Miss Witch, even if we're poor, we can't sell ourselves!

Jian Qiulu's breathing gradually became even and long.

She rested her head on Mi Ye's lap, her brows no longer furrowed, her lips no longer pursed, and her eyes, which had always been half-open as if she hadn't woken up, finally closed completely.

Her eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow under her eyes, softly enveloped by the warm yellow light of the chandelier.

Mi Ye looked down at her, her fingers still gently resting on the top of Jian Qiuluo's hair.

When she said "Don't cry," she hadn't really thought too much about it. Having worked at Nightingale's Nest for so long, she had seen customers crying while holding their glasses after getting drunk, and customers hiding in the bathroom to wipe their tears after arguing with their friends. Her standard procedure for dealing with these situations was to hand them tissues, pat them on the shoulder, say a few comforting words, and then wait for them to sober up before going home.

But this time it's a little different.

Looking at Jian Qiuluo's sleeping face curled up on her lap, she suddenly didn't want to wake her up.

Miya herself couldn't quite describe the feeling. This red-haired witch was clearly taller than her and had a strong aura when she was awake, but at this moment, nestled next to her, she was like a stray cat that had finally found a dry cardboard box, letting down all her guard and defenses, revealing her wind-blown fur and thin back.

Forget it, so be it.

Mi Ye gently lifted Jian Qiuluo's upper body and moved herself off the chair. Then, with one arm around her shoulder and the other under her knees, she lifted her up in her arms.

Jian Qiulu hummed softly in her sleep, instinctively nuzzling her face against Mi Ye's chest.

"Purple Rice Dew".

Miya lowered her voice and called out towards the bar.

Zimi Lu was wiping the last cup when she heard the shout. She looked up, her light purple short hair swaying in the light, and then she saw Mi Ye holding someone in her arms.

"...Tonight's guest?"

"Hmm, seems to have drunk too much; he's asleep in the corner."

Mi Ye adjusted her holding position slightly, letting Jian Qiuluo's head rest on her shoulder.

"Could you please bring me a blanket?"

Zimi Lu put down her cup, took out a neatly folded dark gray velvet blanket from the storage cabinet behind the bar, unfolded it, and gently covered Jian Qiuluo with it, while also smoothing the corners of the blanket off her shoulders.

"Are you planning to just hold her and sleep like this all night?"

"Just lean back on the sofa, you can go upstairs first, no need to wait for me."

Zimi Lu glanced at her, nodded, and turned to go upstairs.

Only Miya and the person in her arms remained in the bar; the other little witches who worked there had already gone home, and Manager Flores should be coming down soon.

She adjusted the sofa cushions, gently sat down with Jian Qiuluo in her arms, let her rest her head on her lap, and pulled the blanket up a bit.

Jian Qiuluo shrank her shoulders and rubbed herself deeper into the blanket.

Looking at her curled-up posture, Miya suddenly remembered a song.

Every night, those melodies would play in Little Ghost's live stream. She didn't remember the lyrics, and when the other person sang them, she would just listen quietly without trying to remember them. But those melodies had taken up residence in her mind on their own, and she could hum them without having to consciously recall them.

She gently patted Jian Qiuluo's back, her lips slightly parted, and hummed the first note.

Mi Ye's voice was soft, and the melody she hummed was enveloped by the lingering glow of the crystal chandelier, flowing slowly through the empty bar.

Jian Qiulu stirred in her dream, her brows furrowing slightly before slowly relaxing.

"Daphne..."

Mi Ye didn't hear clearly and thought she had woken up, so she leaned closer.

But Jian Qiuluo was still asleep, as if responding to the song she was humming.

Very light footsteps came from the stairs.

Flores, wearing a light coat and carrying an account book, came down the stairs.

She was washing up when she remembered that she hadn't checked the day's accounts yet. She planned to go downstairs to the bar to finish calculating them before going to sleep, but her steps stopped at the corner of the stairs.

Beyond the shadow of the bar counter, I saw the scene on the sofa.

Miya held a little witch in her arms, wrapped tightly in a woolen blanket, with only her profile visible.

She knew that profile very well: red hair, dark gray eyes that looked somewhat listless even when closed. It was a face that had appeared in her memory countless times, and now it was right in front of her.

Flores stood on the stairs in silence for a long, long time before slowly walking down.

She could see the lines of the old scar at the corner of Jian Qiuluo's eye, and she could see her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket outside the blanket, a habitual action exactly the same as before.

Flores instinctively wanted to take another step forward, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. She wanted to reach out to confirm if this person was real, but her hand gripped the edge of the ledger tightly. She wanted to say something, but her lips moved without uttering a word.

She stood there, a few steps away, watching Jian Qiuluo's sleeping face. Before Mi Ye could raise his head and notice her, she quickly looked away, clutched the account book to her chest, turned around, and hurried up the stairs.

Only after entering her room, closing the door, and locking it did she lean against the door and slowly close her eyes.

Her fingertips were still tightly gripping the edge of the ledger; she hadn't even looked at the numbers on the ledgers. The profile she remembered looked even thinner.

Downstairs, Miya didn't notice Flores's comings and goings.

She was so sleepy that she could barely keep her eyes open. After humming the last line of the tune, she yawned slightly, pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders and the person in her arms, and found a comfortable angle on the sofa.

The snow in the back alley outside the window reflected the faint yellow light of the streetlights.

Miya closed her eyes, and her breathing gradually became steady.

The person in her arms was still clutching the hem of her apron, and in her dream, she mumbled "Sister."