It started when Xueyu, by accident, knocked over the sticky bomb Lingcai made; the milk-white gel burst like sap and fused them together like insects in resin.
“What now? Hurry and think of something for both of us; we’re flopping like fish on a board.”
The blast had pinned Xueyu to the worktable, face-down like a butterfly on a pin. A heartbeat earlier, she had lunged across to net Lingcai in a panicked grab.
She caught her, but the gel set like amber manacles, and her limbs felt shackled like iron cooled in snow.
By contrast, Lingcai fared no better; she lay under Xueyu like a flower pressed in a book, her voice muffled as if through cotton.
“I’ll pay you back next time for whatever broke… let’s work together and fix this storm first… staying like this in daylight isn’t elegant.”
“I got it, I got it! Just stop talking!” The always-stern Xueyu flushed like peach petals in spring, trying to peel free like a cicada shedding skin.
The more she struggled, the more the gel cinched like a tightening vine, and half her collar slid down like a slipping cloud.
“Ah? Why…”
“I told you, don’t talk! It tickles!” Heat climbed her cheeks like a brushfire; she arched back to escape the suggestive knot, then snapped back like a bent branch.
“If I don’t speak, how do I teach you to unstick it?” Lingcai sighed, soft as a night breeze. “Soak it with water; its only flaw is it only grips dry things.”
Xueyu tried to shift her legs, but cloth and skin were glued like bark and sap; the cicada-shed trick died on the branch.
“We can’t even budge; where would water come from in a place this dry as dust?”
Right now, only you can move—like the lone oar in a stalled boat.
Lingcai wasn’t just pinned under Xueyu; the gel had riveted her to the floor like frost to stone, not even a fingertip free to flutter.
“Sister, you know I’m completely stuck,” she coaxed, gentle as rain. “If you don’t want anyone to see us like this, it rests on your strength.”
Xueyu stretched and clawed for anything, but the gel hardened by the breath like curing resin, locking them tighter than winter ice.
“If any water frees it… would spit count as a drop of rain?”
As Xueyu chased options like fireflies, Lingcai suddenly went still, a wild idea flashing through like lightning behind clouds.
“I… I thought of a way to get us out,” she said, voice trembling like a plucked string. “But it might wrong you a little.”
“What are you trying to do…?” A chill climbed Xueyu’s spine like a draft through paper walls.
“To be honest… I need the bathroom,” Lingcai confessed, shame heavy as fog. “I can’t hold it much longer.”
“Stop! Don’t you dare!”
Neither of them knew a greater embarrassment was already knocking like thunder on a quiet lake.
Ka-chak—
A figure filled the doorway and pushed the alchemy room’s door open, clean as a blade cutting silk.
The newcomer was Princess Korol. Today she wore it plain as morning: a sky-blue cape, a short skirt, and black-and-white thigh-highs like chess squares.
Her black Lolita shoes clicked on the floor, crisp as beads on a plate, then halted mid-note like a bird choking on a seed.
“Xiao Xue, where did you put that dip pen I needed a few days ago… uh…”
The moment she saw the scene, the heel-taps died like rain cut off mid-fall.
“You two…” Kelor’s face knotted with awkwardness, her gaze flying around like a sparrow with nowhere to perch, then she squeezed out a line.
“When you’re done playing, remember to clean up,” she said, words falling like stones into a silent pond.
“Your Highness, listen to me. It’s not what you think. It’s an accident.” Xueyu felt dread flood in like cold tide and rushed to explain.
“This is absolutely not some special kink! It’s her! She had to mess around, and the bomb went off!” Lingcai couldn’t see, but she heard enough, and her protest tumbled out like marbles.
“I know. I get it. No need to explain; the more you paint it, the darker it gets,” Kelor said, waving her hands and then covering her eyes like a child in hide-and-seek.
“I’ll pretend I saw nothing today,” she sighed, old-as-a-monk. “Xueyu, I promise I won’t judge you for this. I knew you liked this flavor, just didn’t think the day would come so fast.”
Her offhand tone skipped over a secret like a pebble skimming water, and the ripples hit Xueyu’s heart like a stone dropped down a well.
“Your Highness, um…” Fear crept into Xueyu’s voice like frost. “When I wasn’t here… did you look behind the bookshelf?”
“No! Absolutely not! I’m not that kind of person!” Kelor shook her head wildly, hands still covering her eyes like shutters in a storm.
“Then under the bed…?”
“Why would I flip your bed for sport?” Her denial popped like a cork.
“By the pillow…?” If Xueyu’s hands were free, she’d dig a hole and bury herself like a startled mole.
“No, no, I know you. You usually tuck it in the pillowcase,” Kelor blurted, the slip falling like a leaf.
“The false bottom of the lingerie drawer…”
“…Damn, you even hid it there?!” Kelor coughed, then slapped the table like thunder.
Tears sprang to Xueyu’s eyes like a sudden shower. “Your Highness, please just kill me…”
Since someone had finally arrived, Lingcai clutched at hope like a drowning hand grabbing driftwood. “Your Highness, could you bring some water… and get us out…”
“Oh, oh… what a mess…” Kelor muttered, the words dragging like wet cloth. She peeked out, left and right, like a thief scanning alleys, and seeing no one, she shut the door with a soft thud.
She sank onto the steps, rubbed her face as if scrubbing soot, drew a long breath, and growled through her teeth, low as thunder before rain.
“You two just f—ing wait while I calm down first—”
