While Lingcai and Xueyu were trading barbs like sparrows at dawn, the Little Moon Sage slipped out of the changing room in nothing but underwear, moonlight stepping through a paper screen.
The shop’s air thickened like damp curtains, that caught-in-bed mood spreading like spilled ink.
Sensing something off, the Little Moon Sage had already closed like a dusk-blossom, blouse and skirt fluttering back into place.
Xueyu drew herself up, righteous as a drawn blade, lecturing Lingcai with confidence drumming like thunder in a tight sky.
“You’ve got a fiancée, don’t you? Why are you still chasing other girls? Chewing what’s in your bowl while eyeing the pot—I knew it! You’re a big bastard!”
Lingcai wouldn’t shoulder that playboy pot; she could only pour the plain truth like cold water.
“You’re misunderstanding. She’s actually the Great Sage—”
“Great Sage?” Xueyu’s brow rose like a single reed in a breeze.
With her identity about to spill like water from a cracked jar, the Little Moon Sage sprang from her wheelchair, two quick steps, a soft leap, and clapped a hand over Lingcai’s mouth, snatching the thread.
“Uh… I’m… the Great Sage’s daughter. Just call me Little Moon… cough, cough.”
Oh, she can spin stories like silk on a loom.
If she blew her cover now, the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries might suffer a social death, a sun eclipsed by gossip-clouds.
“Huh?” Xueyu’s face stalled like a clock. “First I’ve heard he has a daughter… so he married, then…”
Her words had layers like lacquer; it sounded as if she knew the Great Sage, a hidden river under calm stones.
Lingcai followed the current. “You know the Great Sage?”
Xueyu, rare-serious as winter frost, nodded with measured calm. “In magic, I received a little guidance from the honored Sage. I’m unskilled, though—what I learned was only skin, not bone.”
Who would’ve thought—even someone like Xueyu hails from that gate; faces deceive like masks at dusk.
“I think you’re cursing me,” Xueyu said, catching the flicker in Lingcai’s eyes like a hawk catches a mouse.
“I’m praising you. Looks deceive.” Lingcai’s glare answered glare, sparks dancing like fireflies.
It was true. Xueyu’s Water Binding—Eightfold Ghost-Fetter Array—was a high-tier water barrier, waves drawn into a net; most swordsmen wouldn’t touch it. From the Great Sage, she’d learned only passive wards, shields like shells; her real attack lay in her own sword, steel singing like rain.
What Xueyu didn’t notice: just now, the Little Moon Sage had drifted behind Lingcai and pinched her lightly with a nail, a thorn pricking a petal.
Why?
Lingcai didn’t catch the intent, and asking aloud felt like stirring muddy water.
The Little Moon Sage’s mood flipped like a fan; she smiled, sweet as cotton candy under winter sun, and turned to Xueyu. “Big sister, you’re my father’s disciple? What’s your name?”
B-big sister…
Imagine it—who wouldn’t want a frail, white-haired doll of a beauty circling close, voice soft as warm milk, calling you big sis with a smile that melts frost?
Yet from that angelic smile, Lingcai glimpsed a devil’s ink—deep, black-bellied scheming coiling like smoke behind glass.
A chill ran her spine like ice water. Even as a girl, a sage is still a sage.
Caught by the sudden attention, Xueyu floated, light as cattail fluff, diving into her usual daydream like a swallow into spring.
She fast-forwarded to a wedding: Little Moon in white silk and starlight, veil rippling like river mist, welcoming her at the cathedral doors.
“Heh… hehe… If the ceremony were in the grand cathedral, that’d be perfect… heh-heh…”
Lingcai saw the reel spinning and jabbed like a needle. “Why not skip to your paired burial up on that coal ridge out back?”
“No ivory from a dog’s mouth. Scram.” Xueyu flicked a finger to Lingcai’s forehead, a snap like a pebble on a pond.
Hah. Forgetting duty for desire—trash woman, drifting like fallen leaves.
Lingcai tucked her hands into her sleeves and stood under the eaves, watching the Little Moon Sage’s performance the way one watches theater through lantern-smoke.
Thinking of that faint, black-laced smile, Lingcai prayed in her heart, words like beads sliding: Xueyu, Xueyu. I meant to save you, but you won’t take a good hand. The road to heaven lies open, yet you walk the path with no gate straight into hell.
Xueyu stayed hypnotized by the full-figured, white-haired doll before her, eyes like tide caught by moon; she never saw the knife behind the smile.
The Little Moon Sage pressed her palms together at her chest, bright as a bell. “Wow, so you’re Sister Xue? Daddy mentioned your name.”
To be named by the Great Sage, and in front of such a cute daughter—Xueyu felt she could die content, like incense burning to gold ash.
Floating in self-satisfaction, she stuttered like a brook over stones. “Th-then, wh-what did the honored Sage praise me for?”
A barely-there wicked curve touched Little Moon’s lips; she stepped back two paces, tapped her temple lightly, and said with solemn care, words falling like clean snow.
“Father said you’re a bad person—a dyed-in-the-bone maniac obsessed with little girls and girl-on-girl. If you meet her, keep your distance.”
Pfft—
Lingcai kept her face still as a lake, but inside, laughter sprayed like soda from a shaken bottle. Xueyu’s gaze dimmed from shock to ash, tongue tied like a knot.
“Uh… th-this this… ababa…”
Then Little Moon turned the blade to a feather, gliding forward, fingers like willow leaves, and took Xueyu’s hands.
“But meeting Sister Xue in person, I’m sure you’re not that kind of person, right? Could I ask you to go shopping for clothes with me?”
“Of course not! I’d never be that kind of person!” At the request, Xueyu clasped those slim jade hands, hope flaring in her pupils like lanterns, dropped to one knee like a knight. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll be your escort today, Miss Little Moon. Heh… hehe…”
No need to look; lust had blinded her eyes like fog swallowing a road.
Trash, to the core. Trash woman.
“Thank you! As thanks, Sister Xue, let me give you a present, okay?”
Little Moon still smiled with palms folded, voice sweet as sugared tea.
The ancients say: never accept an Alchemist’s gift lightly; their boxes hide scorpions under silk.
Sadly, Xueyu didn’t know those ancients, or that saying; her eyes sparkled like stars caught in a well.
“I don’t mind! I’ll love whatever it is! Even if it’s the flashiest gift, my eyes see only you!”
Wake up, sweetheart—you fool. Your eyes should be on Her Highness the Princess; don’t forget what job you serve under heaven.
I should just file a black report with the Princess and have Xueyu dismissed like a weed from a garden.
Such a guard, better not to have at all.
As Lingcai’s thoughts scattered like leaves, a click sounded at her ear, sharp as breaking ice.
The Little Moon Sage lifted Xueyu’s wrist and slid on an ancient bronze bangle carved with unknown runes, old as riverbeds, yet not crude; bright as dawn, yet not gaudy—just sitting there, it felt expensive as jade under rain.
“Wh-what… is this? Can I really accept it?”
With an angel’s calm, Little Moon answered word by word, beads on a string. “You can. It’s an alchemical tool I made myself, called the Desire-Quelling Bracelet. Look closely—it suits you.”
“Then I’ll acce—huh? Desire… what? C-could you say that again?”
Little Moon put on a halo of innocence, clear as water. “Desire-quelling. If the wearer holds even a single improper thought, the bracelet will crackle with lightning. Sister Xue, aren’t you Her Highness the Princess’s guard? A guard should polish skill like a blade and cut off idle thoughts, right? So I’m giving you this to help your craft rise like the morning sun.”
Before her words finished falling, Xueyu’s right hand, the one wearing the bracelet, jerked and trembled like a fish on a line; cold sweat beaded on her forehead like dew on iron.
“What’s wrong, Sister Xue? Why are you shaking? You wouldn’t be harboring any improper thoughts, would you?”
Little Moon kept smiling, a lamb’s fleece hiding a wolf’s teeth.
Devil. Pure devil. A devil wearing an angel’s skin like silk.
Truly worthy of Master-ancestor—depths unfathomable, a sea at midnight; may I never be her enemy in this lifetime.
Xueyu’s right hand kept twitching, yet she wrestled herself into control like a rider taming a bucking horse, forcing a smile through a mask of despair, and cut her eyes at Lingcai like a thrown pebble.
Don’t drag me in.
Lingcai slid past that pleading look like rain off oil paper.
Serves you right.
