Morning light filtered through green-shadowed branches and the pane, spilling gold onto the floor.

Lingchen Yao cracked his eyes open, heaviness clinging like wet cloth. He glanced at the battered phone by the counter, a tin-dull relic. He shook off sleep, smoothed hair long enough to veil his ears. Body heavy as soaked cotton, he wobbled into the communal bathroom.

The faucet gushed, colliding with his pale face like a cold stream on stone. The chill bit him awake, sharp as mint. In the cracked mirror, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen, two bruised cherries, proof last night hadn’t held peace.

He stared at the yellowed, blackened wood carving on the counter, memory nets thrown into old waters. Time fogged the surface, but one sky-splitting beam and two dear silhouettes felt carved into bone, the marks aching whenever he breathed.

It’s always been like this—those little blades of memory nicking the soft heart of a child, every cut stinging like salt rain.

He shook his head, scattering droplets like silver fish. He shook off last night’s dreams like dust, and shooed the sour gnats of bad thoughts. Today mattered; shadows weren’t invited.

He pulled on a short-sleeved shirt and cropped pants, pale skin cool as porcelain catching the light. He slung on a black backpack, mind ticking like a small clock. Wallet, phone, Key, door lock—he checked them twice, like knots in a sailor’s rope.

“Xiaoyao!” A bright voice floated up from the stairwell like a breeze through peach blossoms. Downstairs, a girl in a pink-and-white dress and a sunhat lifted her brows and smiled, sweet as a spring wind. She didn’t belong to the cracked paint and dull hallway, nor to his plain clothes—she looked like a lantern in old mist.

“Xiaoyin-jie!” Lingchen Yao saw the familiar stranger that was Chen Xiaoyin, paused like a deer in a beam of light, then waved and hurried over.

“I thought you’d pick someplace better to live.” Chen Xiaoyin’s face straightened, and a familiar knot tugged inside him like a string pulled tight.

Here we go. She’s gonna lecture me. His neck turtled down, instinct folding him small; she wasn’t much older, but her scold felt tall as a pine.

“I send you plenty every month.” Her words came like tapping sticks. “You should treat yourself better. Don’t pinch coins till they cry. If it’s not enough, ask me. I’m with the Mutual Aid Society now. The pay’s a bit lower than the other Towers, but feeding you all isn’t a problem. I’m the sister; I’m supposed to look after my little brothers…”

Lingchen Yao’s gaze slid away, like a fish dodging a net. Seeing that drift, Chen Xiaoyin tossed him a white-eyed look, sharp as chalk, and dropped the topic like a stone.

“Go get supplies. It’s the director’s birthday. Going empty-handed feels wrong… and yes, I mean you.” She lifted her plastic bag like a child showing off a caught firefly.

“Mm.” His answer glinted small as a bead.

Both Lingchen Yao and Chen Xiaoyin were Yunyang Orphanage kids, shells washed to the same shore. Chen came around three or four, while Lingchen drifted in at six or seven. The director treated all of them like family, warmth like a kettle that never cooled.

They learned their basics there, letters and numbers like seeds. At sixteen, tests found Chen Xiaoyin’s gift—talent for being a Magic Maiden—so she entered a Three Towers–affiliated academy, a bird launched on a higher wind. Now she served the Mutual Aid Society, a Magic Maiden grown steady.

This year, Lingchen had just turned eighteen. He passed the selection exam, earned a place at a first-tier university. If all went smooth, he could land a decent company, maybe even roll the dice on becoming a Magic Maiden manager.

“Scan to pay right here.” The bearded stall owner pointed, voice rough as sandpaper. Envy crept through his eyes like smoke. He slapped his beer belly, then glanced at the jowly woman beside him, regret sitting thick as stale foam.

“So, Xiaoyao, how’ve you been? I heard you got into a first-tier school in the region?” Chen Xiaoyin’s curiosity flickered like a moth’s wing. They hadn’t talked in a while; the orphanage had leaked the good news.

“Mm. Jiuqiong—pretty decent. I’ve been working part-time here and there.” He shrugged, palms open like empty bowls. “Lately it’s quiet. That company brought in a lot of Magic Tools, hired a lot of Magic Maidens. They don’t need us.”

His eyes held a tired shine, like street lamps in drizzle. Mana and tech had swallowed the big stage; their fusion outmuscled old engines and gears. But it came with a chain—Mana was the key, so every large machine needed a Magic Maiden to breathe life.

We ordinary folk might just be relics, brass buttons from a jacket the world no longer wears.

“Xiaoyin-jie, how’s work at the Mutual Aid Society?” He fished in his pocket, coins clinking like little bells. He stacked the special metal pieces, then checked his phone balance, digits thin as reeds.

“Mm, smooth enough. Nothing big…” She flicked through chats on her screen; a crisp ding rang out like glass tapped with a spoon, and they drifted out of the mall, feet on a lazy river.

“Ah, got it. Keep it hush.” Chen Xiaoyin nudged closer, voice low as sprouting grass. “Aklatia’s remnants are prowling our district. The Order Keeper here is hunting them. If you see anyone using banned Magic Tools, tell me or the Order Keeper fast. It’s not peaceful. And stay in at night.”

Lingchen nodded, tucking that warning into a corner of his mind like a paper charm. He knew his memory frayed like an old rope, but he tried to tie the knot tight.

He didn’t care much for Aklatia or Magic Maidens—those storms blew above his roof. Money, carving, any trace of his parents, staying alive—that was his small compass.

“Driver, Yunyang Orphanage!”

About half an hour later, they stepped off the car. Lingchen grumbled, words puffing like steam, and Chen Xiaoyin rubbed her brow, lines black as ink.

“Driver took a few extra turns.”

“Yunyang Orphanage” stood in black-painted letters on steel pillars, paint peeled like old bark, rust blooming at the gate. Inside, children sat in a warm cluster, and staff brushed around them like caring sparrows.

They asked a worker, then followed familiar halls, footsteps soft as chalk dust. In the last, cramped yet bright room, a white-haired woman, well into her seventies, squinted out the window at the knot of kids, eyes like quiet ponds.

“Director Hao!” Chen Xiaoyin and Lingchen Yao bent in unison, bows neat as folded paper.

“Chenyao? Xiaoyin? Long time.” Her mind and body felt firm, voice steady as a drum. “I remember Xiaoyin came last week… Chenyao seemed to visit last month. Both together today? That’s rare.”

Her pace was slow, but breath full as a bell.

They explained and settled into a gentle chat, words foaming like tea.

A rapid knock rattled the office door, a woodpecker rhythm.

A girl, a shade younger than Lingchen, slipped in, white tennis cap bright as a gull’s wing. She wore a white sporty set and black-and-white canvas shoes. Her shoulder-length short hair bounced, lively as sparrows.

“Grandma, I’m here!” Her name was Hao Wenqian. She set down her bag, saw Lingchen and Chen Xiaoyin, and smiled, sunlight pooling in her cheeks.

“Sis Xiaoyin! And Brother Ling!” Hao Wenqian dove into Chen Xiaoyin’s arms, and the already warm air thickened like summer honey.

Lingchen laughed helplessly, smile curling like steam. He didn’t cut into their reunion. He nodded to Director Hao, lifted the bag, and headed to the back kitchen, steps light as leaves.

Head tucked against Chen Xiaoyin, Hao Wenqian blinked at Lingchen, gratitude shining like dew.

“I’ll go easy on the green peppers.”

Lingchen shut the door gently, a soft click like a moth landing.

Hao Wenqian looked moved to tears, eyes wet as spring wells.

By evening, familiar faces arrived in waves, like kites coming home. The crowd pushed drinks on Lingchen, and he melted into the sofa like mud, mumbling, “I can still drink, I can still drink,” slurred as strings gone loose. It was Director Hao’s birthday, yet the supposed main actor bowed out early. It turned into a family gathering for the orphanage, warm and loud as a hearth.

Chen Xiaoyin called a car, then used magic to heft Lingchen aboard, careful hands steady as a cradle, sending him back to his rental.

The cracked window drew in a cool wind, a thread of night silk. Trees whispered shaa-shaa, shadows stretched long under dim lamps, like ink brushed thin. The night sky wore its ancient stars, and the moon tilted and slid, east rising, west sinking, a silver coin rolling across velvet.

Silence pressed down, thick as felt. After silence, a smothered fire bloomed under the moon, a red flower that shouldn’t open.

The taxi’s old player chimed a warning tone, a cold ping cutting air. Chen Xiaoyin pulled from her skirt pocket a grass-green bow; the deep emerald at its heart flashed like a captured leaf-sun.

“Driver, stop. I’m getting out. It’s dangerous nearby. Find a safe place and hide, please, and protect him.”

Him meant Lingchen Yao, this sodden drunk, soft as dough.

She slipped on an earpiece. Urgent voices burst in, fast as sparrows:

“Order Keeper, Twelfth District, Lujin Lushi squad. Found an Aklatia underground lab. Lab destroyed. Most resisters down. Some are fleeing. Nearby residents may be at risk. Request support!”

“Mutual Aid Society, Twelfth District, reserve member Chen Xiaoyin is nearby.”

“A reserve from the Mutual Aid Society?”

On the line, Lu Shi fell quiet, silence like a held breath. Mutual Aid Society members were almost guests in such storms; help could turn into hindrance, and they had little hard bite in a fight.

“We can ask her ability and what she’s good at.” Lu Jin’s voice was a steady rope. “Recently, some Mutual Aid Society newcomers have real strength. Several who could’ve joined Order Keeper chose Mutual Aid Society instead.”

“Mm, makes sense.”

“Mutual Aid Society, reserve member Chen Xiaoyin. First Symphony. Ability: energy-specialized defense. Specialty: some support-type magic.”

Lu Shi agreed with Lu Jin’s call, and with a short breath like a snapped twig, she accepted Chen Xiaoyin into the hunt.