No aura of a divine artifact rose. The plan tasted like ash, a failure.

On a high tower at Eastwind City’s edge, a black-robed figure and a voluptuous matron watched the magic vortex calm like a dying whirlpool.

Unlike the robed one’s regret, the matron’s face was a still lake.

“The moment the Eastern Archbishop of the Radiant Sanctuary stepped in, the plan was already broken.”

“Too strong by far. A clone with seventy percent true strength got erased in a blink. What’s that woman’s power?”

“Cage of Fate… a future-sight gift, but wrapped in chains. She rarely uses it. Something must’ve gone wrong midway, like a snag in silk.”

“Tsk. Don’t tell me your side showed its hand too soon.”

She didn’t argue. The plan lay in pieces like a toppled chessboard. Months of layout flowed downstream, and key plants snapped like reeds.

…

Cerqin’s mind was a hive of noise. As the array spun up, fear seeped in like cold mist.

Yet pain never bloomed. Instead, joy bubbled up like a spring breaking ice.

She wanted more.

She wanted joy like a rising tide.

She tore free of Silver Luan’s embrace, like a bird shaking off dew.

Her fingers brushed the crystal ball, and fear crashed down like deep water. In those threads were anger, defiance, resentment, sorrow—ink colors mixing in one bowl.

Each sliver of feeling had claws and will, scratching her soul like frantic cats.

The vast pain shattered and, in shattering, turned to a stark, intoxicating thrill.

Then came a hollow sky. And a craving for the person before her, burning like a lantern in fog.

Ming Xi explained a few quick lines to Spring Tide, then dumped the three dazed, magic-drained folks aside and rushed off to mop up the maimed.

The familiar thing happened again.

Power swelled like a storm front, and the nearest Silver Luan’s gift went berserk in a heartbeat.

When her mind cleared, she stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, white as a blank page.

Magic filled her body like a brimming river. Her limbs felt endless, like wind in sails.

“Uh…”

“Awake?”

“Mm… What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

By the bed, Spring Tide closed her book with a soft rustle, a crescent-smile hanging like moonlight, eyes on the baffled Cerqin.

“I remember a black-robed one popping up… then…”

She dodged Spring Tide’s gaze. Memory sharpened like glass. Her power had run wild again, though it broke the game and saved them.

“Uh… Where are Silver Luan and Aileaf?”

“Aileaf went back to her lab. Silver Luan said she doesn’t want to see you for now. She went walking, alone.”

“Uh…”

“You two have ridiculous compatibility, like flint and tinder.”

Spring Tide recalled Ming Xi’s words. The Love God looks like endless healing on the surface, but its root is love that reverses and twists.

That resonates with the Dragon Deity’s domain of increase, so your runaway splashes onto her like oil.

And the Dragon Deity’s own berserk state is a peerless accelerant, dry pine to a spark.

In Aileaf’s words, it’s all-natural, the world’s strongest panacea, hot as liquor.

She shook her head, picturing Aileaf bouncing away, clutching Silver Luan’s fluids like a trophy, eager to test.

“Anyway, it ended strangely, but the result couldn’t be better.”

The array broke, and the residents’ fear and curses funneled into Cerqin like rivers into a lake. The ordinary folk woke fast, with few lingering shadows.

Eastwind City’s top experts were found and recovered, like swords reforged.

“Only a few injured in the whole affair, one dead, one missing. The dead one was a Sanctuary traitor. It’s a miracle.”

“One missing?”

Cerqin looked up, curiosity lifting like a curtain in wind.

“The Holy Dragon Empire’s little princess, here to sightsee, got taken.”

“Uh…”

A flash of that scary, golden-maned girl cut across Cerqin’s mind like lightning.

“She was probably their target from the start.”

“The royal family will drop the hammer and rescue. The Sanctuary will help, but it’s not our road to walk.”

This wasn’t something a Fourth and a Sixth Rank could wedge into, like ants moving a mountain.

“What next then?”

“We stick to the plan and continue the Sacred Tour.”

…

The city had no scars of stone and wood. As people woke and the crisis ebbed like tide, order returned under posted notices like neat leaves.

Silver Luan wandered the streets with no anchor. Her silver tail swayed in small arcs, like grass in a breeze.

Because of the upheaval, the streets were sparse, a beach after waves pull back.

A few beastkin kids at the corner watched, eyes bright as beads.

The distance between dream and reality stretched, like two boats drifting apart on different currents.

That was what Silver Luan felt.

Among the Half Dragonkin, plural marriage was tradition, strands of many braided into one cord.

But after following her mother to human cities, Silver Luan fell for romance tales, paper petals pressed under moonlight.

She cherished a white-horse prince of her own, a lone star in her sky.

This training journey was hard-won from her mother, the clan’s queen, granted like a single feather from a phoenix.

It was the only chance the doting queen gave her to chase a dream under open skies.

Silver Luan didn’t know if she’d ruined it, like a dropped cup.

She recalled her first meeting with Cerqin. Warmth passed over her valiant face like thaw across frost.

She’d found someone she liked. But that someone was a girl, a soft shock like rain in summer.

To claim an exclusive white-horse prince, she now had to share a heart like a shared fire.

“If my power weren’t the Dragon Deity…”

Maybe she wouldn’t have made that final mistake, a misstep on a cliff.

But if the Dragon Deity hadn’t gone wild, she might never have cut in, like a blade without an opening.

“And that one actually ran off. Unforgivable…”

Thinking of Cerqin bolting, the tip of her tail stiffened like a spear.

Those days on horseback felt good, wind and heat, sun and moon both.

“Silver Luan—”

A familiar voice rang behind her like a pebble skipping across a pond. She turned and saw a familiar face.

It wasn’t the sultry smile she’d often seen since. It matched their first meeting, clean as first snow.

“Awake?”

Silver Luan slipped, with a small breath, back into the rhythm of lovers strolling, like stepping into warm shoes.

“How’d you find me?”

“Heh, hearts in tune. I stepped out and saw you within minutes, like a fish bites the line.”

“Where’s Spring Tide?”

“She went to the Sanctuary to visit the Bishop, and there’s a meeting too… Mm.”

Cerqin paused. Her face knotted like tangled ribbon.

“It’s late, but… I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

Silver Luan slowed to match her. Her hand settled at Cerqin’s waist, her head tilted, a laugh like windbells.

“Mm… You said you wanted a white-horse prince all your own.”

“Hmph… So sure I can’t live without you?”

“Heh-heh…”

“…”

“I can’t be a little princess who belongs to just one person… But since you caught up, I guess that’s that.”

“Hmph… Only because you stole my clothes. Otherwise I wouldn’t have chased you. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

She rolled her eyes and pinched Cerqin’s waist hard, like a fox taking a bite.

“Eh? Didn’t you already punish me for that…”

Those days on horseback were rough, like climbing a long ridge.

Day and night, no rest, sun to moon.

The pressure on her waist wasn’t heavy. It looked fierce, but it was gentle as down. It tickled, and soothed like warm rain.

“I never said one punishment would make me forgive you…”

“Then… okay. Mm…”

Hesitation rippled over Cerqin’s face like shadows under water. Then she chose.

She brushed her storage bracelet. She drew out a collar, iron and thumb-thick, with a short chain like dull starlight.

Fidgeting, she looped it around her own neck, then held out the other end like an offered ribbon.

“...Hey! What are you doing!”

Silver Luan blinked, then sprang back two steps like a startled deer. She dropped her hold on Cerqin.

Her eyes flicked to the alley, where a few gazes peeped like sparrows on a fence. Heat rushed to her cheeks like sunset.

“…”