Soon, the doorbell chirped again.

“Should be Muyan; I asked her to pick us up,” Ye Yiyi said, voice steady like a lamp in rain.

“I’ll get the door; it’s my place,” Mo Zitong said, moving downstairs like a cat in the dark.

“Yo—isn’t that Yanyan~” Mo opened the door, looked at Li Muyan, her smile hooked like a fishhook.

“Uh... Mo Zitong, don’t gross me out,” Li Muyan said, her tone gritty as sand.

“What, after a year apart, you didn’t miss me? I thought you’d remember that day,” Mo said, syrup-sweet words hiding needles.

She wore pretend sadness like frost on glass; if Tang Coco saw, she’d be stunned, unsure which face was real.

“Hmph! I’ll expose your tricks sooner or later. I’m going to Yiyi,” Li Muyan snapped, sparks leaping under her breath.

She slipped past Mo Zitong into the house, like a stream sliding around a stone.

“Second floor, left,” Mo’s voice floated back like a ribbon in air.

“Muyan, you came,” Ye Yiyi turned, warmth rising like a hearth.

“Mm,” Li Muyan answered, a small hum like a bee.

“You troublemaker, what are you pulling now?” she said to Tang Coco on the bed, anger bright as a blade.

“None of your business...” Coco shot back, words cold as rain.

“You—!” The spark jumped, then dimmed.

“Alright, Muyan, stop,” Ye Yiyi said. “Coco, she was worried. We searched outside for ages,” her tone gentle as wool.

Hearing it, a tiny ember eased in Coco’s chest.

“Oh... thanks,” she said, voice soft as mist.

“Tch.” The sound clicked like a pebble against glass.

“Alright, Coco, let’s go home,” Ye Yiyi smiled, the word home a harbor in fog.

“Mm, help me get dressed,” Coco murmured, breath small as wilted petals.

“Where are your clothes?” Yiyi asked, the question a thin needle.

“Uh... you’ll have to ask Mo Zitong...” Coco glanced aside, guilty as a cat with feathers.

“...Alright... I’ll ask,” Yiyi sighed, a breeze through reeds.

She went downstairs, steps tapping like rain, and stopped beside Mo Zitong.

“Um... Zitong... Coco’s clothes...” her voice fluttered like a moth near flame.

“Oh, heading back? Her clothes tore; otherwise she wouldn’t end up like that,” Mo said, tone cool as slate.

“Besides, in this state she can’t put on long pants,” she added, words flat as ice.

Yiyi faltered, silence pooling like shadow.

Mo suddenly tossed something over, the arc swift as a crow’s swoop.

“Catch,” she snapped, the word a whipcrack.

A black dress landed in Yiyi’s hands, thin as a whisper.

“...” The pause hung like fog.

“Thanks,” Yiyi said, voice light as a leaf.

“Alright, pack up and go. I’m turning in,” Mo said, her voice a closing door.

“...” Quiet settled like ash.

It was midnight; rain stitched the night like silver thread.

Li Muyan held an umbrella, while Ye Yiyi carried Tang Coco out of Mo Zitong’s villa.

A cold wind bit; Coco shivered like a wet sparrow.

Seeing it, Yiyi hugged her tighter, trying to pour warmth like a quilt.

After settling Coco in the back seat, Li Muyan slid into the driver’s seat, motion smooth as oil.

Ye Yiyi stepped to Mo Zitong’s door, just as it drew shut like a lid.

“Thank you... Zitong,” she said, words bending like a bow.

“No need,” Mo said. “I did it for her,” a silk-wrapped blade in her tone.

“And a reminder—watch her. I’m interested. One day, I might steal her,” her smile cold as moonlight.

“...” The night swallowed the rest like water.

“I’m going to sleep,” Mo said, her voice dropping like a curtain.

The door closed with a muted thud, cutting off light like a knife.

“Sigh...” Yiyi breathed, a thread of mist.

She shook her head, turned, and got in, taillights drifting off like twin embers.

They drove toward Jinxiu Garden, the wet road gleaming like ink.

In a guest room of the Imperial Walk Club, the lamp watched like a single eye.

“Boss, since we’ve got her trail, why aren’t we moving?” a skinny youth asked, restlessness drumming like rain.

In the Blazing Dragon Squad, his eyes were sharp as knives on steel.

“No rush,” the captain said, voice coiled like a snake. “Didn’t you see Ningxin hiding things?”

“She’s got a plan. We keep digging for leverage. One day, she and that Abnormal will heed me,” his words slithered like smoke.

He slapped a file onto the coffee table, papers fluttering like leaves.

Inside lay a surveillance photo: Ningxin holding an unconscious Tang Coco, the shot stark as winter.

Far from Ninghai City’s bustle, a lavish Western manor sat in the hills like a lone swan.

Few ever passed that place; the pines kept watch like spears.

“Miss, the file you requested,” a suited middle-aged man said, voice polished like silver.

“Mm, hand it over,” the woman replied, a hand languid as a cat on sun-warmed stone.

She was a blonde beauty, curves like fire, features tinged with mixed blood.

Her pale blue eyes were winter lakes—beautiful, and cold enough to press on the chest.

Her voice carried pride, a chill ribbon across the room.

“This city has only a few Abnormals, none that strong. Why did last time fail?” she asked, words cracking like ice.

“In my view,” the man said, caution smoking like incense, “the source of that energy surge has sided with Huaguo’s Abnormal organization.”

“That one’s likely SS-class or above,” he added, the rank heavy as iron.

“But it’s only a guess. Our plant has slipped into their Ninghai branch,” his tone crept like a fox through snow.

“No solid leads yet. Ningxin hides well, but she won’t hide forever,” he said, patience coiled like wire.

“Heh. Ningxin, just a mental-type Abnormal. Looks like I should pay her a visit,” the blonde smiled, a razor under velvet.

“Miss, the master warned us—no big noise. Our Weil family doesn’t fear them, but trouble grows like weeds,” the man cautioned.

“Heh, I know,” she said, confidence smooth as a silk glove.