Inside the soul space, Tang Coco trained like a blade in a forge, each clash sparking pain that bit like frost on bare skin.

The red-haired girl had promised tricks against bearers of darkness, but her focus hardened like steel, and her blows carved pain in vines around Tang Coco’s soul.

A soul doesn’t tear like flesh, but its sensitivity blooms tenfold, and the hurt swelled like a storm; still, Tang Coco held on like a mountain cliff.

“You’ve got people to protect,” the girl said, voice cool as river stone. “You can’t stop here. Get stronger, or the enemy will break your old truths.”

Tang Coco crouched, breath ragged like winter fog, her Armor ripped in strips like torn banners, while the girl’s Armor carried only the sheen of scuffed dew.

“I know…” she said, rubbing her temple as if smoothing thunder from a cloud.

“You need to understand—‘Valkyrie’ isn’t a crown of flowers,” the girl said, words falling like slow snow.

“Valkyrie…” Tang Coco murmured, the name echoing like a distant bell.

“Yeah,” she smirked, sharp as a crescent blade. “Asura is gone.”

Tang Coco laughed at herself, a brittle sound like dry reeds, then rose and drew a deep breath that filled her chest like wind in sails.

“Hah—” She exhaled, the word misting like steam.

“Come on!” She surged forward like a crimson comet through a night sky.

That night, the little girl Marilyn ended up sharing a room with Meng Xiaoxiao, because Meng Xiaoxiao found their common faith—snacks that glittered like treasure in a trove.

When Meng Xiaoxiao unloaded a hoard of treats from her backpack, Marilyn’s defenses crumbled like sand castles at high tide.

The next morning, Ye Yiyi rose early, heartbeat quick as sparrow wings, because an unexpected guest had drifted to her door like white moonlight.

“Mu… Sister Mu, why are you here?” Ye Yiyi stared at Mu Qingcheng, who stood in the doorway, a white dress flowing like water and heels chiming like glass.

“What’s wrong?” Mu Qingcheng asked, smile thin as silk. “I came to see whether you’ve forgotten me. It’s been quiet as an empty courtyard.”

“Uh…” Ye Yiyi’s laugh wavered like a candle flame. “No way. Sister Mu, please come in.”

Mu Qingcheng stepped into the living room, her scent light as gardenia on a summer evening. “Long time since I came by. I had errands, passed nearby, so I drifted in.”

“I see… Sister Mu, you doing okay lately?” Ye Yiyi asked, voice warm as tea.

“Me? Not great,” she said, a sigh falling like rain.

“Huh? Something happened?” Ye Yiyi blinked, worry folding her brows like leaves.

“My special guest chef ghosted me,” Mu Qingcheng said, pain sweet and theatrical as opera. “I lost clients like birds flying off a branch.”

“Uh…” Ye Yiyi stalled, words tangling like yarn; she thought, and yes, Coco hadn’t shown up much.

“You alone at home?” Mu Qingcheng’s gaze swept the clean room like a calm tide.

“No… Mu Yan hasn’t woken yet, and—” Ye Yiyi began, but a shout cracked from upstairs like a snapped bowstring.

“Hey! Say that again!” Meng Xiaoxiao’s voice rolled down like thunder.

Marilyn scrambled down the stairs, one strap dangling like a loose ribbon, panic quick as a rabbit’s dash, with Meng Xiaoxiao storming behind in shorts and a tee.

“Waa! Sister Yiyi, save me, she’s gonna eat me!” Marilyn cried, drama blooming like fireworks.

“You stop! Say ‘my small’ one more time!” Meng Xiaoxiao yelled, anger flaring like a red lantern.

“Slow down, you two! Don’t trip!” Ye Yiyi called, worry rising like smoke, watching Marilyn bound down the steps.

“Eh—?” Marilyn spotted Mu Qingcheng beside Ye Yiyi, pivoted like a swift, and dove into Mu Qingcheng’s arms like a child into summer shade.

Her little head buried forward, audacious as a kitten, into the soft fullness at Mu Qingcheng’s chest, the scene freezing like ink on rice paper.

“Mmph—so big—” came a muffled whisper, blurred like rain behind gauze.

“…” All three women stared, shock flat as a still pond, and Mu Qingcheng’s raised arm hung midair like a halted branch.

“Lulu!” Ye Yiyi cried, shame and anger braided like vines. She moved to pull Marilyn away, but Mu Qingcheng lifted a hand like a breeze stopping rain.

She wrapped one arm around Marilyn’s neck gently, and smoothed the white hair with her other hand, touch soft as petals. “What a lovely child.”

“Yiyi, who’s this little cutie?” Her smile warmed like sunlight on stone.

“Uh… she’s… Mu Yan’s distant cousin,” Ye Yiyi said, awkwardness prickling like nettles.

“Mu Yan’s distant cousin? I never heard that,” Mu Qingcheng replied, curiosity flickering like a moth.

“Mm… Lulu’s family lives abroad,” Ye Yiyi lied, words fluttering like paper talismans.

“Oh, that explains the white hair,” Mu Qingcheng said, fingers combing through silvery strands like moonlight through grass, the texture soft as silk.

“Heh…” Ye Yiyi’s smile stayed strained, thin as thread.

“And this one?” Mu Qingcheng looked at Meng Xiaoxiao, gaze weighing like a scale.

“Oh, she’s Meng Xiaoxiao, Coco’s classmate,” Ye Yiyi said, tone even as pebbles.

“Coco’s classmate? The age’s off,” Mu Qingcheng said, a brow lifting like a wing.

“I’m a genius. I skipped grades to get here,” Meng Xiaoxiao declared, pride shining like a polished blade.

“Oh, impressive,” Mu Qingcheng laughed, a note hidden like jade in cloth, but she kept her thought folded like a secret letter.

“Please, sit, Sister Mu,” Ye Yiyi offered, hands opening like lotus.

“No, I’ve got things to handle,” Mu Qingcheng said, letting Marilyn go; Marilyn’s face was flushed like ripe cherries from being pressed tight.

“Right… Coco’s… family had something come up,” Ye Yiyi said, words careful as stepping stones. “She’ll be away for a while.”

“Oh? No wonder she’s been a stranger,” Mu Qingcheng said, voice light, smile sharp as a fan’s edge. “When she’s back, send her over. I’ll tally the bill.”

“Uh ⊙∀⊙!” Ye Yiyi winced, the expression popping like a startled emoji.

“O-okay…” she said, embarrassment rippling like water.

“Mm. I’ll head out. Bye-bye, little cutie.” Mu Qingcheng waved, fingers fluttering like petals.

“Hey…” Ye Yiyi watched her car glide away like a silver fish, then sighed, the sound soft as dusk wind.

In the U.S. capital, inside Huacheng International’s headquarters, Su Xinhua worked through a stack of files, paper snowdrifts under fluorescent skies.

Knock, knock, knock. The sound tapped like rain on bamboo.

“Come in,” she said, voice steady as a metronome.

A woman in her late twenties entered, a blue folder held like a shield, steps crisp as heels on marble.

“Sister Su, there’s news from Huaguo,” the woman said, trust flowing like warm tea; a few close staff called her Sister Su.

“What did they say?” Su Xinhua asked, gaze sharp as a hawk’s.

“Huaguo’s government welcomes our investment,” the assistant said, tone smooth as glass. “They suggested Yanjing, but per your directive, we declined.”

“We told them we’ll invest in Ninghai,” she continued, words rolled like scrolls. “We set a date for the meet in Ninghai. Invites go out today.”

“Good. Well done,” Su Xinhua nodded, approval settling like a stamp on wax.

“One more thing,” the assistant added, voice level as a ruler. “The Will Family launched an amusement-island project in Ninghai.”

“The Will Family?” Su Xinhua’s surprise flickered like a candle, then steadied like a lamp.

“When?” she asked, tone cooled like steel.

“They planned it years ago,” the assistant said. “It shouldn’t relate to that incident. Likely coincidence, like clouds crossing the sun.”

“Fine. Ignore them,” Su Xinhua said, focus tightening like a knot. “Any result on that case from a few days ago?”

“Yes,” the assistant said, words clean as a blade. “A mercenary group called Black Dawn tried to control Huaguo’s delegation to coerce the government.”

“Hmph,” Su Xinhua scoffed, disdain sharp as chili. “Those top dogs love dirty tricks like mold behind tiles.”

“Though it’s odd,” she mused, brow shadowed like a ridge. “The big shots let Huaguo’s Abnormals leave that easily?”

She didn’t have an answer, and the room stilled like snow falling.

“Forget it,” Su Xinhua said, leaning back, stretching like a cat in sunlight. “I haven’t been home to Huaguo in ages. I’ll use this chance to visit.”

Her skin was snow-white, her figure slim as a willow, her work clothes barely held the proud curve of her body, beauty touched by fatigue like dew on roses.

“Arrange the itinerary. I want to arrive in Huaguo two days early,” she said, decision clean as a cleaver.

“Got it,” the assistant replied, a nod smooth as lacquer.

In Tang Coco’s inner world, a modern city bloomed like a mirage, but its buildings lay broken like teeth, debris crouching in alleys like sleeping beasts.

A red figure and a white figure streaked through the ruins like twin comets, weaving a dance of dust and wind beneath a pale sky.

“Your world and mine differ most in tech,” the red-haired girl said, words clear as a bell. “Your fights used to stick to the ground like roots.”

“So your old Mech only handled ground combat,” she continued, tone brisk as a drill. “Our battles against bearers of darkness are total, and the skies eat the most fire.”

“If you only fight up close, you’ll fold like wet paper,” she said. “You need skills for air combat, like wings learning the wind.”

“Will that day really come?” Tang Coco frowned, worry pooling like ink. “In our world, Abnormals don’t show up openly to ordinary people.”

“Foolish,” the girl said, severity cold as iron. “When your nation shakes, when your world tilts, secrecy shatters like glass.”

“…” Silence fell between them like ash.

“My gut says the bearers of darkness crossing into your world carry a vast plot,” she said, voice low as thunder beyond clouds. “Did you think that mysterious Fate Clock is playing house?”

“…” Tang Coco swallowed, tension tight as string.

“And remember this,” the girl said, eyes dark as midnight water. “One person’s power is limited. I underestimated them and went alone. Once exposed, I had heart, but no hands.”

“I understand!” Tang Coco nodded hard, resolve anchoring like a stone dropped in a river.

“Good. Final trial,” the girl said, and launched like a falcon toward her.

“Lulu… I’m almost done here. Tonight,” the red-haired girl’s message brushed Marilyn’s mind like wind through bamboo.

On Ye Yiyi’s sofa, Marilyn sat small and calm, munching snacks with Meng Xiaoxiao, crumbs like stardust on cushions, while her mind turned like a hidden millwheel.

“Okay,” Marilyn replied inwardly, a whisper like a reed stirring; as Tang Coco’s internal system, she could speak mind-to-mind with Coco or the red-haired girl.

This trial was their plan, stitched together like a red thread by Marilyn and the girl.

Marilyn kept eating like a squirrel, eyes on the TV’s light like fireflies, but her heart worked another task, one plotted two nights ago with Gu Xin and Meng Yuting.

Two nights back, Gu Xin and Meng Yuting guessed Marilyn knew when Tang Coco would wake, and Gu Xin asked for an early heads-up like a bell before dawn.

Don’t tell Ye Yiyi yet, Gu Xin had said, her voice steady as stone.

Now, Gu Xin sat in Tang Coco’s room, scrolling through data like pages in a wind, when her wristband chimed, a sound quick as a silver bell.

“She’ll wake tonight,” came Marilyn’s voice, sweet as candy; then silence settled like velvet.

“Tonight…” Gu Xin thought, the word dropping like a pebble into a still pool.

She glanced at Tang Coco, gaze soft as moonlight, then pulled out her phone and made a call, the line rising like a thread into the quiet air.