Yuanye Wei's apartment was quiet. The curtains were only half open. A bright block of light stretched across the floor from the windowsill to the leg of the coffee table. Two empty coffee cups sat on the table. The bottoms held a ring of brown residue. The apartment smelled of coffee and toast and something faintly clean, like fresh laundry. Outside the window, the morning haze was beginning to thin.
We cleared the plates, pushed the chairs back into place, and pulled the door shut gently. The lock clicked softly into place. The corridor was still, the carpet swallowing our footsteps as we walked toward the elevator.
We walked east along the Moonflower River. Passing through the Saixing district, we sat for a while on a bench along the riverside promenade. The high-rises on the opposite bank loomed and faded in the thin mist. The stone of the bench was cool and smooth, worn by years of weather and hands. The river below moved slowly, its surface a pale gray-green under the overcast sky.
Tsukago pulled the squirrel out of her blush-pink baguette bag and set it on the railing, facing the river. The river wind blew the squirrel's tail flat back. The fluffy tip quivered nonstop in the wind. The plush fabric rippled like real fur. She adjusted its position so it sat squarely on the metal rail, its bean-black eyes fixed on the water.
We walked slowly along the Bund promenade. The river wind was strong. It snapped our dresses hard against our legs. The wind sweeping across the river carried the raw smell of water weeds, mixed with the hot-oil aroma drifting from some distant restaurant. The two scents tangled together, one green and alive, the other rich and cooked. The promenade stretched ahead, nearly empty.
Clumps of wild grass grew between the flagstones on the promenade. The wind pressed them flat against the ground. They sprang back when the gust passed, only to be flattened again. Tsukago walked beside me. Her hem swayed gently in the wind. The rhythm of her footsteps matched mine, a quiet, steady beat on the worn stone.
By the railing, an old man sat fishing. His line hung motionless above the water. He wore a dark gray coat, the collar turned up against the wind. A plastic box sat by his feet. The lid was half open. Inside were several coils of used fishing line, tangled into a silvery nest. His hands were still, resting on his knees, the fishing rod propped between them.
He didn't look at us. He just watched the float. The float bobbed gently on the surface. Each dip looked like the wind, not a fish. The water around it rippled in slow, expanding circles. The ripples reached the riverbank and vanished, one after another, as if they had never been there at all.
After a while, he reeled in his line. He wound the empty hook around the spool, circle by circle. Very slowly. When he stood, his knee joint gave a crisp crack. He picked up his folding chair and walked slowly away into the distance. His figure grew smaller and smaller until it merged with the gray of the promenade. The folding chair swung gently from his other hand.
The plastic box he'd left behind still sat by the railing. The lid wobbled gently in the wind. The coils of discarded line inside were tangled together, like a small clump of crumpled silver thread. The wind made a low humming sound as it passed over the open box. The sound was faint, barely audible over the lapping of the water against the embankment.
The river wind died down a little. The ferry was already far off. Its lights were small and distant, moving slowly across the darkening water. The sky above the opposite bank had begun to deepen, the gray giving way to a muted violet at the horizon.
We leaned against the railing. The metal was cold through our sleeves. The chill seeped into my forearms, a steady, quiet cold that felt almost cleansing.
——Stand by a river long enough, and you start to think you're part of the shore.
Tsukago leaned in and rested her chin on my shoulder. Her pastel-purple strands brushed against my neck. The river wind blew our hems together and apart again. The fabric of our dresses whispered against each other, a soft, rhythmic sound. Her warmth pressed against my side, a steady counterweight to the cold railing.
Outside the livestream, I raised my phone. The front camera framed us both. The river behind us was a sheet of hammered silver. She was looking at the opposite bank. I pressed the shutter. On the screen, her profile overlapped with the distant river scene. The light was soft, the edges slightly blurred. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze fixed on something beyond the frame.
💬 Maid outfit is just unreal
💬 Sister is so cute
💬 Daughter leaning on sister's shoulder is so sweet
💬 The vibe when the two sisters stand together is unreal
I put my phone away. The screen dimmed against my palm. The river breeze picked up again, lifting strands of my hair and letting them fall. "Zhao Dayong has been fed full. The next step is to let him taste hunger. What Yuanye Wei needs is a spiritual collapse, not comfort."
"Then we need a transitional person."
"Right. Someone willing to hand over their decision-making power."
Tsukago burrowed her face deeper into the hollow of my shoulder. Her nose pressed against the fabric of my dress. "The wind's getting cold. Time to head back." Her voice was muffled but clear.
"Mm. Let's walk back."
We walked back along the promenade. The river wind snapped our dresses hard. Our hems tangled together and pulled apart again. The streetlights along the promenade flickered on, one by one, casting pools of warm yellow onto the flagstones. Each pool of light seemed to push back the deepening dusk. At the bend in the path, I looked back.
The plastic box the old fisherman had left was still there on the inner side of the railing. The lid had finally stopped wobbling. It sat quiet on top of the box. Inside, the coils of discarded line were tangled together, like a small clump of crumpled silver thread. The streetlight nearest to it cast a pale circle over the plastic, the shadows of the tangled line crisscrossing inside.
"What does a transitional person need."
"They need to still believe that relying on themselves works. Once they trust that we're more reliable than they are, the transition is complete."
Tsukago pulled the squirrel out of her blush-pink baguette bag and set it on the nightstand, facing the window. The squirrel's silhouette was small and dark against the glass. "Then we find someone who hasn't been rejected enough yet. The talent market is full of them." Her voice was quiet, thoughtful, as if she was already scanning faces in her mind.
I slid the room key into the slot. The lights came on with a soft click, flooding the room with a warm, steady glow. Outside the window, the river had faded to a dark ribbon, the ferry lights now tiny sparks in the distance. "We'll keep looking tomorrow." The words hung in the quiet room, a promise and a plan.