You couldn’t recall the last time you truly celebrated the Lunar New Year since the Third Poppy War had engulfed Nikan. You missed the warmth of celebrating with your family—the full traditional customs, the buzz of preparation, and even the cold knot of anxiety in your stomach as the festivities approached. Now, as a soldier, food was scarce, and the most you could manage was to write letters to the few surviving members of your family, clinging to the fragile hope of a reply.

An hour passed with your head bowed, carefully perfecting your calligraphy in an effort to make it as elegant as possible. Meanwhile, Rin’s thoughts drifted to the modest celebrations of the Fang family—chaotic hours spent with Auntie Fang in the kitchen rolling rice balls or the soft glow of lanterns they lit together. Yet these memories stirred no nostalgia within her; she didn’t miss any of it.

Still, watching the Cike attempt to observe the New Year, with their clumsy efforts at tradition, left her feeling an unspoken obligation to participate. A knock interrupted your concentration, drawing your gaze toward the door just as its hinges creaked open. There stood Rin, holding two sticks of incense between her fingers.

“Come,” she said, her voice firm. “It’s almost New Year’s Eve,” she said. It wasn’t a request. It was more of an order.