This chain seemed to merge with the soul…

In Ninexiao’s senses, the chains didn’t coil around the soul; they threaded into it like iron roots.

It felt like a ban laid on the soul, and to Ninexiao, chain and soul shared almost one substance, like two shades of the same ink.

In Spring Tide’s eyes, those chains on the soul were cast wholly from the power of time, cold as frost on jade.

She sensed it when her grasp of the Phantom God deepened, like fog parting to show a river.

“I think the Needle of Space-Time has little to do with this. And this level of fusion didn’t just appear overnight in a soul.”

“So it only surfaced when the ability got triggered?”

Spring Tide caught Ninexiao’s meaning; relief rose like a warm tide in winter.

If so, those chains wouldn’t hinder her rise into higher ranks, like reeds parting for a boat.

The secret folded within them would likely loosen as her understanding grew, knots coming undone one by one.

“Want me to ward you?”

“Mm…”

Advancing into the high ranks without careful prep cuts your odds; stepping in leaves the mortal shore behind, like crossing a misted river.

The stir of heaven and earth, if left bare, spills out and shakes the surroundings, thunder rolling across fields.

Especially when the ability itself is unusual, like a star that burns crooked.

If the power of time ran wild during the advance, no one knew what storm it might birth.

They descended to the training grounds beneath the Sanctuary and began preparing, urgent as drumbeats before dawn.

Several spirit‑gathering formations tugged purer mana from the leylines, so they wouldn’t pull from the air and spark a mana storm.

The chamber’s walls were specially reinforced, able to take a full‑force strike from an ordinary high‑rank cultivator, stubborn as cliffstone.

The chance of a Sixth Rank failing to break into Seventh was high, and danger shadowed it; when all was ready, Spring Tide sat cross‑legged at the room’s heart and sank her mind into her power like a stone into deep water.

At the same time, Ninexiao activated the chamber’s mana‑gathering apparatus; mana thickened through the underground space like creeping fog.

It curled into a slow vortex and flowed toward Spring Tide at the center, water drawn by a pale moon.

Everything moved in clean order; Ninexiao didn’t think Spring Tide would fail, her talent bright as a constant star.

She guarded mostly for the just‑in‑case, and to watch, calm as a sentinel at night.

Not long after, watching Spring Tide’s inner state, Ninexiao’s face stilled for a beat; she lifted her chin, gaze piercing the ceiling like an arrow.

Because of the capital’s special situation, after Qianli was seized by Negative Energy, Ninexiao set the whole Sanctuary under real‑time watch.

Not by tracking mana, but by her ability tuned to souls, ears laid to the quiet earth.

“Soul out of body… worthy of a bearer of a god’s ability. What a fierce gift.”

Most cultivators can’t do soul‑separation, especially low and mid tiers; even feeling one’s own soul is hard, like trying to hold smoke.

Holding its shape so it doesn’t scatter, then letting it leave the flesh for a time, demands brutal mental force, like steel under hammer.

The soul she sensed was Cerqin’s.

Her body had briefly died; with the soul in danger, she slept comatose for days, falling and rising like tides.

Cerqin’s awareness kept waking and slipping back into sleep, each time sinking into old dreams, then sleeping inside the dream, over and over like waves folding.

At last she realized no waking would come from chasing the dream; she found a pattern and anchored her mind, a stake driven into shifting sand.

The nightmares of the past stopped gnawing her, retreating like wolves at dawn.

Bit by bit, Cerqin felt the outline of her soul and tried to wake again and again, learning the knack like fingers learning strings.

Her awareness finally cleared, dawn leaking through shutters.

“…”

She looked at herself on the bed, eyes shut, face quiet as snowfall; she raised a half‑transparent hand and stared at it, glass catching light.

“I didn’t really die… did I?”

She couldn’t push air into sound, yet she heard herself plainly, thought ringing like a bell under a dome.

Cerqin hauled her thoughts back and worked through the scene, calm as a blade in frost.

A soul out of body is hard, but not unheard of; many high‑rankers with fierce mental force can do it, swimmers holding breath beneath waves.

By hammering her soul steady with mental force and then leaving the body, Cerqin understood why her flesh wouldn’t wake.

A slight soul wound had triggered the body’s self‑repair; until the soul healed, forcing a wake would be hard, and waking would leave her frail, a candle in wind.

In soul form, you can’t really absorb mana; mental force burns down with time, so even if you can leave the body, it’s usually brief, like a moth’s flight.

Cerqin didn’t have that worry.

Her bloodline ability springs from the body, but its core nests in the soul; the Love God’s power doesn’t rely only on flesh to move.

In soul state, she couldn’t cast it on others, but she could restore her own mental force, warm rain feeding hidden roots.

Which meant Cerqin could stay out of her body for a long stretch, a lantern wandering night streets.

The snag was she couldn’t truly shield her soul‑form, a flame without glass.

Knowing that, Cerqin still felt a flick of joy, a spark catching tinder.

“First, confirm where I stand…”

Qianli had clearly been controlled; what happened after, Cerqin didn’t know, her timeline broken like a cracked jade.

She didn’t even know how long she’d been out; she only knew it felt long, winter holding the river.

One problem: for others to perceive a soul in this shape, they have to focus their mental force on purpose, eyes narrowed against glare.

How to make others notice her was a real knot to pick.

Thinking, Cerqin drifted out of the room; as she slid through the door, resistance brushed her like water dragging silk.

She understood at once; making others aware would be easy.

A soul‑form lacks a body, but detection spells can catch it like nets in rain; if your ability isn’t soul‑type, you can’t hide it.

The moment she crossed the door, she was already found, a ripple on a pond.

Cerqin didn’t know Ninexiao had sensed the instant her soul left her body; Ninexiao’s power covered the entire Sanctuary like starlight over eaves.

She had already told the Divine Officers to ignore sudden soul readings inside the Sanctuary, birds rustling and nothing more.

Cerqin waited a little outside the door, but no Divine Officer came to check, and doubt pooled like shadow in a corner.

“Weird. Did something happen…”

With that thought, she wandered the Sanctuary without aim, mapping her position like a ghost counting pillars.

Now and then she saw Nuns hurrying past, robes fluttering like night wings, and the overall mood wasn’t bright, a sky before rain.

“Did something really happen?”

She remembered her comatose self left alone in a room; she saw no trace of anyone else, worry rising like smoke.

While she spun wild thoughts, two Nuns’ chatter snagged her attention like hooks.

“Miss White Feather is so cool—”

“Yeah, yeah. That scar on her face adds such a wild edge; being held by someone that big would be pure bliss—”

“I heard Miss White Feather used to be a prisoner. If she’d been jailed here under our watch, that’d be perfect—”

“Heh, if that were true, I bet she’d be super popular. With a Fifth Rank that strong, going days without rest is nothing—”

The two Nuns walked and drifted deeper into their own desire, voices warm as wine.

By then, Cerqin had used marked rooms to fix her location in the Sanctuary; realizing she was near White Thought and White Feather’s quarters, she decided to check if they were inside.

She slid through the door.

A familiar voice rang in her soul’s ears like a chime, and Cerqin’s eyes widened at the scene before her.

White Thought, once a princess, was pinned by White Feather, once a guardian; their breath came rough as heat, deja vu striking like lightning.

Cerqin felt the reversal—guard over princess—was a little strange, yet thinking it through, it was oddly fitting, a chess piece flipping the board.