No one else answered, the silence pooling like still water around their desks. When the bell faded like a wind through reeds, Qianya remembered a question and halted Xiyi at the door.

“Wait a sec, Senior Xiyi! I’ve got one more question!” Her voice leapt like a pebble skipping across a lake.

“…?” Senior Xiyi’s face darkened, a stormcloud shading her gaze.

“I want the info on the second-year who brought us in on day one. The one with the blue hair, like winter waves.”

“Oh, you mean Xuanyan.” Her tone was cool as a blade laid on snow. “Her Authority’s Twofold. Two minds in one heart. The greater the split, the stronger her power. If you care about her temper, don’t get too close, or you’ll be disappointed like rain that never falls.”

“Ahaha… that’s not what I’m worried about.” Qianya forced a smile like paper lantern light. “Thanks for answering, Senior Xiyi.”

“I’m leaving, got it? Don’t suddenly stop me again.” Her words snapped like a twig.

“…Mm.” Under that warning look, Qianya shrank like a sparrow under eaves and didn’t even dare breathe until Xiyi vanished like mist.

“Qianya, you look a little pale,” Dawn Sugar Snow covered her mouth and laughed, like bells under a silk canopy.

“I think I made that senior mad…” The guilt sat in her chest like damp ash.

“That couldn’t be helped.” Tangxue’s tone was a soft breeze through bamboo. “You cut off Xunjin’s casting. She had one foot through a space gate already. You hauled her back by the collar.”

“Xunjin? Tangxue, you know that second-year from just now?” Curiosity fluttered like a moth at a lamp.

“Mm. I looked her up before enrollment.” Tangxue’s eyes glinted like tea in sunlight. “Her Authority’s Omnilore. She can read all information written on inanimate things, like moss reading stone. But there’s a flaw. She can be read back, like a mirror returning your stare.”

“Uh??” The shock hit Qianya like a cold river. Inside, her thoughts rang like bronze. The Omnilore Authority—no wonder she knew my name the moment we met.

“This Authority might not be as almighty as you imagine, Qianya,” Tangxue said, voice light as drifting snow. “Knowing too much can be a poison, like overripe fruit.”

“Mm…” Qianya nodded, the lesson settling like dew on leaves.

I’ve heard that line a lot, she thought, the words brushing past like wind through grass.

“Let’s go. We coasted through class anyway,” Tangxue said, stretching like a cat in sun.

“Huh, class is over?” Xuewei jolted awake, sleep lifting like fog from a field. She saw everyone packing up and puffed her cheeks. “Qianya, why didn’t you wake me!”

“I got lost in thought and forgot.” Her apology came out like a leaf adrift on a stream.

“How’s that a reason!” Xuewei huffed, a little thunder with no rain.

“It’s the truth!” Qianya clapped once, bright as flint. “Yueyu, remember the river we passed yesterday? Let’s grill fish there today, by the water like silver silk.”

“I don’t remember,” Yueyu shook her head, calm as a moon in a well. Yesterday she’d slept curled in her sister’s arms like a kitten.

“What about you, Tangxue? You remember, right?” Qianya’s hope flickered like a candle.

“Ah… how about you lead us again, Qianya?” Tangxue smiled, a bit sheepish, like spring clouds.

“Okay…” Qianya’s grin was stiff as dried lacquer. Hereditary direction-blindness, huh? The thought skittered like a lizard across sun-warmed stone.

Luckily, the river lay nearby, a ribbon of light through willows. Ten minutes later, they were setting up grills, the coals like sleeping embers. Today’s fish were prepped at noon, marinated until the flesh held spice like earth holds rain.

It felt a little like a harmless trick, but necessity was wind that bent the reed. Yueyu, let me show you my proudest dish, she thought, confidence blooming like a peony.

Qianya brought out the fish, neat as jade. Before the fire, there was no scent—only quiet like clean snow. But heat woke the hidden herbs like spring waking seeds.

“I—I’ll help too,” Xuewei said, volunteering like a swift arrow.

“Sure! Then help me set up more grills,” Qianya replied, her smile a warm ember.

“Mm.” Xuewei’s hands moved fast, steady as a craftsman’s chisel, which surprised Qianya like a sudden birdcall.

“Xuewei, did you used to run a grill stall?” Qianya asked, eyes bright as riverlight.

“Mm. I helped my brother in town before,” she said, voice low as dusk.

“Oh?” Qianya didn’t pry, letting the moment drift like petals. A skilled hand was a blessing like rain in season. She finished prep and sparked the fire, the flame taking like sunrise on dry pine.

“These fish are cleaned. Tear the film and they’re ready for the grate,” Qianya said, guiding them like a shepherd with a reed flute. “Listen. After brushing oil, the fish will sizzle, like small rain on stones. When it quickens, flip it. Or do the easy method. Medium heat. Sixty seconds a side. Brush sauce and sesame oil with each turn. In about fifteen minutes, you can eat.”

“Ugh, we have to time it and flip? Such a hassle,” Yueyu muttered, her face a sulky cloud. Still, she tucked the steps away like beads on a string, and flipped at the first minute, brushing sauce in a smooth stroke.

Time trickled like sand through fingers. The aroma rose, curling like incense through a temple door. Yueyu wavered, right hand holding the skewer, hesitating like a deer at a stream. Tangxue’s reminder came like a bell, and Yueyu flipped in a flurry, brushed sesame oil, then sighed, a reed bending.

“Grilled fish is torture. I can only look, not eat,” she groaned, eyes like a starving fox.

“But what you grill yourself tastes better,” Tangxue said, voice warm as sunlight on rice fields.

Qianya chuckled, a brook over stones, and scored the fish with a small knife, shallow lines like ripples. “This helps the flavor sink in. You try.”

“Mm…” The chorus was soft, like wind in bamboo.

They flipped again and again, and the scent thickened like honeyed tea. Yueyu stared, throat working like a swallow drinking rain, which made Tangxue laugh and ruffle her hair, gentle as a leaf-fall.

“Little greedy cat.”

“Can’t we eat yet, Sister? I’m about to faint,” Yueyu whimpered, eyes glossy as wet jade.

“Wait a bit. Half-done fish tastes flat, like fog without river.” Tangxue’s tone soothed like warm milk.

“Okay…” Yueyu watched, gaze clinging like ivy to stone.

“I can’t stand it anymore! I mean it! Watching and not eating is driving me crazy!” Her breath grew heavy, beads of sweat like dew on her brow, panic glimmering like a storm about to break.

“Don’t move! You’ll kick up ash!” Tangxue snapped, voice a quick lash like a wind gust.

“Uu…” Yueyu’s tiny cry twinned with her belly’s drum, a hollow gourd in the night. Tangxue winced and looked to Qianya. “How much longer, Qianya? Yueyu’s not doing well.”

“Three more minutes,” Qianya said, weighing patience like a scale. “Let the flesh marry the fragrance.”

“Three minutes…” Yueyu nearly blacked out, vision tunneling like a cave. The smell hooked her back like a fisherman’s line, refusing to let her drift away.

“180, 179, 178…” She started counting, voice steady as a metronome.

This is too much, Qianya thought, stunned as a heron at a sudden splash. Even Xuewei looked over, disbelief a thin cloud across her calm.

Xuewei stayed composed, balanced like a master who’s grilled ten thousand fish.

At last, the countdown ended, and Yueyu didn’t care about heat. She tore off a steaming piece, swift as a kite snatching a fish, and popped it in. The boneless flesh melted like snow on tongue. The spices from the belly flooded the meat, and with a gentle roll of her pink tongue, the savory rush shot up her palate like a spring bursting from rock. Yueyu hummed, and the tears she’d been holding fell like sudden rain.

“Finally—mm—so, so good!”

Is it really that dramatic… Qianya wondered, her doubt a small shadow under noon sun.