The awkward mood flashed and vanished, like a thin cloud blown off by a morning breeze.

A shy warmth flickered in Cerqin’s chest; her lips tilted up. She quickly rubbed her cheeks, as if wiping off the smile.

“Ah…” Not good. Not good.

She pressed a lid over the bubbling joy, let out a slow breath, and steadied her heart like a pond going still.

On cat-soft feet, Cerqin slipped to the room’s door. She turned her face and pressed an ear to the wood. No spell dulled the sound here, so the voices came clear.

Two girls. No mistake.

And fierce—like sparrows shrilling under the eaves.

The one being “driven back” carried a voice she knew. Curiosity rose in her heart like ripples in tea.

Anran never looked like the bullied sort. So she had this side too…

Maybe it was that new-friend glow, and their shared taste for girls—birds of a feather drifting in the same smoke.

Maybe it was sympathy at finding Anran had this hidden face. Cerqin set aside the urge to use the Hand of Space to peek.

The voices felt a little deeper in the room, not near the door. That thought cooled her pulse.

No need to torture her own mood any further. She’d step out and wander a bit. It didn’t sound like it would end soon.

She reached the door to the street. It opened on its own. A wave of noise splashed over her like rain on stone; the sound-ward on that door worked like a thick curtain.

A bubble of thought rose: remind Anran to set a silence spell on the inner door too.

The shopgirl, busy guiding customers like swallows flitting through a market, glanced over with a puzzled look when Cerqin came out so fast.

Cerqin gave a sheepish smile and spoke, heat still on her cheeks. “Miss Anran seems busy in the very back room. I’ll come back later.”

The shopgirl got it at once, sighed with a hint of grievance, then dove back into her work like a carp slipping under water.

“Mm. Bad timing… Where should I wander first?”

Cerqin left the bustling shop and drifted again, aimless as before, like a leaf following the street’s little currents.

Elsewhere, in the meeting room of the Sanctuary in Northfort, Spring Tide frowned over the report handed up by a Divine Officer. It detailed the Demon Race’s staged surrender and riot from days ago.

Doubts layered the pages like mist. Their true aim still hadn’t been pried open.

Only one thing felt certain: the other side was moving.

Another dossier covered the recent survey of the Northern Mirror Wasteland. Beast uprisings had clearly grown frequent, like storm cells blooming on a cold plain.

Gathering current intel on the Demon Race was one goal of this saintly tour. Even so, the Holy Maiden could offer little more than counsel.

Real front-line searches and resolutions required high-tier cultivators to take the field, iron in their bones.

She was preparing for her promotion, but realms didn’t yield in a single dawn.

Spring Tide also found follow-ups on the Eastwind City incident. The little princess taken away had stirred the Empire’s royal house to fury, a thunderhead over jade roofs.

She hooked a strand of hair and twined it absently, then lifted a fresh report.

With magitech machinery used in mining, prisoner labor systems needed urgent reform…

“A topic pushed over from the City Lord’s estate?”

Spring Tide cocked her head at the assisting Divine Officer and gave her signature smile. “What’s the Bishop’s view?”

Each city’s Radiant Sanctuary had agreements with the City Lord’s office on prisoner management. The Sanctuary mainly handled female prisoners, though labor reform wasn’t bound to one gender.

For cultivators, differences in strength were small. Rank and talent bent the scale like wind over grass.

“The Bishop says magitech mining won’t change much for now. Prisoners aren’t ordinary civilians. The measures are punitive, so the tools won’t swing the nature of it.”

“Mm. For ordinary prisoners, that’s true.”

But chattel convicts, stripped of freedom and traded like goods, likely wouldn’t be kept for labor anymore. That market would take a hit.

Useless bodies would be destroyed in numbers. It was expected, a cold math.

The worry was whether cults would scoop them up. A cheap harvest is easy to gather when no one else wants the crop…

“Mass unnatural deaths in a short span let death-qi spread like fog… It’s not a wise move.”

The Divine Officer wore a troubled look. Most organizations agreed: reduce mass deaths where possible. Keeping death-qi from pooling cost a small fortune.

“It is a thorn…”

“Maybe work the brands harder, make them more obedient. Then they could serve as simple household help for common folk.”

The thought sprang bright in Spring Tide’s mind. If control became a sure hand, management would be easier.

Right now, the brands on death-row convicts merely yoked life and death. If they could go further, create functional magic brands…

It might be one path through the brambles.

“But magic that controls mind or flesh is intricate. It’s hard to pack so many runes into a single brand.”

Regret shaded the Divine Officer’s face. Many had proposed similar answers. The difficulty rose like a mountain.

And the cost mattered.

The current brands were curse-etchings that could be triggered by special means—dangerously simple, brutally cheap.

Most mid-tier cultivators could learn them.

More complex brands existed, but demanded much from the caster. Time would spool longer too, like silk off a reel.

“Mm…”

Maybe a different road. If magic brands falter, use poison or compounds to steer the body.

Spring Tide thought of Aileaf. She planned to ask a professional alchemist later, then picked up another report.

When Cerqin returned to Anran’s shop, afternoon light had shifted two hours. The crowd thinned like dust settling after a fair.

She pushed the door. The shopgirl stood by the counter, cheeks puffed like an indignant sparrow, scolding a small-statured girl.

The small girl wore a placating smile. As Cerqin drew near, the shopgirl’s complaint came clear.

“You promised you’d help since we had too many on duty today. Anya, you’re a black-hearted boss!”

“Aiya, sorry, sorry. I’ll bump your bonus this month!”

“Hmph… Ah, Miss Anran’s friend is here.”

“Uh…”

Cerqin met the small girl’s curious gaze. Her face, a little like Anran’s, still held a blush that hadn’t quite faded, like sunset clinging to a cloud.

A dozen thoughts lit in Cerqin’s mind. She swallowed the words at her lips, heat retreating.

“I’m Cerqin… I’m here to talk business with Anran.”

“Hello, Miss Cerqin. My sister mentioned you. Said you’re very pretty, and said you’re a major patron in the Sanctuary, someone we should cling to tight…”

The air went odd, like a string plucked wrong. The shopgirl looked amazed.

“Mm… I got a bit mad and punished my sister. She might be… not quite convenient right now. If you’re in a rush, I can negotiate that batch of materials for her.”

“…”

Cerqin pressed her palms together in her heart and fell silent for a beat. She opened her mouth—then the small girl went on.

“Anyway, come this way first. Oh, I’m Anya, the owner of this shop.”