In the end, everything came to nothing.
Jiang Jiu had indeed asked Lilith to take responsibility for her. But Lilith refused. Worse, she ordered Jiang Jiu to leave the room at once. Obediently, Jiang Jiu stripped off her nightgown right before Lilith’s eyes, changed into her maid dress, slipped on her stockings, and bowed respectfully before stepping out.
Throughout, Lilith kept her face turned away, refusing to look. Jiang Jiu said nothing.
Just before closing the door, she paused as if remembering something. Eyes lowered, a faint smile touched her lips.
"Some things are hard to hide, Master. The more you try to conceal them, the clearer they become—like poverty, like a cough… or how you’re clearly craving my body yet forcing yourself not to look. So awkward."
"Adorable, really. I like it."
"!"
The Lady Witch on the bed froze for a heartbeat, then recovered—uncertain whether flustered or annoyed.
But before she could speak, Jiang Jiu let out a soft chuckle outside, closed the door lightly, and strolled away.
She was going to check on An Ning.
...
An Ning had been staying at the bar these past few days.
The fireplace wasn’t just linked to the travel network—it functioned as a doorway. With the owner’s permission, one could step through into the space beyond.
According to Jiang Jiu, that space was the Witch’s Haven.
Living room, bedroom, bathroom—all impeccably arranged in ancient Chinese style, so vivid it felt like stepping onto a historical drama set.
Jiang Jiu once asked Lilith why her lair wasn’t gloomy like legends claimed, or Western-styled. Lilith blinked in genuine confusion. "Why assume a witch’s home must be Western?"
"Isn’t it?"
"No."
What followed was a quiet lesson in lore.
Lilith explained witches weren’t Western-born. They’d emerged across the globe since antiquity. "Witch" was simply the adopted global term for convenience.
The word itself was a loanword—referring to supernatural women in Western tales. In Eastern tradition, they’d be called immortals or goddesses.
Jiang Jiu nodded in understanding. Then curiosity struck: "Why do I, a native Eastern witch, have a Western name like Lilith?"
Lilith glanced at her, indifferent. "A name’s just a label. East or West doesn’t matter. Lilith holds meaning for me. So I keep it."
Jiang Jiu sensed a story there.
But she didn’t pry. If Lilith wished to share, she would. If not—why stir trouble?
After that talk, Jiang Jiu saw the witch world anew.
Witches shared some traits with humans. Others defied logic: no need to wash, near-zero metabolism, no bodily waste.
The deeper she learned, the more absurd it felt.
Their existence floated beyond science. If science proved 1+1=2, witches were living proof it could equal three, four, five.
Two natural laws coexisting… a dual-track world?
Not Jiang Jiu’s concern.
The maid glided silently down the hall, knocked softly on An Ning’s door.
"Coming."
Light footsteps. The door opened.
The pale-faced girl met her gaze, slightly puzzled.
"Something wrong?"
"Yes," Jiang Jiu smiled. "What would Miss An Ning like for breakfast?"
The question caught her off guard. A beat of silence, then a shake of the head.
"...Anything. Just enough to fill up."
"I’ll prepare something simple."
"Mm."
An Ning moved to close the door.
Jiang Jiu’s glance slipped through the crack—her witch’s eyes catching the sheathed short sword in the girl’s hand.
Still smiling, she murmured, "Then I won’t disturb you further. Rest well, Miss An Ning. I’ll start breakfast."
"Okay."
Jiang Jiu turned. The door closed. Only soft footsteps lingered in the hall.
Peaceful. As always.
...
The bar buzzed with life once open.
Jiang Jiu mixed drinks behind the counter. Serving guests? That fell to An Ning now.
As Lilith put it: "She’s under my protection. Might as well be useful. Let her help you at night."
So the former young mistress of An Corporation now wore a maid dress and headpiece, moving between tables with quiet efficiency. Her expression stayed cool, distant—yet customers seemed drawn to it. Unexpectedly, the new maid became a quiet favorite.
The quartz clock ticked on. Glasses clinked. Guests flowed in and out. Closing time neared.
Jiang Jiu saw off the last patrons, locked the door, reactivated the repelling ward, and drew her Enchanted Wand to tidy up. An Ning retreated to her room. Alone, Jiang Jiu directed bottles, brooms, and mops with practiced ease.
Soon, the bar gleamed spotless. Right on cue, An Ning stepped out from the fireplace.
She’d changed back into what she wore the day Jiang Jiu found her: trench coat, shirt, jeans, ankle boots.
Short hair. Sword concealed. Ready to leave.
Their eyes met. An Ning noticed the wine bottle swaying in Jiang Jiu’s hand.
"In a hurry? If not… share a drink?"
"..."
A silent pause. Then An Ning sat, placing her short sword—named Bianju—on the counter.
Jiang Jiu smiled, poured two glasses, slid one over.
"A toast?" she asked softly, raising her glass.
An Ning didn’t speak. But she lifted hers.
*Clack.*
Jiang Jiu sipped slowly. Yesterday’s persistent patron had returned, ordering expensive whiskey and insisting she join. Jiang Jiu drank more than usual. Rarely, she now felt weary of alcohol.
An Ning drank fast.
Downed her glass in one smooth motion. Refilled without a word.
Drinking to drown sorrow.
Jiang Jiu enjoyed two things: watching beautiful girls fight, and watching them drink.
Now, the icy An Ning flushed faintly, eyes hazy. The way she tilted her head to drink—sharp, elegant, effortlessly cool.
Jiang Jiu sipped slowly, watching. *Truly*, she mused, *a beauty’s charm is feast enough*.
Half a bottle of 60-proof whiskey vanished between them. After long silence, An Ning spoke.
"Are you… a witch?"
"Not quite," Jiang Jiu nodded, then shook her head. "An Apprentice Witch."
"An Apprentice Witch is still a witch."
"True. Then yes—I am."
"...Thank you."
"Hm?"
"For saving me."
"You’re welcome."
Their words felt sparse. Minimal. Yet heavy with meaning—like dialogue from a Gu Long novel.
*You came.*
*I did.*
*You shouldn’t have.*
*But I did.*
Even An Ning sensed the oddness. She added quietly,
"If an ordinary person saved me… they’d be dragged into danger. I didn’t want that."
"Because you’re the young mistress of An Corporation?"
"Yes."
No surprise in her eyes. Witches *should* know things.
Jiang Jiu smiled. "Then I’m glad I’m not ordinary."
Glasses rose. Clinked.
This time, Jiang Jiu drank it all in one swallow.
They both knew: this was the last cup.
An Ning stood, sword in hand.
Jiang Jiu grabbed an umbrella from beneath the counter. "Let me walk you out."
No reply. But no refusal.
They stepped into the street.
Late. Dark. Only a distant convenience store glowed. No moon. Thick clouds.
At the door, Jiang Jiu offered the umbrella.
"Rain’s forecasted. Take this."
"Mm."
"Night’s pitch black. Be careful."
"Mm."
"I’ll save the rest of the whiskey. We’ll finish it when you return."
"..."
An Ning lifted her gaze—just once—then looked away.
"Okay."
A firm nod.
Jiang Jiu stepped back, expression turning solemn.
"Then… may your path be blessed with fortune."
"It will be."
An Ning turned. Umbrella in left hand. Sword in right. Vanished into the ink-black night.
Moonless. Windy. The perfect hour for reckoning.
She was going to settle the score.
[To be continued]
