“Silver Luan, can you not stick your tail into weird places?”

“Cerqin, is it okay to keep your soul out like this?”

Silver Luan poked the body on the bed, glanced at Cerqin, and kept the tail moving like a curious vine sneaking into cracks.

“Long separation—sure, your power makes it easy—but won’t it mess with how your soul and flesh knit back together, like seams pulling apart?”

“Probably not…”

Cerqin couldn’t be sure; her soul had been out for half a day, like the sun rolling past the zenith.

A soul leaving is death by another name; the body drops into a false winter, a hush like ice over a pond.

Without a soul, flesh does rot; but a Fifth Rank body is ironwood under frost, slow to spoil without outside meddling.

The body’s toughness and spark hold stubborn life; hit it with warped magic, and it can turn like a moss-lit ghoul under moonlight.

Most folks dying in the wild—low-rank cultivators too—their bodies don’t melt away fast; carrion birds and ants do the real erasing.

“I’ve never heard soul-out affect meat-soul fit. As long as it’s not too long, it should be fine,” Aileaf said, hands steady like a surgeon’s blade.

“To be safe, head back within a day and let the body rest, in case gears stall inside the clock.”

Cerqin wasn’t a true soul-adept; Love God splits clean down the middle—half mind, half flesh, like two threads braided.

“Alright then, I’ll go back first. Tomorrow’s fine.”

She thought it over, a ripple of caution in her chest; long separation might leave shadowed marks, and that loss wouldn’t be worth the ease.

You can’t rule out organs stalling for good when the soul wanders too long, like a millwheel left dry.

“Cool… see you tomorrow. It’s late anyway,” Spring Tide said, night settling like ink beyond the window.

Cerqin paused, hand hovering over her chest, then looked at the three before returning. “When I wasn’t here, did you all still sleep together?”

“No way… without you, why would we pile in?” Silver Luan said, deadpan, tail flicking like a cat’s.

“For half a month, I was the only one in that room.”

“I mostly slept in the lab, lights cold as glass.”

“I used the training hall lounge, floor smelling of sweat and cedar.”

“I see…”

Cerqin scratched her head, a little cloud drifting across her brow. “Feels like I’ll be drained when I wake.”

“Heh-heh, then you’d better make it up to us later,” someone teased, a spark flicking like flint.

“I kinda don’t want to wake too fast…”

She didn’t wait for reactions; she dove into her body like a fish back into deep water.

The moment her soul settled, her skin crawled—body and spirit didn’t sit flush, a missing piece humming like a hollow note.

That itch-under-the-bone feeling rose, like nettles under silk; she wanted to split soul from flesh again, right then.

As that thought bloomed, a dizzy wave hit; her mind dropped like a stone into a well.

Cerqin got pulled into another dream, the dark closing like a velvet curtain.

“You’re kidding… again?”

The iron scent of blood rushed up her nose; that old nightmare unfolded, red tide lapping at broken walls.

Screams and dragon roars circled like storm winds; this one felt too real, the air heavy as rain.

Her body state snapped to how it was then; stamina flooded back like warm wine from a jug.

That familiar lift was Love God’s work, a tide rising under her ribs.

Noticing it, the scene blurred, edges fraying like wet paper; it collapsed, and her mind sank into chaos, a sea without stars.

She dimly saw four lights, each burning different; one blazed brightest, washing the others pale like noon over candles.

The dimmest pulsed, faint as a firefly; something wordless braided between it and her, a thread tugging in fog.

She almost caught it, fingers closing on mist; the light’s radiance folded inward, streams fusing like rivers into one.

The lights drifted closer, eating and being eaten; what remained became a single, keener star.

In a blink.

The point swelled, white as a snapped flare, blowing the darkness clean like wind over ash; then the view turned again.

“Should be waking, right?”

“Mm. Her soul’s almost back to perfect, edges smoothed.”

“Didn’t expect the merge to knock her out. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have pushed rest; conscious recovery would’ve been faster.”

Familiar voices grew clear, footsteps like soft taps on stone.

“Hey—she’s up, finally up,” came Silver Luan, relief like a loosened knot.

Cerqin opened her eyes; aches and weakness draped her like damp cloth, and Love God kicked in on instinct, warmth blooming.

Three familiar faces hovered close, too close, like lanterns inches from her nose.

“Why’re you crowding me? Kinda creepy,” she muttered, pushing herself upright, bones creaking like bamboo in wind.

“How long did I sleep?”

From their chatter, she pieced it together—her plan to wake early got pushed back by that drop into dream-sea.

“About five days.”

“Ah…”

Five days gone like leaves down a stream; she’d planned to go soul-out again the next morning.

“How do you feel now?”

“Pretty good, actually…”

Their eager eyes baked like midsummer; she pictured the night turning rowdy and chose to steer away.

“So what’s the situation? Did the Beauty Worship Association and Ming Duo get sorted?”

Five days is not long, yet not short; Sanctuary shouldn’t need much to crack a street-level protest group, but dry trails make slow hunts.

Ninexiao, standing in the room, spoke, voice cool as steel. “We found links to a few cults. The group ties to the Ultimate Evil.”

“The citywide Negative Energy came from that association—ordinary folks used like kindling.”

“But there’s no evidence connecting the association to Ming Duo.”

“A coincidence?”

Cerqin stretched, joints popping like seeds; moving in flesh felt better, solid as earth underfoot.

Spring Tide shook her head, a small shadow crossing her face. “We thought so at first. But when we detained a few leaders yesterday, Ming Duo struck.”

“One leader got taken. And…”

Spring Tide’s expression twisted, knotty as a thorn stem; Cerqin’s idle mood snapped taut, curiosity plucking like a string.

“What is it? Rare to see you look like that.”

“Look at this… Someone left it at Sanctuary’s gate this morning. The note says it’s a gift for me.”

Spring Tide produced a small box, a paper slip stuck to its lid; neat, graceful handwriting flowed like ink on silk.

“To dear Junior Sister Spring Tide… So, from Ming Duo?” Cerqin read, fingers cool, and eased the lid open.

Two flesh-colored beads lay inside, like tiny moons with skin; Cerqin flinched hard, almost flinging the box, heart thudding like a drum.

Each little meat sphere was half unnaturally flat, cut clean as with a sharp blade, glazed with a thin film like varnish.

It looked wrong—ritual-strange, temple-cold.

“Don’t tell me these are…”