Moon Owl tore a seam in space and slipped into the black market like frost, soundless. She skimmed the trading crowd with a winter glance, then condensed Mana into two cold Blades.

She drifted toward an Obsidian Stone room that breathed faint spatial Mana. She raised a Blade to carve the door—when a deep male voice rolled in behind her.

“You can’t go any farther, or my client’ll be upset. Magic Maiden of the Twelfth District, Order Keeper unit—codename Moon Owl, Cantata Two…”

Moon Owl snapped around. Her Blade hissed, slicing air, and left a line of Blood on his cheek. He brushed once, wiping the clinging spatial Mana away.

Her gut tightened—he was strong. Not worth a clash. Under his stare, she slid the Blades into their twin sheaths. With a whoosh, she tore space and stepped back into the library.

She pulled out her phone, added Yun Mengmeng as a friend, then sprawled on a rooftop outside the market. Wind in her hair, she waited, quiet as ink.

Seeing Moon Owl back off, the man eyed the Obsidian Stone door and spread his hands. “Trouble already—Moon Owl on the board. Aklatia kid, watch your step…”

Spatial Mana was rare. The old man spent half an hour and dozens of Magic Stones to purge it from the girl’s wound, working steady as a tide.

She borrowed a Magic Stone to mend herself. “Uh… I’ll return it.”

“No need. Become my disciple, and these stones are nothing. A master should send a gift when accepting a disciple.”

Her eyes lit like oil lamps. She cupped her neck, then knocked three crisp bows against the Obsidian floor. “Master above, please accept my bow! Ow—hard as iron…”

She rubbed her brow; stars spun. “It’s Obsidian Stone…”

The Eye Orb deadpanned. It hopped onto the table and began fiddling with the banishing disc, tapping like rain.

“Your Formation talent’s excellent. Other than that one person, you’re the best I’ve seen. Your Mana and Abyssal Aura too. I’ll teach you my life’s work.”

He slid a small metal cabinet over and drew out a heavy, yellowed tome. Margins packed with tight notes, his understanding stacked like terraces.

“Ahem… all of this is yours.”

“Master won’t keep any?” She hesitated, cheeks warmed like dawn.

“I was hunted by Order Keeper days ago. Whatever insight I have on Formations won’t buy back life. I’m at my end. I just hope to pass the path on.

“Meeting you is my luck.” He patted her shoulder. In those milk‑white eyes, approval and expectation glowed like pale moon.

“Mine too… Right, Master, why do Order Keeper want you dead?”

“Because—”

The Eye Orb cut in, voice dry as autumn: “He crossed certain high‑level interests. I told you—Formations can go public. Magic cannot.

“If Formations get simplified and efficient, does this world still need Magic Maidens? That’s the reason.”

The old man nodded, accepting the Eye Orb’s words like a quiet bell.

“Master, could you turn around… I’ll change.” Her voice wavered like a ribbon. He turned at once.

He didn’t need to, really. His eyes saw only twisted Mana and Abyssal Aura, at best a faint outline. She had forgotten.

Lingchen Yao tugged two outfits from the Eye Orb and hurried into them, fabric whispering like reeds.

“Today’s first lesson: how to correctly draw Mana from Magic Stones. I watched you use one—you took not even a third. Pure waste.”

“I don’t have Mana or big instruments, so I’ll demonstrate with a Formation.” He sketched a Formation on paper and set a low‑grade Magic Stone upon it.

He chanted, voice steady as a drum. The stone cracked into dozens of shards. Faint Abyssal Aura and Mana spilled like mist. The Formation caught the Mana; the Aura thinned and faded.

“Like this Formation, you use Mana to corral Mana. Your body tolerates Abyssal Aura; fold it in if you want. If you aim only for Mana, the yield hits eighty percent.”

“Ordinary absorption is like drinking yogurt. You think it’s gone, but the walls still wear plenty. The stone’s Mana is gas, our Mana a balloon.

“Gather the stone’s gas inside the balloon—scrape the yogurt clean, then drain it in one go.” Lingchen Yao spoke slowly, feeling shapes in the air.

“Good, teachable! Still a shade under me.” The old man praised him without restraint and polished his own halo with a grin.

“With this, you won’t need much Mana to strip off Abyssal Aura. Also, keep this on you.” He fished out an ugly carved nameplate, smeared with sauce, reeking of vinegar.

“Ugly, but it’ll mask Abyssal Aura in a special way. Small deviations get buried under the vinegar scent. You’ll dodge sharp noses.

“Wear it and, with luck, slip past the Magic Maiden guarding the door.”

Lingchen Yao accepted the stinking necklace, face pinched like bitter tea. If he knew more, he’d scrape the surface clean—but he held his tongue. It was a gift from his master.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Also—your name?”

“This old man, Ye Changqing.”

Inside the Obsidian Stone room, the blue lamp flipped to red. The appointment had run its course. Lingchen Yao checked his watch. An hour and a half had flowed by.

He held his breath and tied the nameplate to his wrist. Costly to others, costlier to himself—its stink was a wall. No one dared draw near.

On the roof outside, Moon Owl pinched her nose, eyes narrowing. Does he bathe in vinegar?!

Once Lingchen Yao left, Moon Owl staked out for hours. No one came out. She finally let the target go, moonlight thin as gauze.

Halfway home, Lingchen Yao slipped off the nameplate. He hurried back to his dorm and scrubbed at the vinegar stench like a storm.

“Ling bro, where’d you go? You smell like vinegar. Looks like street couples bullied you out there.” Xun Xun’s teasing fell like pebbles.

Bathrobe clinging, the stench was stubborn. Even after soap and more soap, it felt soaked into his skin. He tossed out a casual excuse.

“Spilled vinegar at a roadside stall while eating dumplings tonight.”

Xun Xun asked no more. The cover held like a thin umbrella.

Lingchen Yao flipped the nameplate onto the desk. Mid‑shower, he’d scrubbed the grime off it. Underneath, a lump of carved something squatted.

Every heavy item in that sleek storage box bore the same mark, neat as a stamp. “Master’s signature, maybe…”

He raised a brow. Ye Changqing’s eyes were blind. Carving like that was effort carved from fog.

Lingchen Yao opened the old man’s notes and found the Formation engraving for the nameplate.

“Aura Cover (Fake). Soak an engraved item in a liquid with a certain scent to simulate that scent and hide aura. Effect: average.

“Easy for experts to detect. Difficulty: relatively high. Simpler than true aura‑conceal Formations.”

So why vinegar? Why did Ye Changqing choose vinegar? Maybe… his home’s stocked to the rafters with vinegar.

Ye Changqing sat at a wonton stall, fingers trembling as he fished out coins. “Boss! A plate of dumplings—extra vinegar!”

The boss squinted at him, decided he wasn’t here to smash jars, and obliged. Half a bottle of vinegar ran into the bowl like black rain.

The old man thanked him, paid an extra coin, and ate with relish, cheeks warm as embers. The boss pushed the coin back and added another.

“Let me make you a second bowl. In all my years, you’re a legend.” Ye accepted, demolished two plates, and dozed off in a corner, breath slow as tides.

…

“Lu Shi! We’re on patrol tonight—don’t sleep!” Lu Jin shook her sister gently. A crystal droplet slid from Lu Shi’s mouth like dew.

At the word “patrol,” Lu Shi sat up, smacked her cheeks, and wiped away the trail. “Ah… night shift every day, I’m exhausted!

“Lu Jin, you barely sleep. Why aren’t you tired?”

Lu Shi shed her sleepwear and tapped the Magic Stone set in her dagger. A black long dress unfurled, hugging her curves like shadow.

“That’s because sis works too seriously!” Lu Jin teased, voice light as wind.

They stepped out of the villa. Lu Shi stretched, bones clicking like bamboo. Lu Jin hefted a flintlock carved with silver rosework, set with two white Magic Stones.

She swept the street. No trace of Abyss Monsters, only lamplight pooling like milk.

“Remember the news two mornings ago? The crash on Yongning Road. Let’s start patrol there.”

“Sister makes sense!”

Full moon high, stars scattered like salt. Pale moonlight leaked through hospital curtains, pooling on the tiles like water.

On a white bed, a young man in a coma opened his unfocused eyes. A nurse stepping in yelped, then rushed to call the attending doctor.

The doctor stared, breath caught. A miracle—diagnosed never to wake. Though something about him was off, tilted like a crooked frame.