After wandering street to street like a leaf in the wind, Lingcai finally found the address.

The house stood alone, a shabby two-story stack, veiled by pine boughs like a green curtain. From outside, the inside was a sealed shadow. Its windows were filmed with years of dust, like frost that never melts.

A prickle of surprise ran through her. Did the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries live in a place like this?

She breathed, then reasoned it out. A true master carried the air of mountains; masters ignored trifles. Compared to a rookie like her, he was the one sunk wholly in research, untouched by the world. The small hermit hides in the woods; the great hermit hides in the marketplace.

Out of courtesy, Lingcai tiptoed to the door and called through the seam, voice a stretched thread.

“Anyone there—?”

“Anyone—?”

“There—?”

“—?”

Only the echo drifted through a little yard choked with ivy, like wind circling a well. Then came a long, pond-still silence.

Maybe he was out?

It was fine. He was the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries. As a junior in Alchemy, waiting on the Grandmaster was only right.

Just as she looked for a spot to sit, the mottled wooden door slowly opened.

Creeeak—

The door yawned toward her. Inside was a pitch-black mouth, breathing a thin, cold draft.

The scene felt like an old witch’s manor bristling with hidden spells—any second, the house would rise like a beast and swallow whoever stepped in, leaving only a pale pile of bones.

She shook the omen off. No way, no way. He was the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries. He wouldn’t lay lethal traps for a guest.

With no better choice, Lingcai braced against the chill and forced herself into that dark maw of a house. If the door had opened, then the Great Sage had to be home.

As for opening the door in such an eerie way?

Uh… maybe that was a master’s flourish.

A sage hiding among people wouldn’t hire servants. Making the Great Sage open the door himself would dent his aura. Think it through—use magic to open the door. Best solution: boosts mystique and scares off sneak-thieves.

High. Truly high.

She passed the threshold. The darkness thinned, and the scene came into focus—not the neat, orderly lab she imagined, but hills of books gone feral, and test-tube racks toppled into crooked fences. In the center sat a black-bellied Alchemy cauldron.

The cauldron looked long unused, crammed with dust-caked odds and ends: a glass jar labeled “concentrated sulfuric acid,” a sealed pack of test strips, a toothpick box.

She scanned the room. No sign of the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries.

No one here, yet the door had opened?

Then Lingcai noticed a thin white cotton thread tied to the door, trailing into a neighboring book pile.

Her gaze followed the thread as it vanished into the mound of books like a buried root.

Was there something under there?

Lingcai stepped to the pile and lifted the top book.

The instant the book moved, she met a human eye veined with blood, glaring straight up at her.

“Eee!!! Don’t come any closer!!”

She yelped and slammed the book back down. A dull thud answered, followed by a muffled human groan from beneath the stack.

“Ow. That hurt.”

So there was someone under the books?!

Lingcai hurriedly cleared the surrounding volumes one by one, stacking them neatly aside. Only then did the person under the avalanche come into view—a sickly youth with gray-white curls, eyes bloodshot and ringed in shadow, the look of someone who hadn’t slept in ages. He wore a gray pajama set that seemed unwashed for a long time. In his right hand, he clutched the white cotton string.

So he’d pulled the door open with that string.

No door-opening spell at all.

Whatever mystery the house had held crumbled in Lingcai’s chest like damp plaster.

The so-called Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries, what on earth—

Then she saw it: a pendant at the youth’s throat, a seven-pointed star of seven colors.

Seven points meant Seven Luminaries; only one person wore that mark.

This grimy, frail youth was the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries.

The grand image of the Great Sage that Lingcai had built in her heart collapsed in an instant, like a statue struck by lightning.

The youth’s throat moved. He spat out two plain syllables.

“What.”

No matter what, if he truly was the Great Sage, she had to show respect.

Lingcai bowed her tone and asked, careful as stepping on thin ice.

“Um, are you the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries… sir?”

Before she could finish, the youth tossed out two more syllables. “Zhuoyue.”

“Huh?” Lingcai blinked, not catching his point.

His Adam’s apple bobbed again. He kept speaking in two-word beats.

“Call me Zhuoyue.”

Zhuoyue was the Great Sage’s true name. His rank sat so high that, even if he didn’t mind, few dared to use it; most had forgotten it altogether.

Lingcai wouldn’t presume to address the forefather by name. She shifted her phrasing.

“Grandmaster, hello. I have a request. Could I borrow your Alchemy cauldron for a bit?”

She thought, since he used the cauldron to hold junk, he probably wouldn’t mind if she used it.

The Great Sage Zhuoyue’s throat moved again. The words came out with effort, squeezed like paste from a tube.

“…Don’t take it away. That’s fine…”

With that, Zhuoyue shut his eyes and inched back into the book pile, wriggling like a caterpillar returning to its leaf.

Lingcai stood there, stunned. Though she’d somehow borrowed the cauldron, the Great Sage’s image had shattered her worldview like a bowl dropped on stone.

So… masters are like this?

A tide of snark rose in her chest—impolite, probably—but she had no time to dwell. She opened her backpack and laid out every ingredient needed for human transmutation, one by one, like stars placed on a dark cloth. Next came cleaning: she cleared a patch for herself. Finally, she emptied the cauldron of its junk and set those items aside somewhere visible and out of the way.

All the while, she felt eyes on her, like a cold draft against the neck.

She looked and found Zhuoyue hidden under the books, only his bloodshot eyes showing, watching her every move.

Creepy! Could he be normal, please?

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

As Lingcai went back to her preparations, a mosquito-thin whisper floated up from beneath the pile.

“Girl… so cute…”

A shiver of cold ran over her skin. His slovenliness had already disappointed her; don’t let him be a creep with a thing for little girls.

Don’t think about it. Don’t. He’s the Grandmaster. Show respect.

While her thoughts skittered, another mosquito-whisper rose from the bottom of the book pile.

“I want… to become… a cute… girl…”

The words reached Lingcai’s ears. She froze, startled, wondering if she’d misheard.

“Huh?”