[Ding! Target Host confirmed dead!]

She didn’t return to the private space; the void stayed shut like a lightless door.

Blazing red letters glared before Nana Toki, like fresh blood on black ice.

Two bone-white skulls hung at the sides of the line, grinning like winter moons, a little creepy.

Darkness spread like a shoreless sea, and by the rules, with her karma debt so deep, she should be erased.

The news barely rippled her heart; inside, the lake stayed still, because she’d run as far as wind and legs allowed.

Who knew that ghost of an old man could crush her heart across the air, like squeezing a ripe pomegranate—such a cheat.

[By the Cosmic System Statute, a Host who fails a mission shall be erased.]

The emotionless synth-voice rang on and on, like iron rain in an empty cavern, and Nana Toki knew this System wasn’t her goofy one.

This one screamed tyrant-CEO vibes, cold as a blade in frost.

“Alright, alright, quit yapping. If you’re gonna kill me, do it, so you can go find your next sucker.”

Irritation flared hot as a spark in dry grass; her face held none of that death-row despair.

If anything, her look was cocky, a tilted chin under stormlight, like death was a gnat.

Only one thing tugged her chest like a silk thread: Nesting Phoenix from the last plane, the strange warmth she’d left behind.

Which idiot would take care of things now; the thought scratched like a thorn behind her ribs.

Would she bury my body, then go back to the Immortal Realm alone, like a lone bird crossing cold skies.

I care way too much; the worry hummed like a hive.

[...]

[...]

The cold voice echoed through the boundless dark, waves lapping a shore she couldn’t see, and Nana Toki was surprised her head still sat on her neck.

Huh?

Where’s the promised erasure; why isn’t the blade falling like rain.

Are they going to strand me here to grow old in the dark, like driftwood rotting in a swamp.

The failed drifter had time to storyboard her own death, painting endings in ash-gray.

But.

Even dead water can hide a spring.

[Ding! Target Host confirmed revived. Returning to the plane now.]

“What?”

The sudden chime snapped like flint; Nana Toki froze, thinking she’d misheard thunder as laughter.

What do you mean, I revived; the idea flashed like lightning through fog.

The bloody font flipped green, fresh as new shoots after rain, and her mind went blank as snow.

“Wait, I can revive?”

If revival’s on the table, can we also pick a plane with baby-mode difficulty, like a gentle stream not rapids.

The tyrant-CEO System chose silence, a mountain refusing to echo.

“Transfer countdown begins. Three, two, one… Transfer.”

“Hey—!”

White light split the dark like a blade, and Nana Toki vanished where she stood, a candle snuffed by wind.

The space fell still again, quiet as frost on stone, as if nothing had ever spoken.

...

“Host…”

“Ho-ost…”

Noisy voices jabbed her eardrums like thorns, needle-sharp and relentless.

“Host! You died so tragically!”

“Wuu wuu, Master’s gonna kill me with scolding!”

“With the Host gone, the target quest’s gone! I’m doomed, wuu wuu…”

“Ho-o-ost!”

A vein throbbed on Nana Toki’s forehead like a taut string; the noise in her mind beat like drums.

Shut up.

She snapped her eyes open, anger first like a flare, ready to jump up and slap a seal on that idiot’s mouth.

Then she froze, breath catching like a bird in a snare.

The scene around her was a place she’d never seen, rough as a mountain’s broken tooth.

She sat inside a cavern; jagged stones littered the ground like a fallen scree, chaos written in gray.

Sunlight speared down through a hole above, bright as molten gold, stabbing her eyes till they watered.

The air held a thin tang of blood, metallic as rust on rain-soaked iron.

She licked her dry lips; a faint fragrance touched her tongue like dew on plum blossoms.

Where am I?

Memory creaked back to life, her mind turning like a rusted gear oiled drop by drop.

“Host, you’re not dead!”

The System in her head noticed her push up from a stone slab; its voice fizzed with relief, warm as a hearth.

It was nothing like that cold synth-voice; this one carried a foolish grin, like a sparrow in spring.

I’m… back?

Nana Toki flexed her hand; her fingers moved nimble as fish in a stream, and sensation came real as sun on skin.

She was truly alive; the fact rang clear as a bell.

Wait.

Her heart.

Her heart!

Holy—what happened big enough to revive someone with a crushed heart, like a shattered drum beating again.

She yanked open her robe, rough as a storm tearing clouds, revealing fair skin like jade under frost.

Her chest rose and fell; her heart thudded strong and steady, a drum behind silk.

Her body felt different—no, stronger, bones like tempered steel and breath like clear wind.

Her meridians had been mended, smooth as newly carved channels, and—

She’d condensed a Golden Core, glowing like a small sun in her dantian.

“What the hell is going on!” Nana Toki stared at the System, bafflement rolling like fog across a field.

The plot had leapt the rails, a carriage skidding sparks into night.

Crushed heart, now revived, and a straight jump to Golden Core; that’s not how ladders work, even in dreams.

And.

Nesting Phoenix?

The cave lay in ruin, but there was no trace of Nesting Phoenix, no flutter of her presence.

She never strayed more than three meters; she clung like a shadow in sunlight.

“Uh… about that…”

The System’s voice hitched, a line snagged on rock, as if it didn’t want to spill the truth: “To bring you back, Nesting Phoenix gave you everything.”

“What do you mean.”

Nana Toki’s face sank like dusk over water; she felt the looming shape of it, and she didn’t want that shape to be real.

“She… gave you her heart.”

“Phoenix blood is the richest life-force under heaven, bright as fire under snow, and to keep you alive, she gave it all to you.”

The words struck like spears, hard and clean, nailing through Nana Toki’s chest.

But she felt no pain; the ache dissolved like salt in warm water.

Because it was Nesting Phoenix’s heart beating in her, and it refused to let her hurt.

“...”

The cave fell still, quiet like snow on pine.

Nana Toki sat on the stone slab, her face calm as a lake before storm.

Stuffed, stifled, a black cloud filled her chest, with nowhere to break into rain.

“She can be revived, right.”

“Eh?”

The System blinked, confused like a bird at a window, not catching her drift.

“I mean she can still be revived, right.”

Her gaze locked on the task list, hawk-sharp, staring at a single line.

The hidden quest marker, “Phoenix Nirvana,” hadn’t dimmed; its light flickered like an ember, so the quest hadn’t failed.

Nesting Phoenix was still alive, somewhere between fire and ash.

“Sh-she should… yes, she should. She’s of the ancient Fire Phoenix lineage; revival’s in the blood like spring in thawed earth.”

“Where’s her body. Nesting Phoenix’s.”

She didn’t say corpse; for her, if revival was possible, life was waiting like dawn beyond the ridge.

“I sealed it away with… certain measures,” the System said, hiding the part about its Master wanting to reclaim the body, words tucked like a knife in a sleeve.

“How do we bring her back.”

Nana Toki stood, the motion clean as a drawn blade, and looked at the crystal coffin the System set on the stone floor.

Her face went eerily calm, moonlight on still water, as she stared at the girl within, quiet as first snow.

It was a face she knew too well, the same as the first time they met, a memory pressed like a flower between pages.

“...”

Silence answered; the System’s quiet was a wall, a mountain of no.

In its calculus, the Host couldn’t finish this task; the path was a cliff with no ledge.

To revive Nesting Phoenix, she’d need the legendary Huang Fire from the Demon Realm, a flame buried like a star in abyssal mud.

The Demon Realm churned with demonic currents, wild as a storm-torn sea; without the Great Vehicle Stage, you’d die like a moth in a furnace.

Right now, Nana Toki was only at Golden Core, a candle beside a sun; Great Vehicle was a distant peak.

Even with a lifetime of cultivation, it could take hundreds or thousands of years, years falling like leaves.

And even if she reached Great Vehicle someday, the Demon Realm was vast as a desert sky; where would she find the Huang Fire.

The Demon Realm wasn’t the Human Realm; brutal foes prowled like wolves in winter, one slip and you’d vanish like ash on the wind.

Alone, hunting the Huang Fire there, was a needle in a sea of mud, a swallow looking for spring in midwinter.

“Host, maybe you should go…” finish the main quest, and let the hidden one lie like a stone at the bottom.

Her Master had warned: the mindworld’s difficulty was too high, sharp as ice for feet this bare.

The System meant to say all that, words lined like beads on a string.

But Nana Toki didn’t accept no; her silence was a thunderhead, black and full.

The defiant girl stood by the crystal coffin, pointed at the sleeping beauty within, and asked each word like a hammer blow: “Tell me how to revive her.”

Her pretty face brimmed with feral heat, a wolf’s glare in moonlight, as if she’d explode the next breath.

“...”

The System flinched; this sudden surge scared it, a rabbit under a hawk’s shadow.

First time seeing its Host this undone, this raw, like a cliff face after a quake.

Nana Toki startled herself too; the rush of feeling was a brushfire, a forest she hadn’t walked in for years.

To feel again was unsettling, like stepping on thin ice over dark water.

“Host, do you really want to keep the hidden quest.”

Even with a speech ready to dissuade her, seeing her like this made it want to help, like rain on thirsty soil.

“Even if it kills you, you’ll keep going.”

“Stop dithering, hurry it up, time is money,” Nana Toki snapped, urgency cracking like a whip.

“Life’s one big bet—push it, and a beat-up bike turns into a roaring motorbike.”

“...” That sounded exactly like her, wild wind and grinning teeth.

Since she’d chosen her road, the System didn’t stall; its mission was to help her cross this plane, to hand over truth like a map.

“My Master said: Phoenix is a branch of the ancient Vermilion Bird. The feng-bird governs Feng Flame, which burns all under heaven, fire fierce as summer noon. The huang-bird governs the Huang Fire, which nourishes every blaze, warmth like spring earth. Together they form the lowest Nirvana Fire of the Vermilion line, a paired flame for rebirth—phoenix nirvana. Given Nesting Phoenix’s state, you only need the Huang Fire to sustain her life, an ember to keep the heart warm; Nirvana Fire isn’t required.”

So get the Huang Fire, and she lives—simple as flint and steel, on paper.

“Where is the Huang Fire,” Nana Toki asked, brow tight as a knotted cord.

Her memory held no clue; she needed the System’s map like a lantern on a night road.

“By this plane’s plot, the huang-bird who holds the Huang Fire was imprisoned by the Lord of the Demon Realm, bound beneath the Nine Abysses at the Bi’luo Yellow Springs.”

“And to reach the Demon Realm, the basic cultivation is…”

“Great Vehicle Stage, right.”

She cut the System off, words clean as a sword-draw.

“...Yes.”

The System doubted she’d keep going after hearing that, the mountain too tall, the air too thin.

Great Vehicle wasn’t a morning’s work; it was years dripping like water through stone.

But.

“I’ll go; it’s just the Nine Abysses of the Demon Realm,” she said, eyes never leaving Nesting Phoenix’s sleeping face, gaze steady as a vow carved on jade.

“What I decide to do, no one stops— even if I have to scour the azure heavens above and the Yellow Springs below.”