“Is the potion still too mild… like drizzle instead of a storm?”

Dazed, Aileaf tilted her face up, eyes drifting to Cerqin’s hand wrapped around hers like a ribbon of warm silk.

They’d left the clothing shop with footsteps light as wind-bells. They decided to deliver at the specialty restraints shop first, then wander the streets like kites on a long string.

They quickened their pace. The familiar door rose ahead like an old landmark in fog. Cerqin blurted, sudden as a pebble in a pond, “Could you make it… higher concentration?”

“Higher concentration again…”

Embarrassed, Cerqin met Aileaf’s startled gaze, cheeks warm as sunset.

“That potion is strong. It spikes excitement like fire in dry grass. But the boost to body-sense feels faint, like sound under snow…”

It wasn’t even close to Silver Luan’s edge. Cerqin stumbled over the thought like a shy deer.

“I’ve tasted it stronger… before.”

“For most people, even diluted, it hits hard, like thunder at their doorstep.”

And Cerqin still thought the undiluted stock was too weak.

“Are you a monster…”

Helpless, Aileaf muttered it under her breath, a sigh lost in reeds. Then a heavier thought tugged her down like wet clothes.

She probably couldn’t satisfy this creature.

“To push it further, I’d need better materials. The stamina drain will spike, like running uphill in sand. Even if I brew it, few could use it.”

“I see…”

Regret flickered over Cerqin’s face, a candle in wind. That feeling brought by Silver Luan’s Dragon Deity was a tidal surge; she was sure many would crave it.

When it came to potions, Aileaf shed her usual softness like mist at noon. Her voice turned precise, steady as a craftsman’s hand.

Seeing the regret on Cerqin’s face, she hesitated, then spoke like a bridge lowered.

“But I do have an idea for an improvement…”

“Eh?”

“Your ability is impressive. It perfectly patches the potion’s flaw. From what I’ve observed, if I add a part of your body, it should ease the stamina drain, like oil calming churning gears…”

“A part of my body?”

“Mm. For example… saliva.”

“…”

Power in saliva? Cerqin froze like a leaf mid-fall, then remembered: her ability needed skin contact to take hold. The more excited she got, the stronger it ran, like floodwater finding a channel.

By that logic, the power was dissolved in her body indeed.

“Even if we fix the side effect, to raise the main effect, we still need stronger materials. Something that sings in that register.”

“The Dragon Deity’s power can merge into flesh. So Silver Luan’s… bodily essence would be a perfect substitute…”

“What?”

“Ah! Nothing. Hehe. I think I know a superb material for this. I’ll bring you a bottle later~”

“Huh?”

“Alright, alright. Let’s deliver the goods first. Then we hit the streets~”

“…”

They stepped in, one after another. The shop’s décor was gaudy as festival lanterns, with restraint tools hanging everywhere like cold iron vines.

Shapes cruel as nightmares lined the walls. Cerqin’s eyes opened wide, stars caught in dark water.

The owner was a vixen beastkin. Her fur ran red like autumn maple, no stray color, her aura more sultry than smoke over tea.

She lifted a sulky face, then, seeing familiar guests, put on a professional smile like a mask of lacquer.

“Welcome. Oh my—Miss Aileaf~ Finished the batch already?”

“Mm. I’m here to deliver the first batch.”

Aileaf’s voice shrank like a whisper in bamboo. She instinctively tugged Cerqin’s hem.

“And this is?”

“I’m Cerqin~ I’m little Aileaf’s… uh, friend~”

Cerqin felt a hand suddenly land on her waist, testing like a cat’s claws debating a squeeze. She hurried on, words tumbling like beads.

“You look worried, Boss. Something happened?”

The vixen had noticed Aileaf’s jealous twitch. She caught the diversion and smiled with meaning, like a fan hiding a smirk.

Aileaf shook off shyness and vinegar both. She set bottles on the counter one by one, neat as tiles, cheeks red as cherries.

The counter stood too high, a wall to small hands. Cerqin scooped Aileaf up without thinking, arms firm as a cradle. Taking two steps forward, she spotted a black little box in the vixen’s hand, its texture echoing her own talisman, stone-dark and whisper-smooth.

“It broke the moment I bought it—so much for a good morning mood~”

The vixen ignored blushing Aileaf arranging bottles in Cerqin’s arms. She chatted with lively Cerqin, words sparkling like fish.

“It drifted in from the Azuremist Empire. They call it a pager stone. It lets you talk within a set range. I bought a pair to reach our branch in the city. It died in under two days~”

Cerqin eyed the black stone. The material felt like Spring Tide’s talisman, a cousin under the skin.

The Azuremist Empire stood at the continent’s heart, a human power like a city of jade. Word said the new emperor loved gadgets; strange goods spread like dandelion seeds these last years.

“Hot item lately, huh~”

“Yeah. Real-time short-range chat is handy, sharp as a whistle. But the moment you stretch the range or throw heavy mana at it, it fails. Fragile too. Can’t believe it died so fast…”

Right then, the pager stone on the table started vibrating hard, like a dragonfly trapped in a cup. Aileaf flinched in Cerqin’s arms, almost dropping a bottle.

“Huh? It’s alive again. So weird… Give me a moment, the branch is calling.”

Apologizing with a nod, the vixen picked up the humming stone and vanished into the back like a red tail in a curtain.

“Good stuff…”

Cerqin’s eyes went glassy, stars caught in pitch.

“It is. If they fix the fragility, it could change a lot, like a new road through mountains.”

Aileaf nodded, then wriggled a little, voice soft as moss.

“We’re done counting. Put me down…”

“Eh? I wanted to hold you a bit longer…”

“…”

Unable to win, Aileaf surrendered with quiet indignation, making a tally in her heart like scratches on bamboo.

“I wonder where she bought it. Let’s grab a pair and study them~”

That violent vibrating… Cerqin’s mind filled with ideas like sparks on dry hay. Her knees pressed together on reflex, heat rising like steam.

A familiar voice floated in from the door, a gentle hook that almost made her spill.

“Xiao Cerqin?~”

She turned stiffly. Under a wash of emerald and silver-white stood two breathtaking faces, different expressions, both sharp as moon on water. Their eyes pinned Cerqin—and Aileaf still in her arms.

“Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself these last two days~”

“Uh… let me… explain…”

“Hmph.”

Spring Tide smiled with narrowed eyes, a fan of spring rain. Silver Luan folded her arms and hummed, a blade sheathed but loud. Cerqin shivered like a leaf; Aileaf looked lost, a rabbit in tall grass.

The air froze into awkward glass.

The vixen returned from the back, puzzled by the two newcomers. Sensing the strange weather, she ventured, uncertain as a hand in fog, “Welcome?”

“Eh?”

After a few seconds of stalemate, Cerqin caught a wrong note, a crack under paint. Spring Tide and Silver Luan’s emotions were… off.

She frowned, set Aileaf down like a delicate cup, and signaled her to handle the handover with the vixen.

Then she walked to the doorway, worry first, voice soft as a shawl.

“What’s wrong with you two? Are you okay?”

“…” “…”

Both stiffened inside, thinking their hasty panic had been seen through like footprints in snow.

“Impressive. Where’d you fish up a Littlefolk?”

Silver Luan’s tone was stiff and sharp, like frost on steel. This time, it didn’t scare Cerqin. It deepened the worry in her eyes, a darker tide.

Spring Tide’s painted smile faded like ink in rain. She pivoted the talk, blade-turn smooth.

“In your eyes, what’s wrong with us?”

“Something’s strange.”

“Strange?”

Under their anxiety and anger…

Cerqin felt a massive wrongness rise like smoke from a hidden fire. Fear kept leaking from their bodies, a cold seep through stone. It left her stunned, breath caught, not daring to believe.