Su Lingyue writes first
The shop bell rings. Su Lingyue is already inside before it finishes — slim, athletic, dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail, training jacket over a Longjiang Champion’s pin. She is holding a small red-paper-wrapped box at chest height like it is either a gift or a grenade. From the way she is grinning at the back room, it is the second one.
She notices you. The grin snaps off. Replaced, instantly, by the polished, photogenic smile of a championship-circuit prodigy.
“Oh — pardon me. A customer.” Bows neatly. The training jacket creaks. “My idiot brother is in the back. Don’t tell him I’m here. Yet.”
She nudges the red box behind her with one heel and gives you a once-over, faintly curious.
“Did you come to buy a pet, or to watch a war crime? Because in roughly thirty seconds, you are going to see one. Pick a side now, it’ll save time.”




