“We only slept… like stones sunk in a dark pond.”

“We only had a scuffle… like sparks that died in the wind.”

“???”

This time three faces went blank, like three paper lamps snuffed at once. Even the ones speaking almost forgot what they did yesterday.

“I’m serious.” Linyue Yao planted her hands on her hips, anger rising like red tide to the brim.

“Can’t we just not talk about it, Mom Yao…” Xuewei looked up with wet eyes, like a kitten in rain. The answer came down like a closed gate.

“Let me say it, Mom Yao. It was just a normal chat.” Tangxue’s voice was steady, like a quiet blade. “Xuewei feared outside noise, so I set a barrier, like glass over a candle. We didn’t notice anything that happened.”

“…Is that so.” Linyue Yao nodded, trust settling like clean snow. In her eyes, Tangxue was a steadier shore than Xuewei.

“What do you two make of it, then?”

Tangxue glanced at the kids for permission, then spoke slow, like drawing ink across silk. “If it made Queen Bai Zhi act in person, I’d guess a strong wraith escaped the seal. But Her Majesty likely ended it, or she wouldn’t release the news.”

The screen showed Western Garden City erased, like a lantern field blown out by night. The nation fell into shock and mourning, like frost over spring buds. Xuewei stared, feelings knotting like wind in reeds.

“Yes. When I got there, all that remained of Western Garden City was a bottomless crater, like a mouth in the earth. Her Majesty had already gone back.”

“My royal sister… yet she told me nothing.”

“Maybe she didn’t want you hurt.” Tangxue stood and ruffled Xuewei’s hair, like smoothing ruffled feathers. “It’s over anyway. If you’re worried, we can visit her today, like bringing tea to a friend.”

“Mm…” Her agreement was soft, like a nod in fog.

Xuewei still didn’t settle, so they planned to go in the afternoon, like setting oars for a quiet river.

“Mom, what are you talking about?” a child asked, eyes bright as beads.

“Nothing. If you don’t get it, it means you’re not at that age.” Linyue Yao shook her head, calm as willow shade. “Eat. This afternoon I’ll take you hunting, like hawks learning the wind.”

“Oh!”

The kids cheered, joy popping like beans in a hot pan. It meant game for dinner, rich as fire in winter.

“Hunting… I kind of missed it.” Xuewei chuckled, a silly grin blooming like a dandelion, then she tucked it away like folding a fan.

The oldest here was fourteen, that Xiaoxiao they’d met, a sapling near its own spring. Older kids would need to stand alone; Linyue Yao never meant to cradle them forever. She built this orphanage on a surge of heart, like planting rice after rain. She wanted to give a chance, not handouts; their future would rise like their own dawn.

After lunch, they returned to their room. Xuewei watched Tangxue, worry coiling like smoke. “Brother, what do you think fought my royal sister last night?”

“We’ll know when we get there.” Tangxue’s answer skimmed the surface, like a leaf on water.

“Uh…” Xuewei puffed her cheeks, a tiny drumbeat of protest. “I just want you to think. We’re bored anyway, right? Let’s chat and shift the mood, like cracking a window.”

“…Xuewei, my head’s about to explode,” he muttered, a hand to his brow like a stormcloud.

He gave in with a sigh, like loosening a knot. “A wraith. The thing that seal was holding.”

“A wraith?” Xuewei froze, like a deer in lantern light. “Didn’t you seal it?”

“Maybe it slipped out before I arrived,” he said, voice low as ash.

“No way. Before you came, I guarded that seal well, like a dog at the gate. Don’t you trust your sister’s methods?”

“I do… but, forget it.” Tangxue shook his head, like shaking off dew. “You said it was a guess. What if it was the one that escaped then?”

“Absolutely not.” Xuewei’s certainty hit like iron ringing. If it had escaped then, she would’ve felt the chill like winter in bone.

“Right, Brother, there’s something else…” She hesitated, like a bird at the edge of flight, then chose the sky.

“You know this: my royal sister and I share a father.” Her voice thinned, like mist over a well. “Before you left, we had no trace of my mother. After that, near the Forest of Eternal Night, I found a thread, fine as spider silk. In me, there’s the Kelinveil lineage and your power, Brother. There’s also a sense for the dead, like a cold reed always trembling.”

Disgust flickered across her face, like a shadow of wings. “It’s a deathly force that withers all things, like frost on green leaves. The mana’s gray. It lets me command the dead. My mother… caused the Third World Cataclysm seventeen hundred years ago, like a storm cleaving the sea. She founded the Flower of the Other Shore.”

“!?” Tangxue’s breath hitched, like a string plucked too hard.

“My birth came from an experiment…” Her words fell slow, like stones. “A person like her shouldn’t have children. But for her goal, I was born anyway, like fire stolen from a forbidden hearth.”

“When I learned it, I almost threw myself away, like a ship cutting its own mast. Family and friends steadied me, like hands on my shoulders. I forced myself to ask those who knew, and learned the details, thorn by thorn.”

Tangxue saw her face strain, worry rising like tide. “If it’s too awful, don’t say it.”

“No. Let me finish!” She was firm, like a blade set true.

“My birth fused her source power with countless dead souls, like mortar packed with bones. I wasn’t really alive. I was fragile at birth, like a moth in winter. Without you, Brother, I might not have seen seven. After I awakened the Kelinveil power, I barely counted as a normal person. I could finally run under sunlight, like a thawed river. Brother, I’m born sensitive to the dead. If any wraith had slipped the seal then, I would have felt it, like a nail of ice.”

Seeing her resolve burn steady, Tangxue only nodded, a quiet lantern in night. “…Mm.”

Time drifted. Around two in the afternoon, they set out for the Imperial Capital to ask Bai Zhi what happened, like stepping onto a long road. On the way, they stopped by Western Garden City.

“…Brother, did you really feel nothing last night?” Her question floated like smoke over ruins.

Seeing it with her own eyes, Xuewei understood Mom Yao’s sharp tone, like a bell in storm. The entire Western Garden City, hundreds of thousands of square kilometers, had become an abyss, like the earth’s jaw torn open. With a sight like this, not just Eastern Mountain City next door—this whole continent should have felt the quake, like drums under the sea.

“I really felt nothing,” Tangxue said, voice flat as stone.

“Alright.” If even her stronger Brother said so, then someone had veiled it, like a hand over the moon.

Xuewei crouched and scooped a bag of yellow loess, fine as sifted tea. In it, she felt Bai Zhi’s lingering scarlet heat, like coals under ash, and the breath of the dead, cold as cave wind.

“…”

“What is it, Xuewei?” Tangxue asked, eyes narrowing like arrows.

“It’s the exact same force I felt near the seal,” she whispered, like a reed answering the river.

“Huh?”

“Brother.” Xuewei turned with a bitter smile, thin as crescent moon. “Maybe the monster that fought my royal sister last night really was the wraith that escaped back then.”