THE REAL PROTEGE

The final round at Arena Geneva began beneath a canopy of crystal light and ancestral song. Every finalist seemed to glow — but none more than Shi Min and Lily, now dressed in matching moon-gold and ember-crimson costumes stitched with phoenix swirls and storm-thread tassels.

As the music surged — a blend of tango's pulse and rumba's ache — the pair moved like one breath. Every step is a memory. Every spin is a vow.

The crowd was silent, awestruck.

When they bowed, the applause thundered. Even the judges stood.

Awarding Ceremony: A Crown for Two

Under a shower of golden confetti, the winners were announced:

"The Grand Laureates of the Geneva Dance Sports Championship... Lily Li and Shi Min!"

Lily blinked, then beamed. Shi Min, poised as ever, allowed himself a grin. The gold medals gleamed against their costumes, and the family rushed forward — hugging, weeping, cheering.

Fatty, lounged like a cannonball, hugged Lily so tight she squeaked.

"You were like a lightning goddess in velvet!" Fatty exclaimed.

"I thought you said I danced like memory," Lily teased.

"Memory dipped in glitter," Fatty sniffled.

Chatty snapped photos while Pharsa wiped a tear with dignity.

Four Eyes gave Lily a nod, standing beside Ling Li.

"You brought honor and light. It is well done." Ling Li said as she hugged Lily, her eyes teary.

The whole group returned to Russia wrapped in triumph. The flight home was full of quiet laughter, retold memories, and Mushu dragging Rockie's suitcase down the aisle in protest.

Back at the estate, snow had begun to fall again — soft and familiar.

Family Dinner: Toasts, Teasing, and Tenderness

The celebratory dinner was held beneath the estate's enchanted pine hall, glowing with lanterns and laughter.

Dishes from all regions lined the table:

Pharsa's fiery Sichuan tofu

Fatty's special Belgian stew that he learned and practiced while in Belgium

Lily's favorite steamed buns shaped into phoenixes by Ren and Tutor Chen

Even Chatty brought homemade lychee tarts — after Mushu taste-tested them for safety (twice)

Old Master Li led the first toast.

"To our dancers, our protectors, and our children — may joy chase them wherever they leap."

"CHEERS!!!'

Time to Part: Tantrums and Promises

When it came time to say goodbye…

Ren and Shun boarded their flight to Beijing. Ren squeezed Lily's hands tightly, "You did well."

Then came Fatty's farewell.

Except he refused to call it that.

Fatty, as usual, clung to Lily's arm with dramatic flair, dragging his suitcase behind like a wounded soldier.

"Don't send me away! My spirit breaks! My lungs tremble! My heart falls into seventeen pieces!"

"It's just a month," Lily giggled.

"We'll be in Shanghai for my gymnastics competition."

"But what if I wither?" Fatty wailed.

"What if Lily forgets me?"

"She won't," Chatty called. "You're too loud."

Rockie tossed a scarf around Fatty like a cape.

"Go forth, Drama Emperor."

Finally, Fatty sniffled and pulled Lily into one last hug.

"I will survive," he sighed.

"But only because you promised buns and victory in Shanghai."

Lily laughed out loud and looked across the room, where Four Eyes stood quietly with Chatty, watching.

She whispered to herself,

"How did my serious stepfather end up best friends with those two clowns?"

Pharsa chuckled from behind.

"Balance. Even the heavens need comic relief."

The two ladies laughed.

Snowfall and Silk Expanded: Ling Li & Four Eyes

It was midmorning in the Russian estate. The snow didn't fall so much as it floated — lazy, weightless, almost ceremonial. The pine trees, ringed in frost, cast long shadows across the garden where Kim Kim and Chin Chin chased birds with more ambition than success.

In the sunroom, every surface held a whisper of warmth: cushions steeped in jasmine, the scent of baked chestnuts trailing from the kitchen, and beside the old piano, a ceramic incense pot released coils of sandalwood smoke. A soft lullaby played on Ling Li's iPad — a Taiwanese folk song her mother used to hum during the rainy season.

She looked up as Four Eyes entered, his steps instinctively quiet. He carried the tray like a ritual — every detail deliberate:

Tea was brewed exactly four minutes so that the chrysanthemum wouldn't turn bitter.

Ginger sliced paper-thin, then warmed by hand.

A small dish of candied plums, just in case her nausea flared.

Ling Li smiled, her hand drifting toward him with the ease of muscle memory.

He knelt beside her, not out of ceremony, but reverence. When she reached to trace the faint crease between his brows, he caught her fingers and kissed them slowly, tenderly, like a monk reciting mantras.

"I used to think legacy lived in laws and bloodlines," Four Eyes said quietly.

"Now I believe it lives in tea leaves and heartbeat patterns."

Ling Li's voice was steady, but soft.

"Sometimes I dream that these three little buns are already here — in this room, giggling together. One kicking while the other tries to nap."

Four Eyes leaned toward her belly.

"You're having prophetic dreams again."

"Call it mother's instinct."

Four Eyes' cheek rested gently on her belly, and for a moment, silence painted everything golden.

Then came a subtle thump thump.

"There," Ling Li whispered.

"See? They're fighting over who gets the first martial arts lesson."

Four Eyes chuckled, then murmured to her womb:

"You are the three stars of my story. When you arrive, I'll show you maps of courage and lullabies of justice. I'll teach you to speak gently but never softly."

Ling Li couldn't help but laugh. "Where did you get those ideas?" she said, shaking her head happily.

When Ling Li pulled Four eyes into an embrace, it felt like the estate paused with them — breath held between snowflakes and eternity. In that fold of time, love wrapped around them like silk warmed on coals.

Obsidian Echoes: Solaris's Catacomb Ritual Expanded

The Moldovan mountains did not forgive easily.

Solaris stood in the deepest chamber — jagged walls breathing with embedded embers, heatless and ancient. The floor was etched with forgotten scripts, and the ceiling dripped with shadow glass, catching light in prismatic agony.

His breath came slow, measured.

He had not spoken in three days — not out of penance, but to preserve the rage fermenting inside him.

In front of him, the relics pulsed:

The ceremonial blade, once carried by the Lotus Guard who betrayed him, its tip shattered during Lily's final spin.

The vial of ritual blood, stolen from the Russian estate's protective wards — its warmth long faded, replaced by the scent of old thunder.

The child's bell, twisted and warped, once used in the dancer's initiation, now melted by Solaris's fury during his retreat from Geneva.