Cerqin blinked awake through a haze, her whole body aching like after a storm, while a soft scent drifted into her nose like spring rain.

It was Spring Tide’s scent; beneath her, the bed was soft as water, and everywhere her eyes landed, silk lay like quiet moonlight.

When her thoughts caught up, Cerqin realized she was lying in a strange pose, like a cat curled mid-stretch on a sun-warmed cushion.

Her body was arched, her hips tipped up; half her face was buried in the quilt, her hands lined with her calves, forearm to shin like mirrored branches.

Huh?

Why did it feel like she wasn’t wearing anything, like wind over bare skin?

That sharp thought flashed, and her mind cleared like mist lifting from a river.

She remembered ordering something in that expensive-looking place, wine like amber in glass.

After that, her head went foggy, like falling into a dream.

She’d babbled a lot—words like scattered petals—and when the memories snapped back, she sat up fast, breath startled like a bird in reeds.

A plain, unfamiliar room; besides herself, no one else—only silence like still water.

Nothing on her body—bare as moonlight.

The bed was a mess, a tossed field after rain.

For a long beat, Cerqin didn’t know what face to make; outside, night had inked the sky, though it wasn’t yet deep night.

So easy, just like that, I got eaten, like a peach bitten in the dark.

Her mood didn’t swing too far; she did like Spring Tide, even if they’d only just met, even if they’d only stayed together for a few hours—like a sudden spring shower that felt right.

Am I really that casual, someone who accepts so easily, like a door left ajar?

Cerqin felt tears gather, a tide that wouldn’t fall, then a prickle of anger rose like sparks under ash.

That hateful Holy Maiden caught me off guard, like a fox stealing into a henhouse.

The mess on the bed was a wild map; her skin carried faint scratches and red marks, like plum blossoms after snow.

She’d probably been toyed with for a long while; yet those moments were blank, erased like footprints on a tide-flat.

That’s too much, like taking the moon and leaving no reflection.

“What’s too much?”

Spring Tide pushed the door open, the wood sighing like bamboo in wind, and seeing Cerqin awake, she laughed, voice light as bells.

“You’re asking me?”

Cerqin scrunched a crying face and flopped onto the quilt, a pose like honey and thorns.

That sight pulled Spring Tide forward; her hand rose, palm like a falling fan, and she slapped.

Smack!

“Ah—”

“Why moan like that, like a lute thrumming in a quiet hall?”

Spring Tide chided, half exasperated, half amused, and a thin flame rekindled in her chest, like coals catching air.

“Wuu, you even hit me!”

“Want me to hit you a few more times?”

“Sure… uh…”

Cerqin blurted what sat in her heart, then froze, cheeks burning like peach skin, and she clapped a hand over her backside.

“Mm… maybe not for now. I’m hungry.”

She’d barely eaten at that grand noon feast; the wine had taken her down like a soft net.

Heh.

Spring Tide’s mouth quirked; she brushed her storage device, and a Nun outfit appeared, neat as a folded cloud.

“Here.”

“Mm… thanks. Where are my clothes?”

“I tossed them.”

“Uh—”

“Hurry and put it on. I’ll take you to eat,” Spring Tide said, impatience flickering like a hawk’s eye; Cerqin’s current look was too tempting, like ripe fruit on a low branch.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be quick. Honestly, you eat me and then still act so fierce.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Mm… why is there only this one piece?”

“You don’t wear that other piece.”

“Uh… fine.”

So that habit—no certain undergarments—was exposed, like a hidden path shown; Cerqin lowered her head, shame warm as dawn. It made sense: if she’d been undressed, every secret was out like beads spilling.

She vaguely remembered unloading secrets while drunk, words like swallows darting from a cage.

Cerqin dressed fast; the Nun robe fit almost perfectly, cloth settling like a second skin.

The top was one-piece, inner and outer sewn as one, so she needed nothing else; the skirt hung longer than a typical adventurer’s, but both sides slit deep, almost a breath from a mini skirt, like blades parted to show the scabbard.

The cut felt more daring than a simple short skirt, and Cerqin felt open air brush her thighs, a hollow cool like shade under bamboo.

She slid off the bed and looked at Spring Tide, eyes steady as a lake.

“Why so impatient… We haven’t even really learned each other yet,” she asked seriously this time, emotion first like a bell, words after like echo.

She liked her, so she didn’t mind much, but she wanted a reason; for this girl she knew little beyond rumor, the emerald-haired figure before her wasn’t quite the tale she’d heard.

Spring Tide understood this wasn’t like last time—catching Cerqin at a crime scene and doing as she pleased.

She’d been too rash, like rain bursting before clouds gathered.

“Because I know you well.”

Spring Tide’s tone hinted at hidden paths, and while Cerqin blinked in confusion, Spring Tide produced a small box from nowhere, like a sparrow from a sleeve.

“This gift is a bit late. I wanted to give it to you the moment we met.”

Cerqin’s doubt deepened, like ink in water; a prepared gift at first sight felt off, like a riddle without a key.

“What is it…”

She took the box, her voice half speechless, half curious, like a cat sniffing a string.

“You may know me, but I don’t know you well. Still, since you ate me, you have to take responsibility!”

“Of course I will. I prepared this carefully for you. Open it.”

“What is it… uh.”

She lifted the lid, slow as lifting morning mist, and her face went blank, thoughts scattering like dandelion seeds.

Inside lay a small garment—not a regular piece, but a plain, light-green little cloth, simple as willow leaves.

“How is it? You like it, right?”

“Isn’t this…”

Cerqin’s eyes flicked to Spring Tide’s lower body, a glance like a dragonfly touching water.

“I’m wearing one right now. The one in the box is the daytime pair.”

“You said you wanted to give it to me the moment we met… So when you were with me, were you… going without… Wait, that’s not right.”

Cerqin snapped her head up, a sharp twitch like a fish breaking surface.

“How did you know so early? We hadn’t met before. Were you stalking me?”

Heh… of course not.

Spring Tide took a big breath, brushing off the question like dust from a sleeve.

“Don’t fuss over details. Let’s eat first.”

“Is this a small detail…”

Still dazed, Cerqin felt at a loss, like standing in fog; the Sanctuary Holy Maiden shifted in a blink from impatient pervert to deep-water mystery.

“Don’t overthink.”

Spring Tide smiled again, voice warm as tea.

“I was teasing you. You told me you like this thing when you were drunk.”

“Mm… fine.”

After that wine, her memory was blurry, like frost on glass; she recalled spilling many secrets.

It made sense.

How could someone prepare a fetish-matching gift before meeting, like guessing a tune without hearing the strings?

“Let’s go eat. You’re curious about those dreamlike experiences you had while drunk, aren’t you?”

“I’m not…”

Cerqin’s mouth said no, but her heart hummed yes like a hidden reed. She was about to follow the Holy Maiden out when she noticed Spring Tide’s emerald hair turning translucent, like waterweed in clear current.

“Eh?”

Her startled sound hung like a bell; she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks, and then Spring Tide’s body poured out magic, a surge like a rising tide.

Spring Tide froze on the spot, still as a statue.

“Spring Tide, what’s wrong?”

Cerqin’s voice tightened, anxious as a drum.

“Not sure. Strange—what is this?”

With the magic’s ripple, she felt the world pin its gaze on her again, a cold star staring through clouds.

“Time’s up.”

Ming Xi appeared at the doorway without a sound, like a shadow stepping out of light.

“This began with advancement. When soul and body re-align at the Seventh Rank, your consciousness gets recalled automatically,” Ming Xi said, picking the key threads like a careful weaver.

Spring Tide understood at once, insight like a lamp.

This time’s crossing was tied to advancement, bound by more rules; the point in time wasn’t perfectly still, but creeping forward at a slow crawl, like moss over stone.

The world never truly stops; even the Phantom God’s threefold effect that “stops time” doesn’t halt the world’s river. It only halts oneself, sliding the body into a seam of time like a leaf caught in a crack of ice.

Now, when the soul and body at the original point finished their Seventh Rank advancement, it meant the consciousness would be pulled back, like a kite tugged by its string.

“What a pity. I was really looking forward to it.”

Spring Tide looked at Cerqin’s worried face, a glance like a cool breeze over warm earth.

“Then, see you later…”

Suddenly, her abnormality vanished in a blink, and she stared, blank as a page; her voice turned cool, puzzled like rain over slate.

“What happened to me… Master? Uh.”

She saw Cerqin and stalled, shock like a swallow hitting glass. Before she could speak again, the space around them rippled, a pond shivered by wind.

The world’s rules began scrubbing away the traces of Spring Tide’s day of deeds, like waves erasing footprints on sand.

Ming Xi stood at the door, eyes drifting over the two with different reflections, and her mood rose, bright as a lantern.

“This is fine, isn’t it?”