The world shifts like drifting clouds—Amitabha.

Unease first, then motion. Only after Lingcai slipped into the white dress and pulled on the black over-knee socks did it hit her like cold water down the spine.

This dress—wasn’t it the one the princess wore for formal court?

Before her nerves could catch, Xueyu settled a crown into her hair with the light touch of falling snow. The mirror answered with a stranger: she looked, beyond doubt, like a true princess of the realm.

“Uh… wait, are we drawing the assassins out right now?” Panic fluttered like a startled bird in Lingcai’s chest.

“Oh… uh… not yet.” Kelor snapped a book shut with a soft thud, a cat’s smile on her lips. Then she fished out a pair of round sunglasses from the right pocket of her dress, slid them on like midnight glass, tied her golden hair back with a rubber band, and slung Lingcai’s alchemy pack over her shoulder, all in one swift, breezy breeze. Looking at her now, no one would guess she was a high-born princess.

“…Your Highness, what are you…?” Lingcai stared, dread creeping like a damp draft under a door.

“I’ve got other business this afternoon, so you’ll take the scolding for me—no, you’ll take my classes.” Kelor’s tone was sweet as honey and sharp as a blade.

She even drew a finger across her throat in front of Lingcai’s collar, a playful slash that still chilled like steel.

“No no no—so I go get yelled at for you… then why are you taking my backpack?” Lingcai lunged like a spring-loosed rabbit, hands out to reclaim her pack, and caught only air.

“Borrowing it for a bit. I’ll give it back. I need to look the part to slip past the palace gates, don’t I?” Kelor sounded solemn as a judge, eyes laughing like sunlight on water.

“What are you going outside the palace for?” Suspicion prickled over Lingcai’s skin like fine rain.

“Being a princess isn’t a cushy throne. It’s a stack of never-ending messes, a flood of files that won’t dry up. Every chore the Emperor finds bothersome but can’t skip gets tossed onto your lap, and a single carriage bump turns into two, three months on the road. In your rare free hours, you still get drilled in noble etiquette, ‘cultivating poise,’ sitting ramrod straight for hours…”

Kelor grumbled on like a kettle that wouldn’t stop steaming. Lingcai heard only that princessing sounded miserable, and nothing about why Kelor needed to sneak out, so she cut in, voice small and tight as a knot:

“But… what’s that got to do with you leaving the palace?”

“Everything.” Kelor’s face turned solemn, clouds drawing over the sun. She rose, hands clasped behind her back, and paced to the alchemy room door. Then she tipped off her sunglasses, moonlight leaving a shadowed eye.

“This is classified. Not one word to anyone.”

“Oh… okay. So… what is it?” Lingcai’s nerves pulled taut like lute strings; she didn’t dare miss a syllable.

A sly spark glimmered in Kelor’s eyes, gone in a blink. She declared, voice ringing like a bell:

“I’m sneaking out to have fun for two days! Hahahahahaha!”

The laugh burst like fireworks. The door flew open. She seized the pack and bolted, nitrous in her heels, gone in a heartbeat like a streak of gold.

“That’s it??? Wait—!”

Lingcai lunged for the threshold, and Xueyu reeled her back like hauling a kite string.

“You take someone’s silver, you swallow their storms. It’s just two days. Be a good stand-in and take the rain.”

“…I’m so unlucky…” Lingcai’s voice wobbled like a drooping willow.

Unlucky or not, fate doesn’t dodge when you duck.

Under Xueyu’s pressure, Lingcai had no choice.

Resignation first, then steps. She braced herself to take the fall in someone else’s gown.

Skirting the right side of the Princess Manor, they turned right at the cross-shaped corridor. The path opened into a courtyard with a rockery rearing in the center like a miniature mountain.

Moss furred the stone like old jade; strange crags jutted like dragon spines; below, a small bridge arched over murmuring water, and green pines cast cool shade. Mist curled on all sides like milk-white silk, blurring the edges of the world.

What to call it—maybe a touch of the immortal, a brush of fairy breath in the air.

At the courtyard’s edge, Xueyu stopped and glanced back, voice soft as falling rain. “From here, you go in alone.”

“Don’t do this, I’m scared.” Lingcai tugged at Xueyu’s sleeve like a sparrow clinging to a reed.

“Relax. No one’s going to eat you. Remember your role. You’re the princess of this country now—second only to the Emperor, above the crowd. Got it? Go in. Walk like you mean it.”

Xueyu nudged her forward a step, and Lingcai snapped back like a sticky note that wouldn’t peel off.

“What if they see through me? Didn’t you say heads roll if it goes wrong? You have to save me then, okay? Please, sis, I’m begging you…”

“Get a grip! Eyes could be on us right now! Spare me some worry…” Xueyu shook her off with restrained force, afraid of drawing attention. Then she simply pinched Lingcai by the collar like a kitten and set her inside.

After a bout of hushed scuffling, Lingcai could only grit her teeth and step in, three steps forward and one look back, like crossing a fog-wrapped bridge.

The deeper she went, the denser the white breath of water became, a damp veil that clung like dew. Two more breaths, and her mouth felt like twenty percent spit and eighty percent river.

Through layered mist at the threshold, she saw a woman with black hair in shrine-maiden robes. The woman’s eyes rested half-closed, and she sat like still water, waiting.

“You’re here?” The woman opened her eyes in a clean snap and flicked a glance Lingcai’s way, a blade of attention through vapor.

Lingcai froze where she stood, a small statue cut from ice, saying nothing.

Why? Because one word might split the disguise like thin shell.

“Come.”

The woman crooked a finger, and Lingcai shuffled over in tiny steps, a crab on the sand.

“Sit.”

Fine. Sit it is…

Lingcai kept her mouth sealed and settled at the shrine maiden’s side. The woman rose, lifted a wooden ladle like a simple staff, and paced around Lingcai in quiet circles.

Up close, she was a beauty carved by a careful hand. Tall lines and long limbs; black hair neat and sleek as a raven’s wing; a face like a star dropped to earth. In this elf-crowded palace, her ears were the plain human kind, soft curves against the hair. A beauty mark dusted one eye like a touch of ink.

Time ticked like soft drips from the eaves. Lingcai sat and sat, and the shrine maiden hovered with the ladle, saying nothing, a silent moon circling a lake.

Tension prickled under Lingcai’s skin; she couldn’t hold it anymore. “Uh… how long do I need to… sit…?”

“Stray thoughts.”

The ladle rose and came down on the back of her head with a firm, ceremonial thunk.

Thunk.

It hardly hurt. The damage was low, the insult high, like a paper fan smack to the pride.

Fine, fine. I’ll be still as a stone…

Once Lingcai settled like a well-placed teacup, the shrine maiden’s heart began to murmur with doubt, ripples spreading under calm.

Her name was Noelle, Royal Tutor of Ariex.

She didn’t just shape the manners of nobles tied to the crown; she also helmed the entire nation’s education, a hand on every school’s rudder.

Her suspicion was simple as a pebble: today’s princess was too obedient.

Knowing Kelor’s temper, the moment the ladle tapped her head, she’d start cursing like a thunderstorm rolling over the hills.

On ordinary days, getting the princess to sit at the threshold and reflect took a wrestling match in silk gloves. Kelor excelled in study, sharp as a blade fresh from the whetstone, but her untamed streak drove saints to sigh; every correction ended in a shouting match, sparks and splinters.

And today, the princess sat quiet as moss on a rock. No fuss. No fight. Like witnessing a ghost at noon.

After a noisy brawl in her own mind, Noelle forged a comforting conclusion, a lantern against doubt:

The princess has matured. Years of effort weren’t spent in vain. The seed finally sprouted.

Moved by her own logic, Noelle felt a warm ache swell, like tea in the chest on a cold day. She didn’t count on Kelor being bold enough to fool her with a double.

Minutes dripped away like water through bamboo. With each drop, Noelle’s glow of relief grew brighter and brighter, a hearth taking flame.

Fifteen minutes. Princess Korol had sat still for fifteen whole minutes.

Don’t scoff at fifteen minutes. On Kelor, this was a miracle walking on two legs.

Tears gathered, soft as dew and bright as mercy. They slipped free—part relief, part gratitude, all teacher’s heart.

Lingcai watched, bafflement flooding her like a bucket from above. “Uh… why are you crying?”