Cerqin swallowed the urge to pitch the box like a hot coal, then looked again at the two eerie little beans inside, twin eyes in a dark mask.

“So that’s why they’re called Bean Hunters…?” Her voice drifted like smoke from damp wood.

Fresh from waking, doused by this shock like cold wellwater, she looked away—then her gaze slipped back like a moth to a lamp.

“What tie does Ming Duo have with that leader?” Her doubt tugged like a snagged thread in a loom.

“Can’t rule out old grudges…” Spring Tide stepped closer, pinching one bean from the box like a pebble lifted from a stream.

“Ming Duo coming to the capital likely ties to one of the leaders of that Beauty Worship Association. Sending this here says it wasn’t just a rescue. Grudge smells stronger than perfume.” Her words fell like droplets on stone.

“What do we do now? If she hit her goal, she’s probably left the capital already, right?” Cerqin watched Spring Tide knead the bean flat like dough, questions puffing up like steam.

“But there’s a snag…” Spring Tide set the now-hardened bean back into the box, a cold bead clicking into place.

“If Ming Duo only wanted that leader, she could’ve struck early, before the dawn frost settled.”

“That earlier attack on the Sanctuary knights was strange too,” she added, like a stone tossed off the road.

“So she’s got another aim, and the arrowhead points at the Sanctuary?”

“Mm. That’s it.” Her calm lay like a still pond.

“Then why are we huddled here talking about it…” Cerqin muttered, a sparrow under the eaves.

“Weren’t you the one who brought it up…” Spring Tide’s tone was dry as sand.

Cerqin went speechless, the bell of her tongue stilled.

“So… what’s next then?” Her hand fumbled through fog.

She knew she couldn’t help much, but curiosity itched like an ant under the skin.

And this was dangerous stuff; anyone eluding the Sanctuary this long had power like a storm on the rim. Spring Tide’s tone about that senior sister made Cerqin’s heart pinch like a drawn bowstring.

It wasn’t that she feared someone would steal Spring Tide away. It was that, ever since the news from Northfort, they’d ridden hard, horses lathered white.

Facing that legendary senior, Spring Tide’s state was off, a compass needle trembling.

“We don’t know what else Ming Duo wants,” Spring Tide said. “But if she’s still within the capital walls, we have a chance to net her.” Her eyes flicked to Ninexiao, hawk-sharp.

Factions had lifted the great formation, the capital’s limits easing like thawing ice. Ninexiao could finally sweep wide, a hawk wheeling over fields.

In the next two days, Cerqin fell back into a normal grind, gathering materials and pushing her research on anomalous magitech goods, like a millstone turning steady.

One thing of note: the plan they’d discussed—setting fixed nodes along the imperial roads—had grown wings. The proposal to try long-distance, city-to-city communication got the Emperor’s personal nod, stringing cities like beads on wire.

Preparations for experiments began, ink barely dry, and Cerqin, as a co-proposer, got an invite like a seal pressed warm in wax.

Because of that, her stay in the capital stretched like a lengthened shadow: one hand hunting the vanished Ming Duo; the other, if long-distance comms succeeded, braced for a leap across the river of history.

Not only Cerqin was keen. The Sanctuary and the Emperor both watched like cats at a mousehole.

“Why the frown?” Cerqin asked at the palace gate, where Spring Tide’s face looked stiff, a mask over a scar.

“Bad memories,” Spring Tide said after a pause, voice thin as wind over reeds.

Being pierced through the chest by the divine Needle of Time had been the Emperor’s stratagem. Still, dying once in this place left a chill like snow under skin.

“I told you to let Silver Luan and Aileaf escort me. Don’t you still need to investigate your senior with the Bishop?” Cerqin’s words fluttered like a paper fan.

“…”

Cerqin shot her a look, a pebble skipping water.

“You’re attending as a proposer and magitech researcher, sure. But you’re here as the Sanctuary’s face… your rank alone won’t open every door.” Spring Tide’s tone cut like a thin blade.

“Tch… such a hassle.” Cerqin scratched her head, a knot in the twine.

The Emperor had called this meeting; many heavyweights in the magical field would gather like stars over a single roof.

“You mad?” Spring Tide nudged, a twig to the ribs.

“No…” Cerqin’s tone lay flat as a winter lake.

Before stepping inside, Cerqin tugged Spring Tide’s hand, a small anchor on a drifting boat.

Spring Tide didn’t want Cerqin diving in. Building a long-distance net held immeasurable profit, a bright lure in deep water.

All the big powers would dip a hand; the Sanctuary had already gotten a head start, working with the Emperor, two oars in the same current.

But Spring Tide still thought the pressing thing was strength—climb to a higher rank fast, before the mountain iced over.

Matters of the Four Pole Stars touched the whole world. Favored by the God of Time, Spring Tide felt the hourglass pinch, sand whispering down.

“I don’t think you need to overthink it, Spring Tide…” Cerqin’s words smoothed like a breeze across ripples.

“Mm?” Spring Tide’s ear tilted like a leaf to rain.

“I mean the world’s illusions—and the Four Pole Stars stuff.” The thought hung like mist over distant peaks.

Cerqin pressed down the voice that bloomed in her head, setting a lid on boiling water, steadying heart and breath.

Even though the Love God twisted her bad moods into sweetness, stray voices still drifted in like gnats in summer reeds, tangling her thoughts.

“I think rushing is useless. When the time ripens, it’ll happen on its own.” Her smile was a fruit falling when ripe.

“I’m not dodging training. But if you strong-arm what’s beyond your reach, you tire body and spirit, and invite mistakes.” She sighed. “If the Four Pole Stars are tangled with fate, better let the river run.”

“…” Spring Tide stared, startled; that last line echoed like Ming Xi’s voice rippling through time.

She opened her mouth, but palace guards barred them, spears crossed like bamboo.

Cerqin handed over the invitation, thinking, I’m a researcher the Crown recognizes now, a stamp in bright wax.

Even so, she didn’t think herself any great thing. Those reworked instruments of punishment were just simple magitech applications, gears and wire.

Even with a few innovations, with basic knowledge the build was a lock with the key shown.

After checking the invite, the guard bowed first to Spring Tide at Cerqin’s side, then waved them through, water parting before oars.

“As expected of the Sanctuary’s Holy Maiden…” Cerqin clicked her tongue in wonder, stars sliding aside for the moon.

She knew why Spring Tide had come. In the magical field, old trees might not spare a glance to a sapling.

A Holy Maiden’s status, in some ways, rivaled the Emperor’s—enough to press a jade seal down and hush petty schemers.

Cerqin didn’t care much, brushing that dust from her sleeve.

On the fixed-node scheme, she already had lines sketched across the map; this trip was to test feasibility.

Just hand the plan in, and let them tinker and test, the kite string passing to other hands.

It was normal those researchers looked down on someone so green. After a month of study, she was a foot on the threshold.

That was how Cerqin saw it. Still, Spring Tide worried the old stick-in-the-muds would bully her, so she came along, a parasol against sudden rain.

Yet when they reached the meeting room door, the sounds leaking out stopped them cold, smoke curling from a sealed pot.

Cerqin glanced at the attendant by the door, doubt bright as a lantern in her eyes.

The door stood half-ajar. From within came all-too-familiar noises—those jumbled, different people’s moans Spring Tide, Silver Luan, and Aileaf sometimes drew out when they “bullied” her, strings thrumming behind a screen.

“Wrong room?” Cerqin’s question plopped like a stone in a pond.

Pinned by her stare, the attendant wore an awkward look, words stuck in his throat like dry rice.

Cerqin looked to Spring Tide. Spring Tide shook her head, blank as a white page.

Both swallowed, ignored the sounds seeping through the crack, and knocked, knuckles ticking like rain on bamboo.

Inside, the noises cut off, clean as a blade.