Dusk draped the world in honeyed shadow. From the top of the ridge a figure watched Stone Village — elegant, lithe, a silhouette sewn with flickers of flame. She perched on a rock like a hawk and had the bearing of a clan that raised itself on fire and fierce pride.
Her name, whispered later among the villagers, was Huo Ling'er.
She was young, not yet a woman of command but more than a scout; a daughter of a small flame-blooded line that trafficked in heat and charm. Tonight she wore a cloak stitched with ember-thread; her eyes—sharp and curious—caught the glow of the willow's lights.
Back in the village, Shi Yi arrived. He had been on the road, pretending to be a distant cousin; in truth, he came to see the commotion himself. Where Shi Hao wore the calm of a sword-holder, Shi Yi carried the restless edge of one who had always measured himself against others.
He stepped into the circle of light beneath the willow and froze. The sight of the child and the wolf — the living garden — was an unexpected strike. His chest tightened. A boy's jealousy, sudden and shameful, rose in him like bile.
"Shi Hao," Shi Yi called, voice too loud for the hush. "You hiding something from me?"
Shi Hao gave him a sharp smile. "You come meddle where the willow fed you, Shi Yi? Sit. Watch. Learn humility."
Huo Ling'er watched from the ridge and let herself grin. It was the same grin she used when she tipped a cup of wine and everyone else watched the wine land where she wanted it to. She let her eyes trace the child's small face and the way plants curled faithfully around him. She had seen many miracles in her short years — but the sight of flora moving like attendants pulled something in her throat.
As shadow thickened, she descended and stepped into the crowd with the relaxed swagger of someone who trusted the world would part for them. Up close, the villagers saw the gift of her bloodline: a faint warmth that made cold bones tingle. She let her gaze slide once over Shi Hao, then landed on Qingmu.
The system beeped with quiet approval.
[Compatibility Note: Huo Ling'er — Flame Lineage. Compatibility: 64% (young). Potential synergy: Flame + Sprout = Fertile Ash Rebirth (medium potential). Mission Suggestion: Observe and build rapport.]
Huo Ling'er pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and let the heat in her palms grow like a sheltered coin. "Cute," she said simply.
Shi Yi took that single word and wrapped it in a dozen meanings. His mouth twitched. He stepped forward with the practiced insolence of a lad who longed to sting. "Cute? You're evaluating infants now?"
Huo Ling'er stared at him like at an insect. "Don't you have a girl to bother, Shi Yi? Or are you just after another man's mischief?"
The exchange should have remained playful, but it hinted at rivalries: for respect, for the girl's attention, for the right to boast. Shi Hao watched it unfold, feeling something ancient and warming — the spark of future complications. Liu Shen, silent and slow in the willow branches, watched Huo Ling'er with a great patience.
By the time the bonfire guttered and stars took over, the three youths had formed a brittle triangle of laughter and barbed speech. Huo Ling'er stayed the night as a guest—some nights opportunities arrive disguised as guests—and when she slept she dreamed of soil that warmed underfoot like a beloved's touch.
Qingmu, whose world was still built on naps and luminous leaves, reached for Huo Ling'er's sleeve in his sleep. The flame-girl's hand stilled. It was a small touch, but for the system and for fate it was a first filing of a record: name, scent, warmth.
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