Twelfth District, Order Tower—Branch Office.

Outside the main HQ, the branches avoid the tower silhouette; it draws too many eyes, and Order Keepers move like shadows, a sheathed blade hidden for humankind.

A mature woman in a black evening dress sat in the dim center of the room; a thin beam of light painted a blood-red glow across the wine as it swayed, and her left hand cradled her cheek like a resting moon.

“So, when you arrived the Dreadwolf was already dead, its Magic Stone was gone, and you felt a thick Abyssal Aura like mist pooling in a ravine?”

Across from her stood a girl in a black coat; at her waist, a black handgun and a silver blade gleamed like frost under night lamps.

She looked about eighteen, a neighborly face with soft lines, but her eyes were too cold—like a drawn blade under winter stars—ready to pierce a heart, and the woman seemed used to that chill like old stone in rain.

“Also, per the statements of two trainee Order Keepers… mm, eyewitnesses; they saw the one who killed the Dreadwolf, like a silhouette against flame.”

“Who?”

“A girl in deep-crimson Magic Armor; codename Night Frost; her ability is fire, like embers under snow.”

“Got it; I’ll report to HQ right away, and we’ll check how this girl barged into our Twelfth District like wind through locked gates—hey, Xiao? Smile more, or you’ll waste that pretty face like a rose left in shade.”

“I know.”

She shut the door with a soft click like falling dew and walked away without looking back, her steps fading like night tide.

“Same as always.”

The woman didn’t savor the wine’s aroma; she rose fast as a hawk and stepped to the computer, her fingertip tracing a dark-red thread in the air like ember ash.

“There’s no codename Night Frost, no girl in deep-crimson Magic Armor; that’s a lie clear as noon sun on snow; only two options remain—something from the Abyss, or a rat gnawing in the dark.”

A blazing black sun burned the earth like a kiln; trees along the street shriveled and curled like parchment, and Lingchen Yao walked the empty avenue with sweat soaking his shirt like rain.

He wanted an iced cola and an air-conditioned room like shade under bamboo, but every shop lay shut like shells on a dry shore.

He drifted forward aimlessly, and the street kept repeating like a looped mirage, until he slammed into a black wall and Black Flame soared like a storm, swallowing him like a wave.

He snapped awake, sweat flooding the sheets like summer monsoon, and the dark-silver bracelet on his wrist vented heat like a furnace, turning the room into a sauna fog.

Beside the bracelet, an Eye Orb lay red as boiled shrimp, letting off a roasted-seafood scent like a street stall at dusk—probably cooked through.

His head felt heavy like a stone pulled from a river, and Lingchen sensed this was his first time burning that much strength, the post-transformation fatigue surging like tide over reef.

The surf of sleep had dragged him under like a soft net, and he hadn’t even noticed when it claimed him like nightfall.

“What was I supposed to do?”

He looked at his bare body like a statue under cold light and remembered fighting the Dreadwolf after turning into a Magic Maiden, like sparks against claws.

He slung on a towel like a cloud over hills and hurried into the bathroom like rain seeking gutters.

After a cool shower, Lingchen changed into fresh clothes like new leaves after storm.

Considering he might transform again, he needed more clothes like spare armor under the moon.

“Hey, you still with me? Don’t tell me you really got roasted like a squid on coals!”

Lingchen shook the Eye Orb; it didn’t move, still as a pebble in silt.

“I remember octopuses need water, right?” he muttered, like a fisherman talking to nets.

He filled a basin with tap water; the Eye Orb soaked, its red draining like dye from cloth, returning to its familiar pale like bone under frost.

The Eye Orb simulated breathing, a broken rhythm like waves hitting rocks, and said, “Was… studying the bracelet; almost got cooked; lucky… what water did you use?”

“Tap water.”

“Why didn’t you add sea salt, like brine for life!”

The Eye Orb nudged toward Lingchen’s forehead like a moth toward flame, and Lingchen caught it in his palm like a falcon snagging prey.

“Where am I supposed to get sea salt here? You don’t mind trouble, but I do; I’m not hauling tides indoors.”

“Wait—stop, pain, pain…” the Eye Orb pleaded, thin as a reed under wind.

Lingchen frowned; he hadn’t used much force, but the Orb’s agony didn’t sound fake, blue veins crawled across its surface like vines on stone.

“Your body is adapting to Mana along with your Magic Maiden transformation, giving you mild reinforcement like tempered wood; it’s not obvious, maybe the bracelet’s power is too strong, and I’ll note that like ink on paper…”

Experiment Data Four: Mana feedback strengthens the host; mild, still within human range; strength scales with the host’s base—like rain feeding roots.

Knock knock knock—old wooden door rattled under a rainstorm of blows, and a girl’s urgent shout cut through like a whistle at sea.

The voice was all too familiar to Lingchen, like a melody he couldn’t forget; who else but Chen Xiaoyin?

Lingchen shoved the Eye Orb under the bed like hiding a candle, then rushed to the door like wind through curtains.

Chen Xiaoyin stood there, palm pressed to her chest like a sparrow catching breath; her chest rose and fell, and sweat beaded on the tips of her pale-pink hair like dew.

Dust clung to her clothes like ash after fire, and the butterfly hairpin on her left side held a pink Magic Stone glowing faintly like a dawn star; she was in her First Symphony state like a song wrapped in armor.

Seeing Lingchen open the door, Chen finally let her heart settle like a sail after storm.

“Honestly! Why didn’t you pick up, like a rock in the river… do you know how worried I was? The shelter got wrecked by a Dreadwolf, and I thought you were gone like a candle in wind…”

At the word “phone,” Lingchen’s head tilted, lines crawling like dark threads; to be fair, without her call he wouldn’t have gained the bracelet’s strength or become a Magic Maiden, and part of him was grateful like a traveler to a lantern.

“Uh, sorry; I sleep like a log in rain, didn’t hear the broadcast; but I’m fine—see, standing here like a tree.”

Lingchen scratched his cheek, eyes drifting like clouds, but Chen didn’t notice, and sweat slipped into her eyes like saline into a tide, reddening the corners of her pink gaze.

“What about you, are you okay?” he asked, words soft as mist.

“I’m fine; did some rescue work, like pulling nets after storm; a rescue skiff crashed near our Mutual Aid Society, it was scary like thunder, and the rescue took time like rope unwinding.”

Chen brushed dust from her clothes like feathers, and smiled like sunlight breaking through leaves.

Lingchen knew her well; Chen’s skills were sharp like honed steel, even the doors of the Order Keepers stood open to her like gates at dawn, but she didn’t join them, choosing the Mutual Aid Society like a willow choosing water.

She wasn’t bold and disliked fighting, yet she loved to tough it out like a small fox squaring up to wind.

“Hold on—you said the shelter was destroyed by the Dreadwolf?” he asked, a chill like shade sliding over his spine.

He remembered the Dreadwolf had rushed in from that direction like a storm over fields, and luck pricked him like frost on a leaf.

He had no right to call it luck, being caught in the eye like a bird in lightning; he mourned in silence, prayers like incense smoke in a quiet room, and he was glad he still breathed like a reed that didn’t break.

“Mm-hmm. Alright, time’s tight, I’ve got a mountain of work like waves stacking; my upcoming days off will be a mess like tangled lines, and I won’t be able to look after you for a while; by the way, school’s about to start like sunrise on a calendar…”

Chen’s gentle nagging rustled like cicadas, and Lingchen’s ears grew calloused like old bark.

“I know… I’ll take care of myself, like a grown man ought to,” he said, words steady as stones.

The moment Chen left, the Eye Orb hopped out from under the bed like a cricket escaping shade.

“The First Symphony girl—scared me like owls at midnight; I almost thought I wouldn’t see tomorrow’s sun, oh, beautiful sun, though it’s hot like a kiln and dries you out.”

“Clothes shopping can wait till tomorrow like dew after dusk; looks like the clothing stores won’t open today after an Abyss attack like soot on clouds; so, eat first, then carve a bit… what should I carve, like choosing wood from the pile…”

Lingchen snagged the Eye Orb as it tried to slip away like a fish.

“You don’t leave my sight like a tethered kite; I don’t trust you; while I carve, you talk about Magic Maidens or the Abyss; I’m just a normal guy, and I don’t know much—like a lantern without oil.”

The aroma of stir-fried pork flooded the room like warm wind, and the Eye Orb locked onto the dishes as they rose to Lingchen’s mouth, staring like a cat at fish.

Lingchen waved a slice of meat in front of it like a teasing feather, and desire tightened like a knot.

Damn, it looked so good, so tempting—he wanted to eat like tide wants the shore—but the Eye Orb couldn’t taste, a sadness like winter without fire.

Seeing but not tasting is one of life’s great sorrows like a moon behind clouds.

Lingchen collected the bowls and chopsticks, stowing them in the cupboard like coins in a jar; he didn’t want daily expenses to balloon like weeds.

Making money wasn’t easy; as more brilliant Magic Maidens appeared and Magic Tools spread like gears through the city, ordinary people seemed to live harder than before, like boats on choppy water.

Under a lighter’s flame, the mosquito coil turned bright red then dark red like sunset, and in pale yellow lamp-light it burned slowly like incense.

Round knife, flat knife, triangular knife, slant knife lined the table neatly like stars, reflecting the warm light like ripples, and a skinned gray-brown wood block sat ready like a stone on a riverbank.

Lingchen sketched a strange wolf-not-wolf on it with pencil like charcoal on bark, and the Eye Orb leaned in to watch, pondering long like a scholar under lamplight.

“I can see your drawing’s not great, like a sparrow’s first flight, so I’ll guess you’re drawing a Dreadwolf,” the Eye Orb said, voice dry as reeds.

Lingchen picked up a gleaming flat blade, hovering it near the Orb’s nerve tail like lightning over a ridge.

“I know I draw like a toddler, but I don’t need you to say it; give me something real or I dice you and braise you, like a chef with an octopus… by the way, have you eaten braised octopus?”

The Eye Orb shut up honest as stone; Lingchen wasn’t joking, and their relationship wasn’t warm enough for banter like spring rain.

He wondered what braised octopus tasted like, memory blank like white paper; he’d find a chance to try, like a sailor trying new waters.

Outside, the night sky lay silent like velvet, and a few graceful figures streaked by like meteors with glittering tails.

Trees and moonshadow swayed together like dancers, and beneath layered high-rise shadows came cold, cold howls like wolves crying to frost.

Of course, none of that had anything to do with our protagonist, like distant thunder rolling past a sleeping village.