Princess Korol barged into Lingcai’s place and, like a cat claiming a sun-warmed spot, flopped straight onto Lingcai’s bed.

The air turned awkward on the spot, like a paper lantern hung crooked. Two solitary women under one roof, and the mood slanted off-key.

Lingcai scanned the room, her gaze skimming shelves like cliff faces; aside from alchemy materials she’d bought, it was all books, and no spare quilt.

One bed. That was the island in this paper sea; if anyone wanted sleep, it had to be there.

What now? Either find a way to send Kelor back, or go sleepless like a candle burned to the wick.

No way she could pull an all-nighter; tomorrow she had to buy materials for human transmutation, like hauling water before the well ran dry.

If she didn’t bring them back, she wouldn’t return to herself in time for meeting Scarlet Leaf; that thought stung like frost on the lungs.

She nudged the lump called Princess Korol on the bed, voice small as a mosquito by the window paper. Your Highness… could you sleep in your own room? Otherwise I can’t sleep.

Kelor lay on her side, words blurred like ink in rain. Just sleep. I won’t take much space. The bed’s big enough for two.

What did she mean by that?!

Lingcai’s face froze, then bloomed scarlet like a peony in steam; she swore she could see white mist puff off her cheeks.

No, no, no! We don’t have that kind of relationship! And with your status, a commoner sharing a bed with you isn’t proper—just isn’t proper!

I don’t mind, so what are you minding? Lie down. I don’t believe you’d dare do anything out of line.

Still drowsy, Kelor scooted inward like a tide making room for a small boat, leaving Lingcai a strip of mattress.

Ah—Your Highness… Lingcai wilted like a rain-beaten umbrella; tears pricked but wouldn’t fall.

This was guarding the wrong door, locks for saints and none for scoundrels; if anyone heard, their tongues would buzz like summer cicadas.

Especially Xueyu—if she learned they shared a pillow, she’d flay my hide like peeling bark.

Sigh…

Out of options, Lingcai decided to make do with the floor, like a traveler curling under eaves before dawn.

This place lacked everything but books; they stood thick as bricks, grand compendiums in every field like stacked kiln tiles.

She picked the fattest volumes and fanned them open on the floor, laying a book road for her body like paving stones.

Only then did she see the titles gleam like metal plates: Internal Medicine, Surgery, Obstetrics and Gynecology, Pediatrics, Systematic Anatomy, Regional Anatomy, Physiology, Pathology, Pathophysiology, Biochemistry and Molecular Biology…

Why are they all medical books.

Advising someone to study medicine draws thunder like a storm calling its own lightning; that line wasn’t just a joke.

In a blink, her book-bed was ready, a paper raft on a wooden sea; she yanked out a Civil Code for a pillow, square as a brick.

Prepared.

It felt hard as winter soil, but it still beat bare floorboards by a country mile, like moss over stone.

Just as she moved to lie down, Kelor flipped over, eyes pinning her like needles through silk. What, you despise sharing a bed with me?

I don’t! That’s not it! Lingcai jerked upright, hands waving like fronds in wind, head shaking like a rattle drum.

I said come over. Don’t make it look like I’m bullying you and forcing you onto the floor, like a tyrant kicking a dog from the hearth.

A command from above is thunder on the ridge; defiance is a tree inviting lightning. Lingcai obeyed, sat, then lay with her back to Kelor.

She left a fifty-centimeter gulf between them, a moat cut through sheets; safety by measured inches.

Kelor saw that, reached over, and hauled her in like netted fish. Stop squirming! Are you some shy, unwed little girl?

Lingcai covered her face, voice small as candle flame. I am unmarried… and actually still a little girl… at least for now…

You keep quipping, don’t you.

Kelor didn’t bother arguing; she drew Lingcai into her arms, hands circling her belly, body molding to her back like warm wax.

Keep dodging if you dare; the more you dodge, the tighter I hold, she whispered, burying her face in Lingcai’s neck like a bird in leaves.

I won’t dodge! I won’t—please, let go… Lingcai curled up like a shrimp, words fluttering like trapped moths.

Good night, Kelor breathed, and her head thumped onto the pillow with a dull thud; sleep took her like a tide, arms still locked at Lingcai’s waist.

Could you maybe release me before sleeping!

The girl’s breath was warm and scented, seeping along Lingcai’s hair like spring wind, down her neck and into her nose like drifting incense.

Each exhale sparked a shiver through her limbs, like a plucked string; her eyelids, about to fall, snapped open like shutters in a gust.

She couldn’t sleep. Not with a cake-soft girl pressed to her back, sweetness and heat like a bakery at dawn.

Long, slender legs lay along her waist through thin nightcloth, a twin ribbon; those soft arms were ropes silk-smooth and impossible to break.

No—stop. I have a fiancée.

Just as she was about to sink into that sweetness like a warm bath, the thought of Scarlet Leaf yanked her back like cold water.

Caught between advance and retreat, she drifted half-awake, half-asleep, until the window paled like milk before sunrise.

Mm… uh…

Fast asleep, Kelor had clung to Lingcai all night, and her hold crept from waist to neck like ivy, choking breath to a thin thread.

Dawn washed the window white; morning knocked like a gentle fist. Lingcai pried up her head, heavy as lead, and patted Kelor’s shoulder.

Your Highness… it’s light out. Please, let go.

As if hearing her, Kelor loosened in sleep; her hands slackened like unknotted ribbon, and Lingcai slowly wriggled free like a fish from reeds.

That was not easy…

She slid off the bed; her calves trembled like reeds, head a bell full of water, yet errands called like drums from the gate.

She had to buy materials for human transmutation today; for that, she must step through this door like a soldier crossing a pass.

She staggered out and stuck her head into the corridor, gulping fresh air like spring water to wash out the lingering girl-scent from her breath.

As clarity returned like dew drying, she realized she was crouched at someone’s feet, shadow pooling around boot tips.

A longsword stood by those boots like a silver sapling; Lingcai’s gaze climbed the line of leg to a face cold as frost.

It was Xueyu, the bodyguard, expression still and sharp like a sheathed blade; even drowsiness fled like birds at that sight.

Lingcai felt her right eyelid twitch, a drumbeat under skin. Sister Xueyu… how long have you been standing here?

All night. I’m a guard; this is nothing, she said, leaning on the sword like leaning on a quiet mountain.

A chill slid down Lingcai’s spine like a drop of ice. Then did you… hear everything?

I heard, but not all, she said; only scraps, like wind through shutters, yet enough to get the gist.

Xueyu bent down, crouching before Lingcai, and reached toward her face with one hand like a cloud lowering to touch water.

It’s over, Lingcai thought, bracing for an ear twist, eyes squeezed shut like clams before tide.

Instead, Xueyu only ruffled her hair, soft as a passing breeze, and sighed with sympathy like rain on eaves.

Sharing a bed with Her Highness is pure torture. I know. I understand you better than anyone.

Lingcai hadn’t expected that; her mind stalled like a wheel in mud, spinning without grip.

After a beat of stunned silence, she asked, voice small as a reed flute. So… her sleeping posture… you also…

Xueyu said nothing; she only nodded, solemn as a bell toll.

Everyone’s got it rough…