“Sis Yiyi? What’s wrong?” Meng Xiaoxiao asked, her eyes bright like wet glass under dawn.

“Ah… n-no… it’s fine,” Ye Yiyi said, her voice fluttering like a moth against a lamp.

Inside, Ye Yiyi seethed at Tang Coco, anger rising like steam trapped under a tight lid.

Tang Coco had done that and left without a word, like a shadow slipping past paper walls.

Sure, she herself had been forward last night, heat blooming like a summer storm.

But Tang Coco even told Meng Xiaoxiao her period had started, tossing Ye Yiyi into a red haze of embarrassment like a blush-spilled sunset.

“Mm? Don’t lie to me, Sis,” Meng Xiaoxiao said, concern pooling like spring water in a well.

“Sis Coco told me to take care of you these days, and your face is flushed like morning clouds—are you running a fever?”

She stepped in to touch Ye Yiyi’s forehead, her hand light as a sparrow’s wing.

Ye Yiyi blocked it at once, nerves taut like strings in cold rain.

“I-I’m fine, okay~” she waved, a flimsy fan trying to scatter smoke.

“Alright then, Sis Yiyi, go lie down and rest,” Meng Xiaoxiao urged, her tone soft as cotton.

“I’ll order takeout,” she added, already tapping her phone like raindrops pinging tin.

“No… no need, I’ll just sit for a bit,” Ye Yiyi said, clinging to calm like a reed in wind.

“Really? I feel awful whenever my period comes,” Meng Xiaoxiao said, innocence clear as a moonlit pond.

“Uh…” Ye Yiyi’s words stuck like rice to the lid.

“Yiyi, why do you keep spacing out?” Meng Xiaoxiao asked, head tilted like a curious finch.

“Ah… Xiaoxiao, sit first, I’ll turn on the TV,” Ye Yiyi said, nudging her to the sofa like a breeze herding clouds.

“Yiyi, what’s with your leg? Why are you limping?” Meng Xiaoxiao asked, worry pricking like thorns.

“Don’t ask anymore!!!!” Ye Yiyi snapped, the shout cracking like thunder across a still lake.

“…………” Silence fell, heavy as snow on bamboo.

At last, Ye Yiyi couldn’t take it, her patience fraying like old silk.

Meanwhile, the culprit Tang Coco rode Ningxin’s private jet, slicing through night like an arrow.

A few hours later, she reached the U.S. capital, a city hushed under a black velvet sky.

After landing, guided by Ningxin’s arranged staff, she checked into a hotel near the delegation, shadows coiled like ink beneath chandeliers.

Tang Coco entered the suite and shrugged off her black trench coat, the fabric folding like a night tide.

Jet lag kept sleep away, a stubborn moon refusing to set.

She decided to scout first and rescue the delegation fast, intent sharp as a drawn blade.

Just as she moved, her phone rang, the sound cutting the quiet like a silver bell.

“Hello? Coco,” came Ningxin’s voice, cool as frost over stone.

“What is it?” Tang Coco asked, steady as a mountain ridge.

“Time’s tight,” Ningxin said, words crisp like winter air at dawn.

“Someone will pick you up and take you to the site, and all decisions are yours.”

“Just guarantee the delegation’s safety,” Ningxin added, resolve firm as iron.

“I know,” Tang Coco replied, her tone flat as dark water.

“Then I’m counting on you—stay safe,” Ningxin said, her farewell drifting like a paper lantern.

She hung up, then called Gu Xin and the others, threads of a net cast into night.

“Hello? Have you arrived?” Ningxin asked, voice steady like a balance beam.

“Mm, we just landed, we’re grabbing a cab,” Meng Yuting answered, breath quick as wind at the gate.

“Good. I’ve notified Coco to move. The rest is on you,” Ningxin said, trust laid down like a stepping stone path.

“We’ll do our best,” came the reply, promise tight as a knotted cord.

As the two women left the airport, another luxury private jet touched down, a swan landing on dark water.

“Miss, we’ve arrived,” the butler said to the figure beside him, his posture straight as a pine.

“Mm, let’s go,” Avril said, her stride clean as a blade’s edge.

At the heart of the incident, the capital’s police had ringed a luxury hotel, a cold halo of steel and sirens.

Inside, a mysterious Anomaly Power group held the Huaguo delegation, silent as a sealed urn.

They gave no terms, no demands, their intent hidden like a scorpion under a rock.

Soon, a black Range Rover rolled in and stopped unnoticed, a shadow among shadows.

Tang Coco stepped out, in a tee and black short shorts under a black windbreaker, lean as a hunting cat.

The Range Rover slid away, a dark fish vanishing downstream.

She slipped into a dim corner and took off the windbreaker, skin catching the faint light like porcelain.

“System start. Stalker Armor, start,” Tang Coco said, her words calm as still rain.

“Acknowledged,” the system answered, a heartbeat of metal.

Dark red particles bloomed around her, circling like fireflies in a grove.

They coalesced into a deep-black light Armor, slick as lacquer over steel.

The Armor looked thin, not full coverage, gaps glinting like cut paper.

Head, chest, and upper thighs stayed bare, stark as brushstrokes on rice paper.

At her waist hung two black mechanical daggers, twin fangs sheathed in shadow.

On her right ear, a mechanized headset sat, large as a seashell.

Its front emitted a small red screen, the size of one eye, glowing like a coal.

“Manifestation complete,” the system chimed, a bell tapped with fingertip.

“Optical camouflage, start,” Tang Coco said, letting the night fold around her like a cloak.

Hidden modules opened, red particles flickering like embers under ash.

Color on her surface scrambled, then vanished, her figure swallowed like ink in water.

“Optical camouflage online. Remaining time: nine minutes twenty-one seconds,” the system said, digits ticking like rain.

“Only nine minutes… looks like I Energy still hasn’t fully recovered,” Tang Coco murmured, helplessness thin as mist.

She shook her head and moved inward, a shadow flowing along the hotel’s stone like a river under moon.