Startled by the sudden voice, Su Mu’s body jolted, and she whipped her head toward its source.
A woman with jet-black hair and a frosty demeanor stood there, clad in a plain white robe.
Her tall frame towered over Su Mu by a full head, her sharp gaze pinning Su Mu in place like a blade.
Those narrow, phoenix-like eyes, dark as ink, reflected Su Mu’s flustered expression with unsettling clarity.
‘Who was this woman?’
Instinctively, Su Mu shrank back, her calf knocking against the balcony’s edge.
Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the straw mat, staring up at the woman in a daze, caught in the intensity of her gaze.
What a striking face—flawless despite the cross-shaped scar at the corner of her eye, like a solitary orchid blooming on a lofty peak.
That scar, oddly enough, mirrored the shape of an orchid in full bloom, distant and pristine.
“Wait, Master, she’s my friend, Su Mu!”
Lando’s crisp voice rang out from inside the room, cutting through the tension like a breeze.
Su Mu exhaled, relief washing over her.
“Friend? I don’t recall you mentioning her.” The woman, Luo Linglan, didn’t soften her tone and she ordered.Â
“Prepare tea for our guest.”
Her words shifted toward Lando, laced with a subtle reprimand, though she restrained herself, perhaps because Su Mu was present.
Still, the edge in her voice was unmistakable.
‘Was she Luo Jialan’s master?’
‘Why is she so cold?’
Su Mu’s mind swirled with questions as Luo Linglan stepped forward and sat by the window.
Her long, dark hair cascaded to the floor, catching the sunlight and drawing every gaze.
Her mere presence was oppressive, making it hard for Su Mu to breathe freely.
“You’re Su Mu, correct? Jia Lan has mentioned you. She’s a willful child, so I ask you to look after her.”
‘Willful?’
‘That sounded about right.’
“And you are…?” Su Mu ventured.
“I am Luo Linglan, Jia Lan’s mother.”
Su Mu’s heart skipped a beat.
She barely suppressed a gasp, coughing lightly to cover her shock.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
Who would’ve imagined this woman was Luo Jialan’s mother?
That mischievous, desire-driven girl bore no resemblance to this towering figure.
Luo Linglan’s height rivaled most men, her statuesque form accentuated by a commanding presence that felt less alluring and more like a mountain looming overhead.
Her beauty was like an orchid perched atop a cliff—close enough to see, yet impossibly distant.
Compared to the petite Luo Jialan, the two couldn’t be more different.
And that cold, commanding tone she used with Lando?
Su Mu couldn’t fathom it as motherly.
Then again, Su Mu’s own mother was barely a step above absent.
“I know I don’t seem much like a mother,” Luo Linglan said, as if reading her thoughts.
“That’s why Jia Lan calls me Master.”
“Ha, um, I’m not really familiar with these things…” Su Mu managed a weak smile, her palms growing clammy.
This wasn’t good.
She’d always struggled with face-to-face interactions, especially with someone of higher status or authority.
And Luo Linglan’s stern demeanor only amplified her unease.
Su Mu’s nervousness was plain—her wandering eyes and fidgeting hands betrayed her.
Luo Linglan, perhaps sensing this, said nothing more and rose to leave.
Su Mu let out a silent breath of relief.
‘Not so bad’, she thought.
‘At least she reads the room.’
Unlike Su Mu’s own mother, who’d sprawl drunkenly on the couch, oblivious to whether Su Mu had eaten dinner.
Lando approached then, carrying a teapot with steady hands, and sat across from Su Mu.
“She’s intense, isn’t she?” Lando said.
Su Mu nodded, sipping the tea and studying Lando closely.
Only now did she recall she was in the so-called second layer of a dream.
The room’s furnishings resembled the martial arts dojo she knew, unremarkable at first glance.
But as Su Mu focused, something unsettling caught her attention.
It was blurry.
At first, she thought it was her eyes playing tricks.
But even after blinking, the edges of things—ceiling corners, table edges, the intricate weave of the straw mat—remained indistinct, like a half-remembered dream.
She could recognize objects but not their details, as if they didn’t fully belong here.
The more she noticed, the more inconsistencies surfaced.
Sandals sat by the door, and sunlight poured in, bright as it had been on the dojo’s balcony where she’d nearly roasted earlier.
Yet now, she felt no heat—just the vague idea of it, pressed upon her by the surroundings.
The tea Lando poured should’ve been scalding, but the moment it hit the cup, the steam vanished, the temperature inexplicably perfect for drinking, as if enchanted.
Most bizarre of all was the punching bag in the dojo’s center, painted with Luo Linglan’s image.
How could someone as exacting as her ignore such a thing?
Su Mu’s gaze shifted to Lando, searching for similar oddities.
And there it was—Lando looked younger, unmistakably so.
Her voice, her features, everything pointed to a more childish version, firmly in “loli” territory.
The slight curves that once strained her shirt were gone, leaving her as flat as a board.
She wore her usual white T-shirt, the one often paired with her Snow King work uniform.
“Don’t zone out,” Lando said.
“She’s gone. Shall we pick up where we left off?”
“Left off? You don’t mean…”
Su Mu snapped back to the moment, but Lando’s words left her stunned.
As she processed them, Lando set down the teapot, her fingers fidgeting with anticipation, her eyes glinting with a mischievous red heart.
If Su Mu agreed, fine.
If not, Lando seemed ready to take matters into her own hands.
Su Mu’s eyes widened, her words catching in her throat.
‘I get it now.’
‘I completely get it!’
‘Lando, this has nothing to do with your mom.’
‘You—you’re the problem here!’