Spiritrun Arena

Late autumn in Tokyo, wrapped in chill, drifted into Grandma Chizuru's kitchen. Narcissus on the windowsill bloomed crisply. Dough in the earthen basin glowed white as clouds; dumplings lined up on the chopping board, flour-dusted fingertips fluttering in dawn light—Sakura was teaching Little Peach to fold willow-leaf dumplings. Jiu's murder of crows perched on the stove, tilting their heads to watch Su Qinghuan sprinkle the last pinch of osmanthus honey into the filling.

"Little Peach, curl your fingers like this." Sakura guided her wrist, shaping neat pleats. "General Yuekui folded dumplings into crescent moons too, back then."

Little Peach's ears flushed. She stared at a special dumpling in the corner—its wrapper painted with gold stardust, matching the half-piece of stardust meteorite Grandma Chizuru kept in her wooden box. A "Winter Solstice gift" Yuekui had slipped under her pillow in a dream last night.

"Grandma, did General Yuekui really make dumplings on Winter Solstice?" Little Peach poked the gold-dusted dumpling.

Grandma Chizuru paused mid-stir. Her spirit pattern core warmed faintly, memories surging—three hundred years ago, snow at Locking Dragon Abyss fell heavier than usual. Yuekui, wrapped in blood-stained armor, squatted in a makeshift thatch hut, kneading dough with Chizuru and Mingyuan (a fallen comrade). Her fingers red with cold, yet she shaped every dumpling into a crescent: "After this battle, we'll make a hundred dumplings in the warm pavilion, each inlaid with a star."

"What happened next?" Little Peach pressed.

Mist blurred Grandma Chizuru's eyes. She spooned filling into dough: "Then… the snow stopped, but dark fog flooded the hut. Yuekui pressed the last half-piece of stardust meteorite into my hand. 'Keep it for spring'—that's what she said."

A bamboo mat was spread under the Spirit Pattern Tree. Asagao held up a tablet to project scenes of Winter Solstice three hundred years ago—steam swirled in the thatch hut; Yuekui's armor hung on a rope, revealing a plain white undergarment; Mingyuan chugged from a wine flask, liquid glinting in an earthen bowl; most striking was a double-pigtailed girl (Little Peach) by the chopping board, reaching for the dough basin, cherry-blossom hairpin shining.

"So Little Peach existed three hundred years ago too?" Sakura laughed, pointing at the screen. "Same round eyes as now!"

Little Peach's face burned hotter. She sidled up to Lin Ye, murmuring: "Captain, do you think I was this cold back then?"

Lin Ye's Reverse Scale Core burned at his waist. He stared at flour dust in her hair, recalling Yuekui's dream words: "The warmest light hides in 'now's' folds." He pulled a stardust fragment from his pocket—Grandma Chizuru had slipped it to him that morning, the last spark of Yuekui's consciousness when she sealed the pollution.

"Call it 'First Snow'." He inlaid the fragment into the gold-dusted dumpling. "Because all 'reunions' snow in every 'now'."

At dusk, steam from the bamboo steamer filled the kitchen. The group huddled around the heater; when they bit into the dumplings, gold dust spilled from the filling, forming a star map on the table. At its center, tiny characters floated:

"On Winter Solstice three hundred years ago, I wished— to make a hundred star-inlaid dumplings with you, every winter, forever."

"It's Yuekui!" Little Peach's voice trembled. She stared at first snow drifting outside, suddenly remembering the girl in white from her dream, smiling in the snow: "Little Peach, come help me knead dough."

Lin Ye's Reverse Scale Core melted into starlight, wrapping his hand to gently cover Little Peach's. Not a memory's touch, but real, warm: "This time, I'll knead dough with you."

Yuekui's phantom stepped from the snow curtain as dumpling aroma filled the room. Her armor replaced by sheer silk, stardust meteorite bracelet glowing warm gold, cherry-blossom hairpin identical to its three-hundred-year-old self. Most wondrously, a double-pigtailed girl shadowed her—Little Peach.

"Little Peach." Yuekui's voice brushed like spring wind over snowfields. "Three hundred years ago, I always said 'when the war ends', but after, I had no one to make dumplings with on winter nights. Until you came, I understood—reunion isn't 'waited' for; it's held in the present."

Little Peach's tears splashed on a dumpling. She recalled Yuekui's dream words: "The warmest light hides in 'now's' folds." Now she knew—Yuekui had never left; she'd become every warmth, every heartbeat, every love-wrapped "now".

Late at night, Lin Ye sat alone on Tokyo Tower's observation deck. His Reverse Scale Core hovered on his lap, starlight flowing with the day's scenes: steam from the steamer, Yuekui's smiling phantom, Little Peach with flour on her face, pinching dumplings.

"Captain." Little Peach's voice came from the stairs. Wrapped in his new scarf, holding Coalball, flour dusted in her hair from their tussle, she said, "Grandma Chizuru says Yuekui's dumplings smell especially good this year."

Lin Ye looked at her steam-flushed face, recalling that winter night three hundred years ago—carrying injured Yuekui, murmuring "Little Peach, don't be afraid". Now he held Little Peach, standing in first snow's wind, thinking, Yuekui, look—we're all safe.

Wind swept the tower, lifting a snowflake that drifted far, landing on a healed soul's shoulder—it was Yuekui, and every "Reunion Knot" ever wrapped in love.

In a warmer corner, Coalball pawed at Grandma Chizuru's new persimmon cakes, Sakura and Jiu organized spirit pattern core memories, Su Qinghuan boiled second-pot dumpling soup, Asagao knitted crow scarves…

Snow still fell, but it already carried spring's warmth.