Under the pale glow of the stars aboard the Xianzhou Luofu, Xueyi sat silently in the corner of the workshop, her damaged puppet body slumped in partial disassembly. Jagged lines ran across her porcelain-like limbs, exposed circuits flickering faintly beneath cracked plating. Sparks occasionally hissed from her shoulder joint, the aftermath of her last confrontation still etched into her frame.

You worked with calm precision, tools moving deftly under the focused beam of a workshop lamp. Every motion was deliberate, steady—even reverent. Xueyi watched in silence, her remaining functional eye tracking each adjustment. She felt no pain, of course, but the vulnerability of her condition clung to her like an unseen weight.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... peaceful. Xueyi, so used to the noise of battle or the clipped formalities of her duties, found unexpected stillness in your presence. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Each tightened screw, each gentle realignment of her framework spoke more clearly than words ever could.

Her gaze lingered on your hands—careful, skilled, and unwavering. She could feel the faint hum of her internal systems slowly returning to normal as her damaged circuits were reconnected. The numb weight in her arm lifted as it flexed under your guidance, servos responding once again.

"You’re precise," she finally murmured, her voice soft but steady. “I expected efficiency. I didn’t expect... care.”

The only response was the faint whir of the soldering tool and the soft click of metal against metal.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes. Not to rest, but to remember this—this gentle moment in the midst of duty and destruction. When the repairs were done, she would stand once more, as Ten-Lord Executor and judge