“Go on, sow bad karma,” she snapped, her words like thorns under the skin. “Which ghost girl, blind as night, actually fell for you?”

In Xueyu’s yard, Lingcai cleared a patch like sweeping frost off stone, lit a blaze, and fed the fire letters stuffed with hair.

The paper and the hair curled and blackened, then drifted to ash like gray snow; while the flames licked, Lingcai scolded Xueyu with heat like midsummer.

“Maybe some girl you flirted with, tossed aside, turned resentful, and clung like damp fog. Serves you right,” she said, each syllable a pebble thrown.

She waved an envelope at Xueyu like a paper blade; Xueyu hugged the pillar, shrinking back like a wet cat, innocence painted across her face.

“I didn’t do that,” she blurted, voice fluttering like a trapped sparrow. “Don’t bring those here! Just burn them, please!”

Lingcai cracked open a few more, slid out yellow talisman paper, exasperation dark as storm lines across her brow, and read like a bell tolling.

“This one says ‘I want to see you’ on repeat, like rain tapping the same tile. This one says ‘Why aren’t you replying,’ like a drumbeat.”

“And this one says ‘I’m coming to find you,’ in red ink like fresh blood on bone. Yellow talisman paper, red pen—graveyard colors, all of it.”

“Even as a prank, the grit is real,” she muttered, tossing them to the flames like fallen leaves. “No normal person writes this from the daylight.”

She threw them in, then stopped; a sharp stink rose, like singed hide in a butcher’s smoke.

“Huh? Wait,” she breathed, her focus narrowing like a hawk’s eye over stubble fields.

“Burn it!” Xueyu yelped, clinging to the pillar like ivy, her nerves buzzing like winter wires.

Lingcai ignored her, sifted the unburned envelopes like shells on a shore, opened one, and touched the black hair, expecting bristle, finding paper-fine shreds like reeds.

She teased the strands apart, peeling layer by layer like silk from a cocoon, till an orange-yellow hair glinted like a fox-tail filament.

“This is... animal fur, right?” she murmured, holding it under her nose like a twig to the wind.

“Mm. Smells like fox,” she said at last, the answer settling like dust. “But why a fox?”

“You said fox?” Xueyu whispered, her thoughts gathering like clouds over a ridge.

Lingcai turned, gaze sharp as a blade’s edge. “Got a lead?”

“Kind of,” Xueyu said, color slipping from her face like water from stone. “But it feels unlikely.”

“Just say it—how much do you owe?” Lingcai folded her arms, her stare slanting like shadow across the yard.

“Hey, come on,” Xueyu shot back, her words sputtering like damp tinder. “I don’t owe anyone.”

“You don’t owe, yet they send you this?” Lingcai’s tone was cold as a well in winter.

“Why can’t it be she actually likes me?” Xueyu huffed, pride peeking out like a rooster at dawn.

“Oh, then her eyes truly must be blind,” Lingcai said, each word a needle. “And foxes love idle trouble like flies love rotten fruit.”

A few sentences from her cut clean, and Xueyu was mute, his retorts drifting away like smoke.

Lingcai pulled out the pale green card left by that black carriage, set its script against the letters like two leaves side by side. The match was near perfect.

She drew a long breath, then shook the card at him like a branch in wind. “So the sender and the one who took Scarlet Leaf are the same. Who is it?”

“Maybe... LilyBell,” Xueyu said, his voice faltering like a brook over stones.

Seeing he had a thread, Lingcai dusted her hands like shaking off ash. “So, a familiar. Good. No prep. We go see her.”

“No! Absolutely not!” Xueyu snapped, clutching her pack like a shield and backing off like a crab.

“If it’s LilyBell, I’d rather face a death-seeking ghost,” she said, dread rising like cold mist.

“Who’s LilyBell? You’re that scared?” Lingcai scoffed, disbelief flat as iron; Xueyu’s usual swagger felt like a mask slipping.

Xueyu hesitated, then lowered her voice like a door closing. “You know the Garden Witches’ top four?”

“What now? No idea,” Lingcai said, words light as ash. “Name sounds tacky.”

Xueyu gestured in the air, sketching lines like maps on fog. “Think of this country as light and shadow, front and back.”

“The surface is ruled by the Elven King, a crown in sunlight. The underside is ruled by the Garden Witches, roots threading the dark.”

“Their reach spreads like vines, and their stance shifts like reeds. In the uprising, the Elven King’s army bled on their thorns.”

“Focus,” Lingcai cut in, a palm like a shut fan. “Who is LilyBell?”

“Among the Garden Witches, four are strongest,” Xueyu said, the words shaking like leaves. “LilyBell is one of them.”

“First is Iris Flower, Witch of Space,” she continued, voice tight as wire. “She can shift a whole city hundreds of miles, like lifting a chess piece.”

“She’d nail relocation contracts,” Lingcai muttered, dry as old bark.

“Second is BloodRose, Witch of Time,” Xueyu said, moon-cold. “A vampire with witch power. She can rewind herself by dozens of seconds, like pulling back a tide.”

“She’d never lose at scratch-offs,” Lingcai quipped, sarcasm flicking like a fan.

“Third is LilyBell, Witch of Mind,” Xueyu whispered, fear creeping like frost. “She’s from the eastern lands, a kitsune beastkin.”

“She drives shikigami—puppets bound like paper birds—and writes curses on talisman paper, words sinking like ink into bone.”

“Her people have a habit,” she said, dread heavy as iron. “They kill the ones they love, then make puppets—loyal forever, like red strings that won’t break.”

Oh. That explained the shakes, like wind rattling bamboo.

So she’s a yandere fox girl, Lingcai thought, the idea slinking like a shadow-tail.

“You named three,” Lingcai said, counting on her fingers like beads. “Aren’t there four? Who’s the last?”

“Oh,” Xueyu added, almost sheepish, like a candle guttering. “The Eternal Witch, Blue Rose. She doesn’t use magic.”

“A witch who can’t use magic?” Lingcai blinked, surprise fluttering like a moth.

“She can break a giant slab on her chest,” Xueyu said, deadpan as winter stone.

“...”

“...”

Fine. It’s a talent, Lingcai thought, the silence flat as a lake.

She stood a moment, thoughts moving like clouds, then asked, a line drawn like a blade. “If LilyBell’s target is you, why take Scarlet Leaf?”

“Maybe I’m stronger,” Xueyu said, hands up like empty bowls. “Her two shikigami can’t handle me, so she goes for those near me, like wolves circling the flock.”

“Still your fault,” Lingcai grumbled, the complaint dropping like a pebble into a well.

One thought burned in her chest like a brand: that yandere fox girl must not lay eyes on Scarlet Leaf.

If Scarlet Leaf falls, I’ll go for the throat, she vowed, like steel over frost. Garden Witches or top four, they’ll all die.

She sighed, long as winter wind across pines. “Ah.”