Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Afternoon sunlight slouched across the open-plan kitchen of the penthouse, carrying the burnt-cookie smell of Milu’s latest disaster and the fainter, fresher scent of just-unwrapped fabric.
Yun Xi stood before the full-length mirror in the living room, wearing an expression best described as...complicated.
The mirror showed cherry-white hair falling in a smooth sheet, clear sky-blue eyes, skin like sun-lit porcelain. A face any fashion editor would kill for—currently twisted with embarrassment, shame, and a flicker of guilty excitement.
She was not in loungewear. Not in sweats.
She was in a dress.
A dress the Ancestor had teleported over that morning—“congrats on basic magic mastery”—wrapped in a box that spilled stardust and nearly blinded Milu. The dress was the softest lavender, neither chiffon nor silk but something that flowed like moonlight. It fit as if cut for her: layers of skirt floating around her legs, a waistline nipped in just enough to suggest curves without shouting, a collar dotted with ice-blue crystals that caught the light every time she breathed.
Elegant, ethereal, everything a Time-Flower Witch ought to wear.
The Ancestor’s taste was flawless. But—
Yun Xi spun cautiously. The hem flared like a violet just opening. She brushed the fabric, flinched as if it burned, and felt her cheeks ignite.
Objectively, she looked stunning. Subjectively—this was a dress. On Yun Xi. After a month in this body the disconnect still hit like a live wire.
“Whoa! Senior Yun Xi, you’re— you’re gorgeous!” Milu had slipped out of the kitchen, flour on her nose, green eyes round. “Like a moon-elf! No— prettier than an elf!” She hugged her staff and bounced.
“Meow. Visual harmony up 87.3 %, energy signature damped 15 %, lowers odds of routine detection. Practical,” Yue Fei drawled from the sofa arm, purple gaze clinical.
“Right? Right, Master? Xing Dian thinks it’s super pretty!” The indigo flame spiralled around Yun Xi, painting violet cloth with blue sparks.
The praise made Yun Xi want to vanish. She cleared her throat, grasping for seniority: “Ahem. Can’t waste the Ancestor’s gift. And Yue Fei’s right— the fabric blocks probes.” A perfectly noble reason for standing here in a frock.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell cracked through the room like thunder.
Who? Property management? Courier? Dream Ring Tower again?
Yun Xi froze. Blood sprinted to her ears. She whipped toward the video panel by the door.
Milu squeaked and dived behind her, clutching the floating hem.
On screen: a stubbled, sharp-eyed man in a travel-worn jacket— Wei Wu. Old Wei.
Yun Xi’s brain blue-screened. He’s back? No warning? Now? In this?
“Yun Xi! Open up! I know you’re home— I smell something burning!” His voice boomed through the speaker, rough, impatient, underneath it worried. “Ma’s fine, discharged yesterday. Took the night train. Let me in, I’m dead on my feet!”
Bang-bang! He rattled the door.
Game over.
Heat shot from Yun Xi’s soles to scalp. She looked down at lavender moon-cloth, then at the screen’s stubbled glare. The mismatch was cosmic-level cringe.
“P-p-predecessor?” Milu whispered.
Options? Pretend coma— he’d kick the door. Sprint to change— three-second fuse. Ask the familiars to cover— worse disaster.
“Yun Xi! You okay in there?!” His voice spiked; the pounding doubled.
Instinct screamed: destroy evidence. She snatched Milu’s oversized navy apprentice-robe from the sofa and flung it on like a tarp. The hood swallowed most of the glittering collar; cherry-white hair still spilled out in unruly strands.
She sucked in air, forced a just-woke-up croak, and yanked the door.
“Old Wei, let me explain!”— a desperate battle-cry.
Wei Wu’s fist hung mid-knock. Travel dust, blood-shot eyes, backpack straps grooved into his jacket. His gaze swept once— twice— taking in the flushed face, the too-big robe, the fluffy slipper Milu had left behind.
Expression slid from exhaustion to relief to a kaleidoscope of disbelief and glee. He said nothing, just angled his head, invitation to keep digging her grave.
Yun Xi’s scalp prickled. “It’s not what you think! I can— I can explain—”
“Oh?” He drew the syllable out, arms folding as he leaned in the doorway. His chin jerked toward Milu’s half-hidden head. “Explain the kid’s dress-up. And the smaller kid. Go on, Yun Xi— or should I say Yun Xi now? Life’s gotten colourful while I was gone.”
“It’s Milu— my cousin— visiting apprentice— the robe’s hers— I was— uh— checking the fit!” Words collided, logic shredded.
“Cousin? Fit?” He eyed the sleeves dangling past her fingertips, the robe still tight across her shoulders. “You’re swimming in it and she’s what, half your size? Nice try.”
Yun Xi deflated. She stepped aside, robe clutched tight. “Fine. Come in. Laugh and get it over with.”
Wei Wu stomped in, pack thudding to the floor. His survey took in the grimoire on the coffee table, the singed Pothos, the faint burn in the air, and— folded on the sofa— the moon-glow violet dress.
He parked himself on the couch, patted the cushion. “Sit. Stop roasting. Spin me the yarn— start with the cousin, the robe, and that—” he nodded at the dress “—thing.”
Yun Xi picked the farthest armchair, wrapped herself into a cocoon, and spilled everything: the fridge that froze itself, the dish-towel that combusted, the night-run monster, Milu’s collision, the Ancestor’s surprise deliveries, the dress.
Wei Wu listened, grin fading to quiet. His glance caught the silver-blue bracelet on her wrist, the indigo flame overhead, the cat-shaped shadow on the armrest. When she faltered through the battle story his fingers curled once, reflex of a man who’d seen war.
“...So I’m not crazy,” she finished, hoarse. “I didn’t ask for the skirt. Milu’s accident. Everything’s insane.”
Half a minute of silence. Then Wei Wu exhaled a sigh that tasted of resignation and brotherly love.
“Cut the drama,” he said, waving it off. “Pretty simple: you turned into a knockout, picked up spooky baggage, plus a mini-sidekick. Life’s a mess. Got it.”
He stood, scooped the violet dress like it was laundry, gave the crystals an appraising squint. “Nice cloth. Free clothes— wear ’em. Beats your old plaid shirts.”
The dress landed back on the cushion. He planted hands on hips, eyes hard but warm. “Yun Xi, I’ve known you since mud pies. Whatever shell you’re in, you’re still my people. Might have to call you sis now, huh?” He flashed teeth. “As for the rest— spooks, towers, whatever— they want trouble, they talk to my fists first.”
He slapped his pack. “Mom’s good, I’m free. From here on I pay rent, buy groceries, guard the door. Little gremlin—” he nodded at Milu “—can stay, long as she doesn’t torch the place.”
Two plastic cups landed on the coffee table, logo of a chain milk-tea shop. The room filled with brown-sugar perfume.
“Full-sugar boba, double. One for shock, one for celebration.” He shoved a cold cup into Yun Xi’s stunned hands, bit his own straw, and grinned like a pirate. “To my best bro— now best babe— cheers!”
Laughter rolled through the penthouse.
Yun Xi, cheeks hot, sucked up a mouthful of sweet pearls. The sugar hit almost brought tears.
“Old Wei...”
“Yeah?”
“...Thanks.” She hid inside the hood.
“Sappy brat.” He drained half his cup, then scowled at the robe. “Quit hiding. Go put the pretty one back on. Straight man here— purely aesthetic appreciation.”
Yun Xi groaned; fragile gratitude popped like a bubble.
Milu crept forward, eyes shimmering. “Um... Wei brother... where’s Milu’s drink?”
Wei Wu’s laughter jammed. Two cups. Three people.
He met Milu’s wistful stare, then Yun Xi’s sudden interest in the ceiling, then the flame dancing Schadenfreude-blue.
The apartment’s next chapter promised even louder chaos— and a steep rise in boba expenditure.