By the next morning, Lingchen Yao and Qianchun slipped into a taxi, a yellow beetle humming through pale dawn light.

Most cabs didn’t ask for ID; a hat brim and a mask were fog on a mirror, enough to blur a face.

A private car would’ve been safest, a quiet boat on a still lake, but he had no car, no license, only this thin reed to cling to.

The fare stung; his wallet felt like a winter leaf, brittle and emptier with every mile.

He thought of home, already lean, now catching more cold rain.

Eye Orb’s “secret base” sat opposite Jiuqiong University, in a villa district west of the city’s heart, a quiet grove behind stone.

Several guards watched the entrance like still pines; without a pass or proof, they’d block you like a locked sluice gate.

Last night, he laid it out for Qianchun, the truth like thunder before rain.

It rocked her, but she took it, steady as a stone in rapids.

To kill any doubt, Lingchen Yao ducked into the bathroom and turned into Night Frost, frost blooming on glass and breath.

After that, disbelief had nowhere to hide.

The plan was simple as a drawn bow: if the front gate failed, Night Frost would carry Qianchun over the wall.

Getting in was smooth, a shadow slipping between reeds.

The outer fence was only metal rails, a silver comb with bits of Obsidian Stone threaded inside.

That ring could stop First Symphony like a thin net, but it barely scratched Cantata Two.

Inside, cameras were the true thicket, lenses like black berries swelling on every eave.

They crawled into a hedge, dew on their sleeves, and scouted until they found one tucked in high green.

This was Eye Orb’s cue, a round scout blinking like a firefly.

Night Frost tossed Eye Orb behind the unit; it fussed with the guts, quick fingers in a clock’s heart.

Minutes later it hopped down from a branch; a brief blackout rippled like dusk across the screens.

They had to move, swift as swallows.

On the run, Eye Orb explained the camera guts, voice low as rain under leaves.

Each unit ran on two Magic Stones set behind the case, stones like twin hearts.

The pure black Magic Stone fed power, a coal that wouldn’t die for years.

The white Magic Stone linked the lens to the main console, a pale thread carrying sight.

“Each sector’s white Magic Stone hums at its own wavelength,” it said, tapping air like a metronome.

“I’ve got this one memorized. A bit of interference, and the feed freezes for a spell. That’s a cyborg perk.”

Night Frost listened, thoughts a flock wheeling, then a question cut through.

“Can I absorb the black Magic Stone?”

“You can,” Eye Orb said, brow in a frown you could feel, “but don’t.”

“Processed black stones lose their Abyssal Aura, but they bleed Mana too.

And draining a camera’s stone paints a trail, bright as footprints in snow. Not worth it.”

She nodded after a beat, eyes dimming, then brightened with another thorn.

“What about a Magic Maiden’s Magic Stone? Can those be absorbed?”

Eye Orb shut its lid like a thinking monk, then shook its head.

“I don’t know. I remember doing the work, and the result said no.

It seems tied to each Magic Maiden’s traits, like wind to the shape of leaves.”

Behind them, Qianchun had listened in silence, the hush before dawn.

She took out her Magic Stone, a clear sky-blue that caught the unrisen sun with threads of light.

“If they’re all Magic Stones, why do some carry carved Magic Spells and others only feed on contact?

What really makes them different?”

That one gave Eye Orb pause, a pebble rippling a pond.

“Magic Maidens’ Magic Stones come from ‘Heaven,’” it said, voice soft as temple bells.

“At awakening, each receives a carved gift, similar to the stones from Monsters, yet not the same.”

“The difference still has no verdict. Where do the Maidens’ stones come from? Where do the Monsters’ stones come from?

Seeker exists to chase the secret of their birth.”

They halted.

The villa ahead was Eye Orb’s old roost, a silent shell.

It had no Key, so they took a hidden door in the shrubs, a fox path into a burrow.

The door led to the basement, stacked with discarded materials and junk, a graveyard of projects.

Dust hung thick, sharp as pepper; a light wipe peeled off a flaky pelt of gray.

No one had cleaned here in a long season.

This wasn’t their end point.

Following Eye Orb’s directions, Night Frost heaved most of the junk aside, muscles working like ropes.

Behind the heap lurked a rusty iron door; she spun the dial gently, and the lock yawned open.

A rank, fish-rot stench surged out, a dark tide you couldn’t hold back.

Eye Orb felt along the wall and clicked on the lights, a sun rising in iron.

The room was built of Obsidian Stone, not as pure as Jiuqiong University’s, but still pure luxury.

For two broke girls, it was a mountain of night glass they could never climb.

That was a fortune they’d never earn in one life.

At the center crouched a precise instrument, housed under a giant glass hood on four legs like a spider’s dome.

Inside, deep green fluorescent liquid glowed like a drowned aurora.

Fragments of Monster limbs floated within; Night Frost recognized a few by their cruel outlines.

The stench came from a side crate, a mouth of rot.

Eye Orb had forgotten to process a carcass.

Beside it lay shattered Magic Stone fragments, some from failed trials, some broken in the kill.

They weren’t worth much, but Night Frost still pocketed them, a magpie eyeing glass.

Handwritten papers scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.

They listed monster traits, transplant-ready parts, and best-fit recipients, all in a steady hand.

“Deep-Blue Octopus, a shallow-sea lord,” Qianchun read, voice a ripple.

“Its cells can rapidly regrow limbs. In the end, the core of this regeneration comes from unknown tissues beside both hemispheres.”

“That’s the Deep-Blue Octopus transplant log,” Eye Orb said, tone turning professor-calm.

“When mechanics hit a wall, rejection climbed like thorns.

So I turned to genes. The future of cyborgs lies in the gene wind, not the gear grind.”

Night Frost set her palm on the cold glass; a lump of tissue quivered, a fern frond in breeze.

“Can I be modified? I mean, my base body.”

A nerve filament snapped against her skull, a live wire biting cold.

“No! Absolutely not!” Eye Orb barked, stern as a drumbeat.

“Your bracelet grants the shift into a Magic Maiden.

Modify the base, and the transformation will reject you like oil rejects water.”

Night Frost spread her hands, a helpless bird, then let it go.

If the expert said no, no it was; she was strong enough for now.

“Fine… but…”

Eye Orb felt a chill creep across its white like frost lace.

Sure enough, Night Frost caught its trailing nerve, then cupped the Eye Orb in a warm palm and kneaded, gentle as mischief.

“Look at you,” she huffed, half grin, half growl.

“Give you an inch and you climb the roof. You even whip me now? What’s next?”

Once they’d sorted the papers, they took the stairs to the next room, steps hollow as drums.

It was another lab, but the outer walls weren’t Obsidian Stone.

Only the important gear slept in Obsidian cases, black coffins for delicate suns.

“These instruments are top-grade,” Eye Orb said, pride a quiet flame.

“Even now, you’d struggle to buy them. Private research toys.”

“Wait… I remember a stash of experimental Magic Stones over there.”

At “Magic Stone,” Night Frost’s drifting gaze snapped into a hawk’s lock.

She swept the room, then fixed on an Obsidian Stone chest not far away.

Under Eye Orb’s guidance, Qianchun slowly turned the dial, patient as winding a music box.

Night Frost wore a mask of calm, but her heartbeat drummed like rain on tiles.

You could tell from her white-knuckle grip on a steel pipe and her restless stance.

“Um, is something wrong?” Qianchun asked, a soft bell in fog.

Night Frost jolted, scratched her head, and blurted, “Maybe… the Obsidian Stone around us is making me uncomfortable.”

“Then please take a good rest, boss~” Qianchun said, teasing as spring wind.

Guilt +1.

Eye Orb glanced at the flustered Night Frost and let it slide, mercy like shade.

He knew her well enough.

She was already counting how to spend the Magic Stone money, coins clinking in her mind.

Inside the chest, most Magic Stones were from First Symphony, a smaller batch from Cantata Two.

Another batch were Magic Maidens’ stones, with carvings no one else could read, rivers only they could cross.

“Can we recite the Magic Spells carved on these?” Night Frost asked, curiosity pricking.

“Useful or not, you’ve noticed you can’t read them,” Eye Orb said, even as a level horizon.

“Even if you could, Seeker’s research says Mana of a different nature can’t drive those phrases.”

“But there are exceptions. As Magic Maidens, you’ve learned some basic, universal Magic Spells, right?”

Night Frost and Qianchun traded looks, then offered matching embarrassed smiles, two guilty cats.

“You… can?”

Qianchun shook her head. No teacher, no grasp; lessons scattered like seeds on stone.

Eye Orb went silent for a beat, a blank page.

Well, reasons existed; he wouldn’t pry.

“Basic spell-phrases are one of Seeker’s achievements,” it went on, voice smoothing like silk.

“I don’t know how they translated the inscriptions, but their method works.

They sorted the phrases, tested Mana natures, and sifted out universal spells anyone could use.”

“That led to a theory as well… the Magic Stone Inheritance Theory.”