Warm water flowed over her skin like a mother’s gentle caress. Her rough patches softened into silk, fingertips gliding over flesh smoother than the world’s finest jade—impossible to let go.

Lia sat naked on a wooden stool, bare feet pressed against the hard floor. Steaming buckets lined her feet. Across from her stood a half-body mirror, its surface fogged by heat. Yet through the haze, she could still see her own snow-pale curves.

Her shoulders sloped like frosted jade peaks, radiating the quiet allure of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. A slender waist begged to be held; long legs, firm and shapely, pressed tightly together without a sliver of space between them.

Damp strands of dark gold hair clung to her neck, gleaming faintly in the light.

Walls of rough-hewn wood enclosed this private bathing nook—carved out just for her by Yihan. She knew she hadn’t a single copper coin to her name, yet he’d insisted, *"Wash all you want. I’ll handle the cost."* The promise left her restless with suspicion.

Why would a stranger—someone she’d only just met today—show her such kindness?

Years in the orphanage had hardened her into distrust. She believed no gesture came without hidden strings. Even her hated firewood sales were just survival: obey the headmistress, keep a roof overhead.

So what did *he* want?

She scrubbed mechanically, turning sideways to face the mirror. Over her shoulder, she glimpsed the faint crimson patterns tracing her back.

Like unfurling flames.

She’d nearly forgotten when they first appeared. Baths at the orphanage were rare, and the marks hid where she couldn’t see. Only a chance glimpse from a bathmate had revealed them.

An old fortuneteller in town once called it a curse: *"Those near you meet ruin."* After the times her body erupted in fire during danger, Lia had begun to believe it.

Silence settled. She pushed down the unease, poured the last buckets of hot water over herself, and shoved open the wooden door.

Her worn clothes—washed and dried by a maid—lay folded in a basket. Dressed, she stepped outside. Icy air slapped her freshly cleansed face, making her shiver violently. Clean, yes. But colder than before.

"Hey…" A boy’s ragged gasp came from the stairs below. Lia looked down. Yihan slumped against the steps like a half-dead stray, head drooping, cheeks flushed, sweat beading on his brow. He glared up at her between labored breaths, hands trembling.

*What exhausted him so badly?*

"Come on," he wheezed, struggling upright. "Today’s goal: sell fifty matches. With me—a former top salesman—this’ll be a breeze." He staggered toward the exit, movements unsteady.

"What happened to him?" Lia asked the gatekeeper.

"He had no coin for your bath," the man sneered, eyeing Yihan’s retreating back. "Chopped wood for over an hour to pay. No money? Don’t come here. This time he got lucky. Next time, no mercy."

Lia barely heard the last words. Her gaze stayed fixed on Yihan’s fading silhouette. Something deep inside her—a place long frozen—twitched softly.

Behind the bustling market, Yihan found a quiet corner. He studied the transformed Lia and nodded. "There. Now you could walk up to anyone. That face alone won’t make them flinch."

"What do you mean?"

"You’re beautiful."

The blunt praise flushed her cheeks. She turned away, feigning annoyance, but her smile refused to fade.

Yihan hadn’t noticed her blush. He was here for fun, after all. Chopping wood had been an afterthought—he’d forgotten his own empty pockets while insisting she bathe. Now every muscle screamed in protest. But this dream-world felt thrillingly real. And if he could spark something with this lovely girl? Even better than reality.

"First hurdle cleared: your appearance," he declared, rubbing his sore arms. "Now, second question—who’s your customer?"

Lia blinked. She’d barely learned to read her own name after her parents died. The orphanage fed bodies, not minds. Those few tattered books were her only teachers.

Her confusion thrilled Yihan. He leaned in, eager to lecture. "Listen close. Who *needs* your matches? What do they gain? Why buy *yours* over others? And how do you make them feel smart for choosing you?"

Lia’s jaw went slack. She didn’t grasp half his words—but awe washed over her. *He’s brilliant. A scholar, surely.* She’d always just begged strangers blindly. No wonder she failed.

*If only I’d met him sooner…*

Under his encouraging stare, she hesitated, then whispered: "Travelers…? They need easy fire. Matches are light. Last long…" She peeked at his face, bracing for rejection.

His grin exploded. He ruffled her hair—rough, playful, utterly careless. "Brilliant! Nailed your first target group. Clever girl."

His touch wasn’t gentle. It was chaos, wrecking her carefully combed hair. Yet Lia didn’t flinch. In the orphanage, she recoiled from accidental brushes—even from girls her age. But with this stranger? She felt like a sunbathing cat, belly exposed, trusting completely.

Perhaps it began that night in the burning warehouse. When he’d lunged through flames, seized her wrist without hesitation. Since then, some part of her had known: she’d never push him away.

Lia closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wished this moment would never end.