After a brief rest, Night Frost felt strength return like dew gathering on cold leaves. She trailed Yin Chen Yue, their pace ebbing and flowing like a tide. After half an hour, they reached the place Ms Feng had named.

“Thanks, little one.”

Regret pricked her like a thorn. The Spatial Box and even the silver cube were in Ms Feng’s hands. If she still held them, she’d reward the lively guide with a coin like a shy moon.

“Which way’s your home?”

Yin Chen Yue pointed down the street, her finger a reed bending with the wind, toward where Night Frost had come. The little one lived near the elevator. She didn’t hide at all, like a window left open to the night. Wasn’t she afraid of a wolf in friendly clothes?

“Don’t tell strangers your address. What if they’re bad?”

Confusion rippled through Yin Chen Yue like clear water. She was pure as blank paper. Born here, she hardly split night from dawn. In her eyes, everyone was warm, lanterns in fog, ready to be friends.

Night Frost thought of the surface. This city was smaller, a lake to their ocean, yet peace pooled here like still water.

It felt too perfect, a silk screen without a crack. Doubt crept in like mist. Had she wandered into a utopia?

There was no war here, no sharp hunger in people’s eyes. They worked like ants under summer sun, and seemed full, even without the upper world’s daylight. Everything here outshone the surface, like moonlight outshining street lamps.

But utopia is a star that refuses the net. She couldn’t forget the moment the black‑haired woman appeared. Warmth drained like tide, replaced by cold sighs. Under that gaze, the crowd scattered like sparrows before a hawk.

This wasn’t utopia. She could guess Rouge Rabbit’s aim: to build one. They bound behavior like wires over a bonsai, letting no wild branch run feral. A hard organization pressed down, and evil couldn’t grow like weeds.

“Anyway, if you’re alone, protect yourself.”

After sending Yin Chen Yue off, Night Frost stood at the door like a lone pine. The house wasn’t grand. Blue mixed with white paint, a wave against the plain white walls around it.

She opened the gate and slipped inside, a fish into a quiet pond. The layout was simple: kitchen, bedroom, washroom, and living room. The furnishing was bare, appliances like scattered stones, nothing more.

Papers crowded the desk in the bedroom, an autumn of pages. She picked one up. Most were about genes and cells, tiny worlds turning like galaxies in jars.

“Is it really fine leaving these here?”

She recalled visiting Ms Feng’s villa, where she’d picked papers off the floor like fallen leaves. Ms Feng’s nature was a breeze—less important notes lay everywhere. The crucial ones got locked away, or lived in her mind like sealed chests.

From Ms Feng’s talk with the black‑haired woman, Ms Feng had likely gone to meet their boss, like a swallow flying to a high eave. She might be gone for a while. Night Frost should use this time, like catching rain in cupped hands.

Urgency bit like frost. Kaneko, Zhao Qingsnow, and the Old Woman were still in danger. Her task wasn’t done. Seeing Ms Feng again warmed her like tea, but time was a running river.

This was Rouge Rabbit’s den. Without mana, she couldn’t break her shackles like a bird snapping netting. Only restored strength meant escape. To destroy the bracelet on her wrist, she could only lean on her Formation lore.

Qianchun had said Lin took Ms Feng away. Who knew what reward Rouge Rabbit dangled like bait to tether her here? If Ms Feng wished to leave, Night Frost would work with her again, two oars on the same river.

A thin flame braided into a rope and crawled up her fingertips like a fiery vine. It spread from nail to the ridges on her hand, then wrapped her fist, not blazing, more like a red coal.

She drove a punch. Compressed fire burst like thunder. Flame and fist‑wind carved the air, and a sharp bang cracked the quiet. That was her peak, a cliff’s edge.

Her hand back flushed red, skin a maple leaf. Without a Magic Layer, even this common fire stung her like nettles.

Her cut‑rate master had taught engravings with external materials, each with its own temperament, like herbs changing a brew. Different matches bent Array Pattern results.

Night Frost had groped through the craft and found a path: carve arrays into herself with mana and flame, a blade turned inward.

This method wounded the wielder. Condensed mana and fire formed their own body, no longer hers, like a hawk flown wild. To use that Array Pattern, she’d swallow pain and backlash like bitter medicine.

In Magic Armor, carved on herself, Magic Armor and the Magic Layer could blunt the bite. Then the engraving’s ceiling and strength ran high, a tower to the clouds. Now her power was nearly ashes.

Even with backlash, it was good news, a thin dawn line. With this sliver of fire and array, an all‑out punch matched the First Symphony. She was satisfied, a lone knife still sharp enough to keep wolves away.

Better not use it unless forced. Trade blood for blood. If talk can mend, better not let fists speak.

She searched for a long while, like sifting sand, then found medical alcohol in the Eye Orb’s cabinet. She dabbed the wound and bit down, squatting on the floor like a curled cat.

Thump, thump, thump!

Pain pricked tears like small pearls. Who would come now? Ms Feng?

Probably not.

She set down the cotton swab, legs shivering like reeds, and went to the door. Through the peephole she saw a man in a black trench and a tilted hat, his face unhidden, features clean as a winter line. He wasn’t that old.

“If you’re looking for Ms Feng, she’s not here.”

He shook his head, a leaf refusing wind. He wasn’t here for Ms Feng. His path arrowed straight to Night Frost.

Bad news.

His target was Night Frost.

“I know you’re in there.”

He tapped the door, and his pressure rose like a storm building. If she kept it closed, he might break it like thin ice.

Fear pricked, then steadied into cold resolve. She felt danger like a chill at the nape. After a breath of thought, she decided to let him in. A fight here would poison her chances, a fire in a dry room.

“This is the right choice, Ms Night Frost.”

He walked in with easy grace, a cat across tiles. He hung his black trench on the rack and stepped closer, pushing her toward the corner like a shadow herding light.

He was no simple visitor. He knew her name, the thread to deeper secrets, and likely more, like a fisherman counting knots.

“Not bad for the Doctor’s highest masterpiece. Even sealed, you leak a trace of pressure. If I force you, I’ll feel it too, though I’d still win.”

In minutes, he gauged her state, like a hunter sniffing smoke. The faint scorch in the air and the whisper of mana told him enough. He let out a soft marvel.

“First, let me introduce myself. I’m Lin, or call me Little Lin. I’ll be direct. I’m sent by Rouge Rabbit’s boss to watch you and the Doctor. After that display, I can’t call you ‘harmless.’”

So this was Lin, the one Qianchun had mentioned, the man who took Ms Feng. Alarm rang in Night Frost’s chest like a bell. Her plan was barely an hour old and already caught in a thorny net.

What now?

Her mind spun like a prayer wheel, plans flaring and dying like sparks. None would fly; she lacked fuel for the flame.

“Relax, Ms Night Frost. The moment you entered this underground city, you were under my eyes. We know your every step, like tracks in snow.”

Lin pinched her wrist and raised it, inspecting the Obsidian Stone bracelet as if it were a black moon.

“I don’t doubt the seal. I don’t know what you did, but under a bracelet that suppresses mana, you still forced mana out.”

Her hand throbbed. She twisted free like a fish breaking a grip.

“If it were anyone else, showing a shred of power here, I’d erase them like chalk. But you, Ms Night Frost, are an important guest. My boss is discussing with the Doctor how to deal with you.”

“If luck is kind, you’ll be the first outsider to walk out of Rouge Rabbit alive. If luck is cruel, dying here wouldn’t be shocking.”

Night Frost hummed, a low winter note, and shifted a step toward the open space, like a bird keeping a wing’s width.

“I usually have good luck. But I don’t think there’s any value in me for Rouge Rabbit to dig.”

Lin widened his eyes, wonder painted too thick, a mask cracking at the edge.

“unbelievable! You don’t know your value!”

He turned and walked to the table, steps slow as a metronome. He took two wine glasses from the cabinet and fished a large bottle of chilled mineral water from the fridge, cold breath fogging like morning.

He paused speaking, poured water into the glasses, and handed one to Night Frost. Then he continued, voice smooth as silk over steel:

“Let me remind you. Your heart. The Magic Stone on your wrist. Your secret to become a Magic Maiden. These are supreme treasures, crystallized science, the key to your survival.”

He smiled and sipped the water, a ripple in a still room. Silence settled like snow.

“You see? It’s just a joke.”

Night Frost didn’t think so.