He carved away most of the male-dressed wooden statue, and at last a seam of truth glimmered like dawn under bark. Inside, a near-transparent cylindrical gem sat inlaid flush, its surface etched with dense, labyrinthine lines like frost on glass.

Those lines drank in the Mana seeping from within, staining themselves dusk-orange like a sunset tide. Then the runes stirred like a tightening net and pressed the Mana back. The orange bled away, and the gem returned to near-clear stillness.

“So this is what my parents worked on? Looks like a more complex array,” Lingchen Yao said, voice low as night wind through reeds.

The Eye Orb dipped in a knowing nod, its iris steady as a lantern flame. The gem inside was a simple Mana vessel. The array carved on it—that was the real inheritance his parents left.

“I remember this statue’s been with you a long while, right? About eleven years?” The Eye Orb’s tone clicked like beads on a string. “That’s wild. One array kept Mana inside an ordinary gem for eleven years or more… wait, which means…”

Its gaze dropped to the Key hanging from Lingchen’s neck, glinting like a crescent sliver. If the wooden statue was impressive, the smaller Key packed with a vaster Mana tide was a once-in-ages marvel.

Lingchen eased the gem out, careful as if lifting an egg of moonlight. The Mana left inside barely matched a First Symphony Magic Stone, but it held no Abyssal Aura—pure Mana, spring-clear, ready to use without any filtering.

Even without absorbing it, a gem this large and this pure could sell for a few million on the market, a windfall bright as fireworks. Overnight rich; marry a rich beauty; stride to the peak of life.

I hereby declare the story ends here!

Ahem—of course not.

The Eye Orb stared at drool pooling like a tiny creek at Lingchen’s lip and didn’t need to guess his thoughts—[How much could this gem sell for], [It’s huge, it’s gotta fetch a lot], [What can I do after I sell it].

“Pretty dream you’ve got. Sorry to pop it, kid. You know these ultra-pure lab gems? They’re usually man-made. Barely worth anything.”

Lingchen felt something crack inside, the clean snap of an abacus shattering, ideals breaking like thin ice. He slumped onto the table and played dead, head buzzing with one line—[basically worth nothing].

“You’re the worst!”

And then he hurled the Eye Orb out, again, like skipping a stone into a dark pond.

He tossed the gem aside, let stray thoughts fall like leaves, and took up file and hammer. This time he faced a female statue in a long dress, wood grain flowing like ripples.

There was almost no Mana inside this piece. With the previous attempt under his belt, he let his hands loosen like a stream. In ten minutes flat, he pried out what lay within—a yellowed sheet of letter paper, both sides marked by only a few lines.

He unfolded it. The front read:

[To our dearest Lingchen, stars flicker in the night sky. Lingchen Yao—how about that?]

On the back:

[Elder He chose it. The name’s pretty good, but isn’t that first line a bit too literary?]

The front hand was bold and powerful, like brushstrokes forged by decades of calligraphy. The back was neat and rounded, rain-soft. From the ink alone, he could guess who wrote which.

The first line told the origin of his name. From the second, he gathered a certain Elder He had named him. The gentler script—he guessed that was his mother.

He read the letter again, breathed out a caged breath like mist, folded it with care, and slid it into the small iron box in the drawer’s corner. Then he lay back, chest light and hollow as a bell.

He’d chased clues to his parents for so long, only to find them hidden in the wood they’d left behind. He reached toward the window and, along the moonbeam, closed his fingers. The full moon sat in his palm like a cool coin. He felt closer to it by a fingertip.

“Done what I asked you to do?”

In the abandoned factory, moonlight sifted through a ceiling patched with rusted tin like winter rain through reeds. Illusory Glass sat straight on a soft sofa, and cupped that moon-pale beam in her hands.

Behind her, a few bodies lay crooked and cold, like toppled statues. They were this group’s Cantata Two and everyone with a flare of rebellion. A silver-haired Blood Clan girl sat on Illusory Glass’s shoulder without a blink—Caris, pale as frost.

Illusory Glass had stormed the factory in minutes and called Caris back. The two of them reshaped the organization like hands smoothing clay. They scattered most of the former boss’s dirty money to buy “loyalty” from the opportunists, and the coins fell like rain.

She processed the Magic Stones, wound her subordinates’ time to triple speed like turning a key, and in under half an hour reached Yunyang Orphanage, where Lingchen had lived for eleven years. She sent her people to make a scene, pushed Lingchen to obtain the Key to his parents’ secret, and stirred the waters around his path.

In past cycles, Lingchen had been hunted, and Qianchun was seized by the branch. On the charge of killing his father, Qianchun was jailed and served time. Illusory Glass, wearing a mask of innocence, coaxed out certain secrets about Lingchen from him. The Key was one of them.

The contents of that Key were prized by her former teacher—yes, after Order killed Lingchen, the Key somehow fell into her teacher’s hands, the teacher from before she ever looped. That path ran like an underground river.

Her teacher might have known more. But she’d barely touched this much when Caris killed her, and she pitched into the wheel of reincarnation.

Her thoughts returned. Illusory Glass pointed out a few quick-witted subordinates, handed them funds like seeds, and sent them to carry out her orders.

“Three days left… next, it’s time to meet Lingchen Yao…”

They drove her to a convenience store near Jiuqiong University. She bought two slices of bread, warm as a pocket oven, and stepped out—only to get snatched mid-breath by a storming Moon Owl. Before she could speak, Moon Owl hugged her tight, ripped the space like silk, and dropped them onto the bed in the university family housing.

“I—”

She barely started when Moon Owl cut in. Through the moonlight, Illusory Glass saw her eyes red as embers, a few tear-bright drops trembling there.

“I don’t care what you went to do, Little Glass. I promised your sister I’d look after you. At least next time, say something, okay? And don’t come back that late.”

They didn’t share every hour, but Moon Owl could feel the shift in her. Illusory Glass had grown more composed, yet inside she was still that timid child—wrapped in layers like winter clothes, and only in front of the close did she show her heart.

Illusory Glass drank in Moon Owl’s warmth. Every return, every meeting, a tearing pain rippled up from her core like a rift in ice.

Each time she reached out to grab Moon Owl, who was being dragged down by darkness like a tide, some cursed buoyancy pushed her upward. She thrashed and never moved, while Moon Owl sank deeper and deeper.

“Sorry, Sister Moon Owl. I know I was wrong. I just wanted to help.”

She buried her face in Moon Owl’s arms, soaking up that brief warmth and calm, a candle in wind. In three days, perhaps everything would begin again.

She wanted to tell her everything. But she already knew Moon Owl’s answer—she wouldn’t run. She would still die.

“Foolish child. Leave it to Sister Moon Owl… I’ll handle it.”

Moon Owl gently rubbed her smooth silver hair, then laid her on a cradle woven from silver moonlight. A lullaby drifted like soft rain, and Illusory Glass let her thoughts empty and fell into sleep.

Morning came, sunlight threading the curtains like golden reeds, and Caris’s shout shattered her sweet dream like a pebble on glass.

She’d relaxed too far by accident. Dreams were sweet; reality was a blade. She jumped up, dressed quick as a sparrow, and set out to “run into” Lingchen.

“Run into” meant she sat early under the tree by the building where Lingchen had class, eating breakfast and teasing the koi in the pool, their scales flicking sparks.

How did she know his schedule?

Lingchen’s advisor was on good terms with Moon Owl, and knew Illusory Glass as well. After repeated pleading and cute antics, she finally got the student list and class schedule.

The bell rang again, a tin chime in summer air. Illusory Glass, a little tired, opened her eyes. In the crowd flooding out for food, she picked out Lingchen’s dorm mates like stones in a stream. She ignored the seniors snapping photos of her and cut through the crowd toward him.

She “accidentally” bumped his forearm, apologized softly, and slipped a note into his pocket. Then she vanished into the flow, hastening away like a shadow.

“Wasn’t that little girl from yesterday? Hood or not, that streak of white hair really stands out,” Ren Zhang said, grinning through his bandages, glancing back. He saw no trace—Illusory Glass had already used time acceleration and melted into the shadow of a stone pillar.

“You think she’s into one of us?”

Wang Qipeng poked Xun Xun and Lingchen with an elbow like a crow’s beak. Xun Xun shot him a look and snorted.

“Tell me, who in our class doesn’t know Wang Qipeng’s a lolicon? That girl was like eleven or twelve. Beastly, man.”

The three guys beside Wang nodded in perfect unison, heads bobbing like pecking birds.

“I told you, I don’t like 3D! Hey… what’s with your faces!”

Wang Qipeng flushed crimson, stammered, then drooped his head and muttered, “2D lolis are the best,” “Only cute 2D lolis are real angels”—half-understood chants that sent Xun Xun and Ren Zhang into helpless laughter.

Only Lingchen pinched the note in his pocket in silence, a pebble weighting his palm. Beneath his cap, the Eye Orb whispered in his ear like a draft:

“Into you? Maybe she wants to harvest your kidneys…”

“Watch less of that stuff,” Lingchen muttered.