“Huh? Where’d Qianji Sister and the others go—they vanished like mist at dawn?”

We stepped out of the bedroom and found no one, like a stage after the lanterns went dark. Worse, even the scene had changed, like a painted scroll flipped in one stroke. It wasn’t the same room anymore, but a pitch-black tunnel, a throat of night swallowing light.

One look down that throat and cold crept up the spine like winter water.

“Why did the outside turn into this haunted mess, like a cave with no stars? We haven’t even eaten or bathed.”

Clinging to my arm, Lingxiao grumbled, her voice like a pebble skimming a still pond. She wasn’t wrong; after waking, nothing beats a hot bath and good food, like steam and broth warming bone. Opening the door to a tunnel black as ink to the end of the brush was a mood-killer, like rain on a festival drum.

“We’re not where we were a moment ago; the space shifted like chess pieces moved by an unseen hand,” Lingsaki said, cool as snow under moonlight.

“Mm, something’s off—space here feels tangled, like threads knotted in a loom,” Lixue mused. “Step out that door and we might never find the way back, like a boat lost in mirrored fog.”

Unease pricked first, like ants under the skin; then I let my Sword Intent flow, a blade-breeze searching like a hawk over the sea. It plunged into boundless depths like a dark ocean, and no matter how I sifted the currents, nothing surfaced that I could use, like nets hauling up only black water. No—this tunnel is likely a space tunnel, not a thing of wood and stone, like a bridge drawn in air. Then it makes sense that my Sword Intent can’t catch hold of anything, like wind grasping wind.

As moments trickled by like sand in a glass, I noticed the door outside growing thin, as if some spatial force was eating it like frost gnawing glass, turning it faintly transparent.

“Outside looks like a cliff in fog; let’s not go out yet,” I said, keeping my voice level like a steady flame.

I shut the door in a hurry, like snapping a fan closed, and led them back to sit on the bed, an island in a paper sea. The room had become a sealed shell without windows, like a pearl closed tight.

I lit the crystal lamps on the walls; amber light pooled like honey on stone. Lingxiao took a table and warm dishes from her spatial pouch, steam rising like coiled dragons around cups and plates.

“Dear big brother, let’s eat first, then talk,” she said, words like a quilt thrown over the chill.

“Yeah, after sleeping this long, my stomach’s a hollow gourd,” I said, half-laughing like a reed in wind.

Lingsaki gathered a globe of water, clear as a small moon, and I washed my hands in its cool skin, like brookwater over pebbles. Worry kept tugging at me like a caught kite string. “I wonder where Qianji Sister and Aunt Saintvoice are—did they walk into danger, like deer in a thunder grove?”

“Their lineup’s much stronger than ours, like iron against bamboo; you don’t need to worry,” Lingxiao said, voice light as silk. “We might be the ones who stumble into trouble, like moths near a lamp.”

“Lingsaki’s right,” another chimed in, steady as a bell at dawn. “Qianji and Holy Voice are both strong as mountains, and with Xinyin, Celia Maya, Wansheng, and Wanling beside them, any worry should fall on them first, like rain on a stone roof.”

“That tracks—like a compass needle finding north,” I said.

Talking wouldn’t change this tide, like shouting at the sea, so we shared a look and started eating, slow and careful as a truce by candlelight. Afterward I wanted a soak, like sinking into hot spring mist, but we didn’t have that luxury, like a traveler with no inn.

Truth is, we know little about the Soulless Sanctuary, especially its depths, a place like ink under ice. We don’t even know how many trials there are, like milestones hidden under fallen leaves; this may be another trial—maybe a timed escape from that scrambled space tunnel, like racing an hourglass.

“Even if time’s still inside the spatial pouch, food still loses a bit of flavor, like fragrance fading with the dawn,” Lingxiao quipped mid-bite, a smile like a peach blossom.

“Can’t be helped—it’s for emergencies,” Lingsaki replied, calm as a lake under clouds, then glanced at me. “Big brother, something’s weighing on you—your brow’s drawn like a bent bow.”

“I keep thinking this upheaval is a trial, like a reef lurking under black water,” I said, letting the thought fall like a stone.

Lixue nodded as if hearing distant thunder. “Very likely. If we go out, we need to be ready, like tying every strap before the storm.”

“Right. Better steer carefully and sail between reefs,” someone agreed, voice like an oar dip.

“Relax, relax~ We’ll follow your lead, dear big brother, like geese in tidy formation,” came a playful sing-song, bright as bells.

“We believe in you,” another added, firm as a pillar in a temple.

“...”

Hey, don’t pile the pressure on me like stones in a pack. Still, may it go smooth, like wind filling sails, same as the last trials.

Just then, a premonition brushed me, a cold feather across the heart: something nasty crouched beyond the tunnel’s exit, like a beast behind a curtain.

…

Elsewhere, Qianji and Holy Voice felt trouble in their bones, like frost before dawn. Half an hour ago, they’d been chatting in that room, waiting for the Emperor’s group to wake, like guards by a brazier. Then the world flipped; darkness slammed their eyes shut like a dropped screen, and dizziness hurled them like leaves in a whirl. When their senses steadied, they were in a strange place, clearly forced here by a hidden hand, like chess stones captured mid-game.

“What is this place? Space and time are tangled, like rivers crossing in broken mirrors,” Qianji murmured, calm eyes hiding a headache like an iron ring.

She scanned the surroundings, her senses grasping air like fingers through fog; she couldn’t trace the paths of time and space at all, a chaos like birdnest knots.

“Yeah. Pretty scene, but hard to love, like flowers under poison rain,” Holy Voice said, her thoughts blank as fresh snow for a beat.

It felt like standing inside a crystal ball, sky and ground both transparent, prismatic light refracting everywhere like fish scales flashing. It was beautiful, yes, but the blaze made the head swim, like staring at the sun on snow too long.

High above stood an inverted colossal triangular pyramid, its surface clearer than crystal, a thing like ice without flaws. Wrapped in glare, it wore a halo as lavish as festival silk, while clouds drifted all around, inside or out no one could tell, then went still as painted mist.

“The Primordial Source here is thick as incense smoke,” Wanling said, her voice low as a drum. “We may be close to the Soulless Sanctuary’s deepest secret, like a door behind a tapestry.”

“With aura this dense, there might truly be an Origin Realm being inside,” Wansheng added, the thought heavy as a mountain under dark sea.

He glanced at Qianji, Holy Voice, Celia Maya, and Xinyin, his gaze like a crossroads under stormclouds. “Too many upheavals—and we don’t know if the Origin Realm presence in the Soulless Sanctuary is friend or foe. Do we press on, or stop here, like turning back before the pass?”

“We came this far; we see it through, like an arrow once nocked,” Xinyin said first, her voice sharp as a reed pipe.

“Our goal was to investigate the Soulless Sanctuary, so we move forward,” Celia Maya added, nerves tight as strings but resolve firm as oak.

“Right—we have to lift the veil and look,” another agreed, breath like winter steel.

“At the crucial moment, we don’t retreat; the bridge behind us is ash, and only the road ahead remains,” Qianji and Holy Voice said, their resolve like iron under frost.

Wansheng and Wanling traded a look and smiled, two lanterns steady in rain. “Exactly—at this point, we need an answer, like ink on the final line.”

“With the Primordial Source interference, leaving here won’t be easy, like rowing against a tide,” Wanling said. “Let’s circle the place, observe carefully, then seek an exit like sailors reading stars.”

No one objected; no better plan floated up, like fish with their mouths closed. Following Wanling’s lead was the sure stone path across the stream.