A galaxy spattered with jeweled starlight. A silver-white blade of metal sliced through a swarm of meteors, driving for the blue world. It struck, then dove into the sea’s abyss and went still.

“What is this?”

Tang Coco stood in the river of stars; the silver-white thing drifted, and in a blink she was in the deep, green-black sea.

“Fate… is ordained… Our people’s fate needs thee to carry it on.”

The scene fell away like mist. A figure surfaced—wrapped in a silver-white Mech, face veiled, presence cold as moonlight on steel.

“Who are you?”

No answer. The figure unraveled into glittering particles, a snow of light. The particles swirled back into a glowing screen, showing Tang Ke’s past—missions flicking by like turning lantern panels.

“Thy fate is thus.”

Another screen rose like a calm lake. Her father’s face appeared, his eyes gentle as spring rain.

“Father…”

Then screens bloomed in clusters, like a thousand paper kites. The brothers of the Shadow Division filled them.

“Boss!” Panluan shouted, joy bright as firecrackers.

“Tang Ke…” Gu Xin looked at her, sorrow dark as a heavy sky.

“I…”

“What am I doing…”

Tang Coco lowered her head; her hands were pale, like drowned leaves drifting in a cold current.

Bang!

Every light-screen shattered at once, shards spraying outward like storm glass. Some knifed at her—punched through her shoulder, skimmed her thigh, hammered her heart.

“No!!!”

Her cry tore out, raw as a gull over black water.

The view snapped to Mo Zitong. Storm-cloud brows knit tight. On her bed lay Tang Coco, hands, forearms, and knees swaddled in white bandages like wrapped vines. Her eyes stayed shut, her brow pinched; pain paced her face like a restless shadow.

“No… not me… this isn’t me… no…”

Ragged words leaked from her lips like reeds rattling in wind.

Mo Zitong sighed, a cool drift. She brushed Coco’s forehead, then rose, took a towel, and stepped out. She wet it; the cloth came back cool as a lake at dusk and settled on Coco’s brow. She hesitated, drew out her phone, and dialed.

“Coco, where are you?”

On a suburban roadside, Ye Yiyi moved through alley after alley, calling into the rain-scented air. Ningxin had sent her here—said this was where Coco was last seen. Earlier, Xiao Qiao had called Ningxin: Lielong’s crew had caught wind of trouble and wanted her back. Ningxin longed to find Coco, but if Lielong noticed Coco, it would turn worse. No choice—she sent the pin to Ye Yiyi and rushed to the club to placate Lielong.

Ye Yiyi scoured the lanes, anxiety beating like a drum. Her phone rang. She snatched it up, stared at the unexpected number, thought, then answered.

“Hello?”

“Ye Yiyi, your ‘cousin’ is with me. You’d better come.”

“What! Coco’s with you?”

“Mo Zitong! What did you do to Coco!”

Ye Yiyi’s calm snapped like a bowstring; her shout cut sharp.

“It’s been a while since I heard you this angry…”

Mo Zitong’s tone didn’t bristle; sadness brushed it like dusk light.

“This isn’t on me. Come and you’ll see. I’ll send the location. Hurry—she’s not in good shape.”

She hung up. A location ping hit Ye Yiyi’s phone, and Ye Yiyi’s car leapt forward like a loosed arrow.

“I didn’t expect… she cares for you this much. It stirs jealousy…”

Mo Zitong set down her phone, eyes on the bed, voice low as night water.

Her villa sat in the suburbs, so Ye Yiyi arrived in a bit over ten minutes.

Ding-dong.

The bell chimed like a clear bead. Mo Zitong opened the door; it was Ye Yiyi’s first step into this house.

“Where’s Coco!”

“Inside…”

Mo Zitong pointed toward the second-floor bedroom, helplessness hanging like a sigh. Ye Yiyi rushed up; the door flew open. Bandages wrapped Coco’s body in many places, white as frost. Ye Yiyi froze; tears spilled like a snapped string of pearls.

“Coco!”

“Coco, what happened to you?”

She stepped close, crying as she checked the wounds. Coco stayed unconscious, pain writ on her face like a pressed seal. Ye Yiyi’s heart clenched, heavy as a stone in water.

At the doorway, Mo Zitong leaned against the wall, a shadow watching, her chest tight with unnamed feeling.

“Mo Zitong, I didn’t think you were this kind of person…”

Ye Yiyi bowed her head; her voice carried the weight of rain.

“Hey, hey, don’t pin this on me. I picked her up by the roadside. It was pouring—sky like overturned buckets. She was alone on the ground. And I dressed the wounds.”

Mo Zitong spread her hands, open as an empty sky.

“…”

Ye Yiyi’s breath steadied; the truth lay clear—the injuries were tended well.

“I’m taking her to the hospital.”

She rose, resolve hard as steel, but Mo Zitong stepped in her path.