“Never thought I’d see it—the mighty dragonkind would one day fall, like a comet burning out and dropping through stormclouds.”

“The whole body’s a hoard of treasures, like a mountain after rain. Scales can become rare Magic Tools, bright as hammered moonlight. Fangs and claws, harder than diamond, bite like frostbitten steel. The meat’s prized for study and for the table, marbled like river stone. And then there’s the Magic Stone, the spring that feeds all power…”

Scarlet and silver lances fell like meteors; that ringing was the last thing Lingchen Yao heard, a bell fading in mist. A stab bloomed in his chest like ice, and he woke inside his grief like a man dragged from a cold river.

The pain was marrow-deep, as if a real spear had pierced his heart like a stake through winter earth. He pressed a hand to his chest, then unwrapped his bandage like peeling damp bark. Most wounds had knit; under the scabs, pink flesh showed like new petals after frost.

Confusion rose first, a fog rolling in off a black lake. How long had he slept, and where was this place, this hollow under stone?

Dread settled like a rock on his brow; he clutched his head, sifting memory like fingers through wet sand.

“I remember hijacking a taxi,” he murmured, the thought a frayed thread sputtering like a wet fuse. “I followed Qianchun’s lead to here… where are Qianchun and Eye Orb?”

The room was empty as a shell on a gray beach: one table, one bed, nothing else but dust like ash. Groping through shadow like a blind swimmer, he found a set of clothes at his side and slipped them on, each sleeve like a shed skin.

Darkness pooled around him like stagnant water. He rose, found a pull-cord in the corner like a dangling vine, and tugged it—no light bloomed, only silence like damp wool. So he went to the iron plate, a lid on a buried pot, and pulled it open with a scrape like flint.

Outside, the sun was a great brass gong, pouring light like molten gold. It squeezed through the sewer grate like blades, and even the little room by the manhole tasted that grace like parched soil catching dew. In that thin glow, he found a note on the table, etched with a broken ink pen like a nail scratching bark.

“Making lunch — Qin Qianchun.”

While Qianchun was out, Lingchen Yao settled his breath, calming his Mana like smoothing ripples on a moonlit pond.

“From what I know, the Order Keeper has five in Cantata Two,” he counted, thoughts clicking like abacus beads. “A blade-user like a hawk, a gun-user like a crack of thunder, an ice-user like winter rain, a light-user like dawn on steel, and one unknown, a shadow behind mist… five in Cantata Two.”

“With what I’ve got, one-on-one with a Cantata Two, I won’t corner myself; worst case, I run like a fox into thicket. But if they come in numbers, it’ll be like nets in a narrow river—like last time, I almost got kept.” His voice thinned like smoke. “If not for…”

His gaze sank to the bracelet, a clear Magic Stone set in the center like a caged star. Strange script crawled on its face like vines he couldn’t read. His eyes climbed his arm like an ant tracing bark and settled on his left chest, where his heart thudded like a drum in a valley.

“There’s something in my heart,” he thought, unease coiling like a snake in straw. “It keeps hauling me out of the gorge, time after time. I don’t know if it’s a lantern or a trap.”

Metal scraped outside, a knife on a whetstone in the dark. Lingchen stiffened, and a small flame rose in his palm like a firefly in reeds; if it was an enemy, he’d don Magic Armor like a storm rolling over the ridge.

It was only a shadow turning into a friend.

Qianchun poked her head past the iron plate like a curious swallow, holding two bowls of lamb offal soup steaming like white banners. She hopped down lightly and set them on the table, the aroma curling like warm wind.

“You’re awake, huh? You slept like a stone in the river.”

Eye Orb slipped out from her hood like a pearl from seaweed and settled on the wooden table, staring at the soup with a hunger like a cat at a fishmonger. Pity—it couldn’t eat.

“One good news and one bad news,” Qianchun said, voice quick as a sparrow. “Which do you want first?”

Lingchen took the bottled water she handed over, gratitude soft as rain in his chest. He drank the cold water, a mountain spring in a dry mouth, then spoke, voice steady as a rope. “Bad news first. Let the good news wash it down after.”

“They pulled Qianchun’s file,” she said, words like pins on a map. “Wanted posters plaster the streets like fallen leaves, and the news keeps chirping it like sparrows.”

Lingchen’s heart hitched like a kite in a gust, but Eye Orb tapped his shoulder, a pebble on a drum, and eased him with a slow voice like dusk.

“Qianchun’s photo is years old, and she hid her face well during the action, like a veil over a lantern. The Order Keeper’s back-view description is foggy, too; almost no one can place her, except those few in Cantata Two who were there. As for you… live as you live, like water down its channel. No big waves.”

Lingchen exhaled, the breath a tide easing off stones. He’d braced for a hunted life under red moons; hearing both, it felt half storm, half clear sky.

“It’s safe enough for now,” Eye Orb went on, voice like a metronome. “But after this, the Order Keeper will dig harder, like dogs on a fresh trail. We lie lower for a while… but we can’t sit idle like moss.”

“Before my school term starts, Eye Orb, you’ll draft a proper plan, clean and tight, so we don’t repeat last night’s mess,” Lingchen said, resolve settling like iron in water. “As for Qianchun…”

His eyes had already found the broken Magic Stone on the table, a cracked spring like a dry riverbed. He knew the basics—broken meant Qianchun could never use Magic Armor again, her wings clipped, her power stuck just under First Symphony.

“You’ll handle sorting and analyzing the intel Eye Orb brings back,” he said, voice gentle as lanternlight. “Here in this room… or at my rental.”

Qianchun nodded, loss clouding her like rain on glass, yet she stood firm like a reed in wind. She’d lost the core of a Magic Maiden, but she could still be his anchor.

“When we get back, I’ll prepare some seed money,” Lingchen said, plans stacking like bricks. “Those Magic Stones we took from Eye Orb’s villa—I burned through them all…”

Eye Orb sighed and spread his haul across the table like a fisherman shaking a net: “Four Magic Stones of First Symphony, some beakers and flasks like glass mushrooms, a stack of scribbled pages like migrating geese, and one tower case… tower case? Isn’t that your computer’s main unit?!”

Eye Orb bobbed, a moon on a black tide. “My computer’s got a lot of data. It’ll likely get wiped or formatted, like chalk in rain, but a machine still boosts speed. Oh! I’ve got an idea—let Qianchun be your agent, like a spider at the web’s hub.”

Lingchen weighed it a moment, a scale tipping under a feather. He met the hopeful light in Qianchun’s eyes, a spring thaw in brown woods, and nodded.

“One last thing,” he asked, words stumbling like stones. “Qianchun, you carried me to bed last night, right?”

Color rose on her cheeks like sunset on snow. She wanted to vanish into a crack like a field mouse. In a room with one man, one woman, and one Eye Orb, who else could lift him?

The answer hung obvious as the moon.

When he dropped Magic Armor, he, like any Magic Maiden, was bare as a newborn under starlight. Had Qianchun seen… everything? Embarrassment prickled like nettles.

Silence spread, wide as a frozen lake. He shouldn’t have asked; the air turned awkward, brittle as thin ice.

“Alright, you two… the lamb soup’s getting cold,” Eye Orb said, slicing the moment like a warm knife through butter.

After lunch, they climbed out of the alley’s sewer like moles into sun and flagged a taxi, a small boat on a river of traffic. The driver bragged about his glory days, words popping like firecrackers—how someone once hijacked his cab, and he dropped them in a flash.

Qianchun asked when it happened, curiosity bright as a lantern. The driver laughed: “These past few days, you didn’t see my heroics—you two missed out.” His pride swelled like a rooster at dawn.

Lingchen recognized him; it was the same driver from last night, the story the same song. He marveled at the man’s good humor, a willow bending, not breaking. Qianchun had caught it too; her smile trembled like a bird trying not to sing.

They paid and got out. Lingchen almost tipped extra, guilt fluttering like a trapped moth, but thought better and tucked the impulse away like a knife back in its sheath.

The landlady saw them return and yanked Lingchen aside, grip like a hook. He had no choice; he waved Qianchun and Eye Orb into the room like shepherding ducks.

“How far did you two get last night?” she asked, eyes blazing with gossip like coals in a brazier.

“Qianchun’s just a friend,” he said, the words thin as paper in rain. The landlady’s look said she didn’t buy it; a lone man and woman gone all night draws lines like birds in sand.

“If you’ve got business, just say it,” he added, trying to steer the boat.

“Are you willing to extend the lease for a few years?” she said, sigh heavy as damp wool. “Few tenants lately. My pockets are a dry well.”

Lingchen stared, speechless, his expectations collapsing like a paper tower. He’d braced for a thunderclap; it was only a drizzle. Still, it needed thought.

School was coming; he’d live on campus like a swallow returning to its eave. Renting or dorm, both had thorns and roses; now there was Qianchun to weigh on the scale.

Inside the rental, Qianchun sat and studied his carved “works,” her gaze moving like sunlight over grain. The pieces were raw, but the knife-marks showed time and heart like rings in a tree.

“Eye Orb, got anything on the Order Keeper?” Lingchen asked.

Eye Orb had just finished setting up the computer; he pointed at it like a signpost. Lingchen wondered how big Eye Orb’s inside was, a curiosity like a hand pressed to glass; the thing held so much, and he’d never seen its limit.

“I’ve got Order Keeper files,” Eye Orb said, voice calm as ink. “Not sure what the computer still holds. Why’re you staring at me?”

“Just wondering how big it is in there,” Lingchen said, smile flickering like a candle.

“About four or five cubic meters,” Eye Orb replied, as if describing a small cellar full of night.

Lingchen sat at the computer; apart from class, he’d barely touched one, fingers hovering like birds on a wire. This wasn’t for games; it was for war under lamplight.

Dawnlight

Adept at manipulating light, weaving it like silk on water. Her Magic Stone boosts the team and heals like spring rain. Doctor Zhao’s niece. Rank: Cantata Two. Mana: medium.

Doctor Zhao

Birth name Zhao Qingsnow. Wields ice like winter glass; her Magic Stone can freeze and shatter all within like a river locking and cracking. Mana: good.

Lu Jin

A sniper who seeds bullets with Mana so they bloom on impact like iron flowers. Magic Stone amplifies firearms like wind through a bowstring. Mana: pass.

Lu Shi

Darkness and shadow cling to her like tide at night. She excels at stealth and assassination, binding foes with night like tar. Strong at night, weak by day; she moves under moons. Lu Jin’s elder sister. Mana: good.

Moon Owl

Space-twisting power, folding distance like paper cranes. Mana: unknown.

Thunder Slash

Master of lightning, driving bolts like a falcon stooping. Shows signs of advancing to Cantata Three, thunder piling like stormheads. Mana: excellent.