“Then I’ll grab a shower first?”

After Cerqin agreed, impatience flickered like sparrows scattering. Aileaf’s size, in the human world, would pass for a porcelain doll.

If she weren’t Littlefolk, a human that small would get snatched up like a lost child.

But by proportion, Aileaf didn’t lose to the Holy Maiden or to Silver Luan of the Half Dragonkin.

The bathroom hid behind a corner door; the tub was custom-built and useless for Cerqin. She settled for a quick rinse, rain over stone.

She wiped dry, tossed on a towel like a cloud, and strolled out. Aileaf was busy at the lab bench, a crane over a rippling pond.

Aileaf kept Cerqin here because her heart had stirred, spring thaw under ice. She wanted time to let something bloom, not the mischief Cerqin imagined.

Just someone to stay, to talk till the lamps burned low.

She was working on an afternoon order, brewing a batch for that specialty shop, bottles like moonlight in a row.

The heated vessel breathed a pink mist, like peach blossoms in fog. Aileaf focused, hands steady as still water, not sensing Cerqin’s clean warmth drift up behind her.

If not for the current potion, Cerqin would’ve hugged her on the spot, a tiger pouncing into bamboo shade.

Facing Aileaf’s gentle nature, Cerqin’s chest beat like war drums. She didn’t want to be the one pushed around again.

This time, she wanted to be the storm, not the reed.

Aileaf looked to need more time, so Cerqin rolled across Aileaf’s tiny nest, testing the mattress like a wave testing shore. It was standard-sized; two could share without crowding.

If, like the bathtub, it had been custom-fit, they’d be on the floor under lantern light.

After sampling the bed’s softness, Cerqin sat up. She flung the towel aside like a discarded banner and swaggered over to watch Aileaf work.

But tincture tuning isn’t fireworks. The minutes thinned, and boredom drifted in like mist after rain.

Finished vials caught Cerqin’s eye, alabaster in a row. She glanced at Aileaf, still repeating motions like a ritual, then reached for one, curiosity pricking like thorns.

One sniff, and a sweet fruit aroma flooded her nose, Eastwind City’s signature harvest, sunlight trapped in peel.

It was so good, a unique perfume. She’d bought it twice these past two days.

Right then, with lunch and dinner skipped, that fragrance woke hunger like a bell in a quiet temple.

Time passed like sand through fingers. Aileaf capped the last bottle, exhaled softly, then remembered Cerqin with a start and a gentle apology.

“Ah—sorry, Cerqin. You must’ve been bored waiting… huh? Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

She turned and caught a flash of pale like moon on snow, yelping as panic fluttered like sparrows. She froze, hands unsure where to land.

Cerqin’s face looked dazed, her skin flushed like peach wine, no reply, just a statue carved from spring.

“Cerqin?”

The call snapped a string. Cerqin jolted, like waking from a dream, and the vial slipped from her fingers, a drop scattering like rain.

The spill told Aileaf the tale. “Cerqin, tell me you didn’t drink that. It isn’t diluted yet!”

Urgency sharpened her voice, cicadas in noon heat. She moved to steady Cerqin for a quick check; undiluted, even a lick could strain the body.

But Cerqin’s eyes lit, a switch flicked, and she leaned in, emotions surging like a river in flood, arms open for warmth.

Aileaf grew more anxious. The new blend was designed to burn stamina fast, trading fuel for sharpened senses and excitement, lightning for lanterns.

It shortens endurance, but the short shock hits like thunder—then demands payment if stamina runs dry, squeezing potential, even life, as tithe.

Too much in one go could scar the body, frostbite under fire.

“Drink this. It’s a stamina tonic…”

Aileaf shelved shyness, ignored wandering hands, and drew a black vial from her spatial kit, urgency pressing it to Cerqin’s lips like a doctor in a storm.

Cerqin didn’t react. Breath came fast, wild horses on a plain. Between gasps, she forced out words.

“Relax… my ability restores stamina quick… I’m fine… eh—”

“Really? Oh—” Relief softened Aileaf like rain on dust. With breath to spare, she finally noticed other troubles.

Just then, Cerqin’s hand strayed where gentleness turns peril. Aileaf startled, voice a fluttering leaf.

“W-wait, Cerqin… oh—”

There was no antidote yet. It was a fresh formula; she hadn’t crafted a counter, and with its nature, she hadn’t planned one.

So for now, Aileaf had few tools against Cerqin’s state, aside from calm and caution.

“Hold… hold on a—hey—”

Cerqin moved with practiced ease, like a dancer freed from chains, years of being pressed down flipping to the other side of the board.

Soon, Aileaf was struggling to keep pace, boats tossed on chop.

“At least—let’s get to the bed…”

Her voice wavered, almost tearful, yet no regret shadowed her eyes. She knew how rare it was to meet someone who stirred the heart.

She only vowed to explain later: don’t sip unknown brews on a whim. Even one drop can be poison under the wrong moon.

From the spill, Cerqin must’ve only tasted a lick. Still, many toxins kill with a single tear.

Yes—Cerqin would earn a firm lesson.

That thought bloomed in Aileaf’s mind, a stern wind she rarely called. Cerqin’s savvy, of course, came from the Holy Maiden Spring Tide; nights had taught her more than a few tricks.

Watching Aileaf’s cheeks flush with the potion’s edge, Cerqin wore a smug smile, fox in grapevine shade.

The draught heightened senses, but to Cerqin it felt middling compared to Silver Luan’s gift. Its excitement push, though, was a drumbeat she couldn’t will away.

She glanced at Aileaf in her arms and sighed at the small bed—tight quarters, a boat in a narrow cove.

As that thought flickered, Cerqin stepped where lines cross and taboos hang, a boundary like a red cord under moonlight.

Aileaf’s tide magic surged once, a wave cresting and breaking. Cerqin bent to lift her—then suddenly lost control, limbs locking like a puppet on strings.

Aileaf’s state shifted too, wind turning sharp.

“Cerqin—I want to try something too…”

The usual softness was gone, replaced by a firmer edge, a green flash in the mind’s eye, a figure like bamboo in storm.

In that blink, Cerqin loosened. Invisible hands guided her to release Aileaf, the same control art used earlier to force breathing for those trapped little princesses.

Aileaf’s rank outstripped Cerqin’s by far—Fifth Rank over Third. Control was as easy as a hawk pinning a sparrow.

Cerqin found her body setting into a horse stance on its own, roots sinking like pines in frost.

Aileaf clenched her fists, eyes bright with a rare excitement, lightning caught in glass.