“Senior, are there really monsters in there? Why would Jiuqiong University hide a beast—did an Abyssal Rift split the campus like a wound?”

Night dropped like a damp curtain as two tall youths in white protective suits finished with the principal and hefted two iron crates, coffins of steel, into a van.

“Hush—no noise,” the older one breathed, his voice a knife in velvet. “In our line, remember this: be bold, be careful, keep your mouth locked like a safe.”

“If people hear Jiuqiong University got torn open by an Abyssal Rift, their faith crumbles like old plaster. Panic spreads, and we’re the first heads on the block.”

He clapped a palm over the rookie’s mouth, eyes cutting toward the principal’s building like a quick shadow; seeing no stir, he let words drip back out.

“Don’t shoot off your mouth. If this leaks, those people won’t spare us, like wolves that smell blood. We just do the work we’re paid for.”

“Looks like big money, but the risk bites like winter wind. Nice name’s ‘clean-up crew.’ Ugly name’s ‘grunts that eat dirt.’”

“So there really are bodies in here? I thought…” The rookie’s gaze stuck to the heavy crates, words snagging like thorns.

“Kid, you’re green. You’ll see this again and again till it’s just rain on stone.” The older man thumped his shoulder, pride puffing like a pipe’s smoke.

“First job I ever ran, a monster as big as a hill came crawling, pus pouring like rot-water. I froze for days, couldn’t walk right, couldn’t eat.”

They slammed the van doors like lids on drums, then rolled down the service road, their tail-lights thinning like embers in fog.

“Kid, when we’re done, I’m buying you a drink—courage in a glass,” the older man laughed, the sound brittle as dry twigs. “It’s dead stuff. What’s there to fear?”

Inside the van, airy pop drifted like spun sugar—an idol’s new single, “to be lovers.”

“We love tomorrow—tomorrow’s waving us closer—” the chorus chimed, bright as neon rain.

In the dark trunk, an iron crate shivered like a caged breath. Inside, a white worm hacked in two wept a thick, oil-black sap.

As the music crested like a wave, that black liquid gathered its shape like ink taking form. It slid across the trunk without a sound and clung to the sleeping youth’s back like a stain.

Right then, the older man turned. He saw the ugly thing stuck to the boy, inching closer like a nightmare, and he jabbed a speed-dial key with a shaking thumb.

He flicked a look at the door, another at the boy. His hand, trembling like a leaf, seized the creature’s head and tried to shake the kid awake.

His fingers were about to tap the boy’s shoulder when a needle of agony drilled his chest; something black had punched through him like a spear in night water.

The thing drank his blood like a thirsty leech, then left a gaping, red-wet hollow where his heart had been.

“This is Order Keeper. What happened? This is—” a voice crackled from the phone like a frayed wire.

“H-help… help… him… he’s still so… young…” The man’s blood-slick fingers fell on the wheel like fading petals.

He stomped the brake with the last of his strength; the wheel turned a fraction; the tires screamed like gulls on iron. Headlights carved a circle in the road as the van spun and smashed its left front into a utility pole.

Bang.

The engine roared like an angry beast, glass tinkled like ice breaking, an airbag snapped like a fist. A bloody hand slid off the wheel, and from a cracked phone came urgent calls, thin as smoke.

“…watch out for the monster.”

Then the night sealed shut like a lid.

Minutes later, Order Keeper traced the ping like hunters following ash, doused the burning van, and hauled out a corpse and a half-breathing youth.

One body was charred black, yet the hole through the torso gaped like a tunnel. The youth went to the hospital burned head to heel and “lucky,” by a thread, to keep his life.

…

After a week of lockdown screens that felt like sandpaper on the soul, Lingchen Yao finally returned to in-person classes. He woke to Ren Changxiao and Wang Qipeng’s voices bubbling like a kettle.

“Ling bro, check this headline—Shocking! Sudden death, chest blown through. Monster attack or rebel hit?” Wang’s tone reeked like clickbait perfume.

Lingchen rolled his eyes, interest dying like a spark in rain—until he caught the fine print: the van crashed on Yongbo Road.

“That’s only a few kilometers from Jiuqiong,” he said, pulse twitching like a wire.

“These months are a damn flood,” Ren muttered, fist thudding the railing like a hammer. “Abyss invasion, a rift opening inside campus, now a midnight crash… something stinks.”

His punch rattled the bunk, and Xun Xun jerked awake, smacked his lips twice like a sleepy cat, then rolled once.

“Shit, seven-forty—I’m late for the eight a.m.!” he yelped, popping up like toast.

“It’s Wednesday. No eight a.m.,” Wang said, dry as dust.

“Then good night…” Xun Xun flopped back down, sinking like a stone. Who knew when he’d fallen asleep last night.

First period was Plant Cognition, Lingchen’s weak patch, a field where every leaf felt like a question. He took the third row, saved two seats for his two knucklehead brothers, and waited with the patience of a rock.

Two minutes to go; he checked his watch, heat rising to his ears like steam. Front and back rows swelled like a tide, and hogging three seats made him itch.

In the final minutes, Wang and Ren slid in like late birds, one on each side. As for Xun Xun… Lingchen scanned the room, eyes sweeping like a searchlight, and found no trace. Probably still asleep; he wasn’t answering messages.

He’s going to flunk, Lingchen thought, a sigh like wind in grass. Then again, the guy’s family swims in money; who needs a diploma when inheritance waits like a golden net?

A pinch of envy pricked him like a needle, but his road was his road, and Xun Xun’s was a different river.

…

“Last night’s case, I dug through the ashes,” Moon Owl reported, her voice cool as dew, to the red-haired woman. “Suspect it’s the same kind of creature as before. Also, that Fallen One…”

The redhead scowled like a cloudbank. She’d sent Moon Owl to supervise the Order Keeper assessment to lighten her load, yet a Fallen One had slithered in.

Its Abyssal Aura tore Jiuqiong’s hidden rift like claws through silk, letting Abyss creatures step onto Jiuqiong’s clean ground. Moon Owl’s fight with it shredded the warded space like paper; it wouldn’t knit back for months.

“I’ve handed follow-up to Lu Jin and Lu Shi,” the woman said, tossing responsibility like a baton. “They’re better at sniffing trails. You keep patrolling tonight… wait, here.”

She lobbed a heavy gift box that thumped into Moon Owl’s palms like a small brick.

“The present you asked me to buy for little Li. Relax—it’s what girls love.”

“…” Moon Owl cut open space like slicing gauze and plucked the item out.

“This is lipstick, right?” Her gaze was flat as a mirror. “If I’m not wrong.”

The redhead nodded, smug as a cat in sun.

“Do ten-year-old girls like this?” Moon Owl asked, doubt curling like smoke.

“Of course. It’s the hottest style.” The woman’s eyes gleamed like lacquer. “Owl, you don’t know—little girls love these. Trust me. Bring this to Xiao Li, and she’ll light up. You’ll thank me with tears!”

Moon Owl didn’t speak that language; she stared at the woman, then at the lipstick, the shine like a cherry shell. It looked more like something the woman liked. Were little girls this fashion-forward now?

Under the weight of that confident gaze, Moon Owl slid the lipstick back into the box like sheathing a dagger. She decided to buy another gift in secret… but what did Xiao Li like? Her mind felt blank as snow.

Maybe ask someone else?

She recalled a probationer named Yun Mengmeng at the library—maybe the girl knew which stars kids chased.

Truth was, Moon Owl kept few friends; not from clumsiness, but because pouring too much feeling into people felt, in the end, like filling a sieve.

Leaving the Order Keeper’s underground base, Moon Owl walked an empty street where space was thin as old ice. Abyssal Rifts liked to bloom here like rot.

The ground sank in patches, houses leaned like tired men, abandoned cars wore thick dust like shrouds, and no breath of life stirred.

The Twelfth District’s Order Keeper headquarters hid deep below like a burrow—close to the rifts to guard them, far from passersby to stay secret, and near enough to the city’s heart to race to aid.

Moonlight spilled cold as frost. Moon Owl ripped space with a practiced motion and stepped across the street like a shadow crossing water.

Cap brim lowered, she slipped into the library. Yun Mengmeng, a bright-eyed girl, had just finished checking in a book for Lingchen Yao and was waving goodbye like a small flag.

After a week of lockdown, Lingchen had missed his return date and paid a fine, coins tossed like pebbles. He’d had Eye Orb burn the Abyssal Aura off him for a full week, scrubbed clean like stone in a river; this time, Yun felt no ripple.

Lingchen brushed past Moon Owl, a cold prickle bristling on his skin like lifted fur. He hadn’t fully bled off the spatial residue; getting caught now would be a net dropping.

But Moon Owl went straight to Yun and didn’t spare him a glance, a mercy like shade in noon heat. Lingchen exhaled and made for the door, quick as a fish.

“Hello, can I help—ah!? Senior!” Yun leapt up, cheeks blooming like peach petals. “What brings you here today? I didn’t prepare anything—”

After their last meeting, Yun had asked around and learned Moon Owl’s gleaming battle record, a blade bright but ill-spoken of. Her strength was beyond doubt, and somewhere unwatched, a small legion of defenders had sprung up—Yun among them.

“I have a question,” Moon Owl said, leaning in until their faces were only inches apart, breath warm as tea. Yun’s heart drummed like a sparrow in a cage.

“P-please, go ahead, Senior…”

“What kind of gift does a ten-year-old girl like?”