In a month or two, the Earth Dragon Heart would finish its first transplant and attunement trials, like a furnace settling into flesh. Then it would beat as Yin Chen Yue’s own, freeing her from the fragile bell she was born with.

After that, the Earth Dragon Heart would anchor her Mana and calm her Abyssal Aura, an iron keel in stormy water. With it, she’d have a measure of self‑protection in this turmoil—she could become a Magic Maiden, or borrow a dragon’s shape.

People called this era prosperous, bright as fresh lacquer. Under it, the currents ran dark. He was nearing fifty, old enough to have lived through the old government and the long reign of the Magic Maiden administration.

Under their grip, tech and strength surged, steel vines climbing the Abyss. The world gained the means to guard itself, even to invade, but the old peace cracked like thin ice.

Magic went first. Equality lagged behind. The strongest Magic Maidens stood on the mountain peak, while smaller humans clung to gears and wires, trying to edit fate.

A single shell could kill a [First Symphony], but never a [Cantata Two]. So tech drove its forge fires hotter, and cyborgs stepped onto the stage.

When the first batch of cyborgs was born, every organization smelled profit and hope, like wolves catching blood on snow. They poured funding into the cyborg trade. With medical tools braided to magic, the new cyborgs could stand against a [Cantata Two].

But the known ceiling for Magic Maidens was [Chapter Three]. How do you fight a [Chapter Three]?

Some saw a cyborg’s individual limits. They stitched Monster flesh to human frames, coached minds like hawks, forged nastier gear, courted Magic Maidens, even tried to manufacture Magic Maidens.

Tech bolted like a runaway horse, the reins snapped and flapping. As the saying goes, fall behind and you get beaten.

Everyone else was sprinting. To keep their boots off your neck, to avoid being left in their dust, you chased sharper tech—or power on par with [Chapter Three]. In that chase, tech was the irreplaceable engine.

Power won by cunning and force can’t soothe the crowd the civilized way. It falls back to crude suppression and purges, which only make the backlash burn hotter.

So they tried co‑opting and pulling in allies. Mostly spineless micro‑groups, a heap of loose sand. One gust, and they broke apart.

Even the Magic Maiden side was splintered by factions. Qin Yu had picked a camp; no one knew how long that dam would hold.

Yin Tiancheng sighed, the breath thin as smoke, and set down the photo frame. Lin had appeared behind him at some point, waiting in quiet shadow.

“Time’s about up. Miss is waiting for you.”

He was drowning in work. Rouge Rabbit’s mess. The Second District’s board of knives. He had to carry all of it. No one in the company could helm that many storms, and Rouge Rabbit’s survival balanced on this knife.

He didn’t dare keep Yin Chen Yue at his side. Too dangerous. Everyone watched Rouge Rabbit, a giant casting long shade. As its boss, he drew eyes like crows.

Last time, he stepped out of Rouge Rabbit, and hunters came on his heels. If not for Lin, he’d have been a body whitening under wild sun.

So he masked his identity, cut public ties to Yin Chen Yue, and hid her among the underground residents, letting her grow where the wind blew softer. Each month, he returned in disguise to the underground to see her, just so she wouldn’t be so alone.

“Also, Miss is a little sad today.”

“Why?”

Yin Tiancheng’s face went iron-hard, a seam of anger throbbing under his ribs. He’d just come back from the surface and hadn’t heard what happened in the morning. In the underground, he kept strict rules—live in peace, no harm, no crying.

So who touched his only daughter?

“Chu Qing. She pressed the news down and restricted most movement. I warned her, but she didn’t seem remorseful.”

Years ago, Chu Qing had nearly died in the suburbs. He’d thought he’d picked up a loyal, capable subordinate. After she gained a little rank, she kept trying to press close, wanting something off him, using every trick.

He started to edge her out, handing her smaller tasks, slowly pulling back the power he’d given. This time, she’d stepped over the line. Whether she knew Yin Chen Yue’s identity or not, her days were numbered. After tonight, he’d move to strip her position.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Yin Tiancheng half-turned. Lin spoke first, words already sanded smooth.

“You were in a meeting with the Order Keeper about major matters. Miss wasn’t in danger, so we didn’t tell you, to avoid disrupting the deal.”

“What matter compares to Chen Yue? Next to her, it’s hens’ feathers and onion peels!”

His fist knotted, then loosened, the storm passing a notch. These people seemed hell‑bent on spiking his blood pressure. Strong, sharp‑eyed, competent—and yet one carried a rebellious bone, one wore a slick smile. Lin was brilliant, but his temperament grated.

Yin Tiancheng steadied himself and sat. A middle-aged boss with graying hair, he opened a drawer and took out the gift prepared long ago for Yin Chen Yue.

It was the last day of the month, the date he’d set to see her. He changed clothes, pulled on a custom artificial skin, swapped faces, and rode the elevator down, slow as falling dusk.

Yin Chen Yue sat alone on her bed, her eyes rimmed red like frostbitten petals. She’d woken in a neighbor’s home and hadn’t seen Night Frost.

Night Frost was gone. She searched and searched, but the trail scattered like steam. The nearby residents wouldn’t help. They all knew it was Chu Qing’s doing, and none could fight a Magic Maiden’s Mana.

Maybe the boss would help. But the boss was a dragon in clouds, seen in flashes and gone. He could only see the stiff smiles plastered on their faces.

Yin Chen Yue hugged her pillow tight. Helplessness squeezed her tear glands dry and then kept squeezing. She wiped and wiped, but the wet stayed. The back of her hand was slick with tears. Wind slid through the door’s seam, a thin blade of cold.

The door opened. Someone stood outside.

A silhouette she knew. Warm, out of place in this chill. That figure walked through layered longing. It was her father.

Yin Chen Yue threw herself forward and fell into the warmth. She buried her head in Yin Tiancheng’s chest, rubbing off the tears on his shirt like dew on cotton.

He felt the fabric dampen fast, his heart trembling once under its own weight. His weathered palm found the crown of her head. He rubbed gently twice and flicked on the light overhead.

“I’m back. What happened?”

His workplace voice—hard edges, iron angles—melted before it left his tongue. Yin Chen Yue lifted her face, eyes narrowing to shining slits. Since birth, nothing had ever truly stood against her father.

Of course. As Rouge Rabbit’s boss, he had people watching over the Miss in secret. Nothing stayed hidden from him for long; at most, it was a matter of timing.

“Night Frost… she’s gone.”

Night Frost. If he remembered right, the Doctor had brought her back as a “miracle.” Current research circled her like planets. She was a precious sample.

If she was missing, it’d be hard to face the Doctor, and hard to keep the research whole. Headache. Chu Qing had poked a hole straight through the hull.

He’d send Lin to look. Lin could likely find her.

“Papa will have someone search for her. She’ll be back soon.”

Yin Chen Yue nodded, obedient as a willow. In her eyes, her father could do anything. Which, in truth, he could. In the Second District, he could do whatever he wanted—up to overturning the Twelfth District’s government—if he chose and didn’t fear the Order Keeper’s full assault.

Not likely for now. Rouge Rabbit supplied the Order Keeper with a major share of artificial organs, and some parts were designed in-house by Rouge Rabbit. Their factories dotted the map. Uprooting them would tear muscle from bone.

He told Lin what needed doing. Lin reported that Night Frost was at a mid‑level hospital and told him not to worry.

“Your Night Frost sister is resting. She was hurt, but she’ll be back soon.”

“Really?”

Yin Tiancheng nodded.

“I can take you to see her tomorrow.”

Yin Chen Yue refused. She’d heard going up required lots and lots of vouchers. It sounded troublesome. She didn’t want to burden her father.

“I see… Have you been eating well lately?”

The underground had strict rules. Accept treatment, succeed, and you could go out. He’d never heard about fees and vouchers. Some people, it seemed, didn’t want to stay with Rouge Rabbit.

When he took over, he had cleaned out half of Rouge Rabbit. The old hands feared, therefore they were loyal. The new hires lacked that fear and loyalty. It looked like an internal purge needed a slot on the calendar.

“Night Frost made lots of good food!”

So the girl named Night Frost was deft in the kitchen. He considered loosening her permissions a bit. She’d been caring for Yin Chen Yue on behalf of Yin Tianchen, and her identity mattered.

He’d already given her plenty, though…

“Papa?”

Yin Chen Yue pulled him out of his thoughts. He answered with a smile.

“Sorry. Got lost in work.”

“When are you leaving this time?”

Yin Tiancheng weighed his schedule, carving wood from stone. How could he squeeze more time for Yin Chen Yue? Maybe cancel those two not‑so‑important meetings.

Rarely did he fail to arrange things.