Night Frost didn’t wake early, but she still caught the tail end of breakfast, like a shadow clinging to dawn. She wasn’t eating; she’d stitch breakfast and lunch into one.

Yin Chen Yue slept in her arms, breath soft as moth wings. With someone beside her, the girl’s heart had settled like a pond without wind. Night Frost rubbed her hair, then slipped from her embrace like a cat easing past a door.

Sensing the warmth vanish, Yin Chen Yue pouted in her sleep. Her tiny hands fumbled like blind fish in a stream, a faint frown rippling across her face.

Night Frost stood by the kitchen, a quiet hearth waiting to flare. In her arms sat today’s share meant for Yin Chen Yue—fresh fruit and greens delivered at the door like morning dew. She took some and planned a hearty meal.

Beef brisket sank into the pot to braise, a dark moon under simmering clouds. She blanched the vegetables and set them cooling like jade leaves. Just as she finished, Lin knocked on Yin Chen Yue’s door. He dropped a big crate and several chisels with a clean bite to their steel—yesterday’s deal, now sealed.

Night Frost fished the contract from beneath the pillow and tore it in front of him, paper snow scattering. Between them, no debt, no chain.

“Be careful these days,” he said, words like a pebble tossed into still water.

He flickered and vanished, a shadow slipping under eaves. But her Spirit Threads tugged a quiet warning—Lin lingered nearby, still watching.

It took some effort to lug the crate of carving wood inside. She stashed the chisels where Yin Chen Yue’s small hands couldn’t reach, like hiding knives from a curious sparrow.

The brisket turned tender, juice heavy as evening rain. Night Frost added spices and coaxed a brown glaze to life, a river of shine. She tossed in potatoes, and the smell unfurled like a banner, drifting into Yin Chen Yue’s room. On the bed, the girl smacked her lips and dampened the pillow with dreams of sauce.

Yin Chen Yue woke, pulled by scent like a hooked fish. Her soul drifted straight toward the table, but Night Frost stopped her with a look as steady as a hand on a bridle. Wash up. New clothes. Then you eat.

Clean and bright as a new leaf, Yin Chen Yue took her seat. Night Frost’s touch had returned, color better than yesterday, flavors lined up like soldiers. Her control of heat was far beyond the past—perhaps a gift tied to flames from when she was a Magic Maiden. Each fine adjustment was a needlework of fire, and her everyday skills quietly rose.

Fire isn’t only for battle—she’d known that long ago. But after gaining flame, the days had been all steel and smoke. Back as an ordinary person, she noticed the small shift like spring grass under snow.

Her grasp of flame grew more delicate, a silk thread between fingers. Thanks to that, she could sculpt Array Patterns with Mana and fire more precisely. Carve a wood piece, bind it with Mana—maybe it’d sing stronger than before.

Her eyes softened toward Yin Chen Yue. The girl shoveled rice soaked in sauce, greed bright as starlight. She finished in a blink, then licked the corner of her mouth like a hungry kitten, hunting the last glimmer of brown.

Night Frost barely ate. Most of it vanished into the little glutton’s moonlit belly. “You… if you want more, I’ll make it again tomorrow.”

She wiped the girl’s mouth clean, then did the dishes, water whispering like rain on tiles. After that, she took a few chisels down from the top of the fridge. Yin Chen Yue leaned in, eyes big as lanterns, waiting for a tiny show.

It had been a long time since she carved. She wouldn’t start with anything difficult. With a small knife she scored a square block, a few clean lines sketching a rough ghost of the shape to come.

Cartoonish makes children smile. She chose a mushroom—simple steps, just gouge with a roughing blade like lifting soil from a garden bed.

Simple, yes, but dull as gray weather to those without a craft. Most would yawn halfway and drift. Yin Chen Yue did. Curiosity doused by repetition, her head nodded like a poppy in wind.

Outside, Lin felt the same. Watching wood dust wasn’t a river worth staring at; a phone would’ve been a brighter lantern. Neither of them would throw time into this fire long enough to become a true artisan.

Half an hour passed, and the shape stood like a small hill. She sanded and fine-carved, patient as tide on stone. An hour later, it sat on the table. Paint would make it prettier, a bloom after rain, but she had no colors.

She could toast it with fire. It’d become a black mushroom, a charred moon. But she preferred the original flavor to a roasted-meat bite.

Yin Chen Yue loved it anyway. The fruit outshone the wait; a finished thing beats a long road. Night Frost handed it to her like a charm.

Her carving hadn’t rusted—fit for inscribing Array Patterns. Since it looked good, she’d start carving useful Monsters to help her out of danger.

There were snags. Lin’s wood was ordinary. Her flame would nibble at it while she carved. She couldn’t exactly dunk the wood in water and carve, could she?

Not impossible, but then the sculpture would hold less Mana, a lantern dimmer by half. She also needed Magic Stones. Without a strong Magic Stone to drive it, even a perfect carving wouldn’t move.

She could scavenge Magic Stones from security cameras and a few home appliances, stars hidden in iron shells. They’d burn out quickly, but there was no better substitute—unless she hunted Monsters. That chance was a flicker in rain.

No matter. She began. Yin Chen Yue got bored and wandered a couple of loops outside, then waited by the elevator for her father, small as a sparrow under a roof beam.

Night Frost carved carefully. Two hours to raise a basic shape, patient as frost forming. Monsters too strong would eat Magic Stones like wolves. Too weak wouldn’t break a path.

The Monsters from the First Symphony weren’t strong, but they were just enough. She’d seen plenty. Those oddly shaped beetles could be the first targets.

Their steps were simple, and the Array Pattern load was light. Still, the material might betray her, and the small area could make patterns overlap, errors breeding like ants.

If this pile of wood birthed five or six successes, she’d be satisfied.

She also carved a few small trinkets with spare Array Patterns—break the pattern, and they’d explode. Not much power, but enough to stall. Think of them as thin-blooded shrapnel grenades.

Six hours passed. She didn’t leave Yin Chen Yue’s home. By evening, Yin Chen Yue returned and found Night Frost sprawled on the bed, spent as a candle stub.

Fair. She didn’t have the stamina for long stretches anymore. The wood was nearly all cut, only final shaping left. Many Array Patterns were carved, but the success rate was miserly.

Seeing Yin Chen Yue, Night Frost swept up the snow of wood shavings. She took the girl out to eat. She had no fuel left for another fire.

Before they left, Night Frost checked the Doctor’s door. The lock hadn’t been changed. She filed that away and moved on.

They picked a decent-looking place and sat near the entrance, the world outside framed like a moving scroll. Dishes arrived. The taste spoke in a flat voice. After two bites, Night Frost wanted her own stove back.

Yin Chen Yue agreed, nose wrinkling like a rabbit’s. Yet the place was crowded, a tide of people, not the look of a bad shop. Night Frost asked four or five customers. They called it good.

Something was off, a chill behind the curtain. Yin Chen Yue, the younger one, grew drowsy, lids heavy as dusk. Night Frost’s gut clenched. Only their dishes were touched.

She pulled on Mana fast, a cool river running her veins. Her Mana was thin, but it could press down and sweep out the sickness like wind over ash.

Someone was after her.

She didn’t know who.

Here, she had no roots. Yin Chen Yue had no enemies; who harms a child? That left Lin, or the Doctor, casting a longer shadow.

She didn’t know what they’d put in the food, but good things don’t make you gray at the edges. She could sit upright because she’d eaten little. Mana helped purge the rot. She was older, stronger, her body a tougher tree.

Inside, staff started driving people out, a rough tide against the shore. A pack of men in white, faces twisted, surged at her without a word.

Night Frost grabbed Yin Chen Yue and slung her over a shoulder, a bundle of warmth. She dove for the door like a fish for open water, grateful she’d chosen a seat near the exit. With her small frame, any farther would’ve been mud.

These men had a story. Their bodies showed old lines of machine grafts, but now they were flesh-and-blood, sinew re-sown. They’d torn out the iron and stitched on meat.

Even without hardware, they weren’t easy prey. Their size and number loomed like a wall.

Yin Chen Yue on her back tightened her movements, a tether she wouldn’t cut. Drop the girl, and they’d turn her into a knife at Night Frost’s throat. At least she wasn’t heavy.

“Who are you?” Night Frost called, voice flat as steel.

No answer. They cracked knuckles and closed in, a storm front inching forward.

Lin didn’t show. Either he watched from eaves, or the puppeteer had snared him. Night Frost didn’t count on his hand. She bolted for the street’s far end.

Days of drifting had mapped the whole underground city into her bones. She’d run escape drills in her head a hundred times, never thinking they’d bloom here.

Buildings spread loose in the underground. She had a Key. If she shook them, she could slip into one of the empty units. Gifts waited there, coals under ash.

Her legs couldn’t match theirs. If she still wore the shape of a Magic Maiden, she’d have dropped them ten blocks back like leaves in wind.

“Doctor!” Night Frost looked up and shouted, a cry thrown at a low ceiling, her frustration a spark seeking thunder.