The camp at dusk buzzed like a beehive, and the road from the Empire’s north toward the middle smoothed under the wheels like fresh silk.

The scenery shifted from skull-bare rocks to a sweep of green velvet, leaves breathing like a slow tide.

Under night like ink, Cerqin sat by the fire that glowed like a small sun, sipping meat broth with a smile that warmed like steam.

“This broth never stops being delicious, no matter how many times I drink it,” she sighed, every sip like spring rain on a dusty path.

Every few mouthfuls she drifted into a daze, a silly look blooming like a dandelion puff, and the girls around the flames tittered like sparrows.

By the same fire sat Spring Tide, Silver Luan, and Aileaf, plus Knight-Captains Baili and Qianli, and White Thought, newly taken in as a Nun of the Sanctuary, a circle like lanterns ringed in ember light.

The former princess looked stiff, a chill of iron still clinging to her sleeves like a shadow; days ago she had been a prisoner, barred from such warmth.

White Thought didn’t much want to sit here, her heart skittering like a startled deer under the glow.

Becoming a Nun had been Spring Tide’s will—a roof in a storm and a harbor with lamps—but taking orders from Cerqin left her dazed like mist over water.

Freed from the cell and following the convoy, she had no work in her hands, her fingers empty as wind.

When she reached for foresight, she saw only a few idle days ahead, the future blurred like frost on glass.

Peering farther drained her mind like a candle guttering, and tugging at long threads risked snarling the loom of fate, so she held to her family rule to use it less.

Having no work looked merry like festival lanterns, yet it tied her tongue in knots like wet rope when she thought of pleading for the scarred woman, White Feather.

It didn’t match what had been agreed; on the road Cerqin was nowhere, a fox hidden inside a curtained cart, so since leaving Northfort this was White Thought’s first glimpse of her.

White Thought and the scarred White Feather had been taken together, the latter part of a bargain inked between Holy Maiden Spring Tide and White Thought.

They weren’t in the same carriage; days had passed without a single sight of White Feather, her absence a cold draft slipping through the seams.

White Thought wasn’t a prisoner now, but a Nun of the Sanctuary, so the knights’ hands stayed sheathed like blades in scabbards, and two days of company had warmed like coals.

Yet she knew, out beyond the fire’s reach where silhouettes thinned like smoke, White Feather faced rotating “punishments” in a certain carriage, the wheels groaning without a dawn.

Cerqin had beckoned White Thought to the fire, and she’d tried to speak, but the words turned to pebbles on her tongue, heavy and hard to move.

As the night deepened like a well, Baili and Qianli cuddled and jostled like two cats in a sunbeam; tipsy Qianli teased, while Baili pushed her away with a smirk.

Cerqin watched, eyes bright as starlight in a bowl of ink, and missed the hesitant tremble skimming White Thought’s gaze.

For their own reasons, Spring Tide and the others didn’t want more companions; even sensing it, they held their tongues like winter-locked ponds.

“Um…” The hope in White Thought’s chest fluttered like a firefly; miss this moment, and days might pass without a meeting—Cerqin or Spring Tide both like swift geese in flight.

Help had been promised; it should be fine—she reached a fingertip of sight into the near future, but only her own expressions flickered like cut film, then went dark.

This vision carried no clear omen, a shallow trickle instead of a river.

After a breath that shook like a leaf, she forced it out. “Miss Cerqin…”

“Ah!” Cerqin shot a glare at Silver Luan, whose tail slipped into her clothes like a naughty vine, then turned to White Thought with puzzled eyes.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me the broth doesn’t suit you—ow!” She glanced down at Aileaf’s foot touching in like a silent warning.

“What are you two doing?”

“Hmph… that’s for being a flirt,” Spring Tide chuckled, her smile a thin crescent moon, yet she didn’t join the scuffle and turned her gaze toward White Thought.

“White Thought, you want to plead for White Feather, right?”

“Ah… mm.” White Thought nodded, her eyes lifted like wet jade toward Cerqin.

Cerqin remembered her promise and scratched her head like a guilty fox, glancing at Spring Tide’s smiling face.

“Uh… Holy Maiden, could you make an exception? I did promise…”

“You’re brave, deciding things on your own?” Spring Tide’s voice plucked like tight strings.

“I didn’t, I swear! I only said I’d try to plead.”

Spring Tide’s eyes narrowed, her smile a familiar hook on the lip. “If you modify that toy so one side can vibrate, I’ll reduce White Feather’s sentence.”

“Eh?” The future of that sounded bleak as winter rain; Cerqin shot White Thought a regretful look, a petal falling in ash.

She believed Spring Tide would, by nature, ease off once White Thought had joined the Sanctuary, at least ending the day-and-night rotation.

Holding back now was just a lesson carved like a switch’s sting; at this intensity, a low-ranked fighter would shatter like fired clay.

Mid-tier cultivators could shoulder more; after stepping into Fifth Rank, you saw how the body burned fuel like dry pine.

White Thought didn’t grasp that undercurrent; seeing Cerqin’s look, sadness spread across her face like cloud shadow on a lake.

“Hey, don’t make that face…” Cerqin sighed, half helpless and half soft, a leaf turning in a mild wind.

She had no taste for the once-princess, but she wasn’t heartless enough to let the girl sink.

Besides, the toy’s tweak would happen sooner or later like tides returning, though she still wanted to wriggle free like a fish.

“We can do it, but try to use it less later, okay? It’s handy, but I like skin on skin better.”

“…”

“…”

“Why’re you staring at me like that? Ow!” Cerqin faltered as Silver Luan and Aileaf fixed her with steady eyes, Silver Luan’s tail coiling like a silken rope.

“You caved so fast,” Silver Luan purred. “Spring Tide, hold on—I want to play a game.”

“Sure, I want to play too,” Spring Tide said at once, expectation bright as a bell.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Cerqin’s protest fluttered like a trapped moth.

“Heh… we’re giving our little flirt a punishment,” Silver Luan sang, sugar over thorns.

“Wait—”

Silver Luan’s tail rolled her gently, and Cerqin landed face-down across her lap like a tossed pillow; Aileaf slid closer, cradling Cerqin’s head, her arms soft as willow.

Spring Tide flicked White Thought a glance like a lantern signal, then pinned Cerqin’s legs on her own thigh, the three of them weaving a net of warm limbs.

Baili and Qianli gave one calm look, then went back to their own teasing, like stones steady under a running stream.

White Thought wanted to cry and laugh both; Spring Tide’s glance had eased her heart like a loosened knot, but the play shocked her like cold water.

She was swept into their four-person orbit like a stray star, helpless as she drifted.

“If you can keep quiet during the punishment, we’ll agree to use it less,” Silver Luan murmured, voice soft as fur.

“Yep!”

“Mhm!”

“Hey, hold on, I haven’t agreed—”

“Starting now.”

Silver Luan ignored Cerqin’s wriggles; with Spring Tide locking her legs, she couldn’t flip, and her face in Aileaf’s arms turned Aileaf’s cheeks peach-red.

Silver Luan raised her hand high, and a dull smack cracked the air like a drumbeat, louder than the knights’ camp talk.

They were outside, and Cerqin had her usual light wear below; Silver Luan didn’t lift the hem, just struck through thin cloth like rain through reeds, the sting near the same.

Shame flared hotter than the pain, a red tide under firelight, and Cerqin buried her face deeper into Aileaf’s embrace like a bird under wing.