“Why aren’t you still crouching in the corner, shadowing me like a stray?”

Lin spread his hands, chips crackling like dry leaves, his gaze on Night Frost heavy with weary fog.

“Who wouldn’t want to? But you won’t listen. So I stick to your side. Stay put—don’t chase clouds.”

Night Frost didn’t answer. She took Yin Chen Yue by the hand and drifted off like a quiet stream.

Lin sighed; it puffed out like steam on cold glass. He hurried after them, playing the bowing servant to two young ladies, [Cantata Two] bowing and scraping to nobodies—humiliation like grit in his teeth.

Today Night Frost and Yin Chen Yue circled most of the underground city, mapping escape nodes like constellations—sewers, vents, hidden doors tucked in alleys.

The trip to the Divine Cult Modification Center left a mark. Those points mattered; next time a net fell, she could swim through those channels like an eel.

Yin Chen Yue haggled with a handmade-doll seller, her voice a soft bell. The price was low, yet it pricked her like thorns.

“You really won’t stop tailing me?”

Lin shifted tactics and stuck close, a shadow stitched to her heel. Night Frost didn’t mind; with Yin Chen Yue away, she tossed the question over her shoulder like a pebble.

“If you could stay quiet, I wouldn’t tail you.”

She never rebelled head-on; she used little moves like needles. Every cleanup drained Lin, his patience thinning like paper.

“Give me some wood. I’ll carve all day. You can go stare at someone else. Win-win.”

Wood-carving lit a warning in Lin’s chest, a red lamp. He didn’t know why, but trouble smelled like sap. He opened his mouth to refuse—then Yin Chen Yue bounded over, hugging two homely dolls.

She’d heard “wood carving” from afar, wonder blooming like a lantern. “Wood carving? Sister can carve?”

Night Frost puffed her chest, pride a small drumbeat. She wasn’t a master—only simple shapes, a fox, a bird—but the knife still sang for her.

Night Frost’s nod made curiosity ripple in Yin Chen Yue’s eyes, bright as a lake at dawn. The hunger to learn thumped against everyone’s ribs.

“I want to watch! I want to watch!”

Night Frost spread her hands, palms bare as an empty field. She had skill, but no wood, no tools. “Sister can’t. No tools, no lumber. This bad uncle won’t give.”

Her tears were pear-blossom tears, glittering rain on spring petals. Her rims reddened; Yin Chen Yue’s eyes stayed clear as glass—pinch a cheek and the rain would fall.

Night Frost shot Lin a look, night-chill laced with resentment. In the street play, he was the faithless man, one breath short of “You heartless man! I followed the wrong one!”

No one stepped in. White cloth marked residents; the rest were new or “outside.” Outside hands held heavy scales; they could fix or break a life with a nod.

Lin had bought plenty, his vouchers rustling like leaves. Not new. People feared being the bird that sticks its head out; angering a big fish meant bones in their soup. They offered Night Frost silent pity, but their feet stayed nailed.

She’d already aimed her arrow. Lin monitored from shadows, rarely walking the streets; to most eyes, he was a new face.

Night Frost was new too, yet she wore the same white as them. She had Yin Chen Yue at her side, white upon white; the wind of opinion bent toward her and unfurled across the whole underground city.

Gossip moves like plague. Night Frost only needed to plant a breeze. The sickness would bloom on its own. She didn’t even know what shape it would mutate into.

Her purpose met, she pocketed her tears in a heartbeat.

“You piece of work.”

This is why Lin avoided dealing with people smarter than him—always digging pits like that damned author who never fills them.

The first rumor hit his ear like a drum: “Shocking! A staffer abandoned wife and child in public!” The second darkened: “Staffer keeps a mistress, gets caught by the main wife!” The last would slither in as: “A woman cried in the street, because…”

If he didn’t press it down, tomorrow every alley would hum his scandal. How could he show his face at Rouge Rabbit?

He could already see his colleagues’ smirks—too late. The strongest among monitors had pride like iron. He wouldn’t stomach a gutter rumor.

If Lin appeared now, it would fan the fire. It would turn into: “Affair exposed, someone cursed the crowd in public.” The thought slicked sweat over his back.

It takes the hand that tied the knot to untie it. Only Night Frost could clarify and smother the smoke. Later, with the boss’s nod, he’d stomp it flat.

“Hmm? Thought it through? Wood and tools for my clarification. Deal?”

Lin ground his teeth. He’d stepped into her pit. If he’d just held back and stayed away, she’d have no leverage.

No time to brood. His name was rotting like fruit. Yin Chen Yue’s pleading eyes were rain on dry soil; Night Frost’s pressure was a vise. He folded.

“Fine. I agree. In a few days, you get wood and tools. You help me quell it now.”

Not enough. Strangers’ promises blow away like ash. Paper binds. Sign it, stamp it.

Night Frost fetched paper and pen, sketched a simple contract—terms, timing, hands and names. Ink dried like night on snow.

Then she faced the crowd. She laid out the facts, pebble by pebble, and soothed them. “This staffer named Lin hasn’t bullied us.”

“Of course, if you don’t deliver, I’ll shout in the street in a few days that you coerced me last time.”

Lin had thought of running like a fox, but her words nailed the thought. She would do it; he knew it in his bones.

“Little Chen Yue, remember. This uncle will give me lumber and tools. Then I’ll carve for you. If I don’t come back for a long while, say this in the street.”

Her voice was loud, yet arrowed only to Lin’s ears, a whisper carried by wind. Lin’s mouth twitched. He’d tailed shameless people, but never one like Night Frost—a female bandit with silk gloves.

That line also killed his plan to bag her and force a confession. The net won’t hold a cloud.

“Chen Yue knows!”

Yin Chen Yue didn’t grasp the knots, but she held Night Frost as good—she’d cooked her many small feasts. She’d obey like a star follows the moon.

“Fine, fine…”

Two months might be his worst run. If he could, he’d never see Night Frost again. He raised a hand in surrender and called the outside team to prep her materials.

Night Frost felt her anger dissolve like salt in rain. Last time he tried to stir the Doctor and her against each other—just for fun. Now she watched his fun like a cat on a wall.

Lin regretted so hard it ached. Next time, he’d go on assignment. Field work felt freer than monitoring—no slimy colleagues, no Night Frost. The monitor job? Not even a dog should take it.

After sending Lin off, Night Frost glanced at the Doctor’s wristwatch. Outside time hummed near six. Night vendors sprouted like bamboo after rain, and Night Frost ate till warmth pooled in her belly.

Yin Chen Yue’s appetite stayed small, a sparrow’s peck.

Night Frost saw Yin Chen Yue to the elevator, then walked home. At the door, a black silhouette had rooted for a long while, testing a Key against the lock the Doctor had replaced.

Her senses had dipped like dusk, the street was dim, but she wasn’t blind. The blur still shaped itself for her.

Could Lin be here to bite back? She held a leash on him, and she’d cued Yin Chen Yue. He wasn’t a storm. Also—unlikely.

She tapped her brow, called a ribbon of Mana. The red-gold of her irises took on a thin green ring, and the night opened like a curtain.

A short-haired man stood there, pure white clothes, the underground’s uniform. Glasses framed his face, scholar-soft, owl-still.

He pushed his glasses with one finger, waiting like a stone by a gate.

Night Frost felt no Mana on him, no deep tide. In her current state, he wasn’t a sharp threat—but danger still pricked. She waited outside, watching his hands, weighing moves.

A minute. Five. Ten. He wrestled the lock like a stubborn ox, from standing to sitting.

Where’d the chair come from? “Borrowed” from next door, moonlight as witness. This one wasn’t like any white-clad she’d met.

Clack!

A clear snap cut the air. One Key was wrong for the lock—or too brittle. It ended its short life stuck in the throat.

The Key and the lock married on the spot, white heads till old age—congratulations, congratulations.

But… how was Night Frost supposed to get inside now?