guide home along a thread, not adopt.

“I remember when I left, Mom Yao was troubled because of me. Do idiots among the nobles still dump their kids here?” Tangxue asks with a silk-wrapped grin that’s a little knife.

“After a few beatdowns from Mom Yao, fewer—but some still don’t quit...” Xuewei clicks her tongue, a pebble on stone. She can’t fathom nobles tossing away cushioned lives to send kids here. If she could choose, she’d have had a worry-free childhood with her brother, a warm house like a steady hearth!

Life in the orphanage wasn’t torment... but only because her brother was a lamp in the dark. Xuewei still remembers bowls that were moons one meal and empty the next—hunts returning like hollow wind, or all-in investments falling like leaves.

Bottom line, they went hungry plenty as kids; their stomachs beat dull drums. Only after they stood on their own did life drift into calmer water.

“Maybe they value Mom Yao’s teaching... Mm.” The thought curls like smoke; her teaching’s a lamp that doesn’t flicker.

Mom Yao’s philosophy is solid, but not far from noble schools; she won’t let kids roam into danger. Combat for her brother and Xuewei was ink turned into scars, earned in real fight.

“Xuewei? What’re you two whispering about out there... If you’re here, why not come in?” Linyue Yao stands in the yard, voice sweeping the threshold like a broom. Her eyes, cool as autumn water, slide to the newcomer. “And the one beside you is...”

“Mm...” Xuewei glances at her brother; the nod falls like a leaf to the right place. “She’s Ling Yehan! Mom Yao, for all kinds of reasons my brother had to become like this, but she’s still my brother!”

“Ling Yehan?” Linyue Yao gapes, then studies Tangxue, lantern-light circling. She’d seen her before, but a close look is a rare fruit—why waste it?

The more she looks, the more her gaze warms, praise glinting like sunlight. “Not bad~ Taste and looks—already a very adorable girl.”

“I don’t want that kind of compliment!?”

“Pfft... truly Yehan.” Relief spreads like spring sun. “Looks like a lot hit you these years. Even like this, I still see the old silhouette in you.”

“I never really sat and talked with you—months ago or ten years ago—and rusted regret sits heavy.”

“This time we’ll have the chance...” Tangxue ducks her head, shy dew beading. Casually, she offers, “Now I’m called Qingsheng Tangxue, Mom Yao...”

“Is that so? Tangxue... that’s a good name.” Linyue Yao rolls it on her tongue like a sweet bell.

“Mm, it sounds nice... People I knew used to call me that.” Tangxue smiles and nods lightly; fear brushes her heart like mist trying to erase ink.

Qingsheng Tangxue—this wasn’t a name Dreamsound or Ruoya Mom tossed out. As memories surface like shoals, Tangxue knows it’s her true seed of a name.

“I see~ hm hm, Tangxue... then shouldn’t we settle the account for your runaway stunt? I warned you not to wander, didn’t I?” Linyue Yao’s scold carries velvet thunder, an old ledger flicked open.

Back then, Mom Yao did warn her not to sail out, but Tangxue let the knot loosen; the sea’s blue lure pulled her.

“Um...” Tangxue’s gaze flits like dragonflies, trying to bluff past, while Xuewei watches with a crescent grin, hungry for the joke.

“I didn’t even know what happened then. Some strange force dragged me onto the sea! Otherwise I’d never have torn our agreement like paper and acted rashly...”

That’s the truth, a solid stone, and Linyue Yao knows it. But discipline is a reed she won’t drop—at least not mid-chat.

“You’ve used that excuse a lot, haven’t you?” Linyue Yao arches a brow like a drawn bow. “Everything has a price. Do wrong, take the punishment. Tangxue, do you remember that rule?”

“I remember...” Tangxue lets out a dry-leaf laugh.

“Then I’ll punish you by forbidding stray thoughts while you’re at the orphanage! Even if your business is heavy as iron, when it’s time to rest, you rest—got it?”