Her head was pounding, like swimming through ink-black night.

Violent shaking rolled through her arm like a storm on a lake; Lingcai clawed her way out of sleep. Fog still clung to her mind, but awareness lit like a lantern; she knew what had happened.

After Lingcai pulled her gas grenade and blew herself, the sleep gas snuffed out both her and LilyBell’s awareness. They sank to the ground like leaves at dusk.

When the sleep haze finally thinned like mist after rain, Xueyu came with Scarlet Leaf and shook Lingcai awake.

Lingcai yawned deep, like a cave echoing, and fought to lift her leaden eyelids. Even with all her will, the world stayed blurred, like water under frost.

Like that student who tunes out the teacher, drifting like a paper boat.

A splash of cold water struck her face like winter rain, snapping her awake. The aftermath hit hard—a half-slept headache splitting like a cracked bell.

She pushed herself up, shook her head like a wet dog, and saw Scarlet Leaf beside her. Before she spoke, Scarlet Leaf scooped her into an embrace like a quilt warming in sunlight. She could hear Scarlet Leaf’s heartbeat, thudding like a drum in a quiet valley.

“I’m fine... don’t worry.”

Lingcai murmured into the embrace and nestled into her chest like a kitten curling into soft fur. She clung the way a child leans into her mother, like willow to riverbank.

After that quiet leaning, Lingcai finally pried her eyes open like petals at dawn. She glanced at Scarlet Leaf, then at the little fox-girl snoring on the ground like a curled fox in snow, and asked:

“...What do we do with her?”

Xueyu leaned on her longsword like a sapling against wind, unwilling to step closer to LilyBell. She let out a long sigh, like air leaving a flute.

“Leave her here. If she comes after us later, we’ll deal with it then.”

Lingcai shook her head, like a reed refusing the current. If you ask me, plant a bomb, blow her to pieces, end it clean. Strike while she’s down; take her life.

“Forget it, forget it...”

Xueyu gave a wry smile, slipped off her coat, pinched the collar, and crept close like a cat so she wouldn’t disturb LilyBell. Then she draped the coat over LilyBell’s body like a fallen leaf.

The ease of it spoke of habit, like a river carving stone over years. It made you wonder if she was a heart-thief with flowers in every port. Hah—no need to wonder; she was.

“All right, let’s go. While LilyBell’s still asleep—run.”

Those words sounded normal, like smooth water. To Lingcai’s ears, though, they rang like a scummy woman sneaking away after a one-night storm, shoes in hand.

The sleep gas still muddled her legs; her steps wobbled like reeds in a marsh. She had no strength to tease Xueyu further; her tongue felt heavy as wet cloth.

Scarlet Leaf touched her forehead softly, a petal to skin, then hitched Lingcai onto her shoulder. She carried her, and together with Xueyu, they left the ruins like swallows leaving a broken nest.

For the first time, Lingcai noticed how warm and soft Scarlet Leaf’s shoulder was, like sunlit wood. Scarlet Leaf kept silent, palm gentle on Lingcai’s brow like moonlight on water, not wanting to wake her as she closed her eyes again.

Before Lingcai slipped back under, a thought flared like a firefly. She asked Xueyu:

“I don’t get it. What happened between you and that little fox, back then?”

Xueyu answered lightly, words like smoke. “Nothing much. I ran into her by chance while interning in another city.”

“A chance run-in doesn’t turn into years of chasing. Be honest.”

Drowsy as she was, Lingcai pushed herself, like a swimmer against current, to get the truth. Cornered, Xueyu sighed and laid the tale out from start to finish, like rolling out a scroll:

“Remember late in the Brunkia era, when the townsfolk hunted ‘witches’? They said the Brunkia Emperor wasn’t inept, just bewitched, so they must purge his court, kill witches, keep the realm at peace. By day, convoys rolled out like iron rivers; by dusk, they crawled back hauling poor souls from who-knows-where. Grab a batch, kill a batch—no law, no mercy. Sentence after the blade; that was the norm.

“In truth, it had nothing to do with real witches—just rumors echoing like wind through reeds. People back then needed a vent for their anger, boiling like summer thunder. They didn’t dare aim at the Brunkia Emperor, so they clung to rumor like a raft.

“I was interning in Tors City for swordwork then. The streets lay empty like dried riverbeds; at the worst, no one dared go out. If we needed supplies, masters sent male disciples out; the women were hidden in the dojo. We trained inside with real blades, not bamboo—steel gleaming like cold moonlight. The instructors said, if someone breaches the dojo, you cut like lightning; if blood spills, they’ll bear it. That’s how chaotic it was, a storm penned inside four walls.

“Later, things got worse, clouds piling over the roof. People kept hurling stones from outside like hail; some even tried to climb the wall. So the dojo set night watches in turns, lanterns posted along the gates. We were short on hands, so the main gate stayed under the men; the women guarded the back door in a side alley.

“That night, I was at the back. I heard a girl crying in the alley, thin as a cat in rain. Over the wall I saw torchlight swelling like a flood—at least twenty. Guard shifts pair two face-to-face, right? I told the junior on my shift: I’m going to look. If I’m not back in thirty seconds, bar the door; let no one in. She tried to stop me. Didn’t manage. I ran out. That was when I met LilyBell.”

Xueyu spread her hands, let out a long breath like steam from a kettle.

Lingcai finished the tale with a yawn like a drifting cloud, and sank again onto Scarlet Leaf’s shoulder:

“...Huh. Didn’t peg you as upright. I thought you seduced her and ran, and that’s why she chased you.”

Xueyu’s mouth twitched like a bent fishhook. “I notice you always paint me as the villain first.”

Lingcai shot back like a pebble skipping. “Please. You’ve done plenty of bad. Then what?”

“Then? Then I brought her back to the dojo. She was young, and her magic wasn’t strong, like a candle against wind. Next morning, the sword instructor punished me—kneel in the isolation room on a nail board. What else? I broke rules; if trouble comes, the whole brotherhood pays. Still, a life saved is a life saved. I knelt half a day like a penitent on thorns, and they let me out by afternoon. Up until the Elven King’s plotting for uprising, LilyBell lived with me in the dojo. She said, when she grew up, she’d marry me. I answered offhand—sure, tossing the promise like a leaf. I didn’t know her people turn partners into puppets.”

Lingcai squinted, eyes like blades. “And if they didn’t—were you actually going to go through with it?”

Xueyu clapped her hands suddenly, and half the truth burst out like a startled bird: “Ah, wouldn’t that be—no, cough, pfft, am I that kind of person? Look, the age gap’s huge—that’s a crime! I and crime cannot share the same sky!”

“Cannot share the same sky!”

“Share the same sky!”

“The sky!”

“Sky!”

Xueyu’s shout echoed through the ruins like stones skipping. It finally reached LilyBell’s ears.

When LilyBell woke, Lingcai’s group had long gone, like footprints washed by rain. She blinked in a haze, then jolted upright like a sparrow from brush. She felt her head, confirmed it was still attached to her neck, and let out a breath like wind leaving a bellow.

She hadn’t expected it—she had surrendered, and the Great Sage still dropped her in one move. She hadn’t even grasped what happened, like a bird felled mid-flight. Wait—maybe because she surrendered, the Great Sage spared her life?

LilyBell swelled with relief at her own quick wits, like a fox patting its tail. If she could drop someone without a trace, the Great Sage was no ordinary soul, a blade hidden in silk.

Then LilyBell noticed the seven-pointed star badge Lingcai had dropped. She froze like a deer in moonlight.

The Great Sage actually left something this important behind?

It was just Lingcai being careless, yet LilyBell’s imagination ran wild like vines. In a blink, she staged a self-moving drama in her head, lanterns lighting one by one. The Sage probably didn’t forget it at all. Maybe this was a test of her sincerity, weighing her heart like a feather on a scale.

Faced with such a treasure, would she pocket it like a magpie, or return it honestly like a monk laying down alms? Perhaps it was also a quiet way for the Sage to reveal her identity, like a seal stamped in wax.

LilyBell perked up at once, like tea leaves rising in hot water. She rushed forward, picked up the seven-colored pendant that marked the Great Sage’s rank, and held it overhead, apologizing to the air like praying under an empty sky:

“Thank you, Great Sage, for sparing my life! LilyBell will return this in person another day!”

=====

“Achoo!”

Half-asleep, Lingcai sneezed, then leaned back onto Scarlet Leaf’s shoulder and drifted off again: “Is someone bad-mouthing me...”