Luzhixing’s bout with Yu Yunxiu ended with Yu topping off her Mind Energy and cutting the match like a sharp wind through silk. The last runner-up stole a point off the reigning champ in groups, a spark in dry grass. Yet the bigger blaze online is still that melee being cracked head‑on, drums rolling across the forums. People argue if the myth‑slaying “Caesar Coliseum” should be pushed into the limited‑tech list, like a sacred blade sealed in a sheath.

Plans bent like willow branches; running into Xiaoyuan turned a stadium trip into an internet café stream. Still, Jiang Bailu wanted to drift near the Sun Palace, like a moth chasing lanternlight.

Yekase hated crowds, a swarm like summer cicadas. But when she heard there was a “fair” during the matches, with vendors from all over, her stance flipped like a coin.

She didn’t like shopping, a mall as dull as dead water. But an Infinite Power gear‑themed market was a forge humming with heat.

After watching Luzhixing’s melee move—though it got cracked—she caught firepower anxiety like frost nipping the fingers. She needed a bazaar’s sparks for inspiration.

They left the café and headed for the Sun Palace, feet tapping like sticks on a drum.

“And then Dao Shangfei kicked on speed, like a deer breaking through brush. Chubu Risa saw ‘Cangqiong’ couldn’t catch him, so she swapped to ‘Zixiao’ and blink‑chased, a storm strobing behind.”

Listening, Yekase pictured two figures chasing and feinting across the Sun Palace grounds, like swallows weaving over a lake.

Are they fighting or flirting, she thought, like peach blossoms thrown with a sword.

Reading her doubt, Jiang Bailu added, “From quarterfinals up, it’s all outdoors, sky wide as a field of wheat. This year, probably on Dragonhead Mountain to the south.”

“Got it,” Yekase said, calm as a stone in a stream.

Top eight should be headliners in the Hidden World, names like banners in the wind. Indoors would cramp their limbs, and the crowd would chafe like sand. Pity the ground around there, a battlefield scoured like old bark.

Bailu had just said melee really had another, more physical form. Exactly what Yekase guessed: a literal armory storm, blades returning and relaunching like a tide.

One of Luzhixing’s nicknames, “the Ironfire Swordsoul,” came from that furnace‑hot style, sparks flying like meteors.

But she only pulled it on Xiaoyuan; otherwise, no need to factor it, like a hidden knife in the sleeve.

Even so, picturing hundreds of weapons whirling like a washing‑drum in the sky made Yekase shiver three times, leaves rattling in a gust.

Can’t fight that, she thought, a fish trying to climb a pine.

It’s not just power levels; it’s not even the same art style, like ink wash versus neon spray.

This side is urban superpowers, neon over rain. That side is Eastern fantasy, cranes over mountains.

In her circle, only Mira could maybe spar a few rounds, iron ringing on iron. The year Mira took the crown, the final was the two of them, a comet against a blade.

Under the undisputed no.1, Yu Yunxiu, Xiaoyuan, Dao Shangfei, Chubu Risa and other top‑eight regulars weren’t as exaggerated, a river running within banks. Yekase felt a little confidence return, a lamp relit.

Back on common ground, another question sprouted like bamboo. “If Luzhixing’s that strong, why didn’t Shadow Curtain International recruit her?”

“Couldn’t move her,” Bailu said, voice steady as a stone. “Swordforging Manor’s HQ doesn’t love her antics, stormy as summer heat. But the money and resources she brings are solid bricks. Do you know her transfer fee? Plus a string of concessions, like pearls on a thread.”

“Uh…” Yekase’s thoughts flicked like flint.

You Sinister Organization types are that civilized? If you can’t buy, don’t you rob, like wolves at night? Colonizers make you look like kittens.

“Or maybe the Executor Guard are even stronger,” she tried, a feeler like a reed in water. “Shadow Curtain just isn’t impressed?”

“No, no, no,” Bailu said, cutting like a knife. “To what degree would that be? Would they still be human, or thunder wrapped in skin?”

“Alright, I get it—you’re a one‑true‑fan,” Yekase said, a teasing breeze through chimes.

One‑true‑fans are never rational, she thought, her smile a folded fan. She let it drop.

They walked and talked as the crowd thickened, a tide pooling toward the dome. The Sun Palace’s spherical roof rose ahead like a pearl in sunlight. Roads were taped off, and tents lined the middle of the street in two neat rows, like sails on a river.

“Lively,” Yekase said, lanterns in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Bailu nodded, voice soft as felt. “Some outfits sell the same model gear as the contestants’, though they’re mostly junior editions, spring water in winter jars. Anything you want, Doc?”

Want what? Yekase didn’t need anything urgent, no thunder in her pocket. Good materials wouldn’t surface in a place even more mixed than the black market, a stew with too much salt.

Finding rare gear on a curbside mat—these days even power‑fantasy protagonists don’t get that, like cranes landing in alleys.

“Let’s just browse,” she said, drifting for the vibe like incense smoke.

Besides tents, some shops ran out of RV‑like four‑wheel wagons, boxes on wheels like turtles with houses.

After Ancient Alchemy ate some of her magic study time, her short‑term battle level was a sapling, not a tree. For cross‑pollination, she grabbed a modern Alchemy textbook to compare, pages like mirrors facing mirrors.

She quickly saw Ancient and modern Alchemy weren’t related at all, two rivers diverging at birth. Luckily, modern Alchemy’s first chapters were gentle, like dough you can knead. She picked up useful procedures, tools glinting like knives.

Modern is convenience itself, she thought, a thermos in winter.

Modern Alchemy leans practical, a magpie’s nest of tricks. That fits her style, a toolbox under a clear sky.

I have material A, and I have material B, two herbs in two palms. I think they’ll react—draw a circle and refine, sparks like fireflies. Get result C, write it down. That’s modern Alchemy’s way, a lab-book like a field diary.

“I want some alchemy materials,” she said, eyes bright as wet ink. “I’ll run experiments when we get back.”

“Doc, you dabble in Alchemy too?” Bailu asked, surprise like a dropped bead.

“Picked up a little lately,” she said, breezy as wind through grass.

Yekase stepped into an RV with a transmutation circle logo, a seal like a moon.

…

……

“…Huh?” she breathed, a bird startled from a branch.

Inside, two rows of shelves and a counter, shop neat as a bento. Sitting there was… Shen Shanshan.

She wore a cosplay mage robe, theatrical as stage fog. Lace gloves, pointed hat, black veil—her whole getup was a crane in a chicken coop.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Yekase said, a blade in a sleeve.

Shen Shanshan laced her fingers before her, a fan hiding a smile. “Working.”

“You? Work a job?” Yekase arched a brow, lightning behind clouds.

A lace‑gloved middle finger rose like a lone flag. “No work, no cash. Do you know how much I burned greasing friends to find that factory? If I don’t earn it back, I bled for nothing.”

Jiang Bailu stepped in behind, steps soft as cat paws.

“Doc, who’s this lady?” she asked, deja vu like a shadow. “Looks familiar.”

“Triple Calamity one,” Yekase said, flicking dust off a blade.

“Oh! Sorry, and thank you for that,” Bailu blurted, a bow in her voice.

Shen waved it off, cutting smoke with a hand. “Helped you once and you put me straight on the books, a stamp like red cinnabar. If you want to thank me, make it real.”

“O‑of course!” Bailu reeled, like a kite tugged by wind. “I’ll introduce you to the chief properly tomorrow.”

“Better,” Shen said, words landing like stones.

…Not polite at all, Yekase thought, a smile twitching like a fish.

Watching Bailu’s nerves tie themselves in knots, Yekase turned to the shelves, eyes like nets.

“Master Ye, aren’t you a mechanic?” Shen’s mask dropped with a clack. “What’s a gearhead doing in the alchemy aisle, like a wolf in a tea house?”

“It’s called learning from many schools,” Yekase said, voice clear as glass. “While I’m young and my hands are quick, I’ll grab a few more degrees.”

“What’s your degree?” Shen asked, needle light.

“Undergrad,” Yekase said, gaze steady as a compass.

Shen sighed, air escaping a kettle. “Fine. I’m just minding the shop. You pay, I sell, rain or shine. Browse.”

“Aren’t you going to pitch the goods?” Yekase asked, leafing like wind.

“Read the labels yourself,” Shen said, a door half shut.

Bailu watched them spar words, her own tongue tied like twine. She turned to the shelves, eyes skimming like swallows.

Fae dragon, full dragon scale, 289.9 yuan per piece, a moon on a plate.

Refined Omega Ray, 349.9 yuan per bottle, lightning corked in glass.

Juejue seeds, 40 yuan per jin, pebbles in a stream jar.

World Tree sapling (Made in France), 12,999 yuan, a myth in a pot.

…So many bizarre things, mushrooms after rain.

Bailu blinked and let it go, mind a blank page.

“I’ll take five jin of Juejue seeds,” Yekase said, basket voice at market dawn.

“That much?” Shen asked, eyebrow like a hook.

“Half to refine, half to fry,” Yekase said, smoke already in memory. “And one anti‑cold reagent kit, Evergreen brand, snow bottled in green.”

—They’d formed a rhythm, like sellers and buyers calling across stalls.

Just like buying cabbage in a wet market, water dripping off leaves.

Shen nodded, took the Juejue seed jar from the shelf, and pulled a scale from beneath the counter, old bones creaking.

…A black wooden rod with a string loop over her finger, one side for a weight, one side for a pan—an old beam scale, a swallow’s tail.

“Am I on the wrong set?” Bailu muttered, stunned like a deer.

Yekase took the plastic bag, crinkling like dry leaves, and tilted her head. “Alright, let’s keep moving… Bailu?”

“Thank you for showing me a world wider than Infinite Power machines,” Bailu sighed, eyes like lakes.

“Why’d you switch how you call me again?” Yekase asked, a smile like a ripple.

It was late already, the street still long as a river. Yekase couldn’t wait for Bailu to reset; she grabbed her hand and tugged, a kite string pulling tight.

Shen called after them, voice like a pebble skipping water. “By the way, Master Ye, how’s that hero girl under you?”

“What do you want?” Yekase’s guard rose like a shield; she checked the door, thankful for empty air.

“Pure concern.” Shen raised both palms, the veil a cloud. “A friend’s friend is a friend. That’s my way of doing rivers and lakes.”

“She’s fine,” Yekase said, words low as coals. “Wants to learn micro‑control now. But the college exams come first, like winter rules. I handle most things. I call her only when I must.”

“Spend more time with her,” Shen said, tone like steady rain.

“…You don’t know her, right?” Yekase asked, thoughts thrumming like wires.

During Triple Calamity, did Ling Yi and Shen ever cross paths? She replayed two months of days like flipping postcards, and no, they hadn’t.

“During Triple Calamity,” Shen said, veil shadowing her eyes. “After you flew up, I stayed nearby and watched, a hawk over fields. She crawled from the rubble, spent to the bone, but still stared down the one who caught you. Right?”

“Uh… that was me,” Jiang Bailu said, raising a timid hand like a sprout.

“That type of hero, we’ve seen plenty,” Shen said, voice suddenly flat as an altar stone. “Their endings… I don’t need to paint that picture, dusk falling on a lonely road.”

“Mm,” Yekase answered, a pebble dropped into a well.

In Yekase’s mind, this was rare—Shen being serious, a blade without jokes. Strange timing, like getting caught behind a curtain, but the cut was clean.

“I trust your eye,” Shen said. “We run with outfits. Our hands carry blood, like red on snow. If we die, maybe no grave, just wind. She’s different. At least keep her safe from this damned world’s teeth. That shouldn’t stump a big‑brained Yekase, right?”

“In a good mood today, giving me counsel?” Yekase smiled, a crescent like a boat.

“Had to find a window to say it,” Shen said, words like nails. “Don’t botch it, miss it, regret it, then drag me to drink. The wine would sour in the cup.”

Yekase understood, a lantern lighting behind her eyes. The Gauntlet factory’s address probably had a thread now, a red string on a map.

Shen wouldn’t usually bare this much truth, a pearl out of shell. If she did now, it meant the near future offered no better hour, night pressing down.

She was reminding Yekase to mind the line, don’t drag Ling Yi into their crook‑on‑crook churn, wolves eating wolves. She was also warning that this clever‑rob‑the‑tribute caper wouldn’t go smooth, a road with black ice, maybe even a life on the scale.

“I get it,” Yekase said, mouth warming to a small smile, spring under frost.

“I’ll carve it into my heart,” she added, words sinking like ink into wood.