“Huh?” Tangxue stared at Xiaoxiao, disbelief rippling like cold water; her eyes held only fear, a rabbit pinned under frost. Could a child this small be as wicked as Mama Yueyao claimed?

“If even you can’t catch her lies, how’s she supposed to sell intel?” Mama Yueyao sighed, like wind losing force against a cliff. “I thought growing up would widen your lens.”

“Don’t say that, Mama Yueyao! So, what do we do with this little one?” Tangxue’s voice fluttered like a sparrow at dusk.

“Watch her attitude,” Yueyao said, her tone flat as a still lake.

Their gazes fell on Xiaoxiao again, weight pressing down like a mountain storm. She cracked, shaking her head and crying, “Mama Yueyao, I was wrong! Even with a hundred borrowed guts, I wouldn’t sell family secrets! Waaah…”

Yueyao’s smile turned thin, like a knife’s gleam under moonlight. “A hundred guts? In your eyes, how many gold coins is that worth? If you never meant to sell, why hide here like a burrowed mole?”

She wasn’t afraid Xiaoxiao would sell her out. Her worry curled like smoke—this kid knew too much and would draw hunters like wolves to a lamb.

“I…” Xiaoxiao’s voice broke, leaves in wind. Facing two adults, she trembled like reeds by a riverbank. No cracks showed, and Tangxue began to believe she really was an information broker.

“I’m sorry, Mama Yueyao… I didn’t mean it! I just… got used to it.” Shame dragged Xiaoxiao’s gaze downward, like rain pulling blossoms to earth. Born with an ear for sound, she’d learned eavesdropping could feed her like a winter storehouse.

“Oh? Then if I wipe your recent memory, will you accept it?” Yueyao’s tone stayed calm, a frost-plain under pale sun.

Xiaoxiao went rigid, a deer hearing a bowstring. She lowered her head and nodded, teeth set like pebbles in a stream.

“You said it yourself.”

Yueyao’s eyes stayed placid, a quiet moon over black water. She walked to Xiaoxiao and began the cleansing.

I thought Mama Yueyao didn’t know memory-clearing. Is she bluffing Xiaoxiao? Tangxue’s doubt drifted like mist over fields.

Light flared, a petal of dawn unfolding, and Tangxue’s vision swayed like a boat on soft waves. When his eyes cleared, the two had stepped apart. Xiaoxiao blinked, surprise bright as a startled bird, looking from Mama Yueyao to Tangxue. “Huh? Why am I here?”

What? Did Mama Yueyao learn new magic while I was gone? She said she disdained spells like this… Tangxue’s thoughts flickered like lanterns in wind.

“…Xiaoxiao, you tried to eavesdrop on me and this sister. We caught you.” Yueyao’s voice landed like a pebble on still water.

“Eh!?” Xiaoxiao’s gaze darted between Tangxue and Yueyao, quick as minnows. She got it in a heartbeat, laughed it off, and skittered away like a shadow.

“Mama Yueyao, when did you learn memory-erasure?”

“I didn’t use that spell.” Yueyao’s words were light, snow on pine. “Xiaoxiao’s situation is… special. She’s a bit like you. Her mother told me an emergency method to clear her memory. You just watched it.”

I just watched it? Tangxue’s thought fell like a mute snowflake.

…I didn’t see anything, did I? Forget it. Why clutch thorns? He let the question melt like frost in sun.

Tangxue nodded, half-understanding, a leaf turning in slow water. They talked about other things on the way back, words drifting like evening smoke.

“Mama Yueyao, you said you’ve seen my mother—the Ice Deity Rain Moon Willow. Where?” Tangxue’s voice moved like a quiet stream.

“In a dream,” Yueyao said, gaze distant as a silver ridge. “The Ice Deity no longer has a body. Her remnant soul sent me a dream, a few days after I brought you home.”

“Oh…” The sound was small, a pebble in tall grass.

Dreamsound heard from the Ice Deity too, didn’t she? Did she know everything and keep silent? The thought cut like a thin wind, then softened.

…It’s not crucial. Not telling me is fine. I’ve held back so much from Dreamsound as well. His guilt folded like a letter sealed with ash.

Dreamsound could be a mother to Tangxue or a sworn younger sister. For who he was now, she weighed more like a mother, a hearth in long winter.

I’ll solve it all… before you notice. The vow burned like a coal hidden under snow.

“Mama Yueyao, Brother! You’re back? Dinner’s ready!” Xuewei’s voice rang out, bright as a bell in clear air. “I bought lots of treats. Go call the kids to eat!”

…Huh? Xuewei, you’re closer to them. Why me? Tangxue grimaced, a cat pulled from sun-warmth, and trudged off to knock on doors one by one.

Since Xuewei struck it big, the orphanage had blossomed like a spring garden. The house was renovated into clean lines and warm wood; each child had a room, small as a sparrow’s nest but theirs. Convenience gadgets dotted the place like fireflies. It looked like a nobles’ academy dorm.

So whenever Xuewei visited, she brought snacks—bright packs like fallen leaves.

Meals still ran by Mama Yueyao’s weather. On good days, the air smelled of roast meat, rich as a bonfire feast. On bad days, it was bean sprouts, green rain in a thin bowl.

Tangxue knocked down the hall, rap-rap like light rain. The kids blinked at him, pausing like deer. They thought he was a new older kid—face soft as new peach, height not matching. They decided he was a volunteer big sister of the home. Polite as sparrows on a branch, they heard “food” and shot for the table, streaks like swallows.

About forty kids lived here. Xuewei handed out gifts and food, colors rippling like a festival market. Dinner ended fast—their chopsticks moved like lightning, because Mama Yueyao’s night tasks waited like stars on a chart. The rooms filled again, doors closing like shells, and only Xuewei and Tangxue sat in the hall, sifting old days like sand through fingers.

“Brother, remember the snow mountain we climbed as kids?” Xuewei’s voice rose, a curl of breath on winter glass.

“I do. Why?” Tangxue curled into the sofa with a blanket, a cocoon before a silver screen.

Xuewei looked down, hesitation pooling like dusk in her eyes. She finally spoke, words steady as falling snow. “Back then, you didn’t even think—you gave me half your blood. Why? We hadn’t known each other long.”

“If it were someone else, would you have done it without blinking?”

Tangxue shook his head lightly, a reed in breeze. “Probably not… but I wouldn’t watch her die either.”

Her condition had been terrible, a candle guttering in a draft. Blood was the only bridge he could build. After that, fragile Xuewei turned vivid—firework-bright—and left her peers far behind like runners in fog.

“Hee-hee. So I can believe I’m one of a kind in your heart?” Her smile shone, spring sunlight on thawing ice.

“Mm… you can.” Tangxue nodded. Xuewei was singular—his only sister in memory. Dreamsound didn’t count in that measure.

“Brother, you’re the best! I love you!” Xuewei hugged him and toppled, a warm quilt knocking him flat. Tangxue yelped, “Uwah!” and propped her up, exasperation like black lines on his brow.

“You’re blocking my movie, Xuewei!”

“???” Her confusion popped like soap bubbles.

…

Western Garden City, the closest city to the imperial capital, lay under a shroud of death, a frost cloth over every roof. Not a pulse of life stirred; the air felt like sealed ice. Any traveler who stepped inside was torn apart by a tide of zombies, a thousand teeth like crashing surf.

Yet with no outsiders, the city moved like clockwork—lanterns lit, wheels turned, faces wore masks like painted puppets. No one outside knew what had taken root here. Everything felt wrong, a still forest holding its breath, as if waiting for something to descend like a black star.